The
History of Protestantism |
Chapter 1 | THE NETHERLANDS AND THEIR
INHABITANTS. Batavia Formed by Joint Action of the Rhine and the Sea Dismal Territory The First Inhabitants Belgium Holland Their First Struggles with the Ocean Their Second with the Roman Power 'they Pass under Charlemagne Rise and Greatness of their Commerce Civic Rights and Liberties These Threatened by the Austro-Burgundian Emperors A Divine Principle comes to their aid. |
Chapter 2 | INTRODUCTION OF PROTESTANTISM INTO THE
NETHERLANDS. Power of the Church of Rome in the Low Countries in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries Ebb in the Fifteenth Century Causes Forerunners Waldenses and Albigenses Romaunt Version of the Scriptures Influence of Wicliffe's Writings and Huss's Martyrdom Influence of Commerce, etc. Charles V. and the Netherlands Persecuting Edicts Great Number of Martyrs. |
Chapter 3 | ANTWERP: ITS CONFESSORS AND
MARTYRS. Antwerp Its Convent of Augustines Jacob Spreng Henry of Zutphen Convent Razed A Preacher Drowned Placards of the Emperor Charles V. Well of Life Long and Dreadful Series of Edicts Edict of 1540 The Inquisition Spread of Lutheranism Confessors Martyrdom of John de Bakker. |
Chapter 4 | ABDICATION OF CHARLES V. AND ACCESSION OF
PHILIP II. Decrepitude of the Emperor Hall of Brabant Palace Speech of the Emperor Failure of his Hopes and Labours Philip II. His Portrait Slender Endowments Portrait of William of Orange Other Netherland Nobles Close of Pageant. |
Chapter 5 | PHILIP ARRANGES THE GOVERNMENT OF THE
NETHERLANDS, AND DEPARTS FOR SPAIN. Philip II. Renews the Edict of 1535 of his Father Other Atrocious Edicts Further Martyrdoms Inquisition introduced into the Low Countries Indignation and Alarm of the Netherlanders Thirteen New Bishops The Spanish Troops to be left in the Country Violations of the Netherland Charters Bishop of Arras His Craft and Ambition Popular Discontent Margaret, Duchess of Parma, appointed Regent Three Councils Assembly of the States at Ghent The States request the Suppression of the Edicts Anger of Philip He sets Sail from Flushing Storm Arrival in Spain. |
Chapter 6 | STORMS IN THE COUNCIL, AND MARTYRS AT THE
STAKE. Three Councils These Three but One Margaret, Duchess of Parma Cardinal Granvelle Opposition to the New Bishops-Storms at the Council-board Position of Prince of Orange, and Counts Egmont and Horn Their joint Letter to the King Smouldering Discontent Persecution Peter Titlemann Severity of the Edicts Father and Son at the Stake Heroism of the Flemish Martyrs Execution of a Schoolmaster A Skeleton at a Feast Burning of Three Refugees Great Number of Flemish Martyrs What their Country Owed them. |
Chapter 7 | RETIREMENT OF GRANVELLE BELGIC CONFESSION
OF FAITH. Tumults at Valenciennes Rescue of Two Martyrs Terrible Revenge Rhetoric Clubs The Cardinal Attacked in Plays, Farces, and Lampoons A Caricature A Meeting of the States Demanded and Refused Orders from Spain for the more Vigorous Prosecution of the Edicts Orange, Egmont, and Horn Retire from the Council They Demand the Recall of Granvelle Doublings of Philip II. Granvelle under pretense of Visiting his Mother Leaves the Netherlands First Belgic Confession of Faith Letter of Flemish Protestants to Philip II. Toleration. |
Chapter 8 | THE RISING STORM. Speech of Prince of Orange at the Council-table Egmont sent to Spain-Demand for the States-General, and the Abolition of the Edicts Philip's Reply More Martyrs New and More Rigorous Instructions from Philip The Nobles and Cities Remonstrate Arrogance of the Inquisitors New Mode of putting Protestants to Death Rising Indignation in the Low Countries Rumours of General Massacre Dreadful Secret Imparted to Prince of Orange Council of Trent Programme of Massacre. |
Chapter 9 | THE CONFEDERATES OR
"BEGGARS." League of the Flemish Nobles Franciscus Junius The "Confederacy " Its Object Number of Signatories Meeting of the Golden Fleece and States-General How shall Margaret Steer? Procession of the Confederates Their Petition Perplexity of the Duchess Stormy Debate in the Council The Confederates first styled "Beggars" Medals Struck in Commemoration of the Name Livery of the Beggars Answer of the Duchess Promised Moderation of the Edicts Martyrdoms Continued Four Martyrs at Lille John Cornelius Beheaded. |
Chapter 10 | THE FIELD-PREACHINGS. The Protestants Resolve to Worship in Public First Field-Preaching near Ghent-Herman Modet Seven Thousand Hearers The Assembly Attacked, but Stands its Ground Second Field-Preaching Arrangements at the Field-Preaching Wall of Waggons Sentinels, etc. Numbers of the Worshippers Singing of the Psalms Field-Preaching near Antwerp The Governor Forbids them The Magistrates unable to put them down Field-Preaching at Tournay Immense Congregations Peregrine de la Grange Ambrose Wille Field-Preaching in Holland Peter Gabriel and John Arentson Secret Consultations -First Sermon near Horn Enormous Conventicle near Haarlem The Town Gates Locked The Imprisoned Multitude Compel their Opening Grandeur of the Conventicle Difference between the Field-Preachers and the Confederates Preaching at Delft Utrecht The Hague Arrival of more Preachers. |
Chapter 11 | THE IMAGE-BREAKINGS. The Confederate Envoys Philip's Cruel Purpose -The Image-Breakers Their Character Their Devastations Overspread the Low Countries in a Week Pillage of 400 Churches Antwerp Cathedral Its Magnificence -Its Pillage Pillage of the Rest of the Churches The True Iconoclast Hammer-The Preachers and their People take no part in the Image-Breakings Image-Breaking in Holland Amsterdam and other Towns What Protestantism Teaches concerning Image-Breaking The Popular Outbreaks at the Reformation and at the French Revolution Compared. |
Chapter 12 | REACTION SUBMISSION OF THE SOUTHERN
NETHERLANDS. Treaty between the Governor and Nobles Liberty given the Reformed to Build Churches Remonstrances of Margaret Reply of Orange Anger of Philip His Cruel Resolve Philip's Treachery Letters that Read Two Ways the Governor raises Soldiers A Great Treachery Meditated Egmont's and Horn's Compliance with the Court, and Severities against the Reformed Horn at Tournay Forbids the Reformed to Worship inside the Walls Permitted to erect Churches outside Money and Materials the Governor Violates the Accord Re-formed Religion Forbidden in Tournay and Valenciennes Siege of Valenciennes by Noircarmes Sufferings of the Besieged They Surrender-Treachery of Noircarmes Execution of the Two Protestant Ministers Terror inspired by the Fall of Valenciennes Abject Submission of the Southern Netherlands. |
Chapter 13 | THE COUNCIL OF BLOOD. Orange's Penetration of Philip's Mind Conference at Dendermonde Resolution of Egmont William Retires to Nassau in Germany Persecution Increased The Gallows Full Two Sisters Philip resolves to send an Army to the Netherlands Its Command given to the Duke of Alva His Character His Person His Fanaticism and Bloodthirstiness Character of the Soldiers An Army of Alvas Its March Its Morale Its Entrance Unopposed Margaret Retires from the Netherlands Alva Arrests Egmont and Horn Refugees Death of Berghen and Montigny The Council of Blood Sentence of Death upon all the Inhabitants of the Netherlands Constitution of the Blood Council Its Terrible Work Shrove-tide A proposed Holocaust Sentence of Spanish Inquisition upon the Netherlands. |
Chapter 14 | WILLIAM UNFURLS HIS STANDARD EXECUTION OF
EGMONT AND HORN. William cited by the Blood Council His Estates Confiscated Solicited to Unfurl the Standard against Spain Funds raised Soldiers Enlisted The War waged in the King's Name Louis of Nassau The Invading Host Marches Battle at Dam Victory of Count Louis Rage of Alva Executions Condemnation of Counts Egmont and Horn Sentence intimated to them Egmont's Conduct on the Scaffold Executed Death of Count Horn Battle of Gemmingen Defeat of Count Louis. |
Chapter 15 | FAILURE OF WILLIAM'S FIRST
CAMPAIGN. Execution of Widow van Dieman Herman Schinkel Martyrdoms at Ghent at Bois-le-Duc Peter van Kulen and his Maid-servant A New Gag Invented William Approaches with his Army His Manifesto -His Avowal of his Faith William Crosses the Rhine Alva Declines Battle William's Supplies Fail Flanders Refuses to Rise William Retires Alva's Elation Erects a Statue to himself Its Inscription The Pope sends him Congratulations, etc. Synod of the Church of the Netherlands Presbyterian Church Government Established. |
Chapter 16 | THE "BEGGARS OF THE SEA," AND SECOND
CAMPAIGN OF ORANGE. Brabant Inactive Trials of the Blood Council John Hassels Executions at Valenciennes The Year 1568 More Edicts Individual Martyrdoms A Martyr Saving the Life of his Persecutor Burning of Four Converted Priests at the Hague-William enters on his Second Campaign His Appeal for Funds The Refugees The "Beggars of the Sea" Discipline of the Privateer Fleet Plan for Collecting Funds Elizabeth De la Marck Capture of Brill by the Sea Beggars Foundations laid of the Dutch Republic Alva's Fury Bossu Fails to Retake Brill Dort and Flushing declare against Spain Holland and Zealand declare for William Louis of Nassau takes Mons Alva Besieges it The Tenth Penny Meeting of the States of Holland Speech of St. Aldegonde Toleration William of Orange declared Stadtholder of Holland. |
Chapter 17 | WILLIAM'S SECOND CAMPAIGN, AND SUBMISSION
OF BRABANT AND FLANDERS. William's New Levies He crosses the Rhine Welcome from Flemish Cities Sinews of War Hopes in France Disappointed by the St. Bartholomew Massacre Reverses Mutiny William Disbands his Army Alva takes Revenge on the Cities of Brabant Cruelties in Mons Mechlin Pillaged Terrible Fate of Zutphen and Naarden Submission of the Cities of Brabant Holland Prepares for Defence Meeting of Estates at Haarlem Heroic Resolution Civil and Ecclesiastical Reorganisation of Holland Novel Battle on the Ice Preparations for the Siege of Haarlem. |
Chapter 18 | THE SIEGE OF HAARLEM. Haarlem Its Situation Its Defences Army of Amazons Haze on the Lake Defeat of a Provisioning Party Commencement of the Cannonade A Breach Assault Repulse of the Foe Haarlem Reinforced by William Reciprocal Barbarities The Siege Renewed Mining and Countermining-Battles below the Earth New Breach Second Repulse of the Besiegers Toledo contemplates Raising the Siege Alva Forbids him to do so The City more Closely Blockaded Famine Dreadful Misery in the City Final Effort of William for its Deliverance It Fails Citizens offer to Capitulate Toledo's Terms of Surrender Accepted The Surrender Dismal Appearance of the City Toledo's Treachery Executions and Massacres Moral Victory to the Protestant Cause William's Inspiriting Address to the States. |
Chapter 19 | SIEGE OF ALKMAAR, AND RECALL OF
ALVA. Alkmaar Its Situation Its Siege Sonoy's Dismay Courageous Letter of the Prince Savage Threats of Alva Alkmaar Cannonaded Breach Stormed Fury of the Attack Heroism of the Repulse What Ensign Solis saw within the Walls The Spaniards Refuse to Storm the Town a Second Time The Dutch Threaten to Cut the Dykes, and Drown the Spanish Camp The Siege Raised Amsterdam Battle of Dutch and Spanish Fleets before it Defeat of the Spaniards Admiral Bossu taken Prisoner Alva Recalled His Manner of Leaving Number Executed during his Government Medina Coeli appointed Governor He Resigns -Requesens appointed -Assumes the Guise of Moderation Plain Warning of William Question of Toleration of Roman Worship Reasonings The States at Leyden Forbid its Public Celebration Opinions of William of Orange. |
Chapter 20 | THIRD CAMPAIGN OF WILLIAM, AND DEATH OF
COUNT LOUIS OF NASSAU. Middelburg Its Siege Capture by the Sea Beggars-Destruction of One-half of the Spanish Fleet Sea-board of Zealand and Holland in the hands of the Dutch William's Preparations for a Third Campaign Funds France gives Promises, but no Money Louis's Army Battle of Mook Defeat and Death of Louis William's Misfortunes His Magnanimity and Devotion His Greatness of the First Rank He Retires into Holland Mutiny in Avila's Army The Mutineers Spoil Antwerp Final Destruction of Spanish Fleet Opening of the Siege of Leyden Situation of that Town Importance of the Siege Stratagem of Philip Spirit of the Citizens. |
Chapter 21 | THE SIEGE OF LEYDEN. Leyden Provisions Fail William's Sickness His Plan of Letting in the Sea The Dykes Cut The Waters do not Rise The Flotilla cannot be Floated Dismay in Leyden Terrors of the Famine Pestilence Deaths Unabated Resolution of the Citizens A Mighty Fiat goes forth The Wind Shifts The Ocean Overflows the Dykes The Flotilla, Approaches Fights on the Dykes The Fort Lammen Stops the Flotilla Midnight Noise Fort Lainmen Abandoned Leyden Relieved Public Solemn Thanksgiving Another Prodigy The Sea Rolled Back. |
Chapter 22 | MARCH OF THE SPANISH ARMY THROUGH THE SEA
SACK OF ANTWERP. The Darkest Hour Passed A University Founded in Leyden Its Subsequent Eminence Mediation Philip Demands the Absolute Dominancy of the Popish Worship-The Peace Negotiations Broken off The Islands of Zealand The Spaniards March through the Sea The Islands Occupied The Hopes that Philip builds on this These Hopes Dashed Death of Governor Requesens Mutiny of Spanish Troops They Seize on Alost Pillage the Country around The Spanish Army Join the Mutiny-Antwerp Sacked Terrors of the Sack Massacre, Rape, Burning The "Antwerp Fury" Retribution. |
Chapter 23 | THE "PACIFICATION OF GHENT," AND
TOLERATION. William of Orange more than King of Holland The "Father of the Country" Policy of the European Powers Elizabeth France Germany Coldness of Lutheranism Causes Hatred of German Lutherans to Dutch Calvinists . Instances William's New Project His Appeal to all the Provinces to Unite against the Spaniards The "Pacification of Ghent " Its Articles Toleration Services to Toleration of John Calvin and William the Silent. |
Chapter 24 | ADMINISTRATION OF DON JOHN, AND FIRST SYNOD
OF DORT. Little and Great Countries Their respective Services to Religion and Liberty The Pacification of Ghent brings with it an Element of Weakness Divided Counsels and Aims Union of Utrecht The new Governor Don John of Austria Asked to Ratify the Pacification of Ghent Refuses At last Consents " The Perpetual Edict" Perfidy meditated A Martyr Don John Seizes the Castle of Namur Intercepted Letters William made Governor of Brabant His Triumphal Progress to Brussels Splendid Opportunity of achieving Independence Roman Catholicism a Dissolvent Prince Matthias his Character-Defeat of the Army of the Netherlands Bull of the Pope Amsterdam Joins the Protestant Side Civic Revolution Progress of Protestantism in Antwerp, Ghent, etc. First National Synod Their Sentiments on Toleration " Peace of Religion " The Provinces Disunite A Great Opportunity Lost Death of Don John. |
Chapter 25 | ABJURATION OF PHILIP, AND RISE OF THE SEVEN
UNITED PROVINCES. Alexander, Duke of Parma His Character Divisions in the Provinces Siege of Maestricht Defection of the Walloons Union of Utrecht Bases of Union Germ of the United Provinces Their Motto Peace Congress at Cologne Its Grandeur Philip makes Impossible Demands Failure of Congress Attempts to Bribe William His Incorruptibility Ban Fulminated against him His "Apology " Arraignment of Philip The Netherlands Abjure Philip II. as King Holland and Zealand confer their Sovereignty on William Greatness of the Revolution-Its Place in the History of Protestantism. |
Chapter 26 | ASSASSINATION OF WILLIAM THE
SILENT. What the United Provinces are to become The Walloons Return to Philip William's Sovereignty Brabant and the Duke of Anjou His Entry into the Netherlands His Administration a Failure Matthias Departs The Netherlands offer their Sovereignty to William He Declines Defection of Flanders Attempt on William's Life Anastro, the Spanish Banker The Assassin He Wounds the Prince Alarm of the Provinces Recovery of William Death of his Wife Another Attempt on William's Life Balthazar Gerard His Project of Assassinating the Prince Encouraged by the Spanish Authorities William's Murder His Character. |
Chapter 27 | ORDER AND GOVERNMENT OF THE NETHERLAND
CHURCH. The Spiritual Movement beneath the Armed Struggle The Infant Springs Gradual Development of the Church of the Netherlands The "Forty Ecclesiastical Laws " Their Enactments respecting the Election of Ministers Examination and Admission of Pastors Care for the Purity of the Pulpit The "Fortnightly Exercise " Yearly Visitation Worship and Schools Elders and Deacons Power of the Magistrate in the Church Controversy respecting it Efforts of the States to Compose these Quarrels~Synod at Middelburg It Completes the Constitution of the Dutch Church. |
Chapter 28 | DISORGANISATION OF THE
PROVINCES. Vessels of Honour and of Dishonour Memorial of the Magistrates of Leyden They demand an Undivided Civil Authority The Pastors demand an Undivided Spiritual Authority The Popish and Protestant Jurisdictions Oath to Observe the Pacification of Ghent Refused by many of the Priests The Pacification Violated Disorders Tumults in Ghent, etc. Dilemma of the Romanists Their Loyalty Miracles The Prince obliged to Withdraw the Toleration of the Roman Worship Priestly Charlatanties in Brussels William and Toleration. |
Chapter 29 | THE SYNOD OF DORT. First Moments after William's Death Defection of the Southern Provinces Courage of Holland Prince Maurice States offer their Sovereignty to Henry III. of France Treaty with Queen Elizabeth Earl of Leicester Retires from the Government of the Netherlands Growth of the Provinces Dutch Reformed Church Calvinism the Common Theology of the Reformation Arminius his Teaching His Party Renewal of the Controversy touching Grace and Free-will The Five Points The Remonstrants The Synod of Dort Members and Delegates Remonstrants Summoned before it-Their Opinions Condemned by it Remonstrants Deposed and Banished The Reformation Theology of the Second Age as compared with that of the First. |
BOOK
EIGHTEENTH
HISTORY OF PROTESTANTISM IN THE NETHERLANDS.
CHAPTER 1
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THE NETHERLANDS AND THEIR
INHABITANTS.
Batavia Formed by Joint Action of the Rhine and the
Sea Dismal Territory The First Inhabitants Belgium Holland Their First
Struggles with the Ocean Their Second with the Roman Power 'they Pass under
Charlemagne Rise and Greatness of their Commerce Civic Rights and Liberties
These Threatened by the Austro-Burgundian Emperors A Divine Principle comes
to their aid.
DESCENDING from the summits of the Alps, and rolling
its floods along the vast plain which extends from the Ural Mountains to the
shores of the German Ocean, the Rhine, before finally falling into the sea, is
parted into two streams which enclose between them an island of goodly
dimensions. This island is the heart of the Low Countries. Its soil spongy, its
air humid, it had no attractions to induce man to make it his dwelling, save
indeed that nature had strongly fortified it by enclosing it on two of its sides
with the broad arms of the disparted river, and on the third and remaining one
with the waves of the North Sea. Its earliest inhabitants, it is believed, were
Celts. About a century before our era it was left uninhabited; its first
settlers being carried away, partly in the rush southward of the first horde of
warriors that set out to assail the Roman Empire, and partly by a tremendous
inundation of the ocean, which submerged many of the huts which dotted its
forlorn surface, and drowned many of its miserable inhabitants. Finding it
empty, a German tribe from the Hercynian forest took possession of it, and
called it Betauw, that is, the "Good Meadow," a name that has descended to our
day in the appellative Batavia.
North and south of the "Good Meadow" the
land is similar in character and origin. It owes its place on the surface of the
earth to the joint action of two forces the powerful current of the Rhine on
the one side, continually bringing down vast quantities of materials from the
mountains and higher plains, and the tides of the restless ocean on the other,
casting up sand and mud from its bed. Thus, in the course of ages, slowly rose
the land which was destined in the sixteenth century to be the seat of so many
proud cities, and the theater of so many sublime actions.
An expanse of
shallows and lagoons, neither land nor water, but a thin consistency, quaking
beneath the foot, and liable every spring and winter to the terrible calamities
of being drowned by the waves, when the high tides or the fierce tempests heaped
up the waters of the North Sea, and to be over-flown by the Rhine, when its
floods were swollen by the long-continued rams, what, one asks, tempted the
first inhabitant to occupy a country whose conditions were so wretched, and
which was liable moreover to be overwhelmed by catastrophes so tremendous?
Perhaps they saw in this oozy and herbless expanse the elements of future
fertility. Perhaps they deemed it a safe retreat, from which they might issue
forth to spoil and ravage, and to which they might retire and defy pursuit. But
from whatever cause, both the center island and the whole adjoining coast soon
found inhabitants. The Germans occupied the center; the Belgae took possession
of the strip of coast stretching to the south, now known as Belgium. The similar
strip running off to the north, Holland namely, was possessed by the Frisians,
who formed a population in which the German and Celtic elements were blended
without uniting.
The youth of these three tribes was a severe one. Their
first struggle was with the soil; for while other nations choose their country,
the Netherlanders had to create theirs. They began by converting the swamps and
quicksands of which they had taken possession into grazing-lands and
corn-fields. Nor could they rest even after this task had been accomplished:
they had to be continually on the watch against the two great enemies that were
ever ready to spring upon them, and rob them of the country which their industry
had enriched and their skill embellished, by rearing and maintaining great dykes
to defend themselves on the one side from the sea, and on the other from the
river.
Their second great struggle was with the Roman power. The mistress
of the world, in her onward march over the West, was embracing within her limits
the forests of Germany, and the warlike tribes that dwelt in them. It is the pen
of Julius Caesar, recording his victorious advance, that first touches the
darkness that shrouded this land. When the curtain rises, the tribe of the
Nervii is seen drawn up on the banks of the Sambre, awaiting the approach of the
master of the world. We see them closing in terrific battle with his legions,
and maintaining the fight till a ghastly bank of corpses proclaimed that they
had been exterminated rather than subdued.[1]
The tribes of
Batavia now passed under the yoke of Rome, to which they submitted with great
impatience. When the empire began to totter they rose in revolt, being joined by
their neighbors, the Frisians and the Belgae, in the hope of achieving their
liberty; but the Roman power, though in decay, was still too strong to be shaken
by the assault of these tribes, however brave; and it was not till the whole
German race, moved by an all-pervading impulse, rose and began their march upon
Rome, that they were able, in common with all the peoples of the North, to throw
off the yoke of the oppressor.
After four centuries of chequered
fortunes, during which the Batavian element was inextricably blended with the
Frisian, the Belgic, and the Frank, the Netherlanders, for so we may now call
the mixed population, in which however the German element predominated, came
under the empire of Charlemagne. They continued under his sway and that of his
successors for some time. The empire whose greatness had severely taxed the
energies of the father was too heavy for the shoulders of his degenerate sons,
and they contrived to lighten the burden by dividing it. Germany was finally
severed from France, and in AD 922 Charles the Simple, the last of the
Carlovingian line, presented to Count Dirk the northern horn of this territory,
the portion now known as Holland, which henceforth became the inheritance of his
descendants; and about the same time, Henry the Fowler, of Germany, acquired the
sovereignty of the southern portion, together with that of Lotharinga, the
modern Lorraine, and thus the territory was broken into two, each part remaining
connected with the German Empire; but loosely so, its rulers yielding only a
nominal homage to the head of the empire, while they exercised sovereign rights
in their own special domain.[2]
The reign of
Charlemagne had effaced the last traces of free institutions and government by
law which had lingered in Holland and Belgium since the Roman era, and
substituted feudalism, or the government of the sword. Commerce began to flow,
and from the thirteenth century its elevating influence was felt in the
Netherlands. Confederations of trading towns arose, with their charters of
freedom, and their leagues of mutual defense, which greatly modified the state
of society in Europe. These confederated cities were, in fact, free republics
flourishing in the heart of despotic empires. The cities which were among the
first to rise into eminence were Ghent and Bruges. The latter became a main
entrepot of the trade carried on with the East by way of the Mediterranean. "The
wives and daughters of the citizens outvied, in the richness of their dress,
that of a queen of France.... At Mechlin, a single individual possessed
counting-houses and commercial establishments at Damascus and Grand Cairo."[3] To Bruges the merchants of
Lombardy brought the wares of Asia, and thence were they dispersed among the
towns of Northern Europe, and along the shores of the German Sea. "A century
later, Antwerp, the successful rival of Venice, could, it is said, boast of
almost five hundred vessels daily entering her ports, and two thousand carriages
laden with merchandise passing through her gates every week."[4] Venice, Verona, Nuremberg,
and Bruges were the chief links of the golden chain that united the civilised
and fertile East with the comparatively rude and unskillful West. In the former
the arts had long flourished. There men were expert in all that is woven on the
loom or embroidered by the needle; they, were able to engrave on iron, and to
set precious jewels in cunningly-wrought frames of gold and silver and brass.
There, too, the skillful use of the plough and the pruning-hook, combined with a
vigorous soil, produced in abundance all kinds of luxuries; and along the
channel we have indicated were all these various products poured into countries
where arts and husbandry were yet in their infancy.[5]
Such was the
condition of Holland and Flanders at the end of the fifteenth and the beginning
of the sixteenth centuries. They had come to rival the East, with which they
traded. The surface of their country was richly cultivated. Their cities were
numerous; they were enclosed within strong ramparts, and adorned with superb
public buildings and sumptuous churches. Their rights and privileges were
guaranteed by ancient charters, which they jealously guarded and knew how to
defend. They were governed by a senate, which possessed legislative, judicial,
and administrative powers, subject to the Supreme Council at Mechlin as that
was to the sovereign authority. The population was numerous, skillful, thriving,
and equally expert at handling the tool or wielding the sword. These artisans
and weavers were divided into guilds, which elected their own deans or rulers.
They were brave, and not a little turbulent. When the bell tolled to arms, the
inmate of the workshop could, in a few minutes, transform himself into a
soldier; and these bands of artificers and weavers would present the appearance
as well as the reality of an army. "Nations at the present day scarcely named,"
says Muller, "supported their struggle against great armies with a heroism that
reminds us of the valor of the Swiss."[6]
Holland, lying
farther to the north, did not so largely share in the benefits of trade and
commerce as the cities of Flanders. Giving itself to the development of its
internal resources, it clothed its soil with a fertility and beauty which more
southern lands might have envied. Turning to its seas, it reared a race of
fishermen, who in process of time developed into the most skillful and
adventurous seamen in Europe. Thus were laid the foundations of that naval
ascendency which Holland for a time enjoyed, and that great colonial empire of
which this dyke-encircled territory was the mother and the mistress. "The common
opinion is, "says Cardinal Bentivoglio, who was sent as Papal nuncio to the Low
Countries in the beginning of the seventeenth century " The common opinion is
that the navy of Holland, in the number of vessels, is equal to all the rest of
Europe together."[7] Others have written that
the United Provinces have more ships than houses.[8] And Bentivoglio, speaking
of the Exchange of Amsterdam, says that if its harbour was crowded with ships,
its piazza was not less so with merchants, "so that the like was not to be seen
in all Europe; nay, in all the world."[9]
By the time the
Reformation was on the eve of breaking out, the liberties of the Netherlanders
had come to be in great peril. For a century past the Burgundo-Austrian monarchs
had been steadily encroaching upon them. The charters under which their cities
enjoyed municipal life had become little more than nominal. Their senates were
entirely subject to the Supreme Court at Mechlin. The forms of their ancient
liberties remained, but the spirit was fast ebbing. The Netherlanders were
fighting a losing battle with the empire, which year after year was growing more
powerful, and stretching its shadow over the independence of their towns. They
had arrived at a crisis in their history. Commerce, trade, liberty, had done all
for them they would ever do. This was becoming every day more
clear.
Decadence had set in, and the Netherlanders would have fallen
under the power of the empire and been reduced to vassalage, had not a higher
principle come in time to save them from this fate. It was at this moment that a
celestial fire descended upon the nation: the country shook off the torpor which
had begun to weigh upon it, and girding itself for a great fight, it contended
for a higher liberty than any it had yet known.[10]
CHAPTER 2
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INTRODUCTION OF
PROTESTANTISM INTO THE NETHERLANDS.
Power of the Church of Rome in
the Low Countries in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries Ebb in the
Fifteenth Century Causes Forerunners Waldenses and Albigenses Romaunt
Version of the Scriptures Influence of Wicliffe's Writings and Huss's
Martyrdom Influence of Commerce, etc. Charles V. and the Netherlands
Persecuting Edicts Great Number of Martyrs.
The great struggle for religion and liberty, of which
the Netherlands became the theater in the middle of the sixteenth century,
properly dates from 1555, when the Emperor Charles V. is seen elevating to the
throne, from which he himself has just descended, his son Philip II. In order to
the right perception of that momentous conflict, it is necessary that we should
rapidly survey the three centuries that preceded it. The Church of Rome in the
Netherlands is beheld, in the thirteenth century, flourishing in power and
riches. The Bishops of Utrecht had become the Popes of the
North.
Favoured by the emperors, whose quarrel they espoused against the
Popes in the Middle Ages, these ambitious prelates were now all but independent
of Rome. "They gave place," says Brandt, the historian of the Netherlands'
Reformation, "to neither kings nor emperors in the state and magnificence of
their court; they reckoned the greatest princes in the Low Countries among their
feudatories because they held some land of the bishopric in fee, and because
they owed them homage. Accordingly, Baldwin, the second of that name and
twenty-ninth bishop of the see, summoned several princes to Utrecht, to receive
investiture of the lands that were so holden by them: the Duke of Brabant as
first steward; the Count of Flanders as second; the Count of Holland as
marshal."[1] The clergy regulated their
rank by the spiritual princedom established at Utrecht. They were the grandees
of the land. They monopolised all the privileges but bore none of the burdens of
the State. They imposed taxes on others, but they themselves paid taxes to no
one. Numberless dues and offerings had already swollen their possessions to an
enormous amount, while new and ever-recurring exactions were continually
enlarging their territorial domains. Their immoralities were restrained by no
sense of shame and by no fear of punishment, seeing that to the opinion of their
countrymen they paid no deference, and to the civil and criminal tribunals they
owed no accountability. They framed a law, and forced it upon the government,
that no charge should be received against a cardinal-bishop, unless supported by
seventy-two witnesses; nor against a cardinal-priest, but by forty-four; nor
against a cardinal-deacon, but by twenty-seven; nor against the lowest of the
clergy, but by seven.[2] If a voice was raised to
hint that these servants of the Church would exalt themselves by being a little
more humble, and enrich themselves by being a little less covetous, and that
charity and meekness were greater ornaments than sumptuous apparel and
gaily-caparisoned mules, instantly the ban of the Church was evoked to crush the
audacious complainer; and the anathema in that age had terrors that made even
those look pale who had never trembled on the battle-field. But the power,
affluence, and arrogance of the Church of Rome in the Low Countries had reached
their height; and in the fourteenth century we find an ebb setting in, in that
tide which till now had continued at flood. Numbers of the Waldenses and
Albigenses, chased from Southern France or from the valleys of the Alps, sought
refuge in the cities of the Netherlands, bringing with them the Romaunt version
of the Bible, which was translated into Low Dutch rhymes.[3]
The city of Antwerp
occupies a most distinguished place in this great movement. So early as 1106,
before the disciples of Peter Waldo had appeared in these parts, we find a
celebrated preacher, Tanchelinus by name, endeavoring to purge out the leaven of
the Papacy, and spread purer doctrine not only in Antwerp, but in the adjoining
parts of Brabant and Flanders; and, although vehemently opposed by the priests
and by Norbert, the first founder of the order of Premonstratensians, his
opinions took a firm hold of some of the finest minds.[4] In the following century,
the thirteenth, William Cornelius, also of Antwerp, taught a purer doctrine than
the common one on the Eucharistic Sacrament, which he is said to have received
from the disciples of Tanchelinus. Nor must we omit to mention Nicolas, of Lyra,
a town in the east of Brabant, who lived about 1322, and who impregnated his
Commentary on the Bible with the seeds of Gospel truth. Hence the remark of
Julius Pflugius, the celebrated Romish doctor [5] "Si Lyra non lirasset,
Lutherus non saltasset."[6] n the fourteenth century
came another sower of the good seed of the Word in the countries of which we
speak, Gerard of Groot. Nowhere, in short, had forerunners of the Reformation
been so numerous as on this famous sea-board, a fact doubtless to be accounted
for, in part at least, by the commerce, the intelligence, and the freedom which
the Low Countries then enjoyed.
Voices began to be heard prophetic of
greater ones to be raised in after-years. Whence came these voices? From the
depth of the convents. The monks became the reprovers and accusers of one
another. The veil was lifted upon the darkness that hid the holy places of the
Roman Church. In 1290, Henry of Ghent, Archbishop of Tournay, published a book
against the Papacy, in which he boldly questioned the Pope's power to transform
what was evil into good. Guido, the forty-second Bishop of Utrecht, refused
rare modesty in those times the red hat and scarlet mantle from the Pope. He
contrasts with Wevelikhoven, the fiftieth bishop of that see, who in 1380 dug
the bones of a Lollard out of the grave, and burned them before the gates of his
episcopal palace, and cast the ashes into the town ditch. His successor, the
fifty-first Bishop of Utrecht, cast into a dungeon a monk named Matthias Grabo,
for writing a book in support of the thesis that "the clergy are subject to the
civil powers."The terrified author recanted the doctrine of his book, but the
magistrates of several cities esteemed it good and sound notwithstanding. As in
the greater Papacy of Rome, so in the lesser Papacy at Utrecht, a schism took
place, and rival Popes thundered anathemas at one another; this helped to lower
the prestige of the Church in the eyes of the people. Henry Loeder, Prior of the
Monastery of Fredesweel, near Northova, wrote to his brother in the following
manner " Dear brother, the love I bear your state, and welfare for the sake of
the Blood of Christ, obliges me to take a rod instead of a pen into my hand... I
never saw those cloisters flourish and increase in godliness which daily
increased in temporal estates and possessions... The filth of your cloister
greatly wants the broom and the mop... Embrace the Cross and the Crucified
Jesus; therein ye shall find full content." Near Haarlem was the cloister of
"The Visitation of the Blessed Lady," of which John van Kempen was prior. We
find him censuring the lives of the monks in these words "We would be humble,
but cannot bear contempt; patient, without oppressions or sufferings; obedient,
without subjection; poor, without wanting anything, etc. Our Lord said the
kingdom of heaven is to be entered by force." Henry Wilde, Prior of the
Monastery of Bois le Duc, purged the hymn-books of the wanton songs which the
monks had inserted with the anthems. "Let them pray for us," was the same prior
wont to say when asked to sing masses for the dead; "our prayers will do them no
good." We obtain a glimpse of the rigour of the ecclesiastical laws from the
attempts that now began to be made to modify them. In 1434 we find Bishop
Rudolph granting power to the Duke of Burgundy to arrest by his bailiffs all
drunken and fighting priests, and deliver them up to the bishop, who promises
not to discharge them till satisfaction shall have been given to the duke. He
promises farther not to grant the protection of churches and churchyards to
murderers and similar malefactors; and that no subject of Holland shall be
summoned to appear in the bishop's court at Utrecht, upon any account
whatsoever, if the person so summoned be willing to appear before the spiritual
or temporal judge to whose jurisdiction he belongs.[7]
There follow, as it
comes nearer the Reformation, the greater names of Thomas a. Kempis and John
Wessel. We see them trim their lamp and go onward to show men the Way of Life.
It was a feeble light that now began to break over these lands; still it was
sufficient to reveal many things which had been unobserved or unthought of
during the gross darkness that preceded it. It does not become Churchmen, the
barons now began to say, to be so enormously rich, and so effeminately
luxurious; these possessions are not less ours than they are theirs, we shall
share them with them.
These daring barons, moreover, learned to deem the
spiritual authority not quite so impregnable as they had once believed it to be,
and the consequence of this was that they held the persons of Churchmen in less
reverence, and their excommunications in less awe than before. There was planted
thus an incipient revolt. The movement received an impulse from the writings of
Wicliffe, which began to be circulated in the Low Countries in the end of the
fourteenth century.[8] There followed, in the
beginning of the next century, the martyrdoms of Huss and Jerome. The light
which these two stakes shed over the plains of Bohemia was reflected as far as
to the banks of the Rhine and the shores of the North Sea, and helped to deepen
the inquiry which the teachings of the Waldenses and the writings of Wicliffe
had awakened among the burghers and artisans of the Low Countries. The execution
of Huss and Jerome was followed by the Bohemian campaigns. The victories of
Ziska spread the terror of the Hussite arms, and to some extent also the
knowledge of the Hussite doctrines, over Western Europe. In the great armaments
which were raised by the Pope to extinguish the heresy of Huss, numerous natives
of Holland and Belgium enrolled themselves; and of these, some at least returned
to their native land converts to the heresy they had gone forth to subdue.[9] Their opinions, quietly
disseminated among their countrymen, helped to prepare the way for that great
struggle in the Netherlands which we are now to record, and, which expanded into
so much vaster dimensions than that which had shaken Bohemia in the fifteenth
century.
To these causes, which conspired for the awakening of the
Netherlands, is to be added the influence of trade and commerce. The tendency of
commerce to engender activity of mind, and nourish independence of thought, is
too obvious to require that we should dwell upon it. The tiller of the soil
seldom permits his thoughts to stray beyond his native acres, the merchant and
trader has a whole hemisphere for his mental domain. He is compelled to reflect,
and calculate, and compare, otherwise he loses his ventures. He is thus lifted
out of the slough in which the agriculturist or the herdsman is content to lie
all his days. The Low Countries, as we have said in the previous chapter, were
the heart of the commerce of the nations. They were the clearing-house of the
world. This vast trade brought with it knowledge as well as riches; for the
Fleming could not meet his customers on the wharf, or on the Bourse, without
hearing things to him new and strange. He had to do with men of all nations, and
he received from them not only foreign coin, but foreign ideas.
The new
day was coming apace. Already its signals stood displayed before the eyes of
men. One powerful instrumentality after another stood up to give rapid and
universal diffusion to the new agencies that were about to be called into
existence. Nor have the nations long to wait. A crash is heard, the fall of an
ancient empire shakes the earth, and the sacred languages, so long imprisoned
within the walls of Constantinople, are liberated, and become again the
inheritance of the race. The eyes of men begin to be turned on the sacred page,
which may now be read in the very words in which the inspired men of old time
wrote it. Not for a thousand years had so fair a morning visited the earth. Men
felt after the long darkness that truly "light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it
is for the eyes to behold the sun." The dawn was pale and chilly in Italy, but
in the north of Europe it brought with it, not merely the light of pagan
literature, but the warmth and brightness of Christian truth.
We have
already seen with what fierce defiance Charles V. flung down the gage of battle
to Protestantism. In manner the most public, and with vow the most solemn and
awful, he bound himself to extirpate heresy, or to lose armies, treasures,
kingdoms, body and soul, in the attempt. Germany, happily, was covered from the
consequences of that mortal threat by the sovereign rights of its hereditary
princes, who stood between their subjects and that terrible arm that was now
uplifted to crush them. But the less fortunate Netherlands enjoyed no such
protection. Charles was master there. He could enforce his will in his
patrimonial estates, and his will was that no one in all the Netherlands should
profess another than the Roman creed.
One furious edict was issued after
another, and these were publicly read twice every year, that no one might
pretend ignorance.[10] These edicts did not
remain a dead letter as in Germany; they were ruthlessly executed, and soon,
alas! the Low Countries were blazing with stakes and swimming in blood. It is
almost incredible, and yet the historian Meteren asserts that during the last
thirty years of Charles's reign not fewer than 50,000 Protestants were put to
death in the provinces of the Netherlands.
Grotius, in his Annals, raises
the number to 100,000. [11] Even granting that these
estimates are extravagant, still they are sufficient to convince us that the
number of victims was great indeed. The bloody work did not slacken owing to
Charles's many absences in Spain and other countries. His sister Margaret,
Dowager-queen of Hungary, who was appointed regent of the provinces, was
compelled to carry out all his cruel edicts. Men and women, whose crime was that
they did not believe in the mass, were beheaded, hanged, burned, or buried
alive. These proceedings were zealously seconded by the divines of Louvain, whom
Luther styled "bloodthirsty heretics, who, teaching impious doctrines which they
could make good neither by reason nor Scripture, betook themselves to force, and
disputed with fire and sword.[12] This terrible work went on
from the 23rd of July, 1523, when the proto-martyrs of the provinces were burned
in the great square of Brussels,[13] to the day of the
emperor's abdication. The Dowager-queen, in a letter to her brother, had given
it as her opinion that the good work of purgation should stop only when to go
farther would be to effect the entire depopulation of the country. The
"Christian Widow," as Erasmus styled her, would not go the length of burning the
last Netherlander; she would leave a few orthodox inhabitants to repeople the
land.
Meanwhile the halter and the axe were gathering their victims so
fast, that the limits traced by the regent -wide as they were bade fair soon
to be reached. The genius and activity of the Netherlanders were succumbing to
the terrible blows that were being unremittingly dealt them. Agriculture was
beginning to languish; life was departing from the great towns; the step of the
artisan, as he went to and returned from his factory at the hours of meal, was
less elastic, and his eye less bright; the workshops were being weeded of their
more skillful workmen; foreign Protestant merchants were fleeing from the
country; and the decline of the internal trade kept pace with that of the
external commerce.
It was evident to all whom bigotry had not rendered
incapable of reflection, that, though great progress had been made towards the
ruin of the country, the extinction of heresy was still distant, and likely to
be reached only when the land had become a desert, the harbours empty, and the
cities silent. The blood with which the tyrant was so profusely watering the
Netherlands, was but nourishing the heresy which he sought to
drown.
CHAPTER 3
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Top
ANTWERP: ITS
CONFESSORS AND MARTYRS.
Antwerp Its Convent of Augustines Jacob
Spreng Henry of Zutphen Convent Razed A Preacher Drowned Placards of the
Emperor Charles V. Well of Life Long and Dreadful Series of Edicts Edict
of 1540 The Inquisition Spread of Lutheranism Confessors Martyrdom of
John de Bakker.
No city did the day that was now breaking over the
Low Countries so often touch with its light as Antwerp. Within a year after
Luther's appearance, Jacob Spreng, prior of the Augustinian convent in that
town, confessed himself a disciple of the Wittemberg monk, and began to preach
the same doctrine. He was not suffered to do so long. In 1519 he was seized in
his own convent, carried to Brussels, and threatened with the punishment of the
fire. Though his faith was genuine, he had not courage to be a martyr.
Vanquished by the fear of death, he consented to read in public his recantation.
Being let go, he repaired to Bremen, and there, "walking softly from the memory
of his fall," he passed the remaining years of his life in preaching the Gospel
as one of the pastors of that northern town.[1]
The same city and
the same convent furnished another Reformer yet more intrepid than Spreng. This
was Henry of Zutphen. He, too, had sat at the feet of Luther, and along with his
doctrine had carried away no small amount of Luther's dramatic power in setting
it forth. Christ's office as a Savior he finely put into the following
antitheses: "He became the servant of the law that he might be its master. He
took all sin that he might take away sin.[2] He is at once the victim
and the vanquisher of death; the captive of hell, yet he it was by whom its
gates were burst open." But though he refused to the sinner any share in the
great work of expiating sin, reserving that entirely and exclusively to the
Savior, Zutphen strenuously insisted that the believer should be careful to
maintain good works. "Away," he said, "with a dead faith." His career in Antwerp
was brief. He was seized and thrown into prison. He did not deceive himself as
to the fate that awaited him. He kept awake during the silent hours of night,
preparing for the death for which he looked on the coming day.
Suddenly a
great uproar arose round his prison. The noise was caused by his townsmen, who
had come to rescue him. They broke open his gaol, penetrated to his cell, and
bringing him forth, made him escape from the city. Henry of Zutphen, thus
rescued from the fires of the Inquisition, visited in the course of his
wanderings several provinces and cities, in which he preached the Gospel with
great eloquence and success. Eventually he went to Holstein, where, after
laboring some time, a mob, instigated by the priests, set upon him and murdered
him [3] in the atrociously cruel
and barbarous manner we have described in a previous part of our history.[4]
It seemed as if the
soil on which the convent of the Augustines in Antwerp stood produced heretics.
It must be dug up. In October, 1522, the convent was dismantled. Such of the
monks as had not caught the Lutheran disease had quarters provided for them
elsewhere. The Host was solemnly removed from a place, the very air of which was
loaded with deadly pravity, and the building, like the house of the leper of
old, was razed to the ground.[5] No man lodged under that
roof any more for ever. But the heresy was not driven away from Brabant, and the
inquisitors began to wreak their vengeance on other objects besides the innocent
stones and timbers of heretical monasteries. In the following year (1523) three
monks, who had been inmates of that same monastery whose ruins now warned the
citizens of Antwerp to eschew Lutheranism as they would the fire, were burned at
Brussels.[6] When the fire was kindled,
they first recited the Creed; then they chanted the Te Deum Laudamus. This hymn
they sang, each chanting the alternate verse, till the flames had deprived them
of both voice and life.[7]
In the following
year the monks signalised their zeal by a cruel deed. The desire to hear the
Gospel continuing to spread in Antwerp and the adjoining country, the pastor of
Meltz, a little place near Antwerp, began to preach to the people. His church
was often unable to contain the crowds that came to hear him, and he was obliged
to retire with his congregation to the open fields. In one of his sermons,
declaiming against the priests of his time, he said: "We are worse than Judas,
for he both sold and delivered the Lord; but we sell him to you, and do not
deliver him." This was doctrine, the public preaching of which was not likely to
be tolerated longer than the priests lacked power to stop it. Soon there
appeared a placard or proclamation silencing the pastor, as well as a certain
Augustinian monk, who preached at times in Antwerp. The assemblies of both were
prohibited, and a reward of thirty gold caroli set upon their heads.
Nevertheless, the desire for the Gospel was not extinguished, and one Sunday the
people convened in great numbers in a ship-building yard on the banks of the
Scheldt, in the hope that some one might minister to them the Word of Life. In
that gathering was a young man, well versed in the Scriptures, named Nicholas,
who seeing no one willing to act as preacher, rose himself to address the
people. Entering into a boat that was moored by the river's brink, he read and
expounded to the multitude the, parable of the five loaves and the two small
fishes. The thing was known all over the city. It was dangerous that such a man
should be at large; and the monks took care that he should preach no second
sermon. Hiring two butchers, they waylaid him next day, forced him into a sack,
tied it with a cord, and hastily carrying him to the river, threw him in. When
the murder was known a thrill of horror ran through the citizens of Antwerp.[8]
Ever since, the
emperor's famous fulmination against Luther, in 1521, he had kept up a constant
fire of placards, as they were termed that is, of persecuting edicts upon
the Netherlands. They were posted up in the streets, read by all, and produced
universal consternation and alarm. They succeeded each other at brief intervals;
scarcely had the echoes of one fulmination died away when a new and more
terrible peal was heard resounding over the startled and affrighted provinces.
In April, 1524, came a placard forbidding the printing of any book without the
consent of the officers who had charge of that matter.[9] In 1525 came a circular
letter from the regent Margaret, addressed to all the monasteries of Holland,
enjoining them to send out none but discreet preachers, who would be careful to
make no mention of Luther's name. In March, 1526, came another placard against
Lutheranism, and in July of the same year yet another and severer. The preamble
of this edict set forth that the "vulgar had been deceived and misled, partly by
the contrivance of some ignorant fellows, who took upon them to preach the
Gospel privately, without the leave of their superiors, explaining the same,
together with other holy writings, after their own fancies, and not according to
the orthodox sense of the doctors of the Church, racking their brains to produce
new-fangled doctrines.
Besides these, divers secular and regular priests
presumed to ascend the pulpit, and there to relate the errors and sinister
notions of Luther and his adherents, at the same time reviving the heresies of
ancient times, and some that had likewise been propagated in these countries,
recalling to men's memories the same, with other false and damnable opinions
that had never till now been heard, thought, or spoken of.. Wherefore the edict
forbids, in the emperor's name, all assemblies in order to read, speak, confer,
or preach concerning the Gospel or other holy writings in Latin, Flemish, or in
the Walloon languages as likewise to preach, teach, or in any sort promote the
doctrines of Martin Luther; especially such as related to the Sacrament of the
altar, or to confession, and other Sacraments of the Church, or anything else
that affected the honor of the holy mother Mary, and the saints and saintesses,
and their images..By this placard it was further ordered that, together with the
books of Luther, etc., and all their adherents of the same sentiments, all the
gospels, epistles, prophecies, and other books of the Holy Scriptures in High
Dutch, Flemish, Walloon, or French, that had marginal notes, or expositions
according to the doctrine of Luther, should be brought to some public place, and
there burned; and that whoever should presume to keep any of the aforesaid books
and writings by them after the promulgation of this placard should forfeit life
and goods."[10]
In 1528 a new
placard was issued against prohibited books, as also against monks who had
abandoned their cloister. There followed in 1529 another and more severe edict,
condemning to death without pardon or reprieve all who had not brought their
Lutheran books to be burned, or had otherwise contravened the former edicts.
Those who had relapsed after having abjured their errors were to die by fire; as
for others, the men were to die by the sword, and the women by the pit that
is, they were to be buried alive. To harbour or conceal a heretic was death and
the forfeiture of goods. Informers were to have one-half of the estates of the
accused on conviction; and those who were commissioned to put the placard in
execution were to proceed, not with "the tedious for-realities of trial," but by
summary process.[11]
It was about this
time that Erasmus addressed a letter to the inhabitants of the Low Countries, in
which he advised them thus: "Keep yourselves in the ark, that you do not
perish in the deluge. Continue in the little ship of our Savior, lest ye be
swallowed by the waves. Remain in the fold of the Church, lest ye become a prey
to the wolves or to Satan, who is always going to and fro, seeking whom he may
devour. Stay and see what resolutions will be taken by the emperor, the princes,
and afterwards by a General Council."[12] It was thus that the man
who was reposing in the shade exhorted the men who were in the fire. As regarded
a "General Council," for which they were bidden to wait, the Reformers had had
ample experience, and the result had been uniform the mountain had in every
case brought forth a mouse. They were able also by this time to guess, one
should think, what the emperor was likely to do for them. Almost every year
brought with it a new edict, and the space between each several fulmination was
occupied in giving practical application to these decrees that is, in working
the axe, the halter, the stake, and the pit.
A new impetus was given
about this time to the Reform movement, by the translation of Luther's version
of the Scriptures into Low Dutch. It was not well executed; nevertheless, being
read in their assemblies, the book instructed and comforted these young
converts. Many of the priests who had been in office for years, but who had
never read a single line of the Bible, good-naturedly taking it for granted that
it amply authenticated all that the Church taught, dipped into it, and being
much astonished at its contents, began to bring both their life and doctrine
into greater accordance with it. One of the printers of this first edition of
the Dutch Bible was condemned to death for his pains, and died by the axe. Soon
after this, some one made a collection of certain passages from the Scriptures,
and published them under the title of "The Well of Life." The little book, with
neither note nor comment, contained but the words of Scripture itself;
nevertheless it was very obnoxious to the zealous defenders of Popery. A "Well
of Life" to others, it was a Well of Death to their Church and her rites, and
they resolved on stopping it. A Franciscan friar of Brabant set out on purpose
for Amsterdam, where the little book had been printed, and buying up the whole
edition, he committed it to the flames. He had only half done his work, however.
The book was printed in other towns. The Well would not be stopped; its water
would gush out; the journey and the expense which the friar had incurred had
been in vain.
We pass over the edicts that were occasionally seeing the
light during the ten following years, as well as the Anabaptist opinions and
excesses, with the sanguinary wars to which they led. These we have fully
related in a previous part of our history.[13] In 1540 came a more
atrocious edict than any that had yet been promulgated. The monks and doctors of
Louvain, who spared no pains to root out the Protestant doctrine, instigated the
monarch to issue a new placard, which not only contained the substance of all
former edicts, but passed them into a perpetual law. It was dated from Brussels,
the 22nd September, 1540, and was to the following effect: That the heretic
should be incapable of holding or disposing of property; that all gifts,
donations, and legacies made by him should be null and void; that informers who
themselves were heretics should be pardoned that once; and it especially revived
and put in force against Lutherans an edict that had been promulgated in 1535,
and specially directed against Anabaptists -namely, that those who abandoned
their errors should have the privilege, if men, of dying by the sword; and if
women, of being buried alive; such as should refuse to recant were to be
burned.[14]
It was an
aggravation of these edicts that they were in violation of the rights of
Holland. The emperor promulgated them in his character of Count of Holland; but
the ancient Counts of Holland could issue no decree or law till first they had
obtained the consent of the nobility and Commons. Yet the emperor issued these
placards on his own sole authority, and asked leave of no one. Besides, they
were a virtual establishment of the Inquisition. They commanded that when
evidence was lacking, the accused should themselves be put to the question
that is, by torture or other inquisitorial methods. Accordingly, in 1522, and
while only at the beginning of the terrible array of edicts which we have
recited, the emperor appointed Francis van Hulst to make strict inquiry into
people's opinions in religious matters all throughout the Netherlands; and he
gave him as his fellow-commissioner, Nicolas van Egmont, a Carmelite monk. These
two worthies Erasmus happily and characteristically hit off thus: -"Hulst,"
said he, "is a wonderful enemy to learning," and "Egmont is a madman with a
sword in his hand." "These men," says Brandt, "first threw men into prison, and
then considered what they should lay to their charge."[15]
Meanwhile the
Reformed doctrine was spreading among the inhabitants of Holland, Brabant, and
Flanders. At Bois-le-Duc all the Dominican monks were driven out of the city. At
Antwerp, in spite of the edicts of the emperor, the conventicles were kept up.
The learned Hollander, Dorpius, Professor of Divinity at Louvain, was thought to
favor Luther's doctrine, and he, as well as Erasmus, was in some danger of the
stake. Nor did the emperor's secretary at the Court of Brabant, Philip de Lens,
escape the suspicion of heresy. At Naarden, Anthony Frederick became a convert
to Protestantism, and was followed by many of the principal inhabitants among
others, Nicolas Quich, under-master of the school there. At Utrecht the
Reformation was embraced by Rhodius, Principal of the College of St. Jerome, and
in Holland by Cornelius Honius, a learned civilian, and counsellor in the Courts
of Holland. Honius interpreted the text, "This is my body," by the words, "This
signifies my body " an interpretation which he is said to have found among the
papers of Jacob Hook, sometime Dean of Naldwick, and which was believed to have
been handed down from hand to hand for two hundred years.[16] Among the disciples of
Honius was William Gnaphaeus, Rector of the Gymnasium at the Hague. To these we
may add Cornelius Grapheus, Secretary of Antwerp, a most estimable man, and an
enlightened friend of the Reformation.
The first martyr of the
Reformation in Holland deserves more particular notice. He was John de Bakker,
of Woerden, which is a little town between Utrecht and Leyden. He was a priest
of the age of twenty-seven years, and had incurred the suspicion of heresy by
speaking against the edicts of the emperor, and by marrying. Joost Laurence, a
leading member of the Inquisition, presided at his trial. He declared before his
judges that "he could submit to no rule of faith save Holy Writ, in the sense of
the Holy Ghost, ascertained in the way of interpreting Scripture by Scripture."
He held that "men were not to be forced to 'come in,' otherwise than God forces
them, which is not by prisons, stripes, and death, but by gentleness, and by the
strength of the Divine Word, a force as soft and lovely as it is powerful."
Touching the celibacy of priests, concerning which he was accused, he did "not
find it enjoined in Scripture, and an angel from heaven could not, he
maintained, introduce a new article of faith, much less the Church, which was
subordinate to the Word of God, but had no authority over it." His aged father,
who was churchwarden -although after this expelled from his office was able
at times to approach his son, as he stood upon his trial, and at these moments
the old man would whisper into his ear, "Be strong, and persevere in what is
good; as for me, I am contented, after the example of Abraham, to offer up to
God my dearest child, that never offended me."
The presiding judge
condemned him to die. The next day, which was the 15th of September, 1525, he
was led out upon a high scaffold, where he was divested of his clerical
garments, and dressed in a short yellow coat. "They put on his head," says the
Dutch Book of Martyrs, "a yellow hat, with flaps like a fool's cap. When they
were leading him away to execution," continues the martyrologist, "as he passed
by the prison where many more were shut up for the faith, he cried with a loud
voice, ' Behold! my dear brethren, I have set my foot upon the threshold of
martyrdom; have courage, like brave soldiers of Jesus Christ, and being stirred
up by my example, defend the truths of the Gospel against all unrighteousness.'
He had no sooner said this than he was answered by a shout of joy, triumph, and
clapping of hands by the prisoners; and at the same time they honored his
martyrdom with ecclesiastical hymns, singing the Te Deum Laudamus, Certamen
Magnum, and O beata Martyrum Solemnia. Nor did they cease till he had given up
the ghost. When he was at the stake, he cried,' O death! where is thy sting? O
grave! where is thy victory?' And again, 'Death is swallowed up in the victory
of Christ.'
And last of all, 'Lord Jesus, forgive them, for they know not
what they do. O Son of God! remember me, and have mercy upon me.' And thus,
after they had stopped his breath, he departed as in a sweet sleep, without any
motions or convulsions of his head and body, or contortions of his eyes. This
was the end of John de Bakker, the first martyr in Holland for the doctrine of
Luther. The next clay Bernard the monk, Gerard Wormer, William of Utrecht, and
perhaps also Gnaphaeus himself, were to have been put to death, had not the
constancy of our proto-martyr softened a little the minds of his judges."[17]
CHAPTER 4
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ABDICATION OF CHARLES
V. AND ACCESSION OF PHILIP II.
Decrepitude of the Emperor Hall of
Brabant Palace Speech of the Emperor Failure of his Hopes and Labours
Philip II. His Portrait Slender Endowments Portrait of William of Orange
Other Netherland Nobles Close of Pageant.
In the midst of his cruel work, and, we may say, in
the midst of his years, the emperor was overtaken by old age. The sixteenth
century is waxing in might around him; its great forces are showing no sign of
exhaustion or decay; on the contrary, their rigour is growing from one year to
another; it is plain that they are only in the opening of their career, while in
melancholy contrast Charles V. is closing his, and yielding to the decrepitude
that is creeping over himself and his empire. The scepter and the faggot so
closely united in his case, and to be still more closely united in that of his
successor -he must hand over to his son Philip. Let us place ourselves in the
hall where the act of abdication is about to take place, and be it ours not to
record the common-places of imperial flattery, so lavishly bestowed on this
occasion, nor to describe the pomps under which the greatest monarch, of his age
so adroitly hid his fall, but to sketch the portraits of some of those men who
await a great part in the future, and whom we shall frequently meet in the
scenes that are about to open.
We enter the great hall of the old palace
of Brabant, in Brussels. It is the 25th of October, 1555, and this day the
Estates of the Netherlands have met here, summoned by an imperial edict, to be
the witnesses of the surrender of the sovereignty of his realms by Charles to
his son. With the act of abdication one tragedy closes, and another and bloodier
tragedy begins. No one in that glittering throng could forecast the calamitous
future which was coming along with the new master of the Spanish monarchy.
Charles V. enters the gorgeously tapestried hall, leaning his arm on the
shoulder of William of Nassau. Twenty-five years before, we saw the emperor
enter Augsburg, bestriding a steed of "brilliant whiteness," and exciting by his
majestic port, his athletic frame, and manly countenance, the enthusiasm of the
spectators, who, with a touch of exaggeration pardonable in the circumstances,
pronounced him "the handsomest man in the empire." And now what a change in
Charles! How sad the ravages which toil and care have, during these few years,
made on this iron frame! The bulky mould in which the outer man of Charles was
cast still remains to him the ample brow, the broad chest, the muscular limbs;
but the force that animated that powerful framework, and enabled it to do such
feats in the tournament, the bull-ring, and the battle-field, has departed. His
limbs totter, he has to support his steps with a crutch, his hair is white, his
eyes have lost their brightness, his shoulders stoop in short, age has
withered and crippled him all over; and yet he has seen only fifty-five years.
The toils that had worn him down he briefly and affectingly summarised in his
address to the august assemblage before him. Resting this hand on his crutch,
and that on the shoulder of the young noble by his side, he proceeds to count up
forty expeditions undertaken by him since he was seventeen nine to Germany,
six to Spain, seven to Italy, four to France, ten to the Netherlands, two to
England, and two to Africa. He had made eleven voyages by sea; he had fought
four battles, won victories, held Diets, framed treaties -so ran the tale of
work. He had passed nights and nights in anxious deliberation over the growth of
Protestantism, and he had sought to alleviate the mingled mortification and
alarm its progress caused him, by fulminating one persecuting edict after
another in the hope of arresting it.
In addition to marches and battles,
thousands of halters and stakes had he erected; but of these he is discreetly
silent. He is silent too regarding the success which had crowned these mighty
efforts and projects. Does he retire because he has succeeded? No; he retires
because he has failed. His infirm frame is but the image of his once magnificent
empire, over which decrepitude and disorder begin to creep. One young in years,
and alert in body, is needed to recruit those armies which battle has wasted, to
replenish that exchequer which so many campaigns have made empty, to restore the
military prestige which the flight, from Innspruck and succeeding disasters have
tarnished, to quell the revolts that are springing up in the various kingdoms
which form his vast monarchy, and to dispel those dark clouds which his eye but
too plainly sees to be gathering all round the horizon, and which, should he,
with mind enfeebled and body crippled, continue to linger longer on the scene,
will assuredly burst in ruin. Such is the true meaning of that stately
ceremonial in which the actors played so adroitly, each his part, in the Brabant
palace at Brussels, on the 25th of October, 1555. The tyrant apes the father;
the murderer of his subjects would fain seem the paternal ruler; the
disappointed, baffled, fleeing opponent of Protestantism puts on the airs of the
conqueror, and strives to hide defeat under the pageantries of State, and the
symbols of victory. The closing scene of Charles V. is but a repetition of
Julian's confession of discomfiture "Thou hast overcome, O
Galilean."
We turn to the son, who, in almost all outward respects,
presents a complete contrast to the father. If Charles was prematurely old,
Philip, on the other hand, looked as if he never had been young. He did not
attain to middle height. His small body was mounted on thin legs. Nature had not
fitted him to shine in either the sports of the tournament or the conflicts of
the battle-field; and both he shunned, he had the ample brow, the blue eyes, and
the aquiline nose of his father; but these agreeable features were forgotten in
the ugliness of the under part of his face. His lower jaw protruded. It was a
Burgundian deformity, but in Philip's case it had received a larger than the
usual family development. To this disagreeable feature was added another
repulsive one, also a family peculiarity, a heavy hanging under-lip, which
enlarged the apparent size of his mouth, and strengthened the impression, which
the unpleasant protrusion of the jaw made on the spectator, of animal voracity
and savageness.
The puny, meagre, sickly-looking man who stood beside the
warlike and once robust form of Charles, was not more unlike his father in body
than he was unlike him in mind. Not one of his father's great qualities did he
possess. He lacked his statesmanship; he had no knowledge of men, he could not
enter into their feelings, nor accommodate himself to their ways, nor manifest
any sympathy in what engaged and engrossed them; he, therefore, shunned them. He
had the shy, shrinking air of the valetudinarian, and looked around with
something like the scowl of the misanthrope on his face. Charles moved about
from province to province of his vast dominions, speaking the language and
conforming to the manners of the people among whom he chanced for the time to
be; he was at home in all places. Philip was a stranger everywhere, save in
Spain. He spoke no language but his mother tongue. Amid the gay and witty
Italians amid the familiar and courteous Flemings amid the frank and open
Germans Philip was still the Spaniard: austere, haughty, taciturn,
unapproachable. Only one quality did he share with his father the intense
passion, namely, for extinguishing the Reformation.[1]
From the two
central figures we turn to glance at a third, the young noble on whose shoulder
the emperor is leaning. He is tall and well-formed, with a lofty brow, a brown
eye, and a peaked beard. His service in camps has bronzed his complexion, and
given him more the look of a Spaniard than a Fleming. He is only in his
twenty-third year, but the quick eye of Charles had discovered the capacity of
the young soldier, and placed him in command of the army on the frontier, where
resource and courage were specially needed, seeing he had there to confront some
of the best generals of France. Could the emperor, who now leaned so confidingly
on his shoulder, have foreseen his future career, how suddenly would he have
withdrawn his arm! The man on whom he reposed was destined to be the great
antagonist of his son. Despotism and Liberty stood embodied in the two forms on
either hand of the abdicating emperor Philip, and William, Prince of Orange;
for it was he on whom Charles leaned. The contest between them was to shake
Christendom, bring down from its pinnacle of power that great monarchy which
Charles was bequeathing to his son, raise the little Holland to a pitch of
commercial prosperity and literary glory which Spain had never known, and leave
to William a name in the wars of liberty far surpassing that which Charles had
won by his many campaigns a name which can perish only with the Netherlands
themselves.
Besides the three principal figures there were others in that
brilliant gathering, who were either then, or soon to be, celebrated throughout
Europe, and whom we shall often meet in the stirring scenes that are about to
open. In the glittering throng around the platform might be seen the bland face
of the Bishop of Arras; the tall form of Lamoral of Egmont, with his long dark
hair and soft eye, the representative of the ancient Frisian kings; the bold but
sullen face, and fan-shaped beard, of Count Horn; the debauched Brederode; the
infamous Noircarmes, on whose countenance played the blended lights of ferocity
and greed; the small figure of the learned Viglius, with his yellow hair and his
green glittering eye, and round rosy face, from which depended an ample beard;
and, to close our list, there was the slender form of the celebrated Spanish
grandee, Ruy Gomez, whose coal-black hair and burning eye were finely set off by
a face which intense application had rendered as colourless almost as the
marble.
The pageant was at an end. Charles had handed over to another
that vast possession of dominion which had so severely taxed his manhood, and
which was crushing his age. The princes, knights, warriors, and counsellors have
left the hall, and gone forth to betake them each to his own several road
Charles to the monastic cell which he had interposed between him and the grave;
Philip to that throne from which he was to direct that fearful array of armies,
inquisitors, and executioners, that was to make Europe swim in blood; William of
Orange to prepare for that now not distant struggle, which he saw to be
inevitable if bounds were to be set to the vast ambition and fanatical fury of
Spain, and some remnants of liberty preserved in Christendom. Others went forth
to humbler yet important tasks; some to win true glory by worthy deeds, others
to leave behind them names which should be an execration to posterity; but
nearly all of them to expire, not on the bed of peace, but on the battle-field,
on the scaffold, or by the poignard of the assassin.
CHAPTER 5
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PHILIP ARRANGES THE GOVERNMENT OF THE
NETHERLANDS, AND DEPARTS FOR SPAIN.
Philip II. Renews the Edict of
1535 of his Father Other Atrocious Edicts Further Martyrdoms Inquisition
introduced into the Low Countries Indignation and Alarm of the Netherlanders
Thirteen New Bishops The Spanish Troops to be left in the Country Violations
of the Netherland Charters Bishop of Arras His Craft and Ambition Popular
Discontent Margaret, Duchess of Parma, appointed Regent Three Councils
Assembly of the States at Ghent The States request the Suppression of the
Edicts Anger of Philip He sets Sail from Flushing Storm Arrival in
Spain.
Some few years of comparative tranquillity were to
intervene between the accession of Philip II., and the commencement of those
terrible events which made his reign one long dark tragedy. But even now, though
but recently seated on the throne, one startling and ominous act gave warning to
the Netherlands and to Europe of what was in store for them under the austere,
bigoted, priest-ridden man, whom half a world had the misfortune to call master.
In 1559, four years after his accession, Philip renewed that atrociously inhuman
edict which his father had promulgated in 1540. This edict had imported into the
civilised Netherlands the disgusting spectacles of savage lands; it kept the
gallows and the stake in constant operation, and made such havoc in the ranks of
the friends of freedom of conscience, that the more moderate historians have
estimated the number of its victims, as we have already said, at
50,000.
The commencement of this work, as our readers know, was in 1521,
when the emperor issued at Worms his famous edict against "Martin," who was "not
a man, but a devil under the form of a man." That bolt passed harmlessly over
Luther's head, not because being "not a man," but a spirit, even the imperial
sword could not slay him, but simply because he lived on German soil, where the
emperor might issue as many edicts as he pleased, but could not execute one of
them without the consent of the princes. But the shaft that missed Luther struck
deep into the unhappy subjects of Charles's Paternal Estates. "Death or
forfeiture of goods" was the sentence decreed against all Lutherans in the
Netherlands, and to effect the unsparing and vigorous execution of the decree, a
new court was erected in Belgium, which bore a startling resemblance to the
Inquisition of Spain. In Antwerp, in Brussels, and in other towns piles began
straightway to blaze.
The fires once kindled, there followed similar
edicts, which kept the flames from going out. These made it death to pray with a
few friends in private; death to read a page of the Scriptures; death to discuss
any article of the faith, not on the streets only, but in one's own house; death
to mutilate an image; death to have in one's possession any of the writings of
Luther, or Zwingle, or CEcolampadius; death to express doubt respecting the
Sacraments of the Church, the authority of the Pope, or any similar dogma. After
this, in 1535, came the edict of which we have just made mention, consigning to
the horrors of a living grave even repentant heretics, and to the more dreadful
horrors, as they were deemed, of the stake, obstinate ones. There was no danger
of these cruel laws remaining inoperative, even had the emperor been less in
earnest than he was. The Inquisition of Cologne, the canons of Louvain, and the
monks of Mechlin saw to their execution; and the obsequiousness of Mary of
Hungary, the regent of the kingdom, pushed on the bloody work, nor thought of
pause till she should have reached the verge of "entire
depopulation."
When Philip II. re-enacted the edict of 1540, he
re-enacted the whole of that legislation which had disgraced the last thirty
years of Charles's reign, and which, while it had not extinguished, nor even
lessened the Lutheranism against which it was directed, had crippled the
industry and commerce of the Low Countries. There had been a lull in the
terrible work of beheading and burning men for conscience sake during the few
last years of the emperor's reign; Charles's design, doubtless, being to smooth
the way for his son. The fires were not extinguished, but they were lowered; the
scaffolds were not taken down, but the blood that flooded them was less deep;
and as during the last years of Charles, so also during the first years of
Philip, the furies of persecution seemed to slumber. But now they awoke; and not
only was the old condition of things brought back, but a new machinery, more
sure, swift, and deadly than that in use under Charles, was constructed to carry
out the edicts which Philip had published anew. The emperor had established a
court in Flanders that sufficiently resembled the Inquisition; but Philip II.
made a still nearer approach to that redoubtable institution, which has ever
been the pet engine of the bigot and persecutor, and the execration of all free
men. The court now established by Philip was, in fact, the Inquisition. It did
not receive the name, it is true; but it was none the less the Inquisition, and
lacked nothing which the "Holy Office" in Spain possessed. Like it, it had its
dungeons and screws and racks. It had its apostolic inquisitors, its secretaries
and sergeants. It had its familiars dispersed throughout the Provinces, and who
acted as spies and informers. It apprehended men on suspicion, examined them by
torture, and condemned them without confronting them with the witnesses, or
permitting them to lead proof of their innocence. It permitted the civil judges
to concern themselves with prosecutions for heresy no farther than merely to
carry out the sentences the inquisitors had pronounced. The goods of the victims
were confiscated, and denunciations were encouraged by the promise of rewards,
and also the assurance of impunity to informers who had been co-religionists of
the accused.
Even among the submissive natives of Italy and Spain, the
establishment of the Inquisition had encountered opposition; but among the
spirited and wealthy citizens of the Netherlands, whose privileges had been
expanding, and whose love of liberty had been growing, ever since the twelfth
century, the introduction of a court like this was regarded with universal
horror, and awakened no little indignation. One thing was certain, Papal
Inquisition and Netherland freedom could not stand together. The citizens
beheld, in long and terrible vista, calamity coming upon calamity; their
dwellings entered at midnight by masked familiars, their parents and children
dragged to secret prisons, their civic dignitaries led through the streets with
halters round their necks, the foreign Protestant merchants fleeing from their
country, their commerce dying, autos da fe blazing in all their cities, and
liberty, in the end of the day, sinking under an odious and merciless
tyranny.
There followed another measure which intensified the alarm and
anger of the Netherlanders. The number of bishops was increased by Philip from
four to seventeen. The existing sees were those of Arras, Cambray, Tournay, and
Utrecht; to these thirteen new sees were added, making the number of bishoprics
equal to that of the Provinces. The bull of Pius IV., ratified within a few
months by that of Paul IV., stated that "the enemy of mankind being abroad, and
the Netherlands, then under the sway of the beloved son of his Holiness, Philip
the Catholic, being compassed about with heretic and schismatic nations, it was
believed that the eternal welfare of the land was in great danger;" hence the
new laborers sent forth into the harvest. The object of the measure was
transparent; nor did its authors affect to conceal that it was meant to
strengthen the Papacy in Flanders, and extend the range of its right arm, the
Inquisition. These thirteen new bishops were viewed by the citizens but as
thirteen additional inquisitors. These two tyrannical steps necessitated a
third. Philip saw it advisable to retain a body of Spanish troops in the country
to compel submission to the new arrangements. The number of Spanish soldiers at
that moment in Flanders was not great: they amounted to only 4,000: but they
were excellently disciplined: the citizens saw in them the sharp end of the
wedge that was destined to introduce a Spanish army, and reduce their country
under a despotism; and in truth such was Philip's design. Besides, these troops
were insolent and rapacious to a degree. The inhabitants of Zealand refused to
work on their dykes, saying they would rather that the ocean should swallow them
up at once, than that they should be devoured piece-meal by the avarice and
cruelty of the Spanish soldiers.[1]
The measures
adopted by Philip caused the citizens the more irritation and discontent, from
the fact that they were subversive of the fundamental laws of the Provinces. At
his accession Philip had taken an oath to uphold all the chartered rights of the
Netherlanders; but the new edicts traversed every one of these rights. He had
sworn not to raise the clergy in the Provinces above the state in which he found
them. In disregard of his solemn pledge, he had increased the ecclesiastical
dioceses from four to seventeen. This was a formidable augmentation of the
clerical force. The nobles looked askance on the new spiritual peers who had
come to divide with them their influence; the middle classes regarded them as
clogs on their industry, and the artisans detested them as spies on their
freedom.
The violation of faith on the part of their monarch rankled in
their bosoms, and inspired them with gloomy forebodings as regarded the future.
Another fundamental law, ever esteemed by the Netherlanders among the most
valuable of their privileges, and which Philip had sworn to respect, did these
new arrangements contravene. It was unlawful to bring a foreign soldier into the
country. Philip, despite his oath, refused to withdraw his Spanish troops. So
long as they remained, the Netherlanders well knew that the door stood open for
the entrance of a much larger force. It was also provided in the ancient
charters that the citizens should be tried before the ordinary courts and by the
ordinary judges. But Philip had virtually swept all these courts away, and
substituted in their room a tribunal of most anomalous and terrific powers: a
tribunal that sat in darkness, that permitted those it dragged to its bar to
plead no law, to defend themselves by no counsel, and that compelled the
prisoner by torture to become his own accuser. Nor was this court required to
assign, either to the prisoner himself or to the public, any reasons for the
dreadful and horrible sentences it was in the habit of pronouncing. It was
allowed the most unrestrained indulgence in a capricious and murderous tyranny.
The ancient charters had farther provided that only natives should serve in the
public offices, and that foreigners should be ineligible. Philip paid as little
respect to this as to the rest of their ancient usages and rights. Introducing a
body of foreign ecclesiastics and monks, he placed the lives and properties of
his subjects of the Netherlands at the disposal of these strangers.
The
ferment was great: a storm was gathering in the Low Countries: nor does one
wonder when one reflects on the extent of the revolution which had been
accomplished, and which outraged all classes. The hierarchy had been suddenly
and portentously expanded: the tribunals had been placed in the hands of
foreigners: in the destruction of their charters, the precious acquisitions of
centuries had been swept away, and the citadel of their freedom razed. A foreign
army was on their soil. The Netherlanders saw in all this a complete machinery
framed and set up on purpose to carry out the despotism of the
edicts.
The blame of the new arrangements was generally charged on the
Bishop of Arras. He was a plausible, crafty, ambitious man, fertile in
expedients, and even of temper. He was the ablest of the counsellors of Philip,
who honored him with his entire confidence, and consulted him on all occasions.
Arras was by no means anxious to be thought the contriver, or even prompter, of
that scheme of despotism which had supplanted the liberties of his native land;
but the more he protested, the more did the nation credit him with the plan. To
him had been assigned the place of chief authority among the new bishops, the
Archbishopric of Mechlin. He was coy at first of the proffered dignity, and
Philip had to urge him before he would accept the archiepiscopal mitre. "I only
accepted it," we find him afterwards writing to the king, "that I might not live
in idleness, doing nothing for God and your Majesty." If his See of Mechlin
brought him labor, which he professed to wish, it brought him what he feigned
not to wish, but which nevertheless he greedily coveted, enormous wealth and
vast influence; and when the people saw him taking kindly to his new post, and
working his way to the management of all affairs, and the control of the whole
kingdom, they were but the more confirmed in their belief that the edicts, the
new bishops, the Inquisition, and the Spanish soldiers had all sprung from his
fertile brain. The Netherlanders had undoubtedly to thank the Bishop of Arras;
for the first, the edicts namely, and these were the primal fountains of that
whole tyranny that was fated to devastate the Low Countries. As regards the
three last, it is not so clear that he had counselled their adoption.
Nevertheless the nation persisted in regarding him as the chief conspirator
against its liberties; and the odium in which he was held increased from day to
day. Discontent was ripening into revolt.
Philip II. was probably the
less concerned at the storm, which he could not but see was gathering, inasmuch
as he contemplated an early retreat before it. He was soon to depart for Spain,
and leave others to contend with the great winds he had unchained.
Before
taking his departure, Philip looked round him for one whom he might appoint
regent of this important part of his dominions in his absence. His choice lay
between Christina, Duchess of Lorraine (his cousin), and Margaret, Duchess of
Parma, a natural daughter of Charles V. He fixed at last on the latter, the
Duchess of Parma. The Duchess of Lorraine would have been the wiser ruler; the
Duchess of Parma, Philip knew, would be the more obsequious one. Her duchy was
surrounded by Philip's Italian dominions, and she was willing, moreover, to send
her son afterwards the celebrated Alexander Farnese on pretense of being
educated at the court of Spain, but in reality as a pledge that she would
execute to the letter the injunctions of Philip in her government of the
Provinces. Though far away, the king took care to retain a direct and firm grasp
of the Netherlands.[2]
Under Margaret as
regent, three Councils were organised a Council of Finance, a Privy Council,
and a Council of State, the last being the one of highest authority. These three
Councils were appointed on the pretense of assisting the regent in her
government of the Provinces, but in reality to mask her arbitrary administration
by lending it the air of the popular will. It was meant that the government of
the Provinces should possess all the simplicity of absolutism. Philip would
order, Margaret would execute, and the Councils would consent; meanwhile the old
charters of freedom would be sleeping their deep sleep in the tomb that Philip
had dug for them; and woe to the man who should attempt to rouse them from their
slumber! Before setting sail, Philip convoked an assembly of the States at
Ghent, in order to deliver to them his parting instructions. Attended by a
splendid retinue, Philip presided at their opening meeting, but as he could not
speak the tongue of the Flemings, the king addressed the convention by the mouth
of the Bishop of Arras. The orator set forth, with that rhetorical grace of
which he was a master, that "intense affection" which Philip bore to the
Provinces; he next craved earnest attention to the three millions of gold
florins which the king had asked of them; and these preliminaries dispatched,
the bishop entered upon the great topic of his harangue, with a fervor that
showed how much this matter lay on the heart of his master.
The
earnestness of the bishop, or rather of Philip, can be felt only by giving his
words. "At this moment,", said he, "many countries, and particularly the lands
in the immediate neighborhood, were greatly infested by various 'new, reprobate,
and damnable sects;' as these sects, proceeding from the foul fiend, father of
discord, had not failed to keep those kingdoms in perpetual dissension and
misery, to the manifest displeasure of God Almighty; as his Majesty was desirous
to avert such terrible evils from his own realms, according to his duty to the
Lord God, who would demand reckoning from him hereafter for the well-being of
the Provinces; as all experience proved that change of religion ever brought
desolation and confusion to the commonweal; as low persons, beggars, and
vagabonds, under color of religion, were accustomed to traverse the land for the
purpose of plunder and disturbance; as his Majesty was most desirous of
following in the footsteps of his lord and father; as it would be well
remembered what the emperor had said to him on the memorable occasion of his
abdication, therefore his Majesty had commanded the regent Margaret of Parma,
for the sake of religion and the glory of God, accurately and exactly to cause
to be enforced the edicts and decrees made by his Imperial Majesty, and renewed
by his present Majesty, for the extirpation of all sects and heresies."[3] The charge laid on the
regent Margaret was extended to all governors, councillors and others in
authority, who were enjoined to trample heresy and heretics out of
existence.
The Estates listened with intense anxiety, expecting every
moment to hear Philip say that he would withdraw the Spanish troops, that he
would lighten their heavy taxation, and that he would respect their ancient
charters, which indeed he had sworn to observe. These were the things that lay
near the hearts of the Netherlanders, but upon these matters Philip was
profoundly silent. The convention begged till tomorrow to return its answer
touching the levy of three millions which the, king had asked for.
On the
following day the Estates met in presence of the king, and each province made
answer separately. The Estate of Artois was the first to read its address by its
representative. They would cheerfully yield to the king, not only the remains of
their property, but the last drop of their blood. At the hearing of these loyal
words, a gleam of delight shot across the face of Philip. No ordinary
satisfaction could have lighted up a face so habitually austere and morose. It
was a burst of that "affection" which Philip boasted he bore the Netherlanders,
and which showed them that it extended not only to them, but to theirs. But the
deputy proceeded to append a condition to this apparently unbounded surrender;
that condition was the withdrawal of the Spanish troops. Instantly Philip's
countenance changed, and sinking into his chair of state, with gloomy and
wrathful brow, the assembly saw how distasteful to Philip was the proposition to
withdraw his soldiers from the Netherlands. The rest of the Estates followed;
each, in its turn, making the same offer, but appending to it the same
condition. Every florin of the three millions demanded would be forthcoming, but
not a soldier must be left on the soil of the Provinces. The king's face grew
darker still. Its rapid changes showed the tempest that was raging in his
breast. To ask him to withdraw his soldiers was to ask him to give up the
Netherlands. Without the soldiers how could he maintain the edicts and
Inquisition? and these let go, the haughty and heretical Netherlanders would
again be their own masters, and would fill the Provinces with that rampant
heresy which he had just cursed. The very idea of such a thing threw the king
into a rage which he was at no pains to conceal.
But a still greater
mortification awaited him before the convention broke up. A formal remonstrance
on the subject of the Spanish soldiers was presented to Philip in the name of
the States-General, signed by the Prince of Orange, Count Egmont, and many other
nobles. The king was at the same time asked to annul, or at least to moderate,
the edicts; and when one of his ministers represented, in the most delicate
terms possible, that to persist in their execution would be to sow the seeds of
rebellion, and thereby lose the sovereignty of the Provinces, Philip replied
that "he had much rather be no king at all than have heretics for his
subjects."[4]
So irritated was
the king by these requests that he flung out of the hall in a rage, remarking
that as he was a Spaniard it was perhaps expected that he, too, should withdraw
himself. A day or two, however, sufficed for his passion to cool, and then he
saw that his true policy was dissimulation till he should have tamed the
stubbornness and pride of these Netherland nobles. He now made a feint of
concession; he would have been glad, he said, to carry his soldiers with him in
his fleet, had he been earlier made acquainted with the wishes of the Estates;
he promised, however, to withdraw them in a few months. On the matter of
Lutheranism he was inexorable, and could not even bring himself to dissemble.
His parting injunction to the States was to pursue heresy with the halter, the
axe, the stake, and the other modes of death duly enacted and set forth in his
own and his royal father's edicts.
On the 26th of August, Philip II., on
the shore of Flushing, received the farewell salutations of the grandees of the
Provinces, and then set sail for Spain, attended by a fleet of ninety vessels.
He had quitted an angry land; around him was a yet angrier ocean. The skies
blackened, the wind rose, and the tempest lay heavy upon the royal squadron. The
ships were laden with the precious things of the Netherlands. Tapestries, silks,
laces, paintings, marbles, and store of other articles which had been collected
by his father, the emperor, in the course of thirty years, freighted the ships
of Philip. He meant to fix his capital in Spain, and these products of the
needles, the looms, and the pencils of his skillful and industrious subjects of
the Low Countries were meant to adorn his palace. The greedy waves swallowed up
nearly all that rich and various spoil. Some of the ships foundered outright;
those that continued to float had to lighten themselves by casting their
precious cargo into the sea. "Philip," as the historian Meteren remarks, "had
robbed the land to enrich the ocean." The king's voyage, however, was safely
ended, and on the 8th of September he disembarked at Loredo, on the Biscayan
coast.
The gloomy and superstitious mind of Philip interpreted his
deliverance from the storm that had burst over his fleet in accordance with his
own fanatical notions. He saw in it an authentication of the grand mission with
which he had been entrusted as the destroyer of heresy;[5] and in token of
thankfulness to that Power which had rescued him from the waves and landed him
safely on Spanish earth, he made a vow, which found its fulfilment in the
magnificent and colossal palace that rose in after-years on the savage and
boulder strewn slopes of the Sierra Guadarrama the
Escorial.
CHAPTER 6
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STORMS IN THE
COUNCIL, AND MARTYRS AT THE STAKE.
Three Councils These Three but
One Margaret, Duchess of Parma Cardinal Granvelle Opposition to the New
Bishops-Storms at the Council-board Position of Prince of Orange, and Counts
Egmont and Horn Their joint Letter to the King Smouldering Discontent
Persecution Peter Titlemann Severity of the Edicts Father and Son at the
Stake Heroism of the Flemish Martyrs Execution of a Schoolmaster A
Skeleton at a Feast Burning of Three Refugees Great Number of Flemish
Martyrs What their Country Owed them.
Three councils were organised, as we have said, to
assist the Duchess of Parma in the government of the Provinces; the nobles
selected to serve in these councils were those who were highest in rank, and who
most fully enjoyed the confidence of their countrymen. This had very much the
look of popular government. It did not seem exactly the machinery which a despot
would set up. The administration of the Provinces appeared to be within the
Provinces themselves, and the popular will, expressed through the members of the
councils, must needs be an influential element in the decision of all affairs.
And yet the administration which Philip had constructed was simply a despotism.
He had so arranged it that the three councils were but one council; and the one
council was but one man; and that one man was Philip's most obedient tool. Thus
the government of the Netherlands was worked from Madrid, and the hand that
directed it was that of the king.
A few words will enable us to explain
in what way Philip contrived to convert this semblance of popular rule into a
real autocracy. The affairs of the nation were managed neither by the Council of
Finance, nor by the Privy Council, nor by the Council of State, but by a
committee of the latter. That committee was formed of three members of the
Council of State, namely, the Bishop of Arras, Viglius, and Berlaymont. These
three men constituted a Consulta, or secret conclave, and it soon became
apparent that in that secret committee was lodged the whole power of government.
The three were in reality but one; for Viglius and Berlaymont were so thoroughly
identified in sentiment and will with their chief, that in point of fact the
Bishop of Arras was the Consulta. Arras was entirely devoted to Philip, and the
regent, in turn, was instructed to take counsel with Arras, and to do as he
should advise. Thus from the depths of the royal cabinet in Spain came the
orders that ruled the Netherlands.
Margaret had been gifted by nature
with great force of will. Her talents, like her person, were masculine. In
happier circumstances she would have made a humane as well as a vigorous ruler,
but placed as she was between an astute despot, whom she dared not disobey, and
an unscrupulous and cunning minister, whose tact she could not overrule, she had
nothing for it but to carry out the high-handed measures of others, and so draw
down upon herself the odium which of right belonged to guiltier
parties.
Educated in the school of Machiavelli, her statesmanship was
expressed in a single word, dissimulation, and her religion taught her to regard
thieves, robbers, and murderers as criminals less vile than Lutherans and
Huguenots. Her spiritual guide had been Loyola.
Of Anthony Perrenot,
Bishop of Arras, we have already spoken. He had been raised to the See of
Mechlin, in the new scheme of the enlarged hierarchy; and was soon to be
advanced to the purple, and to become known in history under the more celebrated
title of Cardinal Granvelle. His learning was great, his wit was ready, his
eloquence fluent, and his tact exquisite, his appreciation of men was so keen,
penetrating, and perfect, that he clothed himself as it were with their
feelings, and projects, and could be not so much himself as them. This rare
power of sympathy, joined to his unscrupulousness, enabled him to inspire others
with his own policy, in manner so natural and subtle that they never once
suspected that it was his and not their own. By this masterly art more real than
the necromancy in which that age believed he seated himself in Philip's
cabinet in Philip's breast and dictated when he appeared only to suggest,
and governed when he appeared only to obey. It is the fate of such men to be
credited at times with sinister projects which have arisen not in their own
brain, but in those of others, and thus it came to pass that the Bishop of Arras
was believed to be the real projector, not only of the edicts, which Philip had
republished at his suggestion, but also of that whole machinery which had been
constructed for carrying them out the new bishops, the Inquisition, and the
Spanish soldiers. The idea refused to quit the popular mind, and as grievance
followed grievance, and the nation saw one after another of its libraries
invaded, the storm of indignation and wrath which was daily growing fiercer took
at first the direction of the bishop rather than of Philip.
The new
changes began to take effect. The bishops created by the recent bull for the
extension of the hierarchy, began to arrive in the country, and claim possession
of their several sees. Noble, abbot, and commoner with one consent opposed the
entrance of these new dignitaries; the commoners because they were foreigners,
the abbots because their abbacies had been partially despoiled to provide
livings for them, and the nobles because they regarded them as rivals in power
and influence. The regent Margaret, however, knowing how unalterable was
Philip's will in the matter, braved the storm, and installed the new bishops. In
one case she was compelled to yield. The populous and wealthy city of Antwerp
emphatically refused to receive its new spiritual ruler. With the bishop they
knew would come the Inquisition; and with secret denunciations, midnight
apprehensions, and stakes blazing in their market-place they foresaw the flight
of the foreign merchants from their country, and the ruin of their commerce.
They sent deputies to Madrid, who put the matter in this light before Philip;
and the king, having respect to the state of his treasury, and the sums with
which these wealthy merchants were accustomed to replenish his coffers, was
graciously pleased meanwhile to tolerate their opposition.[1]
At the State
Council storms were of frequent occurrence. At that table sat men, some of whom
were superior in rank to Arras, yet his equals in talent, and who moreover had
claims on Philip's regard to which the bishop could make no pretensions, seeing
they had laid him under great obligations by the brilliant services which they
had rendered in the field. There were especially at that board the Prince of
Orange and Counts Egmont and Horn, who in addition to great wealth and
distinguished merit, held high position in the State as the Stadtholders of
important Provinces. Yet they were not consulted in the public business, nor was
their judgment ever asked in State affairs; on the contrary, all matters were
determined in secret by Granvelle. They were but puppets at the Council-board,
while an arrogant and haughty ecclesiastic ruled the country.
Meanwhile
the popular discontent was growing; Protestantism, which the regent and her
ministers were doing all that the axe and the halter enabled them to do to
extirpate, was spreading every day wider among the people. Granvelle ascribed
this portentous growth to the negligence of the magistrates in not executing the
"edicts." Orange and Egmont, on the other hand, threw the blame on the cardinal,
who was replacing old Netherland liberty with Spanish despotism, and they
demanded that a convention of the States should be summoned to devise a remedy
for the commotions and evils that were distracting the kingdom.
This
proposal was in the highest degree distasteful to Granvelle. He could tell
beforehand the remedy which the convention would prescribe for the popular
discontent. The convention, he felt assured, would demand the cancelling of the
edicts, the suppression of the Inquisition, and the revival of those charters
under which civil liberty and commercial enterprise had reached that palmy state
in which the Emperor Charles had found them when he entered the Netherlands.
Granvelle accordingly wrote to his master counselling him not to call a meeting
of the States. The advice of the cardinal but too well accorded with the views
of Philip. Instead of summoning a convention the king sent orders to the regent
to see that the edicts were more vigorously executed. It was not gentleness but
rigour, he said, that was needed for these turbulent subjects.
Things
were taking an ominous turn. The king's letter showed plainly to the Prince of
Orange, and Counts Egmont and Horn, that Philip was resolved at all hazards to
carry out his grand scheme against the independence of the Provinces. Not one of
the edicts would he cancel; and so long as they continued in force Philip must
have bishops to execute them, and Spanish soldiers to protect these bishops from
the violence of an oppressed and indignant people. The regent, in obedience to
the king's new missive, sent out fresh orders, urging upon the magistrates the
yet hotter prosecution of heresy. The executions were multiplied. The scaffolds
made many victims, but not one convert. On the contrary, the Protestants
increased, and every day furnished new evidence that sufferers for conscience
sake were commanding the admiration of many who did not share their faith, and
that their cause was attracting attention in quarters where before it had
received no notice. The regent, and especially Granvelle, were daily becoming
more odious. The meetings at the Council-board were stormier than ever. The
bland insolence and supercilious haughtiness of the cardinal were no longer
endurable by Egmont and Horn. Bluff, out-spoken, and irascible, they had come to
an open quarrel with him. Orange could parry the thrust of Granvelle with a
weapon as polished as his own, and so was able still to keep on terms of
apparent friendliness with him; but his position in the Council, where he was
denied all share in the government, and yet held responsible for its tyrannical
proceedings, was becoming unbearable, and he resolved to bring it to an end. On
the 23rd of July, 1561, Orange and Egmont addressed a joint letter to the king,
stating how matters stood in Flanders, and craving leave to retire from the
Council, or to be allowed a voice in those measures for which they were held to
be responsible. The answer, which was far from satisfactory, was brought to
Flanders by Count Horn, who had been on a visit to Madrid, and had parted from
the king in a fume at the impertinence of the two Flemish noblemen. His majesty
expected them to give attendance at the Council-board as aforetime, without,
however, holding out to them any hope that they would be allowed a larger share
than heretofore in the business transacted there.
The gulf between Orange
and Cardinal Granvelle was widening. The cardinal did not abate a jot of his
tyranny. He knew that Philip would support him in the policy he was pursuing;
indeed, that he could not retain the favor of his master unless he gave rigorous
execution to the edicts, he must go forward, it mattered not at what amount of
odium to himself, and of hanging, burning, and burying alive of Philip's
subjects of the Netherlands. Granvelle sat alone in his "smithy " for so was
his country house, a little outside the walls of Brussels, denominated writing
daily letters to Philip, insinuating or directly advancing accusations against
the nobles, especially Orange and Egmont, and craftily suggesting to Philip the
policy he ought to pursue. In reply to these letters would come fresh orders to
himself and the regent, to adopt yet sterner measures toward the refractory and
the heretical Netherlanders. He had suspended the glory of his reign on the
trampling out of heresy in this deeply-infected portion of his dominions, and by
what machinery could he do this unless by that which he had set up the edicts,
the bishops, and the Inquisition? the triple wall within which he had enclosed
the heretics of the Low Countries, so that not one of them should
escape.
The Flemings are a patient and much-enduring people. Their
patience has its limits, however, and these limits once passed, their
determination and ire are in proportion to their former forbearance. As yet
their submissiveness had not been exhausted; they permitted their houses to be
entered at midnight, and themselves dragged from their beds and conducted to the
Inquisition, with the meekness of a lamb that is being led to the slaughter; or
if they opened their mouths it was only to sing one of Marot's psalms. The
familiars of this abhorred tribunal, therefore, encountered hardly any
resistance in executing their dreadful office. The nation as yet stood by in
silence, and saw the agents of Granvelle and Philip hewing their victims in
pieces with axes, or strangling them with halters, or drowning them in ponds, or
digging graves for their living entombment, and gave no sign. But all the while
these cruelties were writing on the nation's heart, in ineffaceable characters,
an abhorrence of the Spanish tyrant, and a stern unconquerable resolve, when the
hour came, to throw off his yoke. In the crowd of those monsters who were now
revelling in the blood and lives of the Netherlanders, there stands out one
conspicuous monster, Peter Titlemann by name; not that he was more cruel than
the rest of the crew, but because his cruelty stands horridly out against a grim
pleasantry that seems to have characterised the man. "Contemporary chroniclers,"
says Motley, "give a picture of him as of some grotesque yet terrible goblin,
careering through the country by night or day, alone, on horseback, smiting the
trembling peasants on the head with a great club, spreading dismay far and wide,
dragging suspected persons from their firesides or their beds, and thrusting
them into dungeons, arresting, torturing, strangling, burning, with hardly the
shadow of warrant, information, or process."[2]
The whole face of
the Low Countries during the years of which we write, (1560-65), was crossed and
recrossed with lines of blood, traced by the cruel feet of monsters like this
man. It was death to pray to God in one's own closet; it was death not to bow
when an image was carried past one in the street; it was death to copy a hymn
from a Genevese psalter, or sing a psalm; it was death not to deny the heresy of
which one was suspected when one was questioned, although one had never uttered
it. The monster of whom we have made mention above one day arrested Robert Ogier
of Ryssel, with his wife and two sons. The crime of which they were accused was
that of not going to mass, and of practising worship at home. The civil judges
before whom Titlemann brought them examined them touching the rites they
practiced in private. One of the sons answered, "We fall on our knees and pray
that God may enlighten our minds and pardon our sins; we pray for our sovereign,
that his reign may be prosperous, and his life happy; we pray for our
magistrates, that God may preserve them." This artless answer, from a mere, boy,
touched some of the judges, even to tears,. Nevertheless the father and the
elder son were adjudged to the flames. "O God," prayed the youth at the stake,
"Eternal Father, accept the sacrifice of our lives in the name of thy beloved
Son!" "Thou liest, scoundrel!" fiercely interrupted a monk, who was lighting the
fire. "God is not your father; ye are the devil's children." The flames rose;
again the boy exclaimed, "Look, my father, all heaven is opening, and I see ten
hundred thousand angels rejoicing over us. Let us be glad, for we are dying for
the truth." "Thou liest, thou liest," again screamed the monk; "I see hell
opening, and ten thousand devils waiting to thrust you into eternal fire." The
father and son were heard talking with one another in the midst of the flames,
even when they were at the fiercest; and so they continued till both expired.[3]
If the fury of the
persecutor was great, not less was the heroism of these martyrs. They refused
all communion with Rome, and worshipped in the Protestant forms, in the face of
all the dreadful penalties with which they were menaced. Nor was it the men only
who were thus courageous; women nay, young girls animated by an equal faith,
displayed an equal fortitude. Some of them refused to flee when the means of
escape from prison were offered to them. Wives would take their stand by their
husband's stake, and while he was enduring the fire they would whisper words of
solace, or sing psalms to cheer him; and so, in their own words, would they bear
him company while "he was celebrating his last wedding feast." Young maidens
would lie down in their living grave as if they were entering into their chamber
of nightly sleep; or go forth to the scaffold and the fire, dressed in their
best apparel, as if they were going to their marriage.[4] In April, 1554, Galein de
Mulere, schoolmaster at Oudenard, was arrested by Inquisitor Titlemann. The poor
man was in great straits, for he had a wife and five young children, but he
feared to deny God and the truth. He endeavored to extricate himself from the
dilemma by demanding to be tried before the magistrate and not by the
Inquisition. "You are my prisoner," replied Titlemann; "I am the Pope's and the
emperor's plenipotentiary." The schoolmaster gave, at first, evasive answers to
the questions put to him. "I adjure thee not to trifle with me," said Titlemann,
and cited Scripture to enforce his adjuration; "St. Peter," said the terrible
inquisitor, "commands us to be ready always to give to every man that asketh us,
a reason of the hope that is in us." On these words the schoolmaster's tongue
broke loose. "My God, my God, assist me now according to thy promise," prayed
he. Then turning to the inquisitors he said, "Ask me now what you please, I
shall plainly answer."
He then laid open to them his whole belief,
concealing nothing of his abhorrence of Popery, and his love for the Savior.
They used all imaginable arts to induce him to recant; and finding that no
argument would prevail with him, "Do you not love your wife and children?" said
they to him as the last appeal. "You know," replied he, "that I love them from
my heart; and I tell you truly, if the whole world were turned into gold, and
given to me, I would freely resign it, so that I might keep these dear pledges
with me in my confinement, though I should live upon bread and
water.'"
"Forsake then," said Titlemann, "your heretical opinions, and
then you may live with your wife and children as formerly." "I shall never," he
replied, "for the sake of wife and children renounce my religion, and sin
against God and my conscience, as God shall strengthen me with his grace." He
was pronounced a heretic; and being delivered to the secular arm, he was
strangled and burned.[5]
The very idiots of
the nation lifted up their voice in reproof of the tyrants, and in condemnation
of the tyranny that was scourging the country. The following can hardly be read
without horror. At Dixmuyde, in Flanders, lived one Walter Capel, who abounded
in almsgiving, and was much beloved by the poor. Among others whom his bounty
had fed was a poor simple creature, who hearing that his benefactor was being
condemned to death (1553), forced his way into the presence of the judges, and
cried out, "Ye are murderers, ye are murderers; ye spill innocent blood; the man
has done no ill, but has given me bread." When Capel was burning at the stake,
this man would have; thrown himself into the flames and died with his patron,
had he not been restrained by force. Nor did his gratitude die with his
benefactor. He went daily to the gallows-field where the half-burned carcase was
fastened to a stake, and gently stroking the flesh of the dead man with his
hand, he; said, "Ah, poor creature, you did no harm, and yet they have spilt
your blood. You gave me my bellyful of victuals." When the flesh was all gone,
and nothing but the bare skeleton remained, he took down the bones, and laying
them upon his shoulders, he carried them to the house of one of the
burgomasters, with whom it chanced that several of the magistrates were at that
moment feasting. Throwing his ghastly burden at their feet, he cried out,
"There, you murderers, first you have eaten his flesh, now eat his bones."[6]
The following three
martyrdoms connect themselves with England. Christian de Queker, Jacob
Dienssart, and Joan Konings, of Stienwerk, in Flanders, had found an asylum in
England, under Queen Elizabeth. In 1559, having visited their native country on
their private affairs, they fell into the hands of Peter Titlemann. Being
brought before the inquisitors, they freely confessed their opinions. Meanwhile,
the Dutch congregation in London procured letters from the Archbishop of
Canterbury and other English prelates, which were forwarded to the magistrates
of Furness, where they were confined in prison. The writers said that they had
been informed of the apprehension of the three travelers; that they were the
subjects of the Queen of England; that they had gone into the Low Countries for
the dispatch of their private affairs, with intent to return to England; that
they had avoided disputes and contest by the way, and therefore could not be
charged with the breach of any law of the land; that none of the Flemings had
been meddled with in England, but that if now those who had put themselves under
English jurisdiction, and were members of the English Church, were to be thus
treated in other countries, they should be likewise obliged, though much against
their wills, to deal out the same measure to foreigners. Nevertheless, they
expected the magistrates of Furness to show prudence and justice, and abstain
from the spilling of innocent blood.
The magistrates, on receipt of this
letter, deputed two of their number to proceed to Brussels, and lay it before
the Council. It was read at the Board, but that was all the attention it
received. The Council resolved to proceed with the prisoners according to the
edicts. A few days thereafter they were conducted to the court to receive their
sentence, their brethren in the faith lining the way, and encouraging and
comforting them. They were condemned to die. They went cheerfully to the stake.
A voice addressing them from the crowd was heard, saying, "Joan, behave
valiantly; the crown of glory is prepared for you." It was that of John Bels, a
Carmelite friar. While the executioner was fastening them to the stake, with
chains put round their necks and feet, they sang the 130th Psalm, "Out of the
depths have I cried to thee, O Lord; " whereupon a Dominican, John Campo, cried
out, "Now we perceive you are no Christians, for Christ went weeping to his
death; " to which one of the bystanders immediately made answer, "That's a lie,
you false prophet." The martyrs were then strangled and scorched, and their
bodies publicly hung in chains in the gallows-field. Their remains were soon
after taken down by the Protestants of Furness, and buried.[7]
These men, although
in number amounting to many thousands, were only the first rank of that greater
army of martyrs which was to come after them. With the exception of a very few,
we do not know even the names of the men who so willingly offered their lives to
plant the Gospel in their native land. They were known only in the town, or
village, or district in which they resided, and did not receive, as they did not
seek, wider fame. But what matters it? They themselves are safe, and so too are
their names.
Not one of them but is inscribed in a record more lasting
than the historian's page, and from which they can never be blotted out. They
were mostly men in humble station weavers, tapestry-workers, stone-cutters,
tanners; for the nobles of the Netherlands, not even excepting the Prince of
Orange, had not yet abjured the Popish faith, or embraced that of Protestantism.
While the nobles were fuming at the pride of Granvelle, or humbly but uselessly
petitioning Philip, or fighting wordy battles at the Council-board, they left it
to the middle and lower classes to bear the brunt of the great war, and
jeopardise their lives in the high places of the field. These humble men were
the true nobles of the Netherlands. Their blood it was that broke the power of
Spain, and redeemed their native land from vassalage. Their halters and stakes
formed the basis of that glorious edifice of Dutch freedom which the next
generation was to see rising proudly aloft, and which, but for them, would never
have been raised.
CHAPTER 7
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RETIREMENT OF
GRANVELLE BELGIC CONFESSION OF FAITH.
Tumults at Valenciennes
Rescue of Two Martyrs Terrible Revenge Rhetoric Clubs The Cardinal
Attacked in Plays, Farces, and Lampoons A Caricature A Meeting of the States
Demanded and Refused Orders from Spain for the more Vigorous Prosecution of
the Edicts Orange, Egmont, and Horn Retire from the Council They Demand the
Recall of Granvelle Doublings of Philip II. Granvelle under pretense of
Visiting his Mother Leaves the Netherlands First Belgic Confession of Faith
Letter of Flemish Protestants to Philip II. Toleration.
The murmurs of the popular discontent grew louder
every day. In that land the storm is heard long to mutter before the sky
blackens and the tempest bursts; but now there came, not indeed the hurricane
that was deferred for a few years but a premonitory burst like the sudden wave
which, while all as yet is calm, the ocean sends as the herald of the storm. At
Valenciennes were two ministers, Faveau and Mallart, whose preaching attracted
large congregations. They were condemned in the autumn of 1561 to be burned.
When the news spread in Valenciennes that their favourite preachers had been
ordered for execution, the inhabitants turned out upon the street, now chanting
Clement Marot's psalms, and now hurling menaces at the magistrates should they
dare to touch their preachers. The citizens crowded round the prison,
encouraging the ministers, and promising to rescue them should an attempt be
made to put them to death.
These commotions were continued nightly for
the space of six months. The magistrates were in a strait between the two evils
the anger of the cardinal, who was daily sending them peremptory orders to
have the heretics burned, and the wrath of the people, which was expressed in
furious menaces should they do as Granvelle ordered. At last they made up their
minds to brave what they took to be the lesser evil, for they trusted that the
people would not dare openly to resist the law. The magistrates brought forth
Faveau and Mallart one Monday morning, before sunrise, led them to the
market-place, where preparations had been made, tied them to the stake, and were
about to light the fires and consume them. At that moment a woman in the crowd
threw her shoe at the stake; it was the preconcerted signal. The mob tore down
the barriers, scattered the faggots, and chased away the executioners. The
guard, however, had adroitly carried off the prisoners to their dungeon. But the
people were not to be baulked; they kept possession of the street; and when
night came they broke open the prison, and brought forth the two ministers, who
made their escape from the city. This was called "The Day of the Ill-burned,"
one of the ministers having been scorched by the partially kindled faggots
before he was rescued.[1]
A terrible revenge
was taken for the slur thus cast upon the Inquisition, and the affront offered
to the authority of Granvelle. Troops were poured into the ill-fated city. The
prisons were filled with men and women who had participated, or were suspected
of having participated, in the riot. The magistrates who had trembled before
were furious now. They beheaded and burned almost indiscriminately; the amount
of blood spilt was truly frightful to be remembered at a future day by the
nation, and atonement demanded for it.
We return to the Council-board at
Brussels, and the crafty tyrannical man who presided at it the minion of a
craftier and more tyrannical and who, buried in the depths of his cabinet,
edited his edicts of blood, and sent them forth to be executed by his agents.
The bickerings still continued at the Council-table, much to the disgust of
Granvelle. But besides the rough assaults of Egmont and Horn, and the delicate
wit and ridicule of Orange, other assailants arose to embitter the cardinal's
existence, and add to the difficulties of his position. The Duchess of Parma
became alienated from him. As regent, she was nominal head of the government,
but the cardinal had reduced her to the position of a puppet, by grasping the
whole power of the States, and leaving to her only an empty
title.
However, the cardinal consoled himself by reflecting that if he
had lost the favor of Margaret, he could very thoroughly rely on that of Philip,
who, he knew, placed before every earthly consideration the execution of his
edicts against heresy. But what gave more concern to Granvelle was a class of
foes that now arose outside the Council-chamber to annoy and sting him. These
were the members of the "Rhetoric Clubs." We find similar societies springing up
in other countries of the Reformation, especially in France and Scotland, and
they owed their existence to the same cause that is said to make wit flourish
under a despotism. These clubs were composed of authors, poetasters, and
comedians; they wrote plays, pamphlets, pasquils, in which they lashed the vices
and superstitions, and attacked the despotisms of the age. They not only
assailed error, but in many instances they were also largely instrumental in the
diffusion of truth. They discharged the same service to that age which the
newspaper and the platform fulfill in ours. The literature of these poems and
plays was not high; the wit was not delicate, nor the satire polished the
wood-carving that befits the interior of a cathedral would not suit for the
sculpture-work of its front but the writers were in earnest; they went
straight to the mark, they expressed the pent-up feeling of thousands, and they
created and intensified the feeling which they expressed.
Such was the
battery that was now opened upon the minion of Spanish and Papal tyranny in the
Low Countries. The intelligent, clever, and witty artisans of Ghent, Bruges, and
other towns chastised Granvelle in their plays and lampoons, ridiculed him in
their farces, laughed at him in their burlesques, and held him up to contempt
and scorn in their caricatures.
The weapon was rough, but the wound it
inflicted was rankling. These farces were acted in the street, where all could
see them, and the poem and pasquil were posted on the walls where all could read
them. The members of these clubs were individually insignificant, but
collectively they were most formidable. Neither the sacredness of his own
purple, nor the dread of Philip's authority, could afford the cardinal any
protection. As numerous as a crowd of insects, the annoyances of his enemies
were ceaseless as their stings were countless. As a sample of the broad humor
and rude but truculent satire with which Philip's unfortunate manager in the
Netherlands was assailed, we take the following caricature. In it the worthy
cardinal was seen occupied in the maternal labor of hatching a brood of bishops.
The ecclesiastical chickens were in all stages of development. Some were only
chipping the shell; some had thrust out their heads and legs; others, fairly
disencumbered from their original envelopments, were running about with mitres
on their heads. Each of these fledglings bore a whimsical resemblance to one or
other of the new bishops. But the coarsest and most cutting part of the
caricature remains to be noticed. Over the cardinal was seen to hover a dark
figure, with certain appendages other than appertain to the human form, and that
personage was made to say, "This is my beloved son, hear ye him."[2]
Such continued for
some years to be the unsatisfactory and eminently dangerous state of affairs in
the Low Countries. The regent Margaret, humiliated by the ascendency of
Granvelle, and trembling at the catastrophe to which his rigour was driving
matters, proposed that the States should be summoned, in order to concert
measures for restoring the tranquillity of the nation. Philip would on no
account permit such an assembly to be convoked. Margaret had to yield, but she
resorted to the next most likely expedient. She summoned a meeting of the
Knights of the Golden Fleece and the Stadtholders of the Provinces. Viglius, one
of the members of Council, but less obnoxious than Granvelle, was chosen to
address the knights. He was a learned man, and discoursed, with much
plausibility and in the purest Latin, on the disturbed state of the country, and
the causes which had brought it into its present condition. But it was not
eloquence, but the abolition of the edicts and the suppression of the
Inquisition, that was needed, and this was the very thing which Philip was
determined not to grant. In vain had the Knights of the Fleece and the
Stadtholders assembled. Still some good came of the gathering, although the
result was one which Margaret had neither contemplated nor desired.
The
Prince of Orange called a meeting of the nobles at his own house, and the
discussion that took place, although a stormy one, led to an understanding among
them touching the course to be pursued in the future. The Lord of Montigny was
sent as a deputy to Spain to lay the state of matters before Philip, and urge
the necessity, if his principality of the Netherlands was to be saved, of
stopping the persecution. Philip, who appeared to have devoted himself wholly to
one object, the extirpation of heresy, was incapable of feeling the weight of
the representations of Montigny. He said that he had never intended, and did not
even now intend, establishing the Inquisition in the Low Countries in its
Spanish form; and while he bade Montigny carry back this assurance a poor one
even had it been true to those from whom he had come, he sent at the same time
secret orders to Granvelle to carry out yet more rigorously the decrees against
the heretics.
Orange, Egmont, and Horn, now utterly disgusted and
enraged, retired from the Council-table. They wrote a joint letter to the king,
stating the fact of their withdrawal, with the reasons which had led to it, and
demanding the dismissal of the cardinal as the only condition on which they
could resume their place at the Board. They also plainly avowed their belief
that should Granvelle be continued in the administration, the Netherlands would
be lost to Philip. The answer returned to this letter was meant simply to gain
time. While Philip was musing on the steps to be taken, the fire was spreading.
The three seigniors wrote again to the monarch. They begged to say, if the
statement had any interest for him, that the country was on the road to ruin.
The regent Margaret about the same time wrote also to her brother, the king. As
she now heartily hated Granvelle, her representations confirmed those of Orange,
although, reared as she had been in the school of Loyola, she still maintained
the semblance of confidence in and affection for the cardinal. The king now
began to deliberate in earnest. Pending the arrival of Philip's answer, the
Flemish grandees, at a great feast where they all met, came to the resolution of
adopting a livery avowedly in ridicule of the grand dresses and showy equipages
of the cardinal. Accordingly, in a few days, all their retainers appeared in
worsted hose, and doublets of coarse grey, with hanging sleeves, but with no
ornament whatever, except a fool's cap and bells embroidered upon each sleeve.
The jest was understood, but the cardinal affected to laugh at it. In a little
while the device was changed. The fool's cap and bells disappeared, and a sheaf
of arrows came in the room of the former symbol.[3] The sheaf of arrows,
Granvelle, in writing to Philip, interpreted to mean "conspiracy." Meanwhile the
king had made up his mind as to the course to be taken. He dispatched two sets
of instructions to Brussels, one open and the other secret. According to the
first, the Duchess Margaret was commanded to prosecute the heretics with more
rigour than ever; the three lords were ordered to return to their posts at the
Council-table; and the cardinal was told that the king, who was still
deliberating, would make his resolution known through the regent. But by the
secret letter, written at the same time, but sent off from Madrid so as to
arrive behind the others, Philip wrote to the cardinal, saying that it appeared
to him that it might be well he should leave the Provinces for some days, in
order to visit his mother, and bidding him ask permission to depart from the
regent, whom he had secretly instructed to give such permission, without
allowing it to be seen that these orders had come from the king.
The plan
mystified all parties at the time, save Orange, who guessed how the matter
really stood; but the examination of Philip's correspondence has since permitted
this somewhat complicated affair to be unravelled. The king had, in fact,
yielded to the storm and recalled Granvelle. All were delighted at the
cardinal's new-sprung affection for his mother, and trusted that it would not
cool as suddenly as it had arisen;[4] in short, that "the red
fellow," as they termed him, had taken a final leave of the country. Nor,
indeed, did Granvelle ever return.
It is time that we should speak of the
summary of doctrines, or Confession of Faith, which was put forth by these early
Protestants of the Netherlands. About the year 1561, Guido de Bres, with the
assistance of Adrian Saravia, and three other ministers, published a little
treatise in French under the title of "A, Confession of the Faith generally and
unanimously maintained by the Believers dispersed throughout the Low Countries,
who desire to live according to the purity of the holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus
Christ."[5] This treatise was
afterwards translated into Dutch. Saravia, who assisted De Bres in the
compilation of it, states in a letter which the historian Brandt says he had
seen, that "Guido de Bres communicated this Confession to such ministers as he
could find, desiring them to correct what they thought amiss in it, so that it
was not to be considered as one man's work, but that none who were concerned in
it ever designed it for a rule of faith to others, but only as a scriptural
proof of what they themselves believed." In the year 1563, this Confession was
published both in high and low Dutch. It consists of thirty-seven
articles.
Almost every one of these articles is formally and
antithetically set over against some one dogma of Romanism. With the great
stream of Reformation theology as set forth in the Confessions of the Protestant
Churches, the Belgic Confession is in beautiful harmony. It differs from the
Augsburg Confession under the head of the Lord's Supper, inasmuch as it
repudiates the idea of consubstantiation, and teaches that the bread and wine
are only symbols of Christ's presence, and signs and seals of the blessing. In
respect of the true catholicity of the Church, the doctrine of human merit and
good works, and the justification of sinners by faith alone, on the
righteousness of Christ, and, in short, in all the fundamental doctrines of the
Scriptures, the Belgic Confession is in agreement with the Augustine Creed, and
very specially with the Confession of Helvetia, France, Bohemia, England, and
Scotland. The Reformation, as we have seen, entered the Low Countries by the
gate of Wittemberg, rather than by the gate of Geneva: nevertheless, the Belgic
Confession has a closer resemblance to the theology of those countries termed
Reformed than to that of those usually styled Lutheran. The proximity of
Flanders to France, the asylum sought on the soil of the Low Countries by so
many of the Huguenots, and the numbers of English merchants trading with the
Netherlanders, or resident in their cities, naturally led to the greater
prominence in the Belgic Confession of those doctrines which have been usually
held to be peculiar to Calvinism; although we cannot help saying that a very
general misapprehension prevails upon this point. With the one exception stated
above, the difference on the Lord's Supper namely, the theology of Luther and
the theology of Calvin set forth the same views of Divine truth, and as respects
that class of questions confessedly in their full conception and reconcilement
beyond the reach of the human faculties, God's sovereignty and man's free
agency, the two great chiefs, whatever differences may have come to exist
between their respective followers, were at one in their theology. Luther was
quite as Calvinistic as Calvin himself.
The Belgic Creed is notable in
another respect. It first saw the light, not in any synod or Church assembly,
for as yet the Church of the Low Countries as an organised body did not exist;
it had its beginning with a few private believers and preachers in the
Netherlands. This is a very natural and very beautiful genesis of a creed, and
it admirably illustrates the real object and end of the Reformers in framing
their Confessions.
They compiled them, as we see these few Flemish
teachers doing, to be a help to themselves and to their fellow-believers in
understanding the Scriptures, and to show the world what they believed to be the
truth as set forth in the Bible. It did not enter into their minds that they
were forging a yoke for the conscience, or a fetter for the understanding, and
that they were setting up a barrier beyond which men were not to adventure in
the inquiry after truth. Nothing was further from the thoughts of the Reformers
than this; they claimed no lordship over the consciences of men. The documents
which they compiled and presented to the world they styled not a decree, or a
rise, much less a creation, but a Confession, and they issued their Confessions
under this reservation, that the Bible alone possessed inherent authority, that
it alone was complete and perfect, and that their confession was only an
approximation, to be reviewed, altered, amended, enlarged, or abbreviated
according as believers advanced in the more precise, full, and accurate
understanding of the meaning of the Spirit speaking in the Word. We have nowhere
found the views of the Reformers on this point so admirably set forth as in the
celebrated John a Lasco's preface to his book on the Sacraments; and as this is
a matter on which great misapprehension has been spread abroad, we shall here
give his words. Speaking of the union of the Churches of Zurich and Geneva on
the doctrine of the Lord's Supper, he says: "Our union is not so to be
understood as if we designed to exclude the endeavours of all such as shall
attempt to introduce a greater purity of doctrine. We perceive, indeed, that
many things are now taught much better than formerly, and that many old ways of
speaking, long before used in the Church, are now altered. In like manner it may
hereafter happen, that some of our forms of speaking being changed, many things
may be better explained. The Holy Ghost will doubtless be present with others,
in the Church of Christ after us, as he has vouchsafed to be with us and our
ancestors; for he proceeds gradually, or by steps, and gives an insensible
increase to his gifts. And since we find that all things tend to farther
perfection, I do not know, I own, whether it becomes us to endeavor to confine
the gradual increase of his gifts within the compass of our forms of speaking,
as within certain palisades and entrenchments; as if that same Spirit were not
at liberty, like the wind, to blow how, and when, and where he listeth. I do not
pretend to give a loose to the sowing of all kinds of new-fangled doctrines, but
I contend for the liberty of adorning and explaining the foundations when once
laid, and with design to show that the Spirit of God does not cease from daily
imparting to us more and more light." How truly catholic! and how happily the
mean is here struck between those who say that Confessions ought to be abolished
because they tyrannically forbid process, and those who hold that they are to be
changed in not one iota, because they are already perfect!
This
Confession of Faith, being revised by a synod that met in Antwerp in May, 1566,
was in that year reprinted and published.[6] Following the example of
Calvin in his celebrated letter to the King of France, which accompanied his
Institutes, the Reformed in the Netherlands prefaced their Confession of Faith
with a letter to the King of Spain. Their Confession was their defense against
the charges of heresy and disloyalty which had been preferred against them; it
was their "protestation before God and his angels" that what they sought was "to
enjoy the liberty of a pure conscience in serving God, and reforming themselves
according to his Word and Holy Commandments;" and it was their appeal to be
freed from "the excommunications, imprisonments, banishments, racks and
tortures, and other numberless oppressions which they had undergone." They
remind the king that it was not their weakness which prompted this appeal to his
compassion; and that if they did not resist, it was not because they were few in
number "there being," say they, "above one hundred thousand souls in these
Provinces who profess the same religion, of which they presented him the
Confession" but to prevent his "stretching out his hand to embue and embathe
it in the blood of so many poor innocent men," and thereby bringing calamity
upon his kingdom and throne.
They appended to their Confession a
"Representation to the magistrates and higher powers throughout the Low
Countries. In this Representation we see these Flemish Protestants taking their
stand at the very threshold of the modern religious liberties. Nay, they so
state the functions of the magistrate, and so define his jurisdiction, that
fairly interpreted their words approximate very nearly, if not altogether, to
our own idea of toleration. They indeed condemn those who taught that it is
"unlawful for the magistrate to speak of the Scripture, or to judge of doctrines
and matters of religion." But these words in their mouths have a very different
meaning from that which they would have in ours. The Church of Rome said to the
magistrates, You are not to speak of Scripture, nor to judge of doctrines; that
belongs exclusively to us: you are to believe that whatever we call heresy, is
heresy, and, without farther inquiry, are to punish it with the sword. On the
contrary, the Flemish Protestants vindicated the rights of princes and
magistrates in this matter. They were not to be the blind tools of the Church in
putting to death all whom she may choose to condemn as heretical. They must, for
their own guidance, though not for the coercion of others, judge of doctrines
and matters of religion. "They are not for going so far," they say, "as those
good old fathers who say that our consciences are not to be molested, much less
constrained or forced to believe, by any powers on earth, to whom the sword is
only entrusted for the punishment of robbers, murderers, and the like disturbers
of civil government." "We acknowledge," they add, "that the magistrate may take
cognisance of heresies." But let us mark what sort of heresies they are of which
the magistrate may take cognisance. They are heresies which involve "sedition
and uproars against the government."[7]
Thus again, when
they explain themselves they come back to their grand idea of the freedom of
conscience, as respects all human authority, in matters appertaining to God and
his worship. Toleration had its birth in the same hour with Protestantism; and,
like the twins of classic story, the two powers have flourished together and
advanced by equal stages. Luther exhibited toleration in act; Calvin, ten years
before the time of which we write, began to formulate it, when he took heresy,
strictly so called, out of the jurisdiction of the magistrate, and left him to
deal with blasphemy, "which unsettled the foundation of civil order;" and now we
behold the Protestants of the Low Countries treading in the steps of the
Reformer of Geneva, and permitting the magistrate to take cognisance of heresy
only when it shows itself in disturbances and uproars. It is important to bear
in mind that the Reformers had to fight two battles at once. They had to contend
for the emancipation of the magistrate, and they had to contend for the
emancipation of the conscience. When they challenged for the magistrate
exemption from the authority of Rome, they had to be careful not to appear to
exempt him from the authority of the law of God. The Papists were ever ready to
accuse them of this, and to say that the Reformation had assigned an atheistic
position to princes. If at times they appear to deny the toleration which at
other times they teach, much, if not all, of this is owing to the double battle
which the times imposed upon them the emancipation of the magistrate from the
enslavement of the Church, and the emancipation of the conscience from the
enslavement of both the magistrate and the Church.
CHAPTER 8
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THE RISING STORM.
Speech
of Prince of Orange at the Council-table Egmont sent to Spain-Demand for the
States-General, and the Abolition of the Edicts Philip's Reply More Martyrs
New and More Rigorous Instructions from Philip The Nobles and Cities
Remonstrate Arrogance of the Inquisitors New Mode of putting Protestants to
Death Rising Indignation in the Low Countries Rumours of General Massacre
Dreadful Secret Imparted to Prince of Orange Council of Trent Programme of
Massacre.
The cardinal had taken flight and was gone, but the
Inquisition remained. So long as the edicts were in force, what could be
expected but that the waves of popular tumult would continue to flow?
Nevertheless, the three lords Orange, Egmont, and Horn came to the helm
which Granvelle had been compelled to let go, and, along with the regent, worked
hard, if haply the shipwreck that appeared to impend over the vessel of the
State might be averted. The clear eye of Orange saw that there was a deeper evil
at work in the country than the cardinal, and he demanded the removal of that
evil. Two measures he deemed essential for the restoration of quiet, and he
strenuously urged the instant adoption of these: first, the assembling of the
States-General; and secondly, the abolition of the edicts. The prince's
proposition struck at the evil in both its roots. The States-General, if
permitted to meet, would resume its government of the nation after the ancient
Flemish fashion, and the abolition of the edicts would cut the ground from under
the feet of the bishops and the inquisitors in short, it would break in pieces
that whole machinery by which the king was coercing the consciences and burning
the bodies of his subjects. These two measures would have allayed all the
ferment that was fast ripening into revolt. But what hope was there of their
adoption? None whatever while Philip existed, or Spain had a single soldier at
her service or a single ducat in her treasury. The Prince of Orange and his two
fellow-councillors, however, let slip no opportunity at the Council-board of
urging the expediency of these measures if the country was to be saved. "It was
a thing altogether impracticable," they said, "to extirpate such a multitude of
heretics by the methods of fire and sword. On the contrary, the more these means
were employed, the faster would the heretics multiply."[1] Did not facts attest the
truth and wisdom of their observation? Neither cords nor stakes had been spared,
and yet on every hand the complaint was heard that heresy was
spreading.
Waxing yet bolder, at a meeting of Council held towards the
end of the year (1564), the Prince of Orange energetically pleaded that,
extinguishing their fires, they should give liberty to the people to exercise
their religion in their own houses, and that in public the Sacrament should be
administered under both kinds. "With commotions and reformations on every side
of them, "he said, "it was madness to think of maintaining the old state of
matters by means of placards, inquisitions, and bishops. The king ought to be
plainly informed what were the wishes of his subjects, and what a mistake it was
to propose enforcing the decrees of the Council of Trent, while their neighbors
in Germany, as well Roman Catholics as Protestants, had indignantly rejected
them." "As for himself," he said, in conclusion, "although resolved to adhere to
the Roman Catholic religion, he could not approve that princes should aim at any
dominion over the souls of men, or deprive them of the freedom of their faith
and religion."
The prince warmed as he spoke. His words flowed like a
torrent. Hour passed after hour, and yet there were no signs of his oration
drawing to a close. The councillors, who usually sat silent, or contented
themselves with merely giving a decorous assent to the propositions of
Granvelle, might well be astonished at the eloquence that now resounded through
the Council-chamber. It was now seven o'clock of the evening, and the orator
would not have ended even yet, had not the Duchess of Parma hinted that the
dinner-hour had arrived, and that the debate must be adjourned for the day.
Viglius, who had taken the place of the cardinal at the Council-table, went home
to his house in a sort of stupefaction at what he had witnessed. He lay awake
all night ruminating on the line of argument he should adopt in reply to Orange.
He felt how necessary it was to efface the impression the prince's eloquence had
made. The dawn found him still perturbed and perplexed. He got up, and was
dressing himself, when a stroke of apoplexy laid him senseless upon the floor.
The disease left him shattered in mind as in body, and his place at the
Council-board had to be supplied by his friend Joachin Hopper, a professor of
Louvain, but a man of very humble parts, and entirely subservient to the
regent.[2]
It was resolved to
dispatch Count Egmont to Madrid, to petition Philip for permission to the
States-General to meet, as also for some mitigation of the edicts. But first the
terms of Egmont's instructions had to be adjusted. The people must not cry too
loudly, lest their tyrant should heat their furnace seven-fold. But it was no
easy matter to find mild epithets to designate burning wrongs. Words that might
appear sufficiently humble and loyal on the comparatively free soil of the Low
Countries, might sound almost like treason when uttered in the Palace of Spain.
This delicate matter arranged, Egmont set out. A most courteous reception
awaited the deputy of the Netherlands on his arrival at Madrid. He was caressed
by the monarch, feted and flattered by the nobles, loaded with rich gifts; and
these blandishments and arts had the effect, which doubtless they were meant to
produce, of cooling his ardor as the advocate of his country. If the terms of
the remonstrance which Egmont was to lay at the foot of the throne had been
studiously selected so as not to grate on the royal ear, before the ambassador
left Flanders, they were still further softened by Egmont now that he stood on
Spanish soil. Philip frequently admitted him to a private audience, and
consulted with him touching the matters respecting which he had been deputed to
his court. The king professed to defer much to Egmont's opinion; he gave no
promise, however, that he would change his policy as regarded religious matters,
or soften in aught the rigour of the edicts. But to show Egmont, and the
seigniors of the Netherlands through him, that in this he was impelled by no
caprice of cruelty or bigotry, but on the contrary was acting from high and
conscientious motives, Philip assembled a council of divines, at which Egmont
assisted, and put to them the question, whether he was bound to grant that
liberty of conscience which some of the Dutch towns so earnestly craved of him?
The judgment of the majority was that, taking into account the present troubles
in the Low Countries which, unless means were found for allaying them, might
result in the Provinces falling away from their obedience to the king's
authority and to their duty to the one true Church -his Majesty might accord
them some freedom in matters of religion without sinning against God. On this
judgment being intimated to Philip, he informed the Fathers that they had
misapprehended the special point of conscience he wished to have resolved. What
he desired to know was, whether he must, not whether he might grant the liberty
his Flemish subjects desired. The ecclesiastics made answer plainly that they
did not think that the king was bound in conscience so to do. Whereupon Philip,
falling down before a crucifix, addressed it in these words: "I beseech thee,
O God and Lord of all things, that I may persevere all the days of my life in
the same mind as I am now, never to be a king, nor called so of any country,
where thou art not acknowledged for Lord."[3]
Egmont's embassy to
the court of Spain being now ended, he set out on his return to the Low
Countries. He was accompanied on his journey by the young Prince Alexander of
Parma, the nephew of Philip, and son of Margaret, Regent of the Netherlands, and
whose destiny it was in after-years to be fatally mixed up with the tragic woes
of that land on which he now set foot for the first time. The results of
Egmont's mission were already known at Brussels by letters from Spain, which,
although written after his departure from Madrid, had arrived before him;
nevertheless, he appeared in the Council on the 5th of May, 1565, and gave in a
report of the measures which the king had in contemplation for the pacification
of the Provinces. The Prince of Orange clearly saw that the "holy water" of the
court had been sprinkled on Egmont, and that the man who had gone forth a
patriot had come back a courtier and apologist. The deputy informed the Council
that on the matter of the edicts no relaxation was to be expected. Heresy must
be rooted out. Touching the meeting of the States-General, the king would send
his decision to the regent. This was all. Verily Egmont had gone far and brought
back little. But he had a little codicil or postscript in reserve for the
Council, to the effect that Philip graciously granted leave for a synod of
ecclesiastics, with a few civilians, to convene and concert measures for the
instruction of the people, the reformation of the schools, and the purgation of
heresy. And further, if the penal laws now in use did not serve their end, they
had Philip's permission to substitute others "more efficacious." The Prince of
Orange and others were willing to believe that by the "more efficacious" methods
against heresy, milder methods only could be intended, seeing that it would be
hard to invent measures more rigorous than those now in use; such, however, was
not the, meaning of Philip.[4]
During the absence
of Egmont, the persecution did not slacken. In February, Joost de Cruel was
beheaded at Rosen. He had been first drawn to the Reformed faith by a sermon by
Peter Titlemann, Dean of Rosen, who had since become the furious persecutor we
have described above. In the same month, John Disreneaux, a man of seventy
years, was burned at Lisle. At the same time, John de Graef was strangled and
burned at Hulst, with the New Testament hung round his neck. His persecutors had
subjected him while in prison to the extremities of hunger, and thirst, and
cold, in the hope of subduing him. Mortification had set in, and he went halting
to death, his frost-bitten toes and feet refusing their office. Tranquil and
courageous, notwithstanding, he exhorted the by-standers, if they had attained a
knowledge of the truth, not to be deterred by the fear of death from confessing
it. In the following month, two youths were discovered outside the town of
Tournay reading the Scriptures. An intimacy of the closest kind, hallowed by
their love of the Gospel, had knit them together all their lives; nor were they
parted now. They were strangled and burned at the same stake.[5] Considering the number and
the barbarity of these executions, it does not surprise one that Orange and his
associates believed that if the methods of extirpating heresy were to be
changed, it could only be for milder inflictions. They had yet to learn the
fertility of Philip's inventive genius.
Scarcely had Egmont given in his
report of his mission, when new instructions arrived from Philip, to the effect
that not only were the old placards to be rigorously enforced, but, over and
above, the canons of the Council of Trent were to be promulgated as law
throughout the Netherlands. These canons gave the entire power of trying and
punishing heretics to the clergy. In short, they delivered over the inhabitants
of the Netherlands in all matters of opinion to the sole irresponsible and
merciless jurisdiction of the Inquisition. Alarm, terror, and consternation
overspread the Provinces. The nobles, states, and cities sent deputies to the
governor to remonstrate against the outrage on their ancient rights about to be
perpetrated, and the destruction into which such a policy was sure to drag the
country. "There could be no viler slavery," they said, "than to lead a trembling
life in the midst of spies and informers, who registered every word, action,
look, and even every thought which they pretended to read from thence." The four
chief cities of Brabant, Louvain, Brussels, Antwerp, and Bois le Duc sent
deputies to the Chancellor and Council of that Province, to say plainly that the
orders of Philip were sounding the death-knell of the Province; the foreign
merchants were making haste to get away, the commerce of their States was
hastening to extinction, and soon their now flourishing country would be a "mere
wilderness." The Prince of Orange wrote to the Duchess of Parma to the effect
that if this business of burning, beheading, and drowning was to go on, he
begged that some other might be invested with the functions with which his
sovereign had clothed him, for he would be no party to the ruin of his country,
which he as clearly foresaw as he was powerless to avert. Other Stadtholders
wrote to the Duchess of Parma, in reply to her earnest exhortations to assist in
carrying out the edicts, saying that they were not inclined to be the lifeguards
of the Inquisition. One of the chief magistrates of Amsterdam, a Roman Catholic,
happening one day to meet a sheriff who was very zealous in the work of
persecution, thus addressed him: "You would do well, when called to appear
before the tribunal of God, to have the emperor's placards in your hand, and
observe how far they will bear you out." Papers were being daily scattered in
the streets, and posted on the gates of the palace of Orange, and of other
nobles, calling on them to come to their country's help in its hour of need, to
the end that, the axe and the halter being abolished in the affairs of religion,
every one might be able to live and die according to his conscience.
On
the other hand, the governor was besieged by remonstrances and outcries from the
bishops and monks, who complained that they were withstood in carrying out their
sovereign's wish in the matter of the execution of the edicts. The aid they had
been encouraged to expect in the work of the extirpation of heresy was withheld
from them. The tribunals, prisons, and scaffolds of the country had been made
over to them, and all magistrates, constables, and gaolers had been constituted
their servants; nevertheless, they were often denied the use of that machinery
which was altogether indispensable if their work was to be done, not by halves,
but effectually. They had to bear odium and calumny, nay, sometimes they were in
danger of their lives, in their zeal for the king's service and the Church's
glory. On all sides is heard the cry that heresy is increasing, continued these
much-injured men; but how can it be that heretics should not multiply, they
asked, when they were denied the use of prisons in which to shut them up, and
fires in which to burn them? The position of the Duchess of Parma was anything
but pleasant. On the one side she was assailed by the screams and hootings of
this brood of Inquisitors; and on the other was heard the muttered thunder of a
nation's wrath.[6]
Rocked thus on the
great billows, the Duchess of Parma wrote to her brother, letting him know how
difficult and dangerous her position had become, and craving his advice as to
how she ought to steer amid tempests so fierce, and every hour growing fiercer.
Philip replied that the edicts must ever be her beacon-lights. Philip's will was
unalterably fixed on the extirpation of heresy in his kingdom of the
Netherlands, and that will must be the duchess's pole-star. Nevertheless, the
tyrant was pleased to set his wits to work, and to devise a method by which the
flagrancy, but not the cruelty, of the persecution might be abated. Instead of
bringing forth the heretic, and beheading or burning him at midday, he was to be
put to death in his prison at midnight. The mode of execution was as simple as
it was barbarous. The head of the prisoner was tied between his knees with a
rope, and he was then thrown into a large tub full of water, kept in the prison
for that use. This Christian invention is said to have been the original device
of the "most Catholic king." The plea which Bishop Biro of Wesprim set up in
defense of the clemency of the Church of Rome, would have been more appropriate
in Philip's mouth, its terms slightly altered, than it was in the mouth of the
bishop. "It is a calumny to say that the Church of Rome is bloodthirsty," said
the worthy prelate, Biro; "that Church has always been content if heretics were
burned."
A new and dreadful rumor which began to circulate through the
Netherlands, added to the alarm and terrors of the nation. It was during this
same summer that Catherine de Medici and the Duke of Alva held their celebrated
conference at Bayonne. Soon thereafter, whispers which passed from land to land,
and from mouth to mouth, reached the Low Countries, that a dark plot had been
concocted between these two personages, having for its object the utter
extirpation of the new opinions. These rumors corresponded with what was said to
have been agreed upon at one of the last sessions of the Council of Trent, which
had closed its sittings the year before, and on that account greater stress was
laid on these whispers. They appeared to receive still further authentication,
at least in the eyes of William, Prince of Orange, from the circumstance that a
plot precisely identical had been disclosed to him six years before, by Henry
II., when the king and the prince were hunting together in the Wood of
Vincennes. The rest of the hunting-party had left them, Henry and William were
alone, and the mind of the French king being full of the project, and deeming
the prince, then the intimate friend both of Philip II, and the Duke of Alva, a
safe depositary of the great secret, he unhappily for himself, but most happily
for humanity, communicated to the prince the details of the plan.[7] Henry II. told him how
apprehensive he was of his throne being swept away in the flood of
Protestantism, but he hoped, with the help of his son-in-law Philip II., soon to
rid France of the last Huguenot. The monarch went on to explain to the prince
how this was to be done, by entrapping the Protestants at the first convenient
moment, destroying them at a single blow; and extending the same thorough
purgation to all countries to which heresy had spread. William could not have
been more astounded although the earth had suddenly yawned at his feet; however,
he carried the secret in his breast from that dark wood, without permitting the
French king to read, by word or look of his, the shock the disclosure had given
him. And he retained it in his breast for years, without speaking of it to any
one, although from the moment of his coming to the knowledge of it, it began to
shape his conduct. It is from this circumstance that he received the significant
name of "William the Silent."
All three the rumors from Bayonne, the
tidings from the Council of Trent, and the dark secret imparted to William in
the Forest of Vincennes -pointed to a storm now gathering, of more than usual
severity, and which should burst over all Christendom, in which the Netherlands
could not miss having their full share. But what had been plotted at Trent among
the Fathers was nearly as little known as what had been agreed on at Bayonne,
between Catherine and Alva. The full truth -the definite plan was locked up
in the archives of the Vatican, whence it is probable its first suggestion had
come, and in the breasts of the little coterie that met at the dosing sessions
of the Council. But a paper by one of the secretaries of Cardinal Boromeo, since
given to the world, has published on the housetops what was then spoken in
whispers in the cabinets of kings or the conclaves of ecclesiastical synods.
"First, in order that the business may be conducted with the greater authority,
they" (the Fathers of the Council) "advise to commit the superintendence of the
whole affair to Philip the Catholic king, who ought to be appointed with common
consent the head and conductor of the whole enterprise." The Catholic king was
to begin by preferring a complaint to his neighbour, Anthony Bourbon, King of
Navarre, "that, contrary to the institutions of his predecessors, he entertains
and nourishes a new religion." Should the King of Navarre turn a deaf ear to
this remonstrance, Philip was to essay him "by fair promises to draw him off
from his wicked and unhappy design." He was to hold out to him the hope of
having that portion of his ancestral dominions of which he had been stripped,
restored, or an equivalent given him in some other part of Europe. Should Philip
succeed in soothing him, "the operations of the future war will then be rendered
more easy, short, and expeditious." If he still continued obstinate, the King of
Spain was to "intermix some threatenings with his promises and flatteries."
Meanwhile Philip was to be collecting an army "as privily as possible;" and in
the event of the King of Navarre continuing obdurate, the Spanish king was to
fall upon him suddenly and unawares, and chase him from his kingdom, which the
leaguers were to occupy.
From the mountains of Navarre the war was to be
moved down to the plains. The Huguenots of France were to be extirpated root and
branch. For the execution of this part of the programme, the main stress was
rested on the zeal of the Duke of Guise, aided by reinforcements from Spain.
While the sword was busy drowning the plains of that country in Protestant
blood, such of the German princes as were Roman Catholic were to stop the passes
into France, lest the Protestant princes should send succor to their brethren.
Shut in, and left to contend unaided with two powerful armies, the fall of
French Protestantism could not be doubtful. France, chastised and restored to
obedience to the Roman See, would regain her pristine purity and
glory.
Matters being thus "ordered in France," Germany was next to be
undertaken. "Luther and his era" that hour of portentous eclipse which had
thrust itself into Germany's golden day -must be razed from the tablets and
chronicles of the Fatherland, nor ever be once remembered or spoken of by the
generations to come. "It will be necessary," says the document from which we
quote, "with men collected from all quarters, to invade Germany, and with the
aid of the emperor and the bishops, to render and restore it again to the Holy
Apostolic See." It was arranged that this war of purgation should support
itself. "The Duke of Guise shall lend to the emperor and the other princes of
Germany, and the ecclesiastical lords, all the money that shall be gathered from
the spoils and confiscations of so many noble, powerful, and wealthy citizens as
shall be killed in France on account of the new religion, which will amount to a
very great sum; the said Lord of Guise taking sufficient caution and security,
that so he may, after the conclusion of the war, be reimbursed of all the money
employed for that purpose, from the spoils of the Lutherans and others who
shall, on account of religion, be slain in Germany."
What of Helvetia
while this great conflagration should be raging all round it? At the cry of
their brethren the Reformed Swiss would rush from their mountains to aid their
co-religionists. To prevent their doing so, work was to be found for them at
home. "For fear," says the document, "that the cantons of Switzerland should
lend aids, it is necessary that the cantons which continue still obedient to the
Roman Church declare war against the rest, and that the Pope assist these
cantons that are of his religion, to the utmost of his power."
The
branches cut off in France and Germany, a last and finishing blow was to be
dealt at the root of the tree in Geneva. "The Duke of Savoy, whilst the war thus
embroils France and the Swiss, shall rush suddenly and unexpectedly with all his
forces upon the city of Geneva, on the lake of Leman, assault it by force, and
shall not abandon it nor withdraw his men until he become master and obtain full
possession of the said city, putting to the point of the sword, or casting into
the lake, every living soul who shall be found therein, without any distinction
of age or sex, that all may be taught that the Divine Power in the end hath
compensated for the delay of the punishment by the greatness and severity of
it."[8]
The tempest seemed
about to burst in the days of Henry II., but the fatal tournament which sent
that monarch to a premature grave drew off the storm for a time. It continued,
however, to lower in the sky of Europe; the dark cloud would at times approach
as if about to break, and again it would roll away. At last it exploded in the
St. Bartholomew Massacre, and its awful reverberations were reiterated again and
again in the wars of Philip II. in the Low Countries, and in the campaigns and
battles which for thirty years continued to devastate
Germany.
CHAPTER 9
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THE CONFEDERATES OR
"BEGGARS."
League of the Flemish Nobles Franciscus Junius The
"Confederacy " Its Object Number of Signatories Meeting of the Golden
Fleece and States-General How shall Margaret Steer? Procession of the
Confederates Their Petition Perplexity of the Duchess Stormy Debate in the
Council The Confederates first styled "Beggars" Medals Struck in
Commemoration of the Name Livery of the Beggars Answer of the Duchess
Promised Moderation of the Edicts Martyrdoms Continued Four Martyrs at Lille
John Cornelius Beheaded.
Finding that new and more tyrannical orders were
every day arriving from Spain, and that the despot was tightening his hold upon
their country, the leading nobles of the Netherlands now resolved to combine, in
order to prevent, if possible, the utter enslavement of the nation. The
"Compromise," as the league of the nobles was called, was formed early in the
year 1566. Its first suggestion was made at a conventicle, held on the Prince of
Parma's marriage-day (3rd of November, 1565), at which Franciscus Junius, the
minister of the Walloon or Huguenot congregation in Antwerp, preached.[1] This Junius, who was a
Frenchman and of noble birth, had studied in Geneva, and though not more than
twenty years of age, his great learning and extraordinary talents gave his
counsel weight with the Flemish nobles who sometimes consulted him in cases of
emergency. As he studied Tully, De Legibus, in his youth, there came one who
said to him, in the words of the epicure, "God cares for none of us," and plied
Junius with arguments so subtle that he sucked in the poison of this dreary
belief. Libertinism laid the reins on the neck of passion. But a marvellous
escape from death, which he experienced at Lyons about a year afterwards,
arrested him in his wickedness. He opened the New Testament, and the passage on
which his eyes first lighted was this: "In the beginning was the Word, and the
Word was with God, and the Word was God," etc. As the stars grow dim and vanish
when the sun rises, so the wisdom and eloquence of the pagans paled before the
surpassing majesty and splendor of the Gospel by St. John. "My body trembled,"
said he, "my mind was astonished, and I was so affected all that day that I knew
not where nor what I was. Thou wast mindful of me, O my God, according to the
multitude of thy mercies, and calledst home thy lost sheep into the fold." From
that day he studied the Scriptures; his life became pure; and his zeal waxed
strong in proportion as his knowledge enlarged. He possessed not a little of the
fearless spirit of the great master at whose feet he had sat. He would preach,
at times, with the stake standing in the square below, and the flames in which
his brethren were being burned darting their lurid flashes through the windows
of the apartment upon the faces of his audience.[2] On the present occasion
the young preacher addressed some twenty of the Flemish nobles, and after sermon
a league against the "barbarous and violent Inquisition" was proposed. All
Brussels was ringing with the marriage festivities of Parma. There were
triumphal arches in the street, and songs in the banquet-hall; deep goblets were
drained to the happiness of Parma, and the prosperity of the great monarchy of
Spain. At the same moment, in the neighboring town of Antwerp, those movements
were being initiated which were to loosen the foundations of Philip's empire,
and ultimately cast down the tyrant from the pinnacle on which he so proudly,
and as he deemed so securely, stood.
The aims of the leaguers were
strictly constitutional; they made war only against the Inquisition, "that most
pernicious tribunal, which is not only contrary to all human and divine laws,
but exceeds in cruelty the most barbarous institutions of the most savage
tyrants in the heathen world." "For these reasons," say they, "we whose names
are here subscribed have resolved to provide for the security of our families,
goods, and persons; and for this purpose we hereby enter into a secret league
with one another, promising with a solemn oath to oppose with all our power the
introduction of the above-mentioned Inquisition into these Provinces, whether it
shall be attempted secretly or openly, or by whatever name it shall be
called...
We likewise promise and swear mutually to defend one another,
in all places, and on all occasions, against every attack that shall be made, or
prosecution that shall be raised, against any individual among us on account of
his concern in this Confederacy."[3] The first three who took
the pen to sign this document were Count Brederode, Charles de Mansfeld, and
Louis of Nassau. Copies were circulated over the country, and the subscribers
rapidly multiplied. In the course of two months 2,000 persons had appended their
names to it. Tidings of the league were wafted to the ears of the governor, and
it was added a slight exaggeration, it may be that it was already 15,000
strong.[4] Roman Catholics as well as
Protestants were permitted to sign, and the array now gathering round this
uplifted standard was, as may be supposed, somewhat miscellaneous.
The
Duchess of Parma was startled by the sudden rise of this organisation, whose
numbers increased every day. Behind her stood Philip, whose truculent orders
left her no retreat; before her was the Confederacy, a less formidable but
nearer danger. In her perplexity the governor summoned the Knights of the Fleece
and the Stadtholders of the Provinces, to ask their advice touching the steps to
be taken in this grave emergency. Two courses, she said, appeared to be open to
her the one was to modify the edicts, the other was to suppress the
Confederacy by arms; the latter course, she said, was the one to which she
leaned, especially knowing how inexorable was the will of the king, but her
difficulty lay in finding one to whom she could safely entrust the command of
the troops. Orange was disqualified, having pronounced so strongly against the
edicts and in favor of liberty of conscience; and Egmont had positively declined
the task, saying that "he would never fight for the penal laws and the
Inquisition."[5]
What was to be
done?
While the Council was deliberating, the Confederates arrived in a
body at Brussels. On the 3rd of April, 1566, a cavalcade of 200 nobles and
knights, headed by the tall, military form of Brederode, rode into Brussels. The
nobleman who was foremost in the procession traced his lineage backwards 500
years, in unbroken succession, to the old sovereigns of Holland. Amid the
chances and turnings of the contest now opening, who could tell whether the
sovereignty of the old country might not return to the old line? Such was the
vision that may have crossed the mind of Brederode. The day following the number
of Confederates in Brussels was augmented by the arrival of about 100 other
cavaliers. Their passage through the streets was greeted, as that of the first
had been, by the acclamations of the populace. "There go," said they, "the
deliverers of our country." Next day, the 5th of April, the whole body of
Confederates, dressed in their richest robes, walked in procession to the old
palace of Brabant, and passing through the stately hall in which Charles V.
eleven years before had abdicated his sovereignties, they entered the audience
chamber of the Regent of the Netherlands. Margaret beheld not without emotion
this knightly assemblage, who had carried to her feet the wrongs of an oppressed
nation. Brederode acted as spokesman. The count was voluble. Orange possessed
the gift of eloquence, but the latter had not yet enrolled himself among the
Confederates. William the Silent never retraced his steps, and therefore he
pondered well his path before going forward.
He could not throw down the
gauntlet to a great monarchy like Spain with the light-hearted, jaunty defiance
which many of the signatories of the Confederacy were now hurling against the
tyrant, but whose heroism was likely to be all expended before it reached the
battlefield, in those Bacchanalian meetings then so common among the Flemish
nobles. Brederode on this occasion was prudently brief.
After defending
himself and his associates from certain insinuations which had been thrown out
against their loyalty, he read the petition which had been drafted in view of
being presented to the duchess, in order that she might convey it to Philip. The
petition set forth that the country could no longer bear the tyranny of the
edicts: that rebellion was rearing its head, nay, was even at the palace-gates;
and the monarch was entreated, if he would not imperil his empire, to abolish
the Inquisition and convoke the States-General. Pending the king's answer, the
duchess was asked to suspend the edicts, and to stop all executions for
religious opinion.[6]
When Brederode had
finished, the duchess sat silent for a few minutes. Her emotion was too great to
be disguised, the tears rolling down her cheeks.[7] As soon as she had found
words she dismissed the Confederates, telling them that she would consult with
her councillors, and give her answer on the morrow. The discussion that followed
in the council-hall, after Brederode and his followers had withdrawn, was a
stormy one. The Prince of Orange argued strongly in favor of liberty of
conscience, and Count Berlaymont, a keen partisan of Rome and Spain, argued as
vehemently, if not as eloquently, against the Confederates and the liberty which
they craved. This debate is famous as that in which Berlaymont first applied to
the Confederates an epithet which he meant should be a brand of disgrace, but
which they accepted with pride, and wore as a badge of honor, and by which they
are now known in history. "Why, madam," asked Berlaymont of the duchess,
observing her emotion, "why should you be afraid of these beggars?" The
Confederates caught up the words, and at once plucked the sting out of them.
"Beggars, you call us," said they; "henceforth we shall be known as beggars."[8] The term came soon to be
the distinguishing appellation for all those in the Netherlands who declared for
the liberties of their country and the rights of conscience.
They never
met at festival or funeral without saluting each other as "Beggars." Their cry
was "Long live the Beggars!" They had medals struck, first of wax and wood, and
afterwards of silver and gold, stamped on the one side with the king's effigies,
and on the other with a beggar's scrip or bag, held in two clasped right hands,
with the motto, "Faithful to the king, even to beggary." Some adopted grey cloth
as livery, and wore the common felt hat, and displayed on their breasts, or
suspended round their beavers, a little beggar's wooden bowl, on which was
wrought in silver, Vive le Gueux. At a great entertainment given by Brederode,
after drinking the king's health out of wooden bowls, they hung the dish,
together with a beggar's scrip, round their necks, and continuing the feast,
they pledged themselves at each potation to play their part manfully as
"Beggars," and ever to yield a loyal adherence and stout defense to the
Confederacy.[9]
The duchess gave
her answer next day. She promised to send an envoy to Spain to lay the petition
of the Confederates before Philip. She had no power, she said, to suspend the
Inquisition, nevertheless she would issue orders to the inquisitors to proceed
with discretion. The discretion of an inquisitor! Much the Beggars marvelled
what that might mean. The new project shortly afterwards enlightened them. As
elaborated, and published in fifty-three articles, that project amounted to
this: that heretics, instead of being burned, were to be beheaded or hanged; but
they were to be admitted to this remarkable clemency only if they did not stir
up riots and tumults. The people appear to have been but little thankful for
this uncommon "moderation," and nicknamed it "murderation." It would appear that
few were deemed worthy of the Government's mercy, for not only did blood
continue to flow by the axe, but the stake blazed nearly as frequently as
before. About this time, four martyrs were burned at Lille.
"They all
four," says Brandt, "sung as with one mouth the first verse of the
twenty-seventh Psalm, and concluded their singing and their life together with
the hymn of Simeon, ' Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.'" A tapestry
weaver of Oudenard, near Ghent, by name John Tiscan, who had committed the
indiscretion of snatching the wafer from the hand of the priest and crumbling it
into bits, to show the people that it was bread and not God, had his hand cut
off, and afterwards his body cast into the flames. Some there were, however, who
were judged to fall within the scope of the Government's indulgence, and were
permitted to die by the sword. John Cornelius Winter had been minister in the
town of Horn, and had spent some thirty years in the quiet but zealous diffusion
of the truth. He was apprehended and thrown first into prison at the Hague, and
afterwards into the Bishop of Utrecht's prisons, and now this year he was
brought forth to be beheaded. He submitted, himself cheerfully, and it was
observed that, singing the Te Deum on the scaffold, the executioner struck, and
his head was severed from his body just as he had finished the line, "All the
martyrs praise thee."[10]
CHAPTER
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THE FIELD-PREACHINGS.
The
Protestants Resolve to Worship in Public First Field-Preaching near
Ghent-Herman Modet Seven Thousand Hearers The Assembly Attacked, but Stands
its Ground Second Field-Preaching Arrangements at the Field-Preaching Wall
of Waggons Sentinels, etc. Numbers of the Worshippers Singing of the
Psalms Field-Preaching near Antwerp The Governor Forbids them The
Magistrates unable to put them down Field-Preaching at Tournay Immense
Congregations Peregrine de la Grange Ambrose Wille Field-Preaching in
Holland Peter Gabriel and John Arentson Secret Consultations -First Sermon
near Horn Enormous Conventicle near Haarlem The Town Gates Locked The
Imprisoned Multitude Compel their Opening Grandeur of the Conventicle
Difference between the Field-Preachers and the Confederates Preaching at Delft
Utrecht The Hague Arrival of more Preachers.
The Confederates had been given proof of what was
meant by the discretion of the inquisitors, and the Protestants were able to
judge how far their condition was likely to be improved under the promised
"Moderation of the Placards." It neither blunted the sword nor quenched the
violence of the stake. If the latter blazed somewhat less frequently, the former
struck all the oftener; and there was still no diminution of the numbers of
those who were called to seal their testimony with their blood. Despairing of a
Government that was growing daily milder in word, but more cruel in act, the
Protestants resolved that from this time forward they would hold their
worshipping assemblies in public, and try what effect a display of their numbers
would have upon their oppressors. At a meeting held at Whitsuntide, 1566, at
which the Lord of Aldegonde -who was destined to play the most distinguished
part, next to Orange, in the coming drama was present, it was resolved that
"the churches should be opened, and divine service publicly performed at Antwerp
as it was already in Flanders." This resolution was immediately acted upon. In
some places the Reformed met together to the number of 7,000, in others to that
of 15,000. [1] From West Flanders, where
preaching in public took its rise, it passed into Brabant, and thence into other
provinces. The worshippers at the beginning sought the gloom and seclusion of
wood and forest. As they grew bolder, they assembled in the plains and open
places; and last of all, they met in villages, in towns, and in the suburbs of
great cities. They came to these meeting, in the first instance, unarmed; but
being threatened, and sometimes attacked, they appeared with sticks and stones,
and at last provided themselves with the more formidable weapons of swords,
pistols, and muskets.[2]
It is said that the
first field-preaching in the Netherlands took place on the 14th of June, 1566,
and was held in the neighborhood of Ghent. The preacher was Herman Modet, who
had formerly been a monk, but was now the Reformed pastor at Oudenard. "This
man," says a Popish chronicler, "was the first who ventured to preach in public,
and there were 7,000 persons at his first sermon."[3] The Government "scout," as
the head of the executive was named, having got scent of the meeting, mounted
his horse and galloped off to disperse it. Arriving on the scene, he boldly rode
in amongst the multitude, holding a drawn sword in one hand and a pistol in the
other, and made a dash at the minister with intent to apprehend him. Modet,
making off quickly, concealed himself in a neighboring wood. The people,
surprised and without arms, appeared for a moment as if they would disperse; but
their courage rallying, they plentifully supplied themselves with stones, in
lack of other weapons, and saluted the officer with such a shower of missiles on
all sides that, throwing away his sword and pistol, he begged for quarter, to
which his captors admitted him. He escaped with his life, although badly
bruised.
The second great field-preaching took place on the 23rd, of July
following, the people assembling in a large meadow in the vicinity of Ghent. The
"Word" was precious in those days, and the people, thirsting to hear it,
prepared to remain two days consecutively on the ground. Their arrangements more
resembled an army pitching their camp than a peaceful multitude assembling for
worship. Around the worshippers was a wall of barricades in the shape of carts
and waggons. Sentinels were planted at all the entrances. A rude pulpit of
planks was hastily run up and placed aloft on a cart. Modet was preacher, and
around him were many thousands of hearers, who listened with their pikes,
hatchets, and guns lying by their side, ready to be grasped on a sign from the
sentinels who kept watch all around the assembly. In front of the entrances were
erected stalls, whereat pedlars offered prohibited books to all who wished to
buy. Along the roads running into the country were stationed certain persons,
whose office it was to bid the casual passenger turn in and hear the Gospel.
After sermon, water was fetched from a neighboring brook, and the Sacrament of
baptism dispensed. When the services were finished, the multitude would repair
to other districts, where they encamped after the same fashion, and remained for
the same space of time, and so passed through the whole of West Flanders. At
these conventicles the Psalms of David, which had been translated into Low Dutch
from the version of Clement Marot, and Theodore Beza, were always sung. The odes
of the Hebrew king, pealed forth by from five to ten thousand voices, and borne
by the breeze over the woods and meadows, might be heard at great distances,
arresting the ploughman as he turned the furrow, or the traveler as he pursued
his way, and making him stop and wonder whence the minstrelsy
proceeded.
Heresy had been flung into the air, and was spreading like an
infection far and near over the Low Countries. The contagion already pervaded
all Flanders, and now it appeared in Brabant. The first public sermon in this
part of the Netherlands was preached on the 24th of June, in a wood belonging to
the Lord of Berghen, not far from Antwerp. It being St. John's-tide, and so a
holiday, from four to five thousand persons were present. A rumor had been
circulated that a descent would be made on the worshippers by the military; and
armed men were posted at all the avenues, some on foot, others on horseback: no
attack, however, took place, and the assembly concluded its worship in peace.[4] Tidings having reached the
ear of the governor that field-preachings had commenced at Antwerp, she wrote to
the magistrates of that city, commanding them to forbid all such assemblies of
the people, and if holden, to disperse them by force of arms. The magistrates
replied that they had not the power so to do, nor indeed had they; the
burgher-guard was weak, some of them not very zealous in the business, and the
conventicle-holders were not only numerous, but every third man went armed to
the meeting. And as regards the Protestants, so little were they terrified by
the threats of the duchess, that they took forcible possession of a large
common, named the Laer, within a mile of Antwerp, and having fortified all the
avenues leading into it, by massing waggons and branches of trees in front, and
planting armed scouts all around, they preached in three several places of the
field at once.[5]
The pestilence,
which to the alarm and horror of the authorities had broken out, they sought to
wall in by placards. Every day, new and severer prohibitions were arriving from
the Duchess of Parma against the field-preachings. In the end of June, she sent
orders to the magistrates of Antwerp to disperse all these assemblies, and to
hang all the preachers.[6] Had the duchess
accompanied these orders with troops to enforce them, their execution might have
been possible; but the governor, much to her chagrin, had neither soldiers nor
money. Her musketeers and cross-bowmen were themselves, in many instances, among
the frequenters of these illegal meetings. To issue placards in these
circumstances was altogether idle. The magistrates of Antwerp replied, that
while they would take care that no conventicle was held in the city, they must
decline all responsibility touching those vast masses of men, amounting at times
to from fifteen to twenty thousand, that were in the practice of going outside
the walls to sermon.
About this time Tournay became famous for its
field-preachings. Indeed, the town may be said to have become Protestant, for
not more than a sixth of its population remained with the Roman Church.
Adjoining France its preachers were Walloons that is, Huguenots and on the
question of the Sacrament, the main doctrinal difference between the Lutheran
and the Reformed, the citizens of Tournay were decided Calvinists. Nowhere in
the Netherlands had the Protestants as yet ventured on preaching publicly within
the walls of a city, and the inhabitants of Tournay, like those of all the
Flemish towns, repaired to the fields to worship, leaving for the time the
streets silent. One day in the beginning of July, 1566, some 10,000 citizens
passed out at its gates to hear Peregrine de la Grange, an eloquent preacher
from Provence. La Grange had brought to the Low Countries the warm and impulsive
temperament and lively oratory of the South; he galloped with the air of a
cavalier to the spot where thousands, gathered round a hastily prepared pulpit,
waited his coming; and when he stood up to begin, he would fire a pistol over
the heads of his immense audience as a signal to listen. Other two days passed,
and another enormous conventicle assembled outside Tournay. A preacher even more
popular than Peregrine de la Grange was this day to occupy the pulpit in the
fields, and the audience was twice as large as that which had assembled two days
before.
Ambrose Wille had sat at the feet of Calvin, and if the stream of
his eloquence was not so rapid, it was; richer and deeper than that of the
Provencal; and what the multitudes which thronged to these field-preachings
sought was not so much to have their emotions stirred as to have their
understandings informed by the truths of Scripture, and above all, to have their
consciences set at rest by hearing the way of pardon clearly explained to them.
The risks connected with attendance were far too tremendous to be hazarded for
the sake of mere excitement. Not only did the minister preach with a price set
upon his head, but every one of these 20,000 now before him, by the mere fact of
hearing him, had violated the edicts, and incurred the penalty of death. Their
silence bespoke their intense anxiety and interest, and when the sermon had
ended, the heartiness of their psalm testified to the depth of their joy. It was
at the peril of their lives that the inhabitants of the Netherlands sought, in
those days, the bread of their souls in the high places of the
fields.
The movement steadily maintained its march northwards. It
advanced along that famous seaboard, a mighty silent power, bowing the hearts of
young and old, of the noble and the artisan, of the wealthy city merchant and
the landward tiller of the soil, and gathering them, in defiance of fiery
placards, in tens of thousands round that tree whereon was offered the true
Sacrifice for the sins of the world. We have seen the movement advance from
Flanders into Brabant, and now we are to follow it from Brabant into Holland. In
vain does Philip bid it stop; in vain do the placards of the governor threaten
death; it continues its majestic march from province to province, and from city
to city, its coming, like that of morning, heralded by songs of joy. It is
interesting to mark the first feeble beginnings of Protestant preaching in a
country where the Reformation was destined to win so many brilliant triumphs. In
an obscure street of Amsterdam, there lived at that time Peter Gabriel, formerly
of Bruges, with his wife Elizabeth, who was childless. He had been a monk, but
having embraced the Protestant faith, he threw off the frock, and was now
accustomed to explain the Heidelberg catechism every Sunday to a small
congregation, who came to him by twos and threes at a time for fear of the
magistrates, who were animated by a sanguinary zeal against the Reformation, and
trembled lest the plague of field-preaching should invade their city. There also
dwelt at Kampen at the same time John Arentson, a basket-maker by trade, but
gifted with eloquence, and possessed of a knowledge of the Scriptures. Him a few
pious burghers of Amsterdam invited to meet them, that they might confer
touching the steps to be taken for commencing the public preaching of the Gospel
in Holland. They met near St. Anthony's Gate, outside Amsterdam, for Arentson
durst not venture into the city. They were a little congregation of seven,
including the preacher; and having prayed for Divine guidance in a crisis so
important for their country, they deliberated; and having weighed all the
difficulties, they resolved, in spite of the danger that threatened their lives,
to essay the public preaching of the Word in Holland.
Before breaking up
they agreed to meet on the same spot, the same afternoon, to devise the
practical steps for carrying out their resolution. As they were re-entering
Amsterdam, by separate gates, they heard the great bell of the Stadthouse ring
out. Repairing to the market-place they found the magistrates promulgating the
last placard which had been transmitted from the court. It threatened death
against all preachers and teachers, as also against all their harbourers, and
divers lesser penalties against such as should attend their preaching. The six
worthy burghers were somewhat stumbled. Nevertheless, in the afternoon, at the
appointed hour, they returned to their old rendezvous, and having again
earnestly prayed, they decided on the steps for having the Gospel openly
preached to the people in all parts of Holland. On the 14th of July the first
sermon was preached by Arentson, in a field near Horn, in North Holland, the
people flocking thither from all the villages around. In the humble basket-maker
we see the pioneer of that numerous band of eloquent preachers and erudite
divines, by which Holland was to be distinguished in days to come.[7]
The movement thus
fairly commenced soon gathered way. News of what had taken place at Horn spread
like lightning all over Holland, and on the following Sunday, the 21st of July,
an enormous gathering took place at Overeen, near Haarlem. Proclamation of the
intended field-preaching had been made on the Exchange of Amsterdam on the
previous day. The excitement was immense; all the boats and waggons in Amsterdam
were hired for the transport of those who were eager to be present. Every
village and town poured out its inhabitants, and all the roads and canals
converging on Haarlem were crowded. The burgomasters of Amsterdam sent notice to
the magistrates of Haarlem of what was impending. The Stadthouse bell was rung
at nine o'clock of the evening of Saturday, and the magistrates hastily
assembled, to be told that the plague of which they had heard such dreadful
reports at a distance, was at last at their gates.
Haarlem was already
full of strangers; not an inn in it that was not crowded with persons who
purposed being present at the field-preaching on the coming day. The magistrates
deliberated and thought that they had found a way by which to avert the calamity
that hung over them: they would imprison this whole multitude within the walls
of their town, and so extinguish the projected conventicle of to-morrow. The
magistrates were not aware, when they hit on this clever expedient, that
hundreds had already taken up their position at Overeen, and were to sleep on
the ground. On Sunday morning, when the travelers awoke and sallied out into the
street., they found the city gates locked. Hour passed after hour, still the
gates were kept closed. The more adventurous leaped from the walls, swam the
moat, and leaving their imprisoned companions behind them, hastened to the place
of meeting. A few got out of the town when the watch opened the gates to admit
the milk-women, but the great bulk of the conventiclers were still in durance,
and among others Peter Gabriel, who was that day to be preacher. It was now
eleven o'clock of the forenoon; the excitement on the streets of Haarlem may be
imagined; the magistrates, thinking to dispel the tempest, had shut themselves
in with it. The murmurs grew into clamours, the clamours into threatenings,
every moment the tempest might be expected to burst. There was no alternative
but to open the gates, and let the imprisoned multitude escape.
Citizens
and strangers now poured out in one vast stream, and took the road to Overeen.
Last of all arrived Peter Gabriel the minister. Two stakes were driven
perpendicularly into the ground, and a bar was laid across, on which the
minister might place his Bible, and rest his arms in speaking. Around this rude
pulpit were gathered first the women, then the men, next those who had arms,
forming an outer ring of defense, which however was scarcely needed, for there
was then no force in Holland that would have dared to attack this multitude. The
worship was commenced with the singing of a psalm. First were heard the clear
soft notes of the females at the center; next the men struck in with their
deeper voices; last of all the martial forms in the outer circle joined the
symphony, and gave completeness and strength to the music. When the psalm had
ended, prayer was offered, and the thrilling peals that a moment before had
filled the vault overhead were now exchanged for a silence yet more thrilling.
The minister, opening the Bible, next read out as his text the 8th, 9th, and10th
verses of the second chapter of the Epistle to the Ephesians: "For by grace are
ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God. Not
of works lest any man should boast. For we are his workmanship, created in
Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk
in them." Here in a few verses, said the minister, was the essence of the whole
Bible the "marrow" of all true theology: -"the gift of God," salvation; its
source, "the grace of God;" the way in which it is received, "through faith;"
and the fruits ordained to follow, "good works."
It was a hot midsummer
day; the audience was not fewer than 5,000; the preacher was weak and infirm in
body, but his spirit was strong, and the lightning-power of his words held his
audience captive. The sermon, which was commenced soon after noon, did not
terminate till past four o'clock. Then again came prayer. The preacher made
supplication, says Brandt, "for all degrees of men, especially for the
Government, in such a manner that there was hardly a dry eye to be seen."[8] The worship was closed as
it had been commenced, with the melodious thunder of 5,000 voices raised in
praise.
So passed this great movement through Holland in the course of a
few weeks. Wherever it came it stirred the inhabitants not into wrath, nor into
denunciations of the Government, and much less into seditions and insurrections;
it awoke within them thoughts which were far too serious and solemn to find vent
in tumult and noise. They asked, "What must we do to be saved?" It was the hope
of having this the greatest of all questions answered, that drew them out into
woods and wildernesses, and open fields, and gathered them in thousands and tens
of thousands around the Book of Life and its expositor. While Brederode and his
fellow Confederates were traversing the country, making fiery speeches against
the Government, writing lampoons upon the bishops, draining huge bowls of wine,
and then hanging them round their necks as political badges in short, rousing
passions which stronger passions and firmer wills were to quell -these others,
whom we see searching the Scriptures, and gathering to the field-preachings,
were fortifying themselves and leavening their countrymen with those convictions
of truth, and that inflexible fidelity to God and to duty, which alone could
carry them through the unspeakably awful conflict before them, and form a basis
strong enough to sustain the glorious fabric of Dutch liberty which was to
emerge from that conflict.
By the middle of August there was no city of
note in all Holland where the free preaching of the Gospel had not been
established, not indeed within the walls, but outside in the fields. The
magistrates of Amsterdam, of all others, offered the most determined resistance.
They convoked the town militia, consisting of thirty-six train-bands, and asked
them whether they would support them in the suppression of the
field-conventicles. The militia replied that they would not, although they would
defend with their lives the magistrates and city against all insurrections.[9] The authorities were thus
under the necessity of tolerating the public sermon, which was usually preached
outside the Haarlem gate. The citizens of Delft, Leyden, Utrecht, and other
places now took steps for the free preaching of the Gospel. The first sermon was
preached at Delft by Peter Gabriel at Hornbrug, near the city. The concourse was
great. The next city to follow was the Hague. Twenty waggons filled with the
burghers of Delft accompanied the preacher thither; they alighted before the
mansion of the president, Cornelius Suis, who had threatened the severest
measures should such a heretical novelty be attempted in his city. They made a
ring with the waggons, placing the preacher in the centre, while his
congregation filled the enclosure. The armed portion of the worshippers remained
in the waggons and kept the peace. They sang their psalm, they offered their
prayer, the preaching of the sermon followed; the hostile president surveying
all the while, from his own window, the proceedings which he had stringently
forbidden, but was quite powerless to prevent.
There were only four
Protestant ministers at this time in all Holland. Their labors were incessant;
they preached all day and journeyed all night, but their utmost efforts could
not overtake the vastness of the field. Every day came urgent requests for a
preacher from towns and villages which had not yet been visited. The friends of
the Gospel turned their eyes to other countries; they cried for help; they
represented the greatness of the crisis, and prayed that laborers might be sent
to assist in reaping fields that were already white, and that promised so
plenteous a harvest. In answer to this appeal some ten pastors were sent, mainly
from the north of Germany, and these were distributed among the cities of
Holland. Other preachers followed, who came from other lands, or arose from
amongst the converts at home, and no long time elapsed till each of the chief
towns enjoyed a settled ministration of the Gospel.
CHAPTER
11 Back to
Top
THE IMAGE-BREAKINGS.
The
Confederate Envoys Philip's Cruel Purpose -The Image-Breakers Their
Character Their Devastations Overspread the Low Countries in a Week
Pillage of 400 Churches Antwerp Cathedral Its Magnificence -Its Pillage
Pillage of the Rest of the Churches The True Iconoclast Hammer-The Preachers
and their People take no part in the Image-Breakings Image-Breaking in Holland
Amsterdam and other Towns What Protestantism Teaches concerning
Image-Breaking The Popular Outbreaks at the Reformation and at the French
Revolution Compared.
We have seen the procession of the 300 noblemen who,
with Count Brederode at their head, on the 5th of April, 1566, walked two and
two on foot to the old palace of Brabant in Brussels, to lay the grievances
under which their nation groaned at the feet of Margaret, Regent of the
Netherlands. We have also heard the answer which the regent returned. She
promised to send their petition by special envoys to Philip, with whom alone the
power lay of granting or withholding its request; and meanwhile, though she
could not close the Inquisition, she would issue orders to the inquisitors to
proceed "with discretion." The noblemen whom Margaret selected to carry the
Confederate Petition to Spain were the Marquis de Berghen and the Baron de
Montigny. They gladly undertook the mission entrusted to them, little suspecting
how fruitless it would prove for their country, and how fatally it would end for
themselves. The tyrant, as we shall afterwards see, chose to consider them not
as ambassadors, but as conspirators against his Government. Philip took care,
however, to keep the dark purpose he harboured in connection therewith in his
breast; and meanwhile he professed to be deliberating on the answer which the
two deputies, who he purposed should see the Netherlands no more, were to carry
back. While Philip was walking in "leaden shoes," the country was hurrying on
with "winged feet."
The progress of the movement so far had been
peaceful. The psalms sung and the prayers offered at the field-preachings, and
above all the Gospel published from the pulpits, tended only to banish thoughts
of vengeance, and inspire to amity and good-will. The consideration of the
forgiveness of Heaven, freely accorded to the most enormous offenses, disposed
all who accepted it to forgive in their turn. But numerous other causes were in
operation tending to embroil the Protestant movement. The whole soil of the
Netherlands was volcanic. Though the voice of the pulpit was peace, the
harangues which the Confederates were daily firing off breathed only war. The
Protestants were becoming conscious of their strength; the remembrance of the
thousands of their brethren who had been barbarously murdered, rankled in their
minds nay, they were not permitted to forget the past, even had they been
willing so to do. Did not their pastors preach to them with a price set upon
their heads, and were not their brethren being dragged to death before their
eyes? With so many inflammable materials all about, it needed only a spark to
kindle a blaze. A mighty conflagration now burst out.
On the 14th of
August, the day before the fete of the Assumption of the Virgin, there suddenly
appeared in Flanders a band of men armed with staves, hatchets, hammers,
ladders, and ropes; some few of them carried guns and swords.[1] This party was composed of
the lowest of the people, of idlers, and women of disreputable character,
"hallooed on," says Grotius, "by nobody knows whom."[2] They had come forth to
make war upon images; they prosecuted the campaign with singular energy, and,
being unopposed, with complete success. As they marched onwards the crosses,
shrines, and saints in stone that stood by the roadside fell before them. They
entered the villages and lifted up their hammers upon all their idols, and smote
them in pieces. They next visited the great towns, where they pulled down the
crucifixes that stood at the corners of the streets, and broke the statues of
the Virgin and saints. The churches and cathedrals they swept clean of all their
consecrated symbols. They extinguished the tapers on the altars, and mounting
the wall of the edifice with their ladders, pulled down the pictures that
adorned it. They overturned the Madonnas, and throwing their ropes around the
massive crosses that surmounted altars and chapels, bore them to the ground; the
altars too, in some cases, they demolished; they took a special delight in
soiling the rich vestments of the priests, in smearing their shoes with the holy
oil, and trampling under foot the consecrated bread; and they departed only when
there was nothing more to break or to profane. It was in vain that the doors of
some churches and convents were hastily barricaded. This iconoclast army was not
to be withstood. Some sturdy image-hater would swing his hammer against the
closed portal, and with one blow throw it open. The mob would rush in, and
nothing would be heard but the clang of axes and the crash of falling pictures
and overturned images. A few minutes would suffice to complete the desolation of
the place. Like the brook when the rams descend, and a hundred mountain torrents
keep pouring their waters into it, till it swells into a river, and at last
widens into a devastating flood, so this little band of iconoclasts, swelled by
recruits from every village and town through which they passed, grew by minutes
into an army, that army into a far-extending host, which pursued its march over
the country, bursting open the doors of cathedrals and the gates of cities,
chasing burgomasters before it, and striking monk and militia-man alike with
terror. It seemed even as if iconoclasts were rising out of the soil. They would
start up and begin their ravages at the same instant in provinces and cities
widely apart. In three days they had spread themselves over all the Low
Countries, and in less than a week they had plundered 400 churches.[3] To adapt to this
destroying host the words of the prophet, descriptive of the ravages of another
army before them was a garden, clothed in the rich blossoms of the Gothic
genius and art, behind them was a wilderness strewn over with
ruins.
These iconoclasts appeared first in the district of St. Omer, in
Flanders, where they sacked the convent of the Nuns of Wolverghen. Emboldened by
their success, the cry was raised, "To Ypres, to Ypres!"[4] "On their way thither,"
says Strada, "their number increased, like a snowball rolling from a
mountain-top into the valley."[5] They purged the roads as
they advanced, they ravaged the churches around Ypres, and entering the town
they inflicted unsparing demolition upon all the images in its sanctuaries.
"Some set ladders to the walls, with hammers and staves battering the pictures.
Others broke asunder the iron-work, seats, and pulpit. Others casting ropes
about the great statues of Our Savior Christ, and the saints, pulled them down
to the ground."[6] The day following there
gathered "another flock of the like birds of prey," which directed their flight
towards Courtray and Douay, ravaging and plundering as they went onward. Not a
penny of property did they appropriate, not a hair of the head of monk or nun
did they hurt. It was not plunder but destruction which they sought, and their
wrath if fierce was discharged not on human beings, but on graven images. They
smote, and defaced, and broke in pieces, with exterminating fury, the statues
and pictures in the churches, without permitting even one to escape, "and that
with so much security," says Strada, "and with so little regard of the
magistrate or prelates, as you would think they had been sent for by the Common
Council, and were in pay of the city."[7]
Tidings of what was
going on in Flanders were speedily carried into Brabant, and there too the
tempest gathered with like suddenness, and expended itself with like fury. Its
more terrific burst was in Antwerp, which the wealth and devotion of preceding
ages had embellished with so many ecclesiastical fabrics, some of them of superb
architectural magnificence, and all of them filled with the beautiful creations
of the chisel and the pencil. The crowning glory of Antwerp was its cathedral,
which, although begun in 1124, had been finished only a few years before the
events we are narrating. There was no church in all Northern Europe, at that
day, which could equal the Notre-Dame of the commercial capital of Brabant,
whether in the imposing grandeur of its exterior, or in the variety and richness
of its internal decorations. The magnificence of its statuary, the beauty of its
paintings, its mouldings in bronze and carvings in wood, and its vessels of
silver and gold, made it the pride of the citizens, and the delight and wonder
of strangers from other lands. Its spire shot up to a height of 500 feet, its
nave and aisles stretched out longitudinally the same length. Under its lofty
roof, borne up by columns of gigantic stature, hung round with escutcheons and
banners, slept mailed warriors in their tombs of marble, while the boom of
organ, the chant of priest, and the whispered prayers of numberless worshippers,
kept eddying continually round their beds of still and deep and never-ending
repose.
When the magistrates and wealthy burghers of Antwerp heard of the
storm that was raging at no great distance from their gates, their hearts began
to fail them. Should the destructive cloud roll hither, how much will remain a
week hence, they asked themselves, of all that the wealth and skill and
penitence of centuries have gathered into the Church of Our Lady? It needed not
that the very cloud that was devastating Flanders should transport itself to the
banks of the Scheldt; the whole air was electrical. In every quarter of the
firmament the same dark clouds that hung over Flanders were appearing, and
wherever stood Virgin, or saint, or crucifix, there the lightnings were seen to
fall. The first mutterings of the storm were heard at Antwerp on the fete-day of
the Assumption of the Virgin. "Whilst," says Strada, "her image in solemn
procession was carried upon men's shoulders, from the great church through the
streets, some jeering rascals of the meaner sort of artificers first laughed and
hissed at the holy solemnity, then impiously and impudently, with mimic
salutations and reproachful words, mocked the effigies of the Mother of God."[8] The magistrates of Antwerp
in their wisdom hit upon a device which they thought would guide the iconoclast
tempest past their unrivalled cathedral. It was their little manoeuvre that drew
the storm upon them.
The great annual fair was being held in their
city;[9] it was usual during that
concourse for the image of the Virgin to stand in the open nave of the
cathedral, that her rotaries might the more conveniently offer her their
worship. The magistrates, thinking to take away occasion from those who sought
it, bade the statue be removed inside the choir, behind the iron railing of its
gates. When the people assembled next day, they found "Our Lady's" usual place
deserted. They asked her in scorn "why she had so early flown up to the roost?"
"Have you taken fright," said they sarcastically, "that you have retreated
within this enclosure?" As "Our Lady" made them no reply, nor any one for her,
their insolence waxed greater. "Will you join us," said they, "in crying, 'Long
live the Beggars'?"
It is plain that those who began the iconoclast riots
in Antwerp were more of Confederates than Reformers. A mischievously frolicsome
lad, in tattered doublet and old battered hat, ascended the pulpit, and treated
the crowd to a clever caricature of the preaching of the friars. All, however,
did not approve of this attempt to entertain the multitude. A young sailor
rushed up the stairs to expel the caricaturist preacher. The two struggled
together in the pulpit, and at last both came rolling to the ground. The crowd
took the part of the lad, and some one drawing his dagger wounded the sailor.
Matters were becoming serious, when the church officers interfered, and with the
help of the margrave of the city, they succeeded with some difficulty in
ejecting the mob, and locking the cathedral-doors for the night.[10]
The governor of the
city, William of Orange, was absent, having been summoned a few days before to a
council at Brussels; and the two burgomasters and magistrates were at their
wits' end.
They had forbidden the Gospel to be preached within the walls
of Antwerp, having rejected the petition lately presented to that effect by a
number of the principal burghers; but the gates which the Gospel must not enter,
the iconoclast tempest had burst open without leave of the Senate. Where the
psalm could not be sung, the iconoclast saturnalians lifted up their hoarse
voices. The night passed in quiet, but when the day returned, signs appeared of
a renewal of the tempest. Crowds began to collect in the square before the
cathedral; numbers were entering the edifice, and it was soon manifest that they
had come not to perform their devotions, but to stroll irreverently through the
building, to mock at the idols in nave and aisle, to peer through the iron
railings behind which the Virgin still stood ensconced, to taunt and jeer her
for fleeing, and to awaken the echoes of the lofty roof with their cries of
"Long live the Beggars!" Every minute the crowd was increasing and the confusion
growing. In front of the choir, sat an ancient crone selling wax tapers and
other things used in the worship of the Virgin. Zealous for the honor of Mary,
whom Antwerp and all Brabant worshipped, she began to rebuke the crowd for their
improper behavior.
The mob were not in a humor to take the admonition
meekly. They turned upon their reprover, telling her that her patroness' day was
over, and her own with it, and that she had better "shut shop." The huckster
thus baited was not slow to return gibe for gibe. The altercation drew the
youngsters in the crowd around her, who possibly did not confine their
annoyances to words. Catching at such missiles as lay within her reach, the
stall-woman threw them at her tormentors. The riot thus begun rapidly extended
through all parts of the church. Some began to play at ball, some to throw
stones at the altar, some to shout, "Long live the Beggars!" and others to sing
psalms. The magistrates hastened to the scene of uproar, and strove to induce
the people to quit the cathedral. The more they entreated, the more the mob
scowled defiance. They would remain, they said, and assist in singing Ave Maria
to the Virgin. The magistrates replied that there would be no vespers that
night, and again urged them to go. In the hope that the mob would follow, the
magistrates made their own exit, locking the great door of the cathedral behind
them, and leaving open only a little wicket for the people to come out by.
Instead of the crowd within coming out, the mob outside rushed in at the wicket,
and the uproar was increased.
The margrave and burgomasters re-entered
the church once more, and made yet another attempt to quell the riot. They found
themselves in presence of a larger and stormier crowd, which they could no more
control than they could the waves of an angry sea. Securing what portion they
could of the more valuable treasures in the church, they retired, leaving the
cathedral in the hands of the rioters.[11]
All night long the
work of wholesale destruction still went on. The noise of wrenching, breaking,
and shouting, the blows of hammers and axes, and the crash of images and
pictures, were heard all over the city; and the shops and houses were closed.
The first object of the vengeance of the rioters, now left sole masters of the
building and all contained in it, was the colossal image of the Virgin, which
only two days before had been borne in jewelled robes, with flaunt of banner,
and peal of trumpet, and beat of drum, through the streets. The iron railing
within which she had found refuge was torn down, and a few vigorous blows from
the iconoclast axes hewed her in pieces and smote her into dust. Execution being
done upon the great deity of the place, the rage of the mob was next discharged
on the minor gods. Traversing nave and side-aisle, the iconoclast paused a
moment before each statue of wood or stone. He lifted his brawny arm, his hammer
fell, and the image lay broken. The pictures that hung on the walls were torn
down, the crosses were overturned, the carved work was beaten into atoms, and
the stained glass of the windows shivered in pieces. All the altars seventy in
number were demolished;[12] in short, every ornament
was rifled and destroyed. Tapers taken from the altar lighted the darkness, and
enabled the iconoclasts to continue their work of destruction all through the
night.
The storm did not expend itself in the cathedral only, it extended
to the other churches and chapels of Antwerp. These underwent a like speedy and
terrible purgation. Before morning, not fewer than thirty churches within the
walls had been sacked. When there remained no more images to be broken, and no
more pictures and crucifixes to be pulled down, the rabble laid their hands on
other things. They strewed the wafers on the floor; they filled the chalices
with wine, and drank to the health of the Beggars; they donned the gorgeous
vestments of the priests, and, breaking open the cellars, a vigorous tap of the
hammer set the red wine a-flowing. A Carmelite, or bare-looted monk, who had
languished twelve years in the prison of his monastery, received his liberty at
the hands of these image-breakers. The nunneries were invaded,[13] and the sisters, impelled
by fright, or moved by the desire of freedom, escaped to the houses of their
relatives and friends. Violence was offered to no one. Unpitying towards dead
idols, these iconoclasts were tender of living men.
When the day broke a
body of the rioters sallied out at the gates, and set to work on the abbeys and
religious houses in the open country. These they ravaged as they had done those
of the city. The libraries of some of these establishments they burned. The
riotings continued for three days. No attempt to put them down was made by any
one. The magistrates did nothing beyond their visit to the cathedral on the
first day. The burghal militia were not called out. The citizens kept themselves
shut up in their houses, the Protestants because they suspected that the Roman
Catholics had conspired to murder them, and the Roman Catholics because they
feared the same thing of the Protestants. Though the crowd was immense, the
actual perpetrators of these outrages were believed not to number over a
hundred. A little firmness on the part of the authorities at the beginning might
easily have restrained them. "All these violences, plunderings, and
desolations," said those of the Spanish faction, "were committed by about a
hundred unarmed rabble at the most." The famous Dutch historian, Hooft, says: "I
do not think it strange, since there are good and bad men to be found in all
sects, that the vilest of the [Reformed] party showed their temper by these
extravagances, or that others fed their eyes with a sport that grew up to a
plague, which they thought the clergy had justly deserved by the rage of their
persecutions." "The generality of the Reformed," he adds, "certainly behaved
themselves nobly by censuring things which they thought good and proper to be
done, because they were brought about by improper methods."[14] In an Apology which they
published after these occurrences had taken place the Reformed said: "The
Papists themselves were at the bottom of the image-breaking, to the end they
might have a pretext for charging those of the Religion with rebellion: this,
they added, plainly appeared by the tumult renewed at Antwerp by four Papists,
who were hanged for it next day."[15]
It is light and not
axes that can root out idols. It is but of small avail to cast down the graven
image, unless the belief on which the worship of it is founded be displaced from
the heart. This was not understood by these zealous iconoclasts. Cast images out
of the breast, said Zwingle, and they will soon disappear from the sanctuary. Of
this opinion were the Protestant preachers of the Low Countries. So far from
lifting axe or hammer upon any of the images around them, they strove to the
utmost of their power to prevent the rabble doing so. The preacher Modet, in an
Apology which he published soon after these disorders, says "that neither he
himself nor any of his consistory had any more knowledge of this design of
destroying images when it was first contrived than of the hour of their death."
It was objected against him that he was in the church while the mob was breaking
and defacing the images. This he owns was true; but he adds that "it was at the
desire of the magistrates themselves, and at the peril of his own life, that he
went thither to quiet the mob, though he could not be heard, but was pulled down
from the pulpit, and thrust out of the church; that, moreover, he had gone first
to the convent of the Grey Friars, and next to the nunnery of St. Clara, to
entreat the people to depart; that of this matter fifty or sixty nuns could
testify. That was all the concern he had in that affair." A written address was
also presented to the burgomaster by the ministers and elders of the Dutch and
Walloon congregations, in which "they called God to witness that what happened
in the taking away and destroying of images was done without either their
knowledge or consent; and they declared their detestation of these violent
deeds."[16]
This destroying
wind passed on to Breda, Bergen-op-Zoom, and other towns of Brabant. Eight men
presented themselves at the gates of Lier, and said they had come to ascertain
whether the idols had been taken down. The magistrates admitted two of them into
the city, led them from church to church, and removed whatever they ordered,
without once asking them by whose authority they had come.[17] At Tournay the churches
were stripped to the very walls; the treasures of gold and silver which the
priests had buried in the earth, exhumed; and the repositories broken into, and
the chalices, reliquaries, rich vestments, and precious jewels scattered about
as things of no value. At Valenciennes the massacre of the idols took place on
St. Bartholomew's Day. "Hardly as many senseless stones," says Motley, "were
victims as there were to be living Huguenots sacrificed in a single city upon a
Bartholomew which was fast approaching. In the Valenciennes massacre not a human
being was injured."[18]
The storm turned
northward, and inflicted its ravages on the churches of Holland. Hague, Delft,
Leyden, the Brill, and other towns were visited and purged. At Dort, Gouda,
Rotterdam, Haarlem, and other places, the magistrates anticipated the coming of
the iconoclasts by giving orders beforehand for the removal of the images.
Whether the pleasure or the mortification of the rioters was the greater at
having the work thus taken off their hands, it would be hard to affirm. At
Amsterdam the matter did not pass off so quietly. The magistrates, hearing that
the storm was travelling northwards, gave a hint to the priests to remove their
valuables in time. The precaution was taken with more haste than good success.
The priests and friars, lading themselves with the plate, chalices, patens,
pyxes, and mass-vestments, hurried with them along the open street. They were
met by the operatives, who were returning from their labor to dinner.
The
articles were deemed public property, and the clergy in many cases were relieved
of their burdens. The disturbances had begun. The same evening, after vespers
had been sung, several children were brought for baptism. While the priest was
performing the usual exorcisms one of the crowd shouted out, "You priest,
forbear to conjure the devil out of him; baptise the child in the name of Jesus,
as the apostles were wont to do."
The confusion increased; some mothers
had their infants hastily baptised in the mother tongue, others hurried home
with theirs unbaptised. Later in the evening a porter named Jasper, sauntering
near that part of the church where the pyx is kept, happened to light upon a
placard hanging on the wall, having reference to the mystery in the pyx. "Look
here," said he to the bystanders, at the same time laying hold on the board and
reading aloud its inscription, which ran thus: "Jesus Christ is locked up in
this box; whoever does not believe it is damned." Thereupon he threw it with
violence on the floor; the crash echoed through the church, and gave the signal
for the breakings to begin. Certain boys began to throw stones at the altar. A
woman threw her slipper at the head of a wooden Mary an act, by the way, which
afterwards cost her her own head. The mob rushed on: images and crucifixes went
down before them, and soon a heap of pictures, vases, crosses, and saints in
stone, broken, bruised, and blended undistinguishably, covered with their sacred
ruins the floors of the churches.[19]
It does not appear
from the narratives of contemporary historians that in a single instance these
outrages were stimulated, or approved of, by the Protestant preachers. On the
contrary, they did all in their power to prevent them. They wished to see the
removal of images from the churches, knowing that this method of worship had
been forbidden in the Decalogue; but they hoped to accomplish the change
peacefully, by enlightening the public sentiment and awakening the public
conscience on the matter. He is the true iconoclast, they held, who teaches that
"God is a Spirit, and must be worshipped in spirit." This is the hammer that is
to break in pieces the idols of the nations.
Nor can the destruction of
these images, with truth, be laid at the door of the Protestant congregations of
the Low Countries. There were fanatical persons in their ranks, no doubt, who
may have aided the rioters by voice and hand; but the great body of the
Reformers all, in short, who were worthy of the name, and had really been
baptised into the spirit of Protestantism stood aloof from the work of
destruction, knowing it to be as useless as it was culpable. These outrages were
the work of men who cared as little for Protestantism, in itself, as they did
for Roman Catholicism. They belonged to a class found in every Popish country,
who, untaught, vindictive, vicious, are ever ready to break out into violence
the moment the usual restraints are withdrawn. These restraints had been greatly
relaxed in the Low Countries, as in all the countries of Christendom, by the
scandals of the priesthood, and yet more by the atrocious cruelty of the
Government, which had associated these images in the minds of the people with
the 30,000 victims who had been sacrificed during the three or four decades
past. And most of all, perhaps, had Protestantism tended to relax the hold which
the Church of Rome exercised over the masses. Protestantism had not enlightened
the authors of these outrages to the extent of convincing them of its own truth,
but it had enlightened them to the extent of satisfying them that Popery was a
cheat; and it is of the nature of the human mind to avenge itself upon the
impositions by which it has been deluded and duped. But are we therefore to say
that the reign of imposture must be eternal? Are we never to unmask delusions
and expose falsehoods, for fear that whirlwinds may come in with the light? How
many absurdities and enormities must we, in that case, make up our minds to
perpetuate! In no one path of reform should we ever be able to advance a step.
We should have to sternly interdict progress not only in religion, but in
science, in politics, and in every department of social well-being. And then,
how signally unjust to blame the remedy, and hold it accountable for the
disturbances that accompany it, and acquit the evil that made the remedy
necessary!
Modern times have presented us with two grand disruptions of
the bonds of authority; the first was that produced by Protestantism in the
sixteenth century, and the second was that caused by the teachings of the French
Encyclopedists in the end of the eighteenth century. In both cases the masses
largely broke away from the control of the Roman Church and her priesthood; but
every candid mind will admit that they broke away not after the same fashion, or
to the same effect. The revolt of the sixteenth century was attended, as we have
seen in the Low Countries, by an immense and, we shall grant, most merciless
execution of images; the revolt of the eighteenth was followed by the slaughter
of a yet greater number of victims; but in this case the victims were not
images, but living men. Both they who slew the images in the sixteenth century,
and they who slew the human beings in the eighteenth, were reared in the Church
of Rome; they had learned her doctrines and had received their first lessons
from her priests; and though now become disobedient and rebellious, they had not
yet got quit of the instincts she had planted in them, nor were they quite out
of her leading-strings.
CHAPTER
12 Back to
Top
REACTION SUBMISSION OF THE SOUTHERN
NETHERLANDS.
Treaty between the Governor and Nobles Liberty given
the Reformed to Build Churches Remonstrances of Margaret Reply of Orange
Anger of Philip His Cruel Resolve Philip's Treachery Letters that Read Two
Ways the Governor raises Soldiers A Great Treachery Meditated Egmont's and
Horn's Compliance with the Court, and Severities against the Reformed Horn at
Tournay Forbids the Reformed to Worship inside the Walls Permitted to erect
Churches outside Money and Materials the Governor Violates the Accord
Re-formed Religion Forbidden in Tournay and Valenciennes Siege of Valenciennes
by Noircarmes Sufferings of the Besieged They Surrender-Treachery of
Noircarmes Execution of the Two Protestant Ministers Terror inspired by the
Fall of Valenciennes Abject Submission of the Southern
Netherlands.
The first effect of the tumults was favorable to the
Reformers. The insurrection had thoroughly alarmed the Duchess of Parma, and the
Protestants obtained from her fear concessions which they would in vain have
solicited from her sense of justice. At a conference between the leading nobles
and the governor at Brussels on the 25th of August, the following treaty was
agreed to and signed: The duchess promised on her part "that the Inquisition
should be abolished from this time forward for ever," and that the Protestants
should have liberty of worship in all those places where their worship had been
previously established. These stipulations were accompanied with a promise that
all past offenses of image-breaking and Beggar manifestoes should be condoned.
The nobles undertook on their part to dissolve their Confederacy, to return to
the service of the State, to see that the Reformed did not come armed to their
assemblies, and that in their sermons they did not inveigh against the Popish
religion.[1] Thus a gleam broke out
through the cloud, and the storm was succeeded by a momentary calm.
On
the signing of this treaty the princes went down to their several provinces, and
earnestly labored to restore the public peace. The Prince of Orange and Counts
Egmont, Horn, and Hoog-straten were especially zealous in this matter, nor were
their efforts without success. In Antwerp, where Orange was governor, and where
he was greatly beloved, quiet was speedily re-established, the great cathedral
was again opened, and the Romish worship resumed as aforetime. It was agreed
that all the consecrated edifices should remain in the possession of the Roman
Catholics, but a convention was at the same time made with the Dutch and Walloon
congregations, empowering them to erect places of worship within the city-walls
for their own use. The latter arrangement, the privilege, namely, accorded the
Reformed of worshipping within the walls was a concession which it cost the
bigotry of Margaret a grudge to make. But Orange, in reply to her remonstrances,
told her that, in the first place, this was expedient, seeing assemblies of
20,000 or 25,000 persons were greater menaces to the public peace outside the
walls, where they were removed from the eye of the magistrate, than they could
possibly be within the city, where not only were their congregations smaller,
their numbers seldom exceeding 10,000, but their language and bearing were more
modest; and, in the second place, this concession, he reminded the duchess, was
necessary. The Reformed were now 200,000 strong, they were determined to enjoy
their rights, and he had no soldiers to gainsay their demands, nor could he
prevail on a single burgher to bear arms against them.[2] In a few days the Walloon
congregation, availing themselves of their new liberties, laid the first stone
of their future church on a spot which had been allotted them; and their example
was speedily followed by the Dutch Reformed congregation. Through the efforts of
Orange the troubles were quieted all over Holland and Brabant. His success was
mainly owing to the great weight of his personal character, for soldiers to
enforce submission he had none. The churches were given back to the priests,
who, doffing the lay vestments in which many of them had encased themselves in
their terror, resumed the public celebration of their rites; and the Protestants
were contented with the liberty accorded them of worshipping in fabrics of their
own creation, which in a few places were situated within the walls, but in the
great majority of cases stood outside, in the suburbs, or the open
country.
Meanwhile the news of churches sacked, images destroyed, and
holy things profaned was travelling to Spain. Philip, who during his stay in
Brussels had been wont to spend his nights in the stews, or to roam masked
through the streets, satiating his base appetites upon their foul garbage, when
the tidings of the profanation reached him, first shuddered with horror, and
next trembled with rage. Plucking at his beard, he exclaimed, "It shall cost
them dear, I swear it by the soul of my father."[3]
For every image
that had been mutilated hundreds of living men were to die; the affront offered
to the Roman Catholic faith, and its saints in stone, must be washed out in the
blood of the inhabitants of the Netherlands. So did the tyrant
resolve.
Meanwhile keeping secret the terrible purpose in his breast, he,
began to move toward it with his usual slowness, but with more than his usual
doggedness and duplicity. Before the news of the image-breaking had arrived, the
king had written to Margaret of Parma, in answer to the petition which the two
envoys, the Marquis of Berghen and the Count de Montigny, had brought to Madrid,
saying to her so bland and gracious did he seem that he would pardon the
guilty, on certain conditions, and that seeing there was now a full staff of
bishops in the Provinces, able and doubtless willing vigilantly to guard the
members of their flock, the Inquisition was no longer necessary, and should
henceforth cease. Here was pardon and the abolition of the Inquisition: what
more could the Netherlanders ask? But if the letter was meant to read one way in
Brussels, it was made to read another way in Madrid. No sooner had Philip
indited it than, summoning two attorneys to his closet, he made them draw out a
formal protest in the presence of witnesses to the effect that the promise of
pardon, being not voluntary but compulsory, was not binding, and that he was not
obliged thereby to spare any one whom he chose to consider guilty. As regarded
the Inquisition, Philip wrote to the Pope, telling him that he had indeed said
to the Netherlanders that he would abolish it, but that need not scandalise his
Holiness, inasmuch as he neither could nor would abolish the Inquisition unless
the Pope gave his consent. As regarded the meeting of the Assembly of the States
for which the Confederates had also petitioned, Philip replied with his
characteristic prudence, that he forbade its meeting for the moment; but in a
secret letter to Margaret he told her that that moment meant for ever. The two
noblemen who brought the petition were not permitted to carry back the answer:
that would have been dangerous. They might have initiated their countrymen into
the Spanish reading of the letter. They were still, upon various pretences,
detained at Madrid.
Along with this very pleasant letter, which the
governor was to make known to all Philip's subjects of the Netherlands, that
they might know how gracious a master they had, came another communication,
which Margaret was not to make known, but on the contrary keep to herself.
Philip announced in this letter that he had sent the governor a sum of money for
raising soldiers, and that he wished the new battalions to be enlisted
exclusively from Papists, for on these the king and the duchess might rely for
an absolute compliance with their will. The regent was not remiss in executing
this order; she immediately levied a body of cavalry and five regiments of
infantry. As her levies increased her fears left her, and the conciliatory
spirit which led her to consent to the Accord of the 25th of August, was changed
to a mood of mind very different.
But if the Accord was to be kept, the
good effects of which had been seen in a pacified country, and if the guilty
were to be pardoned and the Inquisition abolished, as the king's letter had
promised, where was the need of raising armaments? Surely these soldiers are not
merely to string beads. A great treachery is meditated, said Orange and his
companions, Egmont and Horn. It is not the abolition of the Inquisition, but a
rekindling of its fires on a still larger scale, that awaits us; and instead of
a resurrection of Flemish liberty by the assembling of the States-General, it is
the entire effacement of whatever traces of old rights still remain in these
unhappy countries, and the establishment of naked despotism on the ruins of
freedom by an armed force, that is contemplated. Of that these levies left
Orange in no doubt. In the Council all three nobles expressed their
disapprobation of the measure, as a rekindling of the flames of civil discord
and sedition.
Every day new proofs of this were coming to light. The
train-bands of the tyrant were gathering round the country, and the circle of
its privileges and its liberties was contracting from one hour to another. The
regent had no cause to complain of the lukewarmness of Egmont and Horn, whatever
suspicions she might entertain of Orange. The prince was now a Lutheran, and he
had calmed the iconoclastic tumults all over Brabant, Holland, and Zealand,
without staining his hands with a single drop of blood. The Counts Egmont and
Horn were Romanists, and their suppression of the image-breakings in Flanders
and Tournay had been marked by great severity towards the Reformers. Egmont
showed himself an ardent partisan of the Government, and his proceedings spread
terror through Flanders and Artois. Thousands of Protestants fled the country;
their wives and families were left destitute; the public profession of the
Reformed religion was forbidden, despite the. Accord; and numbers of its
adherents, including ministers, hanged.[4] The chief guilt of these
cruelties rests with Egmont's secretary, Bakkerzeel, who had great influence
over the count, and who, along with his chief, received his reward in due time
from the Government they so zealously and unscrupulously served.
It was
much after the same fashion that Tournay was pacified by Count Horn. Five-sixths
of the inhabitants of that important place were Calvinists; Horn, therefore,
feared to forbid the public preachings. But no church and no spot inside the
walls would Horn permit to be defiled by the Protestant worship; nevertheless,
three places outside the gates were assigned for sermon. The eloquent Ambrose
Wille, whom we have already met, was the preacher, and his congregation
generally numbered from fifteen to twenty thousand hearers. Permission was at
last given for the erection of churches on the three spots where the
field-preaching had been held; and Councillor Taffen made what he judged an
eminently reasonable proposal to the magistrates touching the cost of their
erection. The Papists, he said, who were not more than a fourth of the citizens,
retained all the old churches; the other three-fourths, who were Protestants,
were compelled to build new ones, and in these circumstances he thought it only
fair that the community should defray the expense of their erection. The
Romanists exclaimed against the proposal. To be compelled to refrain from
burning the heretics was much, but to be taxed for the support of heresy was an
unheard-of oppression. Money and materials, however, were forthcoming in
abundance: the latter were somewhat too plentiful; fragments of broken images
and demolished altars were lying about everywhere, and were freely but
indiscreetly used by the Protestants in the erection of their new fabrics. The
sight of the things which they had worshipped, built into the walls of a
heretical temple, stung the Romanists to the quick as the last disgrace of their
idols.
The levies of the regent were coming in rapidly, and as her
soldiers increased her tone waxed the bolder. The Accord of the 25th of August,
which was the charter of the Protestants, gave her but small concern. She had
made it in her weakness with the intention of breaking it when she should be
strong. She confiscated all the liberties the Reformed enjoyed under that
arrangement. The sermons were forbidden, on the ridiculous pretext that,
although the liberty of preaching had been conceded, that did not include the
other exercises commonly practiced at the field assemblies, such as singing,
praying, and dispensing the Sacraments. Garrisons were placed by the regent in
Tournay, in Valenciennes, and many other towns; the profession of the Reformed
religion was suppressed in them; the Roman temples were re-opened, and the
Popish rites restored in their former splendor.
The fall of Valenciennes
as a Protestant city exerted so disastrous and decisive an influence upon the
whole country, that it must detain us for a little while. In the end of the year
1566 the last year of peace which the Netherlands were to see for more than a
generation the regent sent the truculent Noircarmes to demand that
Valenciennes should open its gates to a garrison. Strongly fortified, Protestant
to all but a fourth or sixth of its population, courageous and united,
Valenciennes refused to admit the soldiers of Margaret. Her general thereupon
declared it in a state of siege, and invested it with his troops. Its fate
engaged the interest of the surrounding villages and distracts, and the
peasants, armed with pitchforks, picks, and rusty muskets, assembling to the
number of 3,000, marched to its relief. They were met by the troops of
Noircarmes, discomfited, and almost exterminated. Another company also marching
to its assistance met a similar fate. Those who escaped the slaughter took
refuge in the church of Watrelots, only to be overtaken by a more dreadful
death. The belfry, into which they had retreated, was set on fire, and the whole
perished. These disasters, however, did not dispirit the besieged.
They
made vigorous sallies, and kept the enemy at bay. To cut off all communication
between the city and the surrounding country, and so reduce the besieged by
famine, orders were given to the soldiers to lay the district waste. The
villages were pillaged or burned, the inhabitants slaughtered in cold blood, or
stripped naked in the dead of winter, or roasted alive over slow fires to amuse
a brutal soldiery. Matrons and virgins were sold in public auction at tuck of
drum. While these horrible butcheries were being enacted outside Valenciennes,
Noircarmes was drawing his lines closer about the city. In answer to a summons
from Margaret, the inhabitants offered to surrender on certain conditions. These
were indignantly rejected, and Noircarmes now commenced to bombard Valenciennes.
It was the morning of Palm-Sunday. The bells in the steeples were chiming the
air to which the 22nd Psalm, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" as
versified by Marot, was commonly sung. The boom of the cannon, the quaking of
the houses, the toppling of the chimneys, mingling with the melancholy chimes of
the steeples, and the wailings of the women and children in the streets, formed
a scene depressing indeed, and which seems to have weighed down the spirits of
the inhabitants into despair. The city sent to Noircarmes offering to surrender
on the simple condition that it should not be sacked, and that the lives of the
inhabitants should be spared. The general gave his promise only to break it.
Noircarmes closed the gates when he had entered. The wealthy citizens he
arrested; some hundreds were hanged, and others were sent to the stake.[5] There was no regular sack,
but the soldiers were quartered on the inhabitants, and murdered and robbed as
they had a mind. The elders and deacons and principal members of the Protestant
congregation were put to death.[6] The two Protestant
preachers, Guido de Bray and Peregrine de la Grange, the eloquent Huguenot, made
their escape, but being discovered they were brought back, cast into a filthy
dungeon, and loaded with chains.
In their prison they were visited by the
Countess of Reux, who asked them how they could eat and drink and sleep with so
heavy a chain, and so terrible a fate in prospect. "My good cause," replied De
Bray, "gives me a good conscience, and my good conscience gives me a good
appetite." "My bread is sweeter, and my sleep sounder," he continued, "than that
of my persecutors." "But your heavy irons?" interposed the countess. "It is
guilt that makes a chain heavy," replied the prisoner, "innocence makes mine
light. I glory in my chains, I account them my badges of honor, their clanking
is to my ear as sweet music; it refreshes me like a psalm."[7]
They were sentenced
to be hanged. When their fate was announced to them, says Brandt, "they received
it as glad tidings, and prepared as cheerfully to meet it as if they had been
going to a wedding-feast." De Bray was careful to leave behind him the secret of
his sound sleep in heavy irons and a filthy dungeon, that others in like
circumstances might enjoy the same tranquillity. "A good conscience, a good
conscience! " "Take care," said he to all those who had come to see him die,
"Take care to do nothing against your conscience, otherwise you will have an
executioner always at your heels, and a pandemonium burning within you."
Peregrine de la Grange addressed the spectators from the ladder, "taking heaven
and earth to witness that he died for no cause save that of having preached the
pure Word of God." Guido do Bray kneeled on the scaffold to pray; but the
executioner instantly raised him, and compelled him to take his place on the
ladder. Standing with the rope round his neck he addressed the people, bidding
them give all due reverence to the magistrate, and adhere to the Word of God,
which he had purely preached. His discourse was stopped by the hangman suddenly
throwing him off. At the instant a strange frenzy seized the soldiers that
guarded the market-place. Breaking their ranks, they ran about the town in great
disorder, "nobody knowing what ailed them," firing off their muskets, and
wounding and killing Papists and Protestants indiscriminately.[8]
We stand on the
threshold of a second great era of persecution to the Church of the Netherlands.
The horrors of this era, of which the scaffolds of these two learned and
eloquent divines mark the commencement, were to be so awful that the sufferings
of the past forty years would not be remembered. The severities that attended
the fall of the powerful and Protestant Valenciennes discouraged the other
cities; they looked to see the terrible Noircarmes and his soldiers arrive at
their gates, offering the alternative of accepting a garrison, or enduring siege
with its attendant miseries as witnessed in the case of Valenciennes. They made
up their minds to submission in the hope of better days to come. If they could
have read the future: if they had known that submission would deepen into
slavery; that one terrible woe would depart only to make room for another more
terrible, and that the despot of Spain, whose heart bigotry had made hard as the
nether millstone, would never cease emptying upon them the vials of his wrath,
they would have chosen the bolder, which would also have been the better part.
Had they accepted conflict, the hardest-fought fields would have been as nothing
compared with the humiliations and inflictions that submission entailed upon
them. Far better would it have been to have died with arms in their hands than
with halters round their necks; far better would it have been to struggle with
the foe in the breach or in the field, than to offer their limbs to the
inquisitor's rack.
But the Flemings knew not the greatness of the crisis:
their hearts fainted in the day of trial. The little city of Geneva had
withstood single-handed the soldiers of the Duke of Savoy, and the threats of
France and Spain: the powerful Provinces of Brabant and Flanders, with their
numerous inhabitants, their strong and opulent cities, and their burghal
militia, yielded at the first summons. Even Valenciennes surrendered while its
walls were yet entire. The other cities seem to have been conquered by the very
name of Noircarmes. The Romanists themselves were astonished at the readiness
and abjectness of the submission. "The capture of Valenciennes," wrote
Noircarmes to Granvelle, "has worked a miracle. The other cities all come forth
to meet me, putting the rope round their own neck."[9] It became a saying, "The
governor has found the keys of all the rest of the cities at Valenciennes."[10] Cambray, Hasselt, Maseik,
and Maestricht surrendered themselves, as did also Bois-le-Duc. The Reformed in
Cambray had driven away the archbishop; now the archbishop returned, accompanied
with a party of soldiers, and the Reformed fled in their turn. In the other
towns, where hardly a single image had escaped the iconoclast tempest, the
Romish worship was restored, and the Protestants were compelled to conform or
leave the place. The Prince of Orange had hardly quitted Antwerp, where he had
just succeeded in preventing an outbreak which threatened fearful destruction to
property and life, when that commercial metropolis submitted its neck to the
yoke which it seemed to have cast off with contempt, and returned to a faith
whose very symbols it had so recently trampled down as the mire in the streets.
Antwerp was soon thereafter honored with a visit from the governor. Margaret
signalised her coming by ordering the churches of the Protestants to be pulled
down, their children to be re-baptised, and as many of the church-plunderers as
could be discovered to be hanged. Her commands were zealously carried out by an
obsequious magistracy,[11] It was truly melancholy to
witness the sudden change which the Southern Netherlands underwent. Thousands
might be seen hurrying from a shore where freedom and the arts had found a home
for centuries, where proud cities had arisen, and whither were wafted with every
tide the various riches of a world-wide commerce, leaving by their flight the
arts to languish and commerce to die. But still more melancholy was it to see
the men who remained casting themselves prostrate before altars they had so
recently thrown down, and participating in rites which they had repudiated with
abhorrence as magical and idolatrous.
CHAPTER
13 Back to
Top
THE COUNCIL OF
BLOOD.
Orange's Penetration of Philip's Mind Conference at
Dendermonde Resolution of Egmont William Retires to Nassau in Germany
Persecution Increased The Gallows Full Two Sisters Philip resolves to send
an Army to the Netherlands Its Command given to the Duke of Alva His
Character His Person His Fanaticism and Bloodthirstiness Character of the
Soldiers An Army of Alvas Its March Its Morale Its Entrance Unopposed
Margaret Retires from the Netherlands Alva Arrests Egmont and Horn Refugees
Death of Berghen and Montigny The Council of Blood Sentence of Death upon
all the Inhabitants of the Netherlands Constitution of the Blood Council Its
Terrible Work Shrove-tide A proposed Holocaust Sentence of Spanish
Inquisition upon the Netherlands.
"Whirlwinds from the terrible land of the South" in
literal terms, edicts and soldiers from Spain -were what might now be looked
for. The land had been subjugated, but it had yet to be chastised. On every side
the priests lifted up the head, the burghers hung theirs in shame. The psalm
pealed forth at the field-preaching rose no longer on the breeze, the orison of
monk came loud and clear instead; the gibbets were filled, the piles were
re-lighted, and thousands were fleeing from a country which seemed only now to
be opening the dark page of its history. The future in reserve for the Low
Countries was not so closely locked up in the breast of the tyrant but that the
Prince of Orange could read it. He saw into the heart and soul of Philip. He had
studied him in his daily life; he had studied him in the statesmen and
councillors who served him; he had studied him in his public policy; and he had
studied him in those secret pages in which Philip had put on record, in the
depth of his own closet, the projects that he was revolving, and which, opened
and read while Philip slept, by the spies which William had placed around him,
were communicated to this watchful friend of his country's liberties; and all
these several lines of observation had led him to one and the same conclusion,
that it was Philip's settled purpose, to be pursued through a thousand windings,
chicaneries, falsehoods, and solemn hypocrisies, to drag the leading nobles to
the scaffold, to hang, burn, or bury alive every Protestant in the Low
Countries, to put to death every one who should hesitate to yield absolute
compliance with his will, and above the grave of a murdered nation to plant the
twin fabrics of Spanish and Romish despotism. That these were the purposes which
the tyrant harboured, and the events which the future would bring forth, unless
means were found to prevent them, William was as sure as that the revolution of
the hours brings at length the night.
Accordingly he invited Horn,
Egmont, Hoogstraaten, and Count Louis to all interview at Dendermonde, in order
to concert the measures which it might be advisable to take when the storm, with
which the air was already thick, should burst. The sight of Egmont and the other
nobles unhappily was not so clear as that of William, and they refused to
believe that the danger was so great as the prince represented. Count Egmont,
who was not yet disenthralled from the spell of the court, nor fated ever to be
till he should arrive at the scaffold, said that "far from taking part in any
measure offensive to the king, he looked upon every such measure as equally
imprudent and undutiful." This was decisive. These three seigniors must act in
concert or not at all. Combined, they might have hoped to make head against
Philip; singly, they could accomplish nothing -nay, in all likelihood would be
crushed. The Prince of Orange resigned all his offices into the hands of the
regent, and retired with his family to his ancestral estate of Nassau in
Germany, there to await events. Before leaving, however, he warned Count Egmont
of the fate that awaited him should he remain in Flanders. "You are the bridge,"
said he, "by which the Spanish army will pass into the Netherlands, and no
sooner shall they have passed it than they will break it down."[1] The warning was unheeded.
The two friends tenderly embraced, and parted to meet no more on
earth.
No sooner was William gone (April, 1567) than a cloud of woes
descended upon the Netherlands. The disciples of the Reformation fled as best
they could from Amsterdam, and a garrison entered it. At Horn, Clement Martin
preached his farewell sermon a month after the departure of William, and next
day he and his colleague were expelled the town. About the same time the
Protestants of Enkhuizen heard their last sermon in the open air. Assemblies
were held over-night in the houses of certain of the burghers, but these too
were discontinued in no long time. A deep silence "a famine of hearing the
Word of the Lord" -fell upon the land. The ministers were chased from many of
the cities. The meetings held in out-of- the-way places were surprised by the
soldiers; of those present at them some were cut in pieces or shot down on the
spot, and others were seized and carried off to the gallows. It was the special
delight of the persecutors to apprehend and hang or behead the members of the
consistories. "Thus," says Brandt, "the gallows were filled with carcases, and
Germany with exiles." The minister of Cambray first had his hand cut off, and
was then hanged. At Oudenard and other towns the same fate was inflicted on the
pastors. Monks, who had ceased to count beads and become heralds of the glorious
Gospel rather than return to the cloister, were content to rot in dungeons or
die on scaffolds. Some villages furnished as many as a hundred, and others three
hundred victims.[2] A citizen of Bommel,
Hubert Selkart by name, had the courage to take a Bible to the market-place, and
disprove the errors of Popery in presence of the people assembled there. A night
or two thereafter he was put into a sack and thrown into the river Wael. There
were no more Scripture expositions in the marketplace of Bommel. All the
Protestant churches in course of erection were demolished, and their timbers
taken for gallows to hang their builders. Two young gentlewomen of the Province
of Over-Issel were sentenced to the fire. One of the sisters was induced to
abjure on a promise of mercy. She thought she had saved her life by her
abjuration, whereas the mercy of the placards meant only an easier death. When
the day of execution arrived, the two sisters, who had not seen each other since
they received their sentence, were brought forth together upon the scaffold. For
the one who remained steadfast a stake had been prepared; the other saw with
horror a coffin, half filled with sand, waiting to receive her corpse as soon as
the axe should have severed her head from her body. "This," said the strong
sister to the weak one, "this is all you have gained by denying Him before whom
you are within an hour to appear." Conscience-stricken she fell upon her knees,
and with strong cries besought pardon for her great sin. Then rising up a
sudden calm succeeding the sudden tempest she boldly declared herself a
Protestant. The executioner, fearing the effect of her words upon the
spectators, instantly stopped her by putting a gag into her mouth, and then he
bound her to the same stake with her sister. A moment before, it seemed as if
the two were to be parted for ever; but now death, which divides others, had
united them in the bonds of an eternal fellowship:[3] they were sisters
evermore.
As regarded the Netherlands, one would have thought that their
cup of suffering was already full; but not so thought Philip. New and more
terrible severities were in course of preparation at Madrid for the unhappy
Provinces.
The King of Spain, after repeated deliberations in his
council, resolved to send a powerful army under the command of the Duke of Alva,
to chastise those turbulent citizens whom he had too long treated with
gentleness, and exact a full measure of vengeance for that outbreak in which
they had discovered an equal contempt for the true religion and the royal
authority.
The Duke of Alva, setting sail from Carthagena (May 10th,
1567), landed in the north of Italy, and repairing to Asti, there assembled
under his standard about 10,000 picked soldiers from the army in Italy,
consisting of 8,700 foot and 1,200 cavalry.[4] He now set out at the head
of this host to avenge the insulted majesty of Rome and Spain, by drowning
Netherland heresy in the blood of its professors. It was a holy war: those
against whom it was to be waged were more execrable than Jews or Saracens: they
were also greatly richer. The wealth of the world was treasured up in the cities
of the Netherlands, and their gates once forced, a stream of gold would be
poured into the coffers of Spain, now beginning to be partially deplenished by
the many costly enterprises of Philip.
A fitter instrument for the
dreadful work which Philip had now in hand than the Duke of Alva, it would have
been impossible to find in all Europe. A daring and able soldier, Alva was a
very great favourite with the Emperor Charles V., under whom he had served in
both Europe and Africa, and some of the more brilliant of the victories that
were gained by the armies of Charles were owing to his unquestionable ability,
but somewhat headlong courage. He had warred against both the Turks and
Lutherans, and of the two it is likely that the latter were the objects of his
greatest aversion and deepest hatred. He was now sixty, but his years had
neither impaired the rigour of his body nor quenched the fire of his
spirit.
In person he was thin and tall, with small head, leathern face,
twinkling eyes, and silvery beard.[5] He was cool, patient,
cruel, selfish, vindictive, and though not greedy of wine and the pleasures to
which it often incites, was inflamed with a most insatiable greed of
gold.
Haughty and over-bearing, he could not tolerate a rival, and the
zeal he afterwards showed in dragging Count Egmont to the scaffold is thought to
have been inspired, in part at least, by the renown Egmont had acquired over the
first generals of France, and which had thrown Alva somewhat into the shade,
being compelled to occupy an inglorious position in the north of Italy, while
his rival was distinguishing himself on a far more conspicuous theater. But the
master-passion of this man's soul was a ferocious fanaticism. Cruel by nature,
he had become yet more cruel by bigotry. This overbearing passion had heated his
instincts, and crazed his judgment, till in stealthy bloodthirstiness he had
ceased to be the man, and become the tiger.
As was the general, so were
the soldiers. The Duke of Alva was, in fact, leading an army of Alvas across the
Alps. Their courage had been hardened and their skill perfected in various
climes, and in numerous campaigns and battles; they were haughty, stern, and
cruel beyond the ordinary measure of Spanish soldiers. Deeming themselves
Champions of the Cross, the holy war in which they were fighting not only
warranted, but even sanctified in their eyes, the indulgence of the most
vindictive and sanguinary passions against those men whom they were marching to
attack, and whom they held to be worthy of death in the most terrible form in
which they could possibly inflict it.
Climbing the steep sides of Mont
Cenis, the duke himself leading the van, this invading host gained the summit of
the pass. From this point, where nothing is visible save the little circular
lake that fills the crater of a now exhausted volcano, and the naked peaks that
environ it, the Spaniards descended through the narrow and sublime gorges of the
mountains to Savoy. Continuing. their march, they passed on through Burgundy and
Lorraine,[6] attended by two armies of
observation, the French on this side and the Swiss on that, to see that they
kept the straight road. Their march resembled the progress of the
boa-constrictor, which, resting its successive coils upon the same spot, moves
its glittering but deadly body forwards.
Where the van-guard had encamped
this night, the main body of the army was to halt the next, and the rear the
night following. Thus this Apollyon host went onward.
It was the middle
of August when the Spaniards arrived at the frontier of the Low Countries. They
found the gates open, and their entrance unopposed. Those who would have
suffered the invaders to enter only over their dead bodies were in their graves;
the nobles were divided or indifferent; the cities were paralysed by the triumph
of the royal arms at Valenciennes; thousands, at the first rising of the
tempest, had retreated into the Church of Rome as into a harbour of safety;
tameness and terror reigned throughout the country, and thus the powerful
Netherlands permitted Philip to put his chain upon its neck without striking a
blow. The only principle which could have averted the humiliation of the present
hour, and the miseries of the long years to come, had meanwhile been smitten
down.
Cantoning his soldiers in the chief cities, the Duke of Alva in the
end of August took up his residence in Brussels, Count Egmont riding by his side
as he entered the gates of the Belgian capital. He soon showed that he had
arrived with a plenitude of power; that, in fact, he was king. Margaret felt her
authority over-topped by the higher authority of the duke, and resigned her
office as regent. She accompanied her retirement with a piece of advice to her
brother, which was to the effect that if the measures that she feared were in
contemplation should be carried out, the result would be the ruin of the
Netherlands. Although Philip had been as sure of the issue as Margaret was, he
would have gone forward all the same. Meanwhile his representative, without a
moment's delay, opened his career of tyranny and blood. His first act was to
arrest the Counts Egmont and Horn, and in manner as crafty as the deed was
cruel, he invited them to his house on pretense of consulting with them
respecting a citadel which he meant to erect at Antwerp. When the invitation
reached these noblemen, they were seated at a banquet given by the Prior of the
Knights of St. John. "Take the fleetest horse in your stable," whispered the
prior in the ear of Egmont, "and flee from this place." The infatuated nobleman,
instead of making his escape, went straight to the palace of the duke. After the
business of the citadel had been discussed, the two counts were conducted into
separate rooms. "Count Egmont," said the captain of the duke's guard, "deliver
your sword; it is the will of the king." Egmont made a motion as if he would
flee. A door was thrown open, and he was shown the next apartment filled with
Spanish musketeers. Resistance was vain.
The count gave up his sword,
saying, "By this sword the cause of the king has been oftener than once
successfully defended."[7] He was conducted up-stairs
to a temporary prison; the windows were closed; the walls were hung in black,
and lights were burned in it night and day a sad presage of the yet gloomier
fate that awaited him. Count Horn was treated in a precisely similar way. At the
end of fourteen days the two noblemen were conducted, under a strong guard, to
the Castle of Ghent. At the same time two other important arrests were made
-Bakkerzeel, the secretary of Egmont; and Straalen, the wealthy Burgomaster of
Antwerp.[8]
These arrests
spread terror over the whole country. They convinced Romanists equally with
Protestants that the policy to be pursued was one of indiscriminate oppression
and violence. Count Egmont had of late been, to say the least, no lukewarm
friend of the Government; his secretary, Bakkerzeel, had signalised his zeal
against Protestantism by spilling Protestant blood, yet now both of these men
were on the road to the scaffold. The very terror of Alva's name, before he
came, had driven from the Low Countries 100,000 of their inhabitants. The dread
inspired by the arrests now made compelled 20,000 more to flee. The weavers of
Bruges and Ghent carried to England their art of cloth-making, and those of
Antwerp that of the silk manufacture. Nor was it the disciples of the
Reformation only that sought asylum beyond seas. Thomas Tillius forsook his rich
Abbey of St. Bernard, in the neighbourhood of Antwerp, and repaired to the Duchy
of Cleves. There he threw off his frock, married, and afterwards became pastor,
first at Haarlem, and next at Delft.[9]
Every day a deeper
gulf opened to the Netherlands. The death of the two Flemish envoys, the Marquis
of Berghen and the Baron de Montigny, was immediately consequent on the
departure of the duke for the Low Countries. The precise means and manner of
their destruction can now never be known, but occurring at this moment, it
combined with the imprisonment of Egmont and Horn in prognosticating times of
more than usual calamity. The next measure of Alva was to erect a new tribunal,
to which he gave the name of the "Council of Tumults," but which came to be
known, and ever will be known in history, by the more dreadful appellative of
the "Council of Blood." Its erection meant the overthrow of every other
institution. It proscribed all the ancient charters of the Netherlands, with the
rights and liberties in which they vested the citizens.
The Council of
Tumults assumed absolute and sole jurisdiction in all matters growing out of the
late troubles, in opposition to all other law, jurisdiction, and authority
whatsoever. Its work was to search after and punish all heretics and traitors.
It set about its work by first defining what that treason was which it was to
punish. This tribunal declared that "it was treason against the Divine and human
Majesties to subscribe and present any petition against the new bishops, the
Inquisition, or the placards; as also to suffer or allow the exercise of the new
religion, let the occasion or necessity be what it would."[10] Further, it was treason
not to have opposed the image-breaking; it was treason not to have opposed the
field-preachings; it was treason not to have opposed the presenting of the
petition of the Confederate nobles; in fine, it was treason to have said or
thought that the Tribunal of Tumults was obliged to conform itself to the
ancient charters and privileges, or "to have asserted or insinuated that the
king had no right to take away all the privileges of these Provinces if he
thought fit, or that he was not discharged from all his oaths and promises of
pardon, seeing all the inhabitants had been guilty of a crime, either of
omission or of commission." In short, the King of Spain, in this fulmination,
declared that all the inhabitants of the Low Countries were guilty of treason,
and had incurred the penalty of death. Or as one of the judges of this
tremendous tribunal, with memorable simplicity and pithiness, put it, "the
heretical inhabitants broke into the churches, and the orthodox inhabitants did
nothing to hinder it, therefore they ought all of them to be hanged together."[11]
The Council of
Blood consisted of twelve judges; the majority were Spaniards, and the rest fast
friends of the Spanish interest. The duke himself was president. Under the duke,
and occupying his place in his absence, was Vargas, a Spanish lawyer. Vargas was
renowned among his countrymen as a man of insatiable greed and measureless
cruelty. He it was who proposed the compendious settlement of the Netherlands
question to which we have just referred, namely, that of hanging all the
inhabitants on one gallows. "The gangrene of the Netherlands," said the
Spaniards, "has need of a sharp knife, and such is Vargas."[12] This man was well mated
with another Spaniard nearly as cruel and altogether as unscrupulous, Del Rio.
This council pronounced what sentences it pleased, and it permitted no
appeal.
It would be both wearisome and disgusting to follow these men,
step by step, in their path of blood. Their council-chamber resembled nothing so
much as the lair of a wild beast, with its precincts covered with the remains of
victims. It was simply a den of murder; and one could see in imagination all its
approaches and avenues soaked in gore and strewn with the mangled carcases of
men, women, and children. The subject is a horrible one, upon which it is not at
all pleasant to dwell.
All was now ready; Alva had erected his Council of
Blood, he had distributed his soldiers over the country in such formidable
bodies as to overawe the inhabitants, he was erecting a citadel at Antwerp,
forts in other places, and compelling the citizens to defray the cost of the
instruments of their oppression; and now the Low Countries, renowned in former
days for the mildness of their government and the happiness of their people,
became literally an Aceldama. We shall permit the historian Brandt to summarise
the horrors with which the land was now overspread.
"There was nothing
now," says he, "but imprisoning and racking of all ages, sexes, and conditions
of people, and oftentimes too without any previous accusation against them.
Infinite numbers (and they not of the Religion neither) that had been but once
or twice to hear a sermon among the Reformed, were put to death for it. The
gallows, says the Heer Hooft in his history, the wheels, stakes, and trees in
the highways were loaden with carcases or limbs of such as had been hanged,
beheaded, or roasted, so that the air which God had made for the respiration of
the living, was now become the common grave or habitation of the dead. Every day
produced fresh objects of pity and mourning, and the noise of the bloody
passing-bell was continually heard, which by the martyrdom of this man's cousin,
or t' other's friend or brother, rung dismal peals in the hearts of the
survivors. Of banishment of persons and confiscations of goods there was no end;
it was no matter whether they had real or personal estates, free or entailed,
all was seized upon without regarding the claims of creditors or others, to the
unspeakable prejudice both of rich and poor, of convents, hospitals, widows and
orphans, who were by knavish evasions deprived of their incomes for many
years."[13]
Bales of
denunciations were sent in. These were too voluminous to be read by Alva or
Vargas, and were remitted to the other councils, that still retained a nominal
existence, to be read and reported on. They knew the sort of report that was
expected from them, and took care not to disappoint the expectations of the men
of the Blood Council. With sharp reiterated knell came the words, "Guilty: the
gallows." If by a rare chance the accused was said to be innocent, the report
was sent back to be amended: the recommendation to death was always carried out
within forty-eight hours. This bloody harvest was gathered all over the country,
every town, village, and hamlet furnishing its group of victims. To-day it is
Valenciennes that yields a batch of eighty-four for the stake and the gallows; a
few days thereafter, a miscellaneous crowd, amounting to ninety-five, are
brought in from different places in Flanders, and handed over by the Blood
Council to the scaffold; next day, forty-six of the inhabitants of Malines are
condemned to die; no sooner are they disposed of than another crowd of
thirty-five, collected from various localities by the sleuth-hounds of the Blood
Council, are ready for the fire. Thus the horrible work of atrocity went on,
prosecuted with unceasing rigour and a zeal that was truly
awful.
Shrovetide (1568) was approaching. The inhabitants of the
Netherlands, like those of all Popish countries, were wont to pass this night in
rejoicings. Alva resolved that its songs should be turned into howlings. While
the citizens should be making merry, he would throw his net over all who were
known to have ever been at a field-preaching, and prepare a holocaust of some
thousand heads fittingly to celebrate the close of "Holy Week." At midnight his
myrmidons were sent forth; they burst open the doors of all suspected persons,
and dragging them from their beds, hauled them to prison. The number of arrests,
however, did not answer Alva's expectations; some had got timely warning and had
made their escape; those who remained, having but little heart to rejoice, were
not so much off their guard, nor so easy a prey, as the officers expected to
find them. Alva had enclosed only 500 disciples or favourers of the Gospel in
his net too many, alas! for such a fate, but too few for the vast desires of
the persecuter. They were, of course, ordered to the scaffold.[14]
Terror was chasing
away the inhabitants in thousands. An edict was issued threatening severe
penalties against all carriers and ship-masters who should aid any subject of
the Netherlands to escape, but it was quite ineffectual in checking the
emigration; the cities were becoming empty, and the land comparatively
depopulated. Nevertheless, the persecution went on with unrelenting fury. Even
Viglius counselled a little lenity; the Pope, it is said, alarmed at the issue
to which matters were tending, was not indisposed to moderation. Such advisers
ought to have had weight with the King of Spain, but Philip refused to listen
even to them. Vargas, whom he consulted, declared, of course, for a continuance
of the persecution, telling his sovereign that in the Netherlands he had found a
second Indies, where the gold was to be had without even the trouble of digging
for it, so numerous were the confiscations. Thus avarice came to the aid of
bigotry.
Philip next submitted a "Memorial and Representation" of the
state of the Low Countries to the Spanish Inquisition, craving the judgment of
the Fathers upon it. After deliberating, the inquisitors pronounced their
decision on the 16th of February, 1568. It was to the effect that, "with the
exception of a select list of names which had been handed to them, all the
inhabitants of the Netherlands were heretics or abettors of heresy, and so had
been guilty of the crime of high treason." On the 26th of the same month, Philip
confirmed this sentence by a royal proclamation, in which he commanded the
decree to be carried into immediate execution, without favor or respect of
persons. The King of Spain actually passed sentence of death upon a whole
nation. We behold him erecting a common scaffold for its execution, and digging
one vast grave for all the men, and women, and children of the Low Countries.
"Since the beginning of the world," says Brandt," men have not seen or heard any
parallel to this horrible sentence."[15]
CHAPTER
14 Back to
Top
WILLIAM UNFURLS HIS STANDARD
EXECUTION OF EGMONT AND HORN.
William cited by the Blood Council
His Estates Confiscated Solicited to Unfurl the Standard against Spain Funds
raised Soldiers Enlisted The War waged in the King's Name Louis of Nassau
The Invading Host Marches Battle at Dam Victory of Count Louis Rage of
Alva Executions Condemnation of Counts Egmont and Horn Sentence intimated
to them Egmont's Conduct on the Scaffold Executed Death of Count Horn
Battle of Gemmingen Defeat of Count Louis.
The Prince of Orange had fled from the Netherlands,
as we have already seen, and retired to his patrimonial estates of Nassau. Early
in the year 1568 the Duke of Alva cited him to appear before the Council of
Blood. It was promised that the greatest lenity would be shown him, should be
obey the summons, but William was far too sagacious to walk into this trap. His
brother Louis of Nassau, his brother-in-law Count van den Berg, and the Counts
Hoogstraaten and Culemberg were summoned at tke same time; thrice fourteen days
were allowed them for putting in an appearance; should they fail to obey, they
were, at the expiration of that period, to incur forfeiture of their estates and
perpetual banishment. It is needless to say that these noblemen did not respond
to Alva's citation, and, as a matter of course, their estates were confiscated,
and sentence of banishment was recorded against them.
Had they succeeded
in ensnaring William of Orange, the joy of Philip and Alva would have been
unbounded. His sagacity, his strength of character, and his influence with his
countrymen, made his capture of more importance to the success of their designs
than that of all the rest of the Flemish nobility. Their mortification, when
they found that he had escaped them, was therefore extreme. His figure rose
menacingly before them in their closets; he disturbed all their calculations;
for while this sagacious and dauntless friend of his country's liberties was at
large, they could not be sure of retaining their hold on the Netherlands, their
prey might any day be wrested from them. But though his person had escaped them,
his property was within their reach, and now his numerous estates in France and
the Low Countries were confiscated, their revenues appropriated for the uses of
Philip, and his eldest son, Count van Buren, a lad of thirteen, and at the time
a student in the University of Louvain, was seized as a hostage and carried off
to Spain.
There was but one man to whom the inhabitants, in the midst of
their ever-accumulating misery and despair, could look with the smallest hope of
deliverance. That was the man whom we have just seen stripped of his property
and declared an outlaw. The eyes of the exiles abroad were also turned to
William of Orange. He began to be earnestly importuned by the refugees in
England, in Germany, in Cleves and other parts, to unfurl the standard and
strike for his country's liberation. William wished to defer the enterprise in
the hope of seeing Spain involved in war with some other nation, when it would
be more easy to compel her to let go her hold upon the unhappy Netherlands. But
the exiles were importunate, for their numbers were being daily swelled by the
new horrors that were continually darkening their native country. William
therefore resolved to delay no longer, but instantly to gird himself in
obedience to the cry from so many countries, and the yet louder cry, though
expressed only in groans, that was coming to him from the
Netherlands.
His first care was to raise the necessary funds and
soldiers. He could not begin the war with a less sum in hand than two hundred
thousand florins. The cities of Antwerp, Haarlem, Amsterdam, and others
contributed one-half of that sum; the refugee merchants in London and elsewhere
subscribed largely. His brother, Count John of Nassau, gave a considerable sum;
and the prince himself completed the amount needed by the sale of his plate,
furniture, tapestry, and jewels, which were of great value. In this way were the
funds provided.
For troops the chief reliance of William was on the
Protestant princes of Germany. He represented to them the danger with which
their own prosperity and liberties would be menaced, should the Netherlands be
occupied by the Spaniards, and their trade destroyed by the foreign occupation
of the sea-board, and the conversion of its great commercial cities into camps.
The German princes were not insensible to these considerations, and not only did
they advance him sums of money they winked at his levying recruits within their
territories. He reckoned, too, on receiving help from the Huguenots of France;
nor would the Protestant Queen of England, he trusted, be lacking to him at this
crisis. He could confidently reckon on the Flemish refugees scattered all over
the northern countries of Europe. They had been warriors as well as traders in
their own country, and he could rely on their swelling his ranks with brave and
patriotic soldiers. With these resources how diminutive when compared with the
treasures and the armies of that Power to which he was throwing down the gage of
battle! -William resolved on beginning his great struggle.
By a fiction
of loyalty this war against the king was made in the name of the king. William
unfurled his standard to drive out the Spaniards from Philip's dominions of the
Netherlands, in order that he might serve the interests of the king by saving
the land from utter desolation, the inhabitants from dire slavery, the charters
and privileges from extinction, and religion from utter overthrow. He gave a
commission to his brother, dated Dillenburg, 6th April, 1568, to levy troops for
the war to be waged for these objects. Louis of Nassau was one of the best
soldiers of the age, and had the cause as much at heart as the prince himself.
The count was successful in raising levies in the north of Germany. The motto of
his arms was "The freedom of the nation and of conscience," and blazoned on his
banners were the words "Victory or death."[1]
Besides the
soldiers recruited in the north of Germany by Count Louis, levies had been
raised in France and in the Duchy of Cleves, and it was arranged that the
liberating army should enter the Netherlands at four points. One division was to
march from the south and enter by Artois; a second was to descend along the
Meuse from the east; Count Louis was to attack on the north; and the prince
himself, at the head of the main body of liberators, was to strike at the heart
of the Netherlands by occupying Brabant. The attacking forces on the south and
east were repulsed with great slaughter; but the attack on the north under Count
Louis was signally successful.
On the 24th April, 1568, the count entered
the Provinces and advanced to Dam, on the shores of the Bay of Dollart, the site
of thirty-three villages till drowned in a mighty inundation of the ocean.
Troops of volunteers were daily joining his standard. Here Count Aremberg, who
had been sent by Alva with a body of Spanish and Sardinian troops to oppose him,
joined battle with him. The Count of Nassau's little army was strongly
posted.
On the right was placed his cavalry, under the command of his
brother Count Adolphus. On the left his main army was defended by a hill, on
which he had planted a strong band of musketeers. A wood and the walls of a
convent guarded his rear; while in front stretched a morass full of pits from
which peat had been dug. When the Spaniards came in sight of the enemy drawn up
in two little squares on the eminence, they were impatient to begin battle,
deeming it impossible that raw levies could withstand them for a moment. Their
leader, who knew the nature of the ground, strove to restrain their ardor, but
in vain; accusations of treachery and cowardice were hurled at him. "Let us
march," said Aremberg, his anger kindled, "not to victory, but to be overcome."
The soldiers rushed into the swamp, but though now sensible of their error, they
could not retreat, the front ranks being pushed forward by those in the rear,
till they were fairly under the enemy's fire. Seeing the Spaniards entangled in
the mud, Count Louis attacked them in front, while his brother broke in upon
their flank with the cavalry. The musketeers poured in their shot upon them, and
one of the squares of foot wheeling round the base of the hill took them in the
rear; thus assailed on all sides, and unable to resist, the Spanish host was cut
in pieces. Both Adolphus, brother of Louis of Nassau, and Aremberg, the leader
of the Spaniards, fell in the battle. The artillery, baggage, and military chest
of the Spaniards became the booty of the conquerors.[2]
This issue of the
affair was a great blow to Alva. He knew the effect which the prestige of a
first victory was sure to have in favor of William. He therefore hastened his
measures that he might march against the enemy and inflict on him summary
vengeance for having defeated the veteran soldiers of Spain. The first burst of
the tyrant's rage fell, however, not on the patriot army, but on those unhappy
persons who were in prison at Brussels. Nineteen Confederate noblemen, who had
been condemned for high treason by the Council of Blood, were ordered by Alva
for immediate execution. They were all beheaded in the horse-market of Brussels.
Eight died as Roman Catholics, and their bodies received Christian burial; the
remaining eleven professed the Reformed faith, and their heads stuck on poles,
and their bodies fastened to stakes, were left to moulder in the fields.[3] The next day four
gentlemen suffered the same fate. Count Culemberg's house at Brussels was razed
to the ground, and in the center of the desolated site a placard was set up,
announcing that the ill-omened spot had been made an execration because the
great "Beggar Confederacy" against king and Church had been concocted here.
These minor tragedies but heralded a greater one.
The last hours of
Counts Egmont and Horn were now come. They had lain nine months in the Castle of
Ghent, and conscious of entire loyalty to the king, they had not for a moment
apprehended a fatal issue to their cause; but both Philip and Alva had from the
first determined that they should die. The secretary of Egmont, Bakkerzeel, was
subjected to the torture, in the hope of extorting from him condemnatory matter
against his master.
His tormentors, however, failed to extract anything
from him which they could use against Egmont, whereat Alva was so enraged that
he ordered the miserable man to be pulled in pieces by wild horses. The
condemnation of the unfortunate noblemen was proceeded with all the same. They
were brought from Ghent to Brussels under a strong escort. Alva, faking up one
of the blank slips with Philip's signature, of which he had brought a chestful
from Spain, drafted upon it the sentence of Egmont, condemning him to be
beheaded as a traitor. The same formality was gone through against Count Horn.
The main accusation against these noblemen was, that they had been privy to the
Confederacy, which had been formed to oppose the introduction of the Inquisition
and edicts; and that they had met with the Prince of Orange at Dendermonde, to
deliberate about opposing the entrance of the king's army into the Netherlands.
They knew indeed of the Confederacy, but they had not been members of it; and as
regarded the conference at Dendermonde, they had been present at that meeting,
but they had, as our readers will remember, disapproved and opposed the
proposition of Louis of Nassau to unite their endeavours against the entrance of
the Spanish troops into Flanders. But innocence or guilt were really of no
account to the Blood Council, when it had fixed on the victim to be sacrificed.
The two counts were roused from sleep at midnight, to have the sentence of death
intimated to them by the Bishop of Ypres.
At eleven o'clock of the
following day (5th of May) they were led to execution. The scaffold had been
erected in the center of the great square of Brussels, standing hard by if not
on the identical spot where the stake of the first martyrs of the Reformation in
the Netherlands had been set up. It was covered with black cloth; nineteen
companies of soldiers kept guard around it; a vast assembly occupied the space
beyond, and the windows of the houses were crowded with spectators, among whom
was Alva himself, who had come to witness the tragedy of his own ordering. Count
Egmont was the first to ascend the scaffold, accompanied by the Bishop of
Ypres.
He had walked thither, reciting the 51st Psalm: "In the multitude
of thy compassions, O God, blot out all mine iniquities," etc. He conducted
himself with dignity upon the scaffold. It was vain to think of addressing the
spectators; those he wished to reach were too far off to hear him, and his words
would have fallen only on the ears of the Spanish soldiers. After a few minutes'
conversation with the bishop, who presented him with a silver cross to kiss, and
gave him his benediction, the count put off his black mantle and robe of red
damask, and taking the Cross of the Golden Fleece from his neck, he knelt down
and put his head on the block. Joining his hands as if in the act of
supplication, he cried aloud, "O Lord, into thy hands I commit my spirit."
Thereupon the executioner emerged from underneath the scaffold, where till that
moment he had been concealed, and at one blow severed his head from his
body.
Count Horn was next led upon the scaffold. He inquired whether
Egmont were already dead. His eye was directed to a black cloth, which had been
hastily thrown over the trunk and severed head of that nobleman, and he was told
that the remains of Egmont were underneath. "We have not met each other," he
observed, "since the day we were apprehended." The crucifix presented to him he
did not kiss; but he kneeled on the scaffold to pray. His devotions ended, he
rose up, laid his head on the block, and uttering in Latin the same exclamation
which Egmont had used, he received the stroke of the sword. The heads of the two
counts were stuck up on iron poles on the scaffold, between burning torches, and
exhibited till late in the afternoon. This horrible deed very much deepened the
detestation and abhorrence in which both Philip and Alva were held by the
Netherlanders.[4]
The dismal tragedy
ended, Alva was at liberty to turn his attention to the war. He set out from
Brussels with an army of 12,000 foot and 3,000 horse to meet Louis of Nassau. He
came up with him (14th of July, 1568) in the neighborhood of Groningen. On the
approach of the duke, Count Louis retreated to the small town of Gemmingen on
the Ems, where he encamped. His position was not unlike that in which he had
joined battle with Aremberg, being strongly defended by morasses and swamps. The
soldiers under him were somewhat inferior in numbers, but far more inferior in
discipline, to the troops led by Alva. But Count Louis was more in want of money
than men. The pay of his soldiers was greatly in arrear, and when they saw the
Spaniards approach, and knew that a battle was imminent, they refused to fight
till first their arrears had been paid.
Intelligence of this mutinous
disposition was duly carried to Alva by spies, and he accordingly chose that
moment to attack. Count Louis and the Flemish exiles fought bravely, but
deserted by the German mutineers, they were compelled at last to retreat. The
Spanish army rushed into the camp; most of the Germans who had refused to fight
were put to the sword; Count Louis, with the remains of his routed host, escaped
across the river Ems, and soon thereafter, in company with Count Hoogstraaten,
he set out for Germany to join his brother, the Prince of Orange.[5]
CHAPTER
15 Back to
Top
FAILURE OF WILLIAM'S FIRST
CAMPAIGN.
Execution of Widow van Dieman Herman Schinkel
Martyrdoms at Ghent at Bois-le-Duc Peter van Kulen and his Maid-servant A
New Gag Invented William Approaches with his Army His Manifesto -His
Avowal of his Faith William Crosses the Rhine Alva Declines Battle
William's Supplies Fail Flanders Refuses to Rise William Retires Alva's
Elation Erects a Statue to himself Its Inscription The Pope sends him
Congratulations, etc. Synod of the Church of the Netherlands Presbyterian
Church Government Established.
From the battle-field of Gemmingen, Alva went on his
way by Amsterdam and Utrecht and Bois-le-Duc to Brussels, instituting inquiries
in every district through which he passed, touching those of the inhabitants who
had been concerned in the late tumults, and leaving his track marked throughout
by halters and stakes. At Bois-le-Duc he passed sentence on sixty refugees whom
he found in that town, sending some to the gallows and others to the fire. Some
noblemen and councillors of Utrecht were at the same time executed, and their
estates confiscated. Many in those days perished for no other crime but that of
being rich. A gentlewoman of eighty-four years, widow of Adam van Dieman, a
former Burgomaster of Utrecht, and who had received under her roof for a single
night the minister John Arentson, was sentenced to die. When the day came, the
executioner made her sit in a chair till he should strike off her head. Being a
Romanist she knew that her great wealth had as much to do with her death as the
night's lodging she had given the Reformed pastor, for when brought upon the
scaffold she asked if there was no room for pardon. The officer answered,
"None." "I know what you mean," replied the brave old lady; "the calf is fat,
and must therefore be killed." Then turning to the executioner, and jesting
playfully on her great age, which ought to have procured her respect and favor,
she said, "I hope your sword, is sharp, for you will find my neck somewhat
tough." The executioner struck, and her head fell.[1]
A month after (25th
of September) the widow of Egbert van Broekhuissen, a wine merchant at Utrecht,
was beheaded. Her sentence set forth that she had been at a conventicle, but it
was strongly rumoured that her real offense was one on which the judicial record
was silent. One of the commissioners of the Council of Blood was a customer of
her husband's, and was said to be deep in his debt. It would seem that the judge
took this way of paying it, for when the effects of the widow were confiscated
for the king's use, the ledger in which the debt was posted could not be
found.[2] About the same time three
persons were hanged at Haarlem. One of them had mutilated an image; another had
been a soldier of Brederode's, the Confederate leader; the third had written a
poem, styled the Eecho, satirising the Pope. This man was the father of eight
children, whose mother was dead. His own mother, a woman of eighty years,
earnestly interceded that he might be spared for his children's sake. But no
compassion could be shown him. His two companions had already been strangled;
his own foot was on the ladder, when a sudden tumult arose round the scaffold.
But the persecutors were not to be defrauded of their prey.
They hurried
off their victim to the burgomaster's chamber; there they tied him to a ladder,
and having strangled him, they hung up his corpse on the public gallows beside
the other two. At Delft, Herman Schinkel, one of the lettered printers of those
days, was condemned to die for having printed the "Psalm-book, the Catechism,
and the Confession of Faith," or short confession of the Christian doctrine from
the Latin of Beza. He made a powerful defence before his judges, but of what
avail was it for innocence and justice to plead before such a tribunal? He
composed some verses in Latin on his death, which he sent to a friend. He wrote
a letter to his infant son and daughters, breathing all the tenderness of a
father; and then he yielded up his life.[3]
In Brabant and
Flanders the persecution was still more severe. At Ghent, Giles de Meyer, the
Reformed pastor, was condemned to the gallows. But the Spaniards who lay there
in garrison, deeming this too good a death for the heretical preacher, changed
it to one more befitting his demerits.
Putting a gag into his mouth, and
throwing him in, bound hand and foot, among a stack of faggots, they set fire to
the heap and burned him. Meyer was one of four ministers who all sealed their
doctrine with their blood in the same diocese. In the towns and villages around
Ghent, men and women were being every day hanged some simply for having taught
children to sing psalms; others for having two years before given the use of
their barns for sermon. At Bois-le-Duc, on the 28th of August, 1568, 116 men and
three women were cited by toll of bell. Every few days a little batch of
prisoners were brought forth, and distributed between the gallows and the block,
on no principle that one can see, save the caprice or whim of the executioners.
Thus the altars of persecution continually smoked; and strangled bodies and
headless trunks were perpetually before the eyes of the miserable
inhabitants.
Peter van Kulen, a goldsmith by trade, and an elder of the
congregation at Breda, was thrown into prison. He had a maid-servant, a
fellow-disciple of the same Lord and Master, who ministered to him in his bonds.
She brought him his daily meal in the prison; but other Bread, which the guards
saw not, she also conveyed to him namely, that destined for the food of the
soul; and many a sweet and refreshing repast did he enjoy in his dungeon. His
faith and courage were thereby greatly strengthened. This went on for nine
months. At last the guards suspected that they had a greater heretic in the
servant than in the master, and threw her also into prison. After two months
both of them were condemned, and brought out to be burned. As, with cheerful and
constant aspect, they were being led to the scaffold, some of their townswomen
forced their way through the guards to take their last farewell of them. Van
Kulen had the commiseration shown him of being first strangled, and then
committed to the fire; but for his pious maid-servant the more pitiless doom was
reserved of being burned alive. This woman continued to encourage her master so
long as he was capable of understanding her; when her words could no longer be
useful to him, she was heard by the bystanders, with invincible courage,
magnifying the name of God in the midst of the flames.[4]
It was now that a
more dreadful instrument than any which the quick invention of the persecutor
had yet devised, was brought into play to prevent the martyrs speaking in their
last moments. It was seen how memorable were words spoken in circumstances so
awful, and how deep they sank into the hearts of the hearers. It had been usual
to put a wooden gag or ball into the mouth of the person to be burned, but the
ball would roll out at times, and then the martyr would confess his faith and
glorify God. To prevent this, the following dreadful contrivance was resorted
to: two small bits of metal were screwed down upon the tongue; the tip of the
tongue was then seared with a red-hot iron; instant swelling ensued, and the
tongue could not again be drawn out of its enclosure. The pain of burning made
it wriggle to and fro in the mouth, yielding "a hollow sound," says Brandt,
"much like that of the brazen bull of the tyrant of Sicily."
"Arnold van
Elp," continues the historian, "a man of known sincerity, relates that whilst he
was a spectator of the martyrdom of some who were thus tongue-tied, he heard a
friar among the crowd saying to his companion, 'Hark! how they sing: should they
not dance too?'"[5]
From this horrible,
though to Alva congenial, work, the viceroy was called away by intelligence that
William of Orange was approaching at the head of an army to invade Brabant. To
open the gates of the Netherlands to his soldiers, William issued a manifesto,
setting forth the causes of the war. "There was," he said, "no resource but
arms, unless the ancient charters were to be utterly extinguished, and the
country itself brought to ruin by a tyranny exercised, not by the king" (so he
still affected to believe), "but by Spanish councillors in the king's name, and
to the destruction of the king's interest." To avert this catastrophe was he now
in arms. The cause, he affirmed, was that of every man in the Low Countries, and
no Netherlander "could remain neutral in this struggle without becoming a
traitor to his country." In this manifesto the prince made the first public
announcement of that great change which his own religious sentiments had
undergone. All that is noble in human character, and heroic in human
achievement, must spring from some great truth realised in the soul. William of
Orange gave a forecast of his future career his unselfish devotion, his
unwearied toil, his inextinguishable hope of his country when he avowed in
this manifesto his conviction that the doctrines of the Reformed Church were
more in accordance with the Word of God than were those of the Roman Church.
This elevated the contest to a higher basis. Henceforward it was no longer for
ancient Flemish charters alone, it was also for the rights of conscience; it
allied itself with the great movement of the human soul for freedom.
The
Prince of Orange, advancing from Germany, crossed the Rhine near Cologne, with
an army, including horse and foot, not exceeding 20,000. The Spanish host was
equal in numbers, but better furnished with military stores and provisions.
William approached the banks of the Meuse, which he crossed, much to the dismay
of Alva, by a bold expedient, to which Julius Caesar had had recourse in similar
circumstances. He placed his cavalry in the river above the ford, and the force
of the current being thus broken, the army was able to effect a passage. But
Alva declined battle. He knew how slender were the finances of William, and that
could he prolong the campaign till the approach of winter, the prince would be
under the necessity of disbanding his army. His tactics were completely
successful.
Whichever way William turned, Alva followed him; always
straitening him, and making it impossible for him to enter any fortified town,
or to find provisions for his army in the open country. The autumn wore away in
marches and counter-marches, Alva skilfully avoiding battle, and engaging only
in slight skirmishes, which, barren of result to William, were profitable to the
Spanish general, inasmuch as they helped to consume time. William had expected
that Brabant and Flanders would rise at the sight of his standards, and shake
off the Spanish yoke. Not a city opened its gates to him, or hoisted on its
walls the flag of defiance to the tyrant.
At last both money and
provisions failed him. Of the 300,000 guilders which the Flemish Protestants at
home and abroad had undertaken to furnish towards the deliverance of the
country, barely 12,000 were forthcoming. His soldiers became mutinous, and the
prince had no alternative but to lead back his army into Germany and there
disband it. The Flemings lost far more than William did. The offer of freedom
had come to their gates with the banners of William, but they failed to perceive
the hour of their opportunity. With the retreating standards of the Deliverer
liberty also departed, and Belgium sank down under the yoke of Spain and
Rome.
The Duke of Alva was not a little elated at his success, and he set
about rearing a monument which should perpetuate its fame to after-ages. He
caused the cannon taken in the battle of Gemmingen to be melted, and a colossal
bronze statue of himself to be cast and set up in the citadel of Antwerp. It
pleased Alva to be represented in complete armor, trampling on two prostrate
figures, which were variously interpreted, but from the petitions and axes which
they held in their hands, and the symbolical devices of the Beggars hung round
their necks, they were probably meant to denote the image-breaking Protestants
and the Confederates. On the pedestal was the following inscription in Latin:
"To the most faithful minister of the best of kings, Ferdinand Alvarez, Duke of
Alva, Governor of the Low Countries for Philip II., King of Spain, who, after
having extinguished the tumults, expelled the rebels, restored religion, and
executed justice, has established peace in the nation." A truly modest
inscription! The duke, moreover, decreed himself a triumphal entry into
Brussels, in the cathedral of which a Te Deum was sung for his
victory.
Nor was this all. Pius V. sent a special ambassador from Rome to
congratulate the conqueror, and to present him with a consecrated hat and sword,
as the special champion of the Roman Catholic religion. The sword was richly
set, being chased with gold and precious stones, and was presented to the duke
by the hands of the Bishop of Mechlin, in church after the celebration of mass.
The afternoon of the same day was devoted to a splendid tournament, the place
selected for the spectacle being the same square in which the bloody tragedy of
the execution of Counts Egmont and Horn had so recently been enacted.[6]
It was in the midst
of these troubles that the persecuted disciples of the Gospel in the Netherlands
met to perfect the organisation of their Church. A synod or assembly was at this
time held at Embden, at which Jasper von Heiden, then minister at Franken-deal,
presided. At this synod rules were made for the holding of consistories or
kirk-sessions, of classes or presbyteries, and synods. The first article of the
constitution ordained for the Netherland Church was as follows: "No Church
shall have or exercise dominion over another; no minister, elder, or deacon
shall bear rule over another of the same degree; but every one shall beware of
his attempting or giving the least cause of suspicion of his aiming at such
dominion." "This article," says Brandt," was levelled chiefly at the prelatic
order of Rome, as also at the episcopacy established in some of the countries of
the Reformation." The ministers assembled signed the Confession of Faith of the
Church of the Netherlands, "as an evidence of their uniformity in doctrine;" as
also the Confession of the Churches of France, "to show their union and
conformity with them." It was agreed that all the ministers then absent, and all
who should thereafter be admitted to the office of the ministry, should be
exhorted to subscribe these articles. It was also agreed that the Geneva
catechism should be used in the French or Walloon congregations, and the
Heidelberg catechism in those of the Dutch; but if it happened that any of the
congregations made use of any other catechism agreeable to the Word of God, they
were not to be required to change it.[7] While Alva was scattering
and burning the Netherland Church, its members, regardless of the tyrant's fury,
were linking themselves together in the bonds of a scriptural organisation.
While his motto was "Raze, raze it," the foundations of that spiritual edifice
were being laid deeper and its walls raised higher than
before.
CHAPTER
16 Back to
Top
THE "BEGGARS OF THE SEA," AND SECOND
CAMPAIGN OF ORANGE.
Brabant Inactive Trials of the Blood Council
John Hassels Executions at Valenciennes The Year 1568 More Edicts
Individual Martyrdoms A Martyr Saving the Life of his Persecutor Burning of
Four Converted Priests at the Hague-William enters on his Second Campaign His
Appeal for Funds The Refugees The "Beggars of the Sea" Discipline of the
Privateer Fleet Plan for Collecting Funds Elizabeth De la Marck Capture
of Brill by the Sea Beggars Foundations laid of the Dutch Republic Alva's
Fury Bossu Fails to Retake Brill Dort and Flushing declare against Spain
Holland and Zealand declare for William Louis of Nassau takes Mons Alva
Besieges it The Tenth Penny Meeting of the States of Holland Speech of St.
Aldegonde Toleration William of Orange declared Stadtholder of
Holland.
William, Prince of Orange, having consecrated his
life to the great struggle for the rights of conscience, carried the first offer
of deliverance to Brabant. Had its great and powerful cities heartily entered
into his spirit, and risen at the sound of the advancing steps of the deliverer,
the issue would have been far different from what it was. But Brabant saw that
the struggle must be tremendous, and, rather than gird itself for so terrible a
fight, preferred to lie still ingloriously in its chains. Sad in heart William
retired to a distance, to await what further openings it might please that great
Power, to whose service he had consecrated himself, to present to
him.
The night of horrors which had descended on the Low Countries
continued to deepen. The triumph of Alva, instead of soothing him, made him only
the more intolerant and fierce. There came new and severer edicts from Spain;
there were gathered yet greater crowds of innocent men for the gallows and the
stake, and the out flowing tide from that doomed shore continued to roll on. A
hundred thousand houses, it is thought, were now left empty. Their inmates
transported their trade and handicrafts to other nations. Wives must not
correspond with their exiled husbands; and should they venture to visit them in
their foreign asylum, they must not return to their native land. The youth of
Flanders were forbidden to go abroad to acquire a foreign tongue, or to learn a
trade, or to study in any university save that of Rome.
The carelessness
with which the trials of the Blood Council were conducted was shocking. Batches
were sent off to the gallows, including some whose cause had not been tried at
all. When such were inquired for to take their trial, and it was found that
their names had been inserted in the death-list, and that they had been sent to
the gallows a discovery which would have startled and discomposed most judges
-the news was very coolly received by the men who constituted this terrible
tribunal. Vargas on those occasions would console his fellow-judges by saying
that "it was all the better for the souls of such that they were
innocent."
One member of the Blood Council, John Hassels by name, was
accustomed on the bench to sleep through the examinations of the prisoners, and,
when awakened to give his vote, he would rub his eyes and exclaim, "To the
gallows! to the gallows!"[1] In Valenciennes, in the
space of three days, fifty-seven citizens of good position were beheaded. But
Alva wanted more than their blood. He had boasted that he would make a stream of
gold, three feet in depth, flow from the Netherlands to Spain, and he proceeded
to make good his words. He imposed heavier subsidies upon the inhabitants. He
demanded, first, the hundredth penny of every man's estate; secondly, the
twentieth penny of all immovable property; and, thirdly, the tenth penny of all
movable goods. This last was to be paid every time the goods were sold. Thus, if
they changed hands five times it is clear that one-half their value had passed
to the Government; and if, as sometimes happened, they changed hands ten times,
their entire value was swallowed up by the Government tax. Under such a law no
market could be kept open; all buying and selling must cease. The Netherlanders
refused to submit to the tax, on the ground that it would bring what remained of
their commerce to an utter end, and so defeat itself. After many cajoleries and
threats, Alva made a virtue of necessity, and modified the tax.
Such is
the melancholy record of the year 1568. Its gloom deepened as the months rolled
on. First came the defeat of Count Louis, and the overcasting of the fair
morning of a hoped-for deliverance for the miserable Provinces. Next were seen
the scaffolds of Egmont and Horn, and of many others among the more patriotic of
the Flemish nobility. Then followed the disastrous issue of the attempt of
William to emancipate Brabant, and with it the loss of all his funds, and many
thousands of lives, and a tightening of the tyrant's grasp upon the country.
Wherever one turned one's eye there was a gibbet; wherever one planted one's
foot there was blood. The cities were becoming silent; the air was thick with
terror and despair. But if 1568 closed in gloom, 1569 rose in a gloom yet
deeper.
In the beginning of this year the sword of persecution was still
further sharpened. There came a new edict, addressed to the Stadtholders of the
Provinces, enjoining that "when the Host or the holy oil for extreme unction was
carried to sick people, strict notice should be taken of the behavior,
countenance, and words of every person, and that all those in whom any signs of
irreverence were discovered should be punished; that all such dead bodies to
which the clergy thought fit to deny Christian burial and the consecrated
ground, should be thrown out on the gallows-field; that notice of it should be
given to him (Alva), and their estates registered; and that all midwives should
report every birth within twenty-four hours after the child had come into the
world, to the end that it might be known whether the children were baptised
after the Roman manner."[2]
The carrying out of
this order necessitated the creation of a new class of agents. Spies were placed
at the corners of all the streets, whose duty it was to watch the countenances
of the passers-by, and pounce on those whose looks were ill-favored, and hale
them to prison. These spies were nick-named the "Seven penny Men," because the
wages of their odious work was paid them in pieces of that value. Thus the
gallows and the stake continued to be fed.
The crowd of martyrs utterly
defies enumeration. Many of them were of low estate, as the world accounts it,
but they were rich in faith, noble in spirit, and heirs of a greater kingdom
than Philip's, though they had to pass through the fire to receive possession of
it. The deaths of all were the same, yet the circumstances in which it was
endured were so varied:, and in many cases so peculiar and tragic, that each
differs from the other. Let us give a very few examples. On the 8th of July,
1569, William Tavart was led to the place of execution in Antwerp, in order to
undergo death by burning. While his executioners were binding his hands, and
putting the gag into his mouth, being a man of eighty years, and infirm, he
fainted in their hands. He was thereupon carried back to his prison, and
drowned. Another martyr, also very aged, worn out moreover by a long
imprisonment, was kneeling on the faggots in prayer before being bound to the
stake. The executioner, thinking that he was spending too much time in his
devotions, rushed forward to raise him up and put him into the fire. He found
that the old man was dead. The martyr had offered up his life in intention, and
his gracious Master, compassionating his age and frailties, had given him the
crown, yet spared him the agony of the stake. Richard Willemson, of Aspern,
being pursued by an officer of the Blood Council, was making his escape on the
ice. The ice gave way, and the officer fell in, and would have been drowned but
for the humanity of the man whom he was pursuing, who, perceiving what had
happened, turned back, and stretching out his hand, at the risk of being himself
dragged in, pulled out his enemy. The magnanimous act touched the heart of the
officer, and he would have let his deliverer escape; but unhappily the
burgomaster happened to come up at the moment, and called out sharply to him,
"Fulfil your oath." Thereupon he seized the poor man who but a moment before had
saved his life, and conducted him to prison. He was condemned to the fire, and
burned without the walls of Aspern, on the side next to Leerdam. While at the
stake, a strong east wind springing up, the flames were blown away from the
upper part of his body, leaving the lower extremities exposed to the torment of
a slow fire. His cries were heard as far as Leerdam. In this fashion was he
rewarded for saving his enemy's life at the peril of his own.
About the
same time, four parish priests were degraded and burned at the Hague. The bishop
first clothing them with their mass-garments, and then stripping them, as is
usual on such occasions, said, in the Latin tongue, "I divest you of the robe of
Righteousness." "Not so," replied one of the four; "you divest us of the robe of
Unrighteousness." "Nor can you," added the other three, "strip us of our
salvation as you strip us of these vestments." Whereupon the bishop, with a
grave countenance, laid his hand upon his breast, and calling on God, solemnly
declared that "he believed from his heart that the Romish religion was the most
certain way to salvation." "You did not always think so," replied Arent Dirkson,
a man of seventy years, and known to be learned and judicious; "you knew the
truth formerly, but you have maliciously rejected it, and you must answer for it
at the great Day of Judgment." The words of the old man found a response in the
conscience of the apostate. The bishop shook and trembled before his own
prisoner. Nevertheless he went on with the condemnation of the four men,
delivering them to the temporal arm with the usual prayer that the magistrate
would deal tenderly with them. Upon this, the grey-haired pastor again burst
out, "Quam pharisaice! How pharisaically do they treat us!" They were sent back
to prison. The same night they celebrated the Lord's Supper for their mutual
consolation, and continued till break of day in singing psalms, in reading the
Holy Scriptures, and in prayer. The hour of execution being come, the father of
one of the martyrs, mingling in the crowd, waited till his son should pass to
the stake, that he might whisper a few words of encouragement. "My dear son,"
said he, when he saw him approach, "fight manfully for the crown of everlasting
life." The guards instantly dragged the old man away to prevent him saying more.
His sister now came forward, and spoke to him with equal courage. "Brother,"
cried she, "be constant; it will not last long; the gate of eternal life is open
for you." The scene made a deep impression upon the spectators.
A burgher
and bargeman of Amsterdam, Gerrit Cornelison by name, was one day brought out to
be burned. In prison he had twice been tortured to force him to betray his
associates, but no pain could overcome his constancy. Turning to the people at
the stake, he cried, "Good people, eternity is so long, and our suffering here
is so short, and yet the combat is very sharp and cruel. Alas! how am I
distressed! O my flesh, bear and resist for a little, for this is thy last
combat." This, his last battle, he fought courageously, and received the
crown.[3]
While these humble
men were dying for their faith, Providence was preparing in high quarters for
the deliverance of the country. After the close of his first unsuccessful
campaign, William of Orange retired for a short time to France, and was present
at the battle of Jarnac, where he witnessed the disaster which there befel the
Huguenot arms. It seemed as if a thick cloud was everywhere gathering above the
Protestant cause. In a few months he was recalled by his friends to Germany.
Disguising himself as a peasant, and accompanied by only five attendants, he
crossed the French lines, traversed Flanders in safety, and reached his
principality of Nassau. He there learned all that had passed in the Netherlands
during his absence. He was told that every day the tyranny of Alva waxed
greater, as did also the odium in which both his person and government were
held. The unhappy country had but one hope, and if that should misgive it, it
must abandon itself to utter despair. That hope was himself. From all sides,
from Roman Catholics as well as Protestants, from the exiles abroad and from the
sufferers at home, came the most urgent appeals to him to again unfurl the
standard of battle. He had consecrated his life to the defense of the Reformed
religion, and the maintenance of his country's liberties, and was ready to
respond to the appeal of those who had no human help save in his wisdom and
courage. But he recollected what had so largely contributed to the failure of
his first attempt, and before un-sheathing the sword he set about collecting the
sinews of war. William had already all but beggared himself in his attempt to
break the yoke from the neck of the Netherlands; his plate and jewels and
furniture had all been sold to pay his soldiers; his paternal estates were
heavily burdened; he would give what remained of his possessions, together with
his courage and blood, in promotion of the cause; but others also, at home and
abroad, must contribute both their money and their blood, and in no stinted
measure, if success was to crown their efforts. William took the first step by
forming a comprehensive plan for raising the necessary funds.
The Flemish
refugees in London and other parts had united together, and had fitted out a
great number of armed vessels. These they sent to cruise on the English and
Flemish seas, and make prize of all. Spanish ships that came in their way. Their
skill and daring were rewarded by numerous rich captures. As the growing fury of
Alva swelled the number of refugees in London and other cities, so did the
strength of the privateering fleet continue to increase. While Alva was
gathering his taxes on land, they were reaping a rich harvest at sea. They
scoured the English Channel, they hovered on the coast of the Netherlands, and
preyed upon the merchandise of Spain. These cruisers became renowned under the
title of the "Sea Beggars." It occurred to the Prince of Orange that these
"terrible beggars" might do good service in the cause of their country's
emancipation; and it was ultimately arranged that a fifth of the value of all
the prizes which they made should be given to officers appointed by William, and
the sum devoted to the support of the war of liberation.
Measures were at
the same time adopted to improve the morale and discipline of a fleet that was
becoming the terror of Alva and the Spaniards. No one was to exercise authority
in it save those to whom William himself should grant commissions. Every ship
was to carry a Protestant minister on board, whose duty it was to conduct
regular religious service; and no one who had ever been convicted of a crime was
to be permitted to serve in the fleet. The ships of all friendly Powers were to
pass untouched, and Alva and his adherents only were the Sea Beggars to regard
as lawful prey.
At the same time the prince adopted another method of
improving his finances in prospect of the coming war of independence.
Commissions were given to the Protestant preachers, who traversed the Provinces
in disguise, and collected money from all who were disaffected to the Spanish
Government, or inimical to the Romish religion. None knew so well as they to
whom to apply, or were so able by their eloquence to recommend the cause.
William, besides, acquired by their means an intimate and accurate knowledge of
the dispositions of all classes in the Netherlands. Their mission was specially
successful in Holland and Zealand, where the Reformed religion had made greater
progress than in the southern Provinces, and where the people, enjoying the
natural defences of canals, rivers, and sea-friths, felt less the terror of the
Spaniards. On these grounds, too, William resolved to seek in these northern
parts a first footing for his enterprise. While these measures were being
vigorously prosecuted in Holland, a trustworthy agent, Sonoy, was sent to
canvass the Governments and people of Germany, adjuring them in the name of a
common faith and a common liberty to put their shoulder to the great enterprise.
Not a whisper of what was in preparation was wafted to the ears of Alva,
although the prince's designs must have been known to a vast number of persons,
so universal was the detestation in which the tyrant was held. Alva himself
unconsciously helped to prepare the way for William, and to draw down the first
blow of the great conflict.
It was about the end of March, 1572, and the
fleet of the Beggars of the Sea was lying off Dover. Spain, smarting from the
damage that these daring sea-rovers were constantly inflicting on her
merchandise, complained to England that she opened her harbours to Flemish
pirates, and permitted the goods stolen by them from Spanish subjects to be sold
in her dominions, and so violated the treaties subsisting between the Spanish
and English crowns. Elizabeth, though secretly friendly to the Flemish exiles,
was yet unwilling to come to an open rupture with Philip, and accordingly she
ordered their ships to quit her ports,[4] and forbade her subjects
to supply provisions to their crews. The Sea Beggars instantly weighed anchor,
and shot across the German Sea. Half famished they arrived off the mouth of the
Meuse, and sailed up its broad channel to Brill. The fleet was under the command
of Admiral de la Marck, who held a commission from William of Orange. Coming to
anchor opposite Brill, De la Marck sent a herald to summon the town to
surrender. "The people," says Strada, "supposed them at first to be merchantmen
cast upon their coast by storm, but before they were aware they brought war, not
merchandise."[5]
Brill, though a
small place, was strongly fortified, but the summons of the Beggars of the Sea,
inspired such a terror that the magistrates fled, and were followed by many of
the inhabitants. De la Marck's soldiers battered open the gates, and having
entered they hoisted their flag, and took possession of Brill, in the name of
William of Orange. Thus on the 1st of April, 1572, were laid the foundations of
the Free Protestant Holland, and thus was opened a conflict whose course of
thirty years was to be marked by alternate defeats and triumphs, by the
tragedies and crimes of a colossal tyranny, and the heroism and self-devotion of
a not less colossal virtue and patriotism, till it should end in the overthrow
of the mighty Empire of Spain, and the elevation of the little territory of
Holland to a more stable prosperity, and a more enviable greatness and renown,
than Philip's kingdom could boast in its palmiest days.
Meanwhile Alva
was giving reins to a fury which had risen to madness. He was burning the Prince
of Orange in effigy, he was dragging his escutcheon through the streets at the
tails of horses, and proclaiming William and his offspring infamous to all
posterity. At the same time he was fighting with the inhabitants about "the
tenth penny." The consequences of enforcing so ruinous a tax, of which he had
been warned, had now been realised: all buying and selling was suspended: the
shops were shut, and the citizens found it impossible to purchase even the most
common necessaries.
Thousands were thrown out of employment, and the
towns swarmed with idlers and beggars. Enraged at being thus foiled, Alva
resolved to read the shopkeepers of Brussels a lesson which they should not soon
forget. He made arrangements that when they awoke next morning they should see
eighteen of the leading members of their fraternity hanged at the doors of their
own shops. The hangman had the ropes and ladders prepared overnight. But morning
brought with it other things to occupy Alva's attention. A messenger arrived
with the news that the great Sea Beggar, De la Marek, had made himself master of
the town of Brill, and that the standard of William was floating on its walls.
Alva was thunderstruck.[6]
The duke instantly
dispatched Count Bossu to retake the town. The Spaniards advanced to the walls
of Brill and began to batter them with their cannon. A carpenter leaped into the
canal, swam to a sluice and with his axe hewed it open, and let in the sea. The
rising waters compelled the besiegers to remove to the south side of the town,
which chanced to be that on which De la Marck had planted his largest cannon.
While the Spaniards were thundering at this gate, La Marck's men, issuing out at
the opposite one, and rowing to the Spanish ships, set fire to them. When the
Spaniards saw their ships beginning to blaze, and marked the waves steadily
rising round them, they were seized with panic, and made a hasty retreat along
the dyke. Many perished in the waves, the rest escaping to the fleet crowded
into the vessels that remained unburned, weighed anchor and set sail. The
inhabitants who had fled at the first surprise now returned, their names were
registered, and all swore allegiance to the Prince of Orange, as Stadtholder for
Philip.[7]
Misfortune
continued to dog the steps of the Spaniards. Bossu led his troops toward Dort,
but the inhabitants, who had heard of the capture of Brill, closed their gates
against him.[8] He next took his way to
Rotterdam. There too his demand for admission to a garrison in the king's name
was met with a refusal. The crafty Spaniard had recourse to a stratagem. He
asked leave for his companies to pass through one by one; this was given, but no
sooner had the first company entered than Bossu, regardless of his promise, made
his soldiers keep open the gates for his whole army. The citizens attempted to
close the gates, but were hewn down; and the Spaniards, giving loose to their
fury, spread themselves over the city, and butchered 400 of the inhabitants. The
sanguinary and brutal ravages which Bossu's soldiers inflicted on Rotterdam had
nearly as great an effect as the capture of Brill in spreading the spirit of
revolt over Holland.
Flushing, an important town from its position at the
mouth of the Scheldt, was the next to mount the flag of defiance to the
Spaniards. They drove out the garrison of Alva, and razed the foundations of a
citadel which the governor was preparing as the chain wherewith to bind them.
Next day the Spanish fleet appeared in their harbour; the citizens were
deliberating in the market-place when a drunken fellow proposed, for three
guilders, to mount the ramparts, and fire one of the great guns upon the ships.
The effect of that one unexpected shot was to strike the Spaniards with panic.
They let slip their cables and stood out to sea.
Two hundred years
afterwards we find Flushing commemorating its deliverance from the yoke of Alva.
The minutes of the consistory inform us "that the minister, Justus Tgeenk,
preached [April 5th, 1772] in commemoration of Flushing's delivery from Spanish
tyranny, which was stopped here on the 6th April, 1572, when the citizens,
unassisted and unsupported by any foreign Power, drove out the Walloons and
opened their gates, and laid the corner-stone of that singular and always
remarkable revolution, which placed seven small Provinces in a state of
independency, in despite of the utmost efforts of Philip II., then the most
powerful monarch in Europe." The Sunday after (April 12th), the Lord's Supper
was dispensed, and "at the table," say the minutes, was used "a silver chalice,"
the property of the burgomaster E. Clyver, "wherein two hundred years ago the
Protestants in this town had, for the first time, celebrated the Lord's Supper
in a cellar here at the head of the Great Market, on account of the, unrelenting
persecution."[9]
In a few months all
the more important towns of Holland and Zealand followed the example of Brill
and Flushing, and hung out upon their walls the standard of the man in whom they
recognised their deliverer.[10] Haarlem, Leyden, Gouda,
Horn, Alkmaar, Enkhuizen, and many others broke their chain. No soldier of the
prince, no sea-rover of De la Marck's incited them to revolt: the movement was a
thoroughly spontaneous one; it originated with the citizens themselves, the
great majority of whom cherished a hatred of the Roman faith, and a detestation
of Spanish tyranny. Amsterdam was the only exception that is worth noting in
Holland. The flame which had been kindled spread into Friesland, and Utrecht and
other towns placed their names on the distinguished list of cities that came
forth at this great crisis to the help of conscience and of liberty against the
mighty.
A small incident which happened at this moment was fraught with
vast consequences. Count Louis of Nassau, approaching from France, made himself
master of the frontier town of Mons in the south.[11] Alva was excessively
mortified by this mishap, and he was bent on recovering the place. He was
counselled to defer the siege of Mons till he should have extinguished the
rising in the north. He was reminded that Holland and Zealand were deeply
infected with heresy; that there the Prince of Orange was personally popular;
that nature had fortified these Provinces by intersecting them with rivers and
arms of the sea, and that if time were given the inhabitants to strengthen their
canals and cities, many sieges and battles might not suffice to reduce them to
their obedience. This advice was eminently wise, but Alva stopped his ear to it.
He went on with the siege of Mons, and while "he was plucking this thorn out of
his foot," the conflagration in the north of the Netherlands had time to spread.
He succeeded eventually in extracting the thorn that is, he took Mons but at
the cost of losing Holland.
William himself had not yet arrived in the
Netherlands, but he was now on his way thither at the head of a new army well
nigh 20,000 strong, which he had raised in Germany. He caused to be distributed
before him copies of a declaration, in which he set forth the grounds of his
taking up arms. These were, in brief, "the security of the rights and privileges
of the country, and the freedom of conscience." In the instructions which he
issued to his deputy in Holland, Diedrich Sonoy, he required him, "first of all,
to deliver the towns of that Province from Spanish slavery, and to restore them
to their ancient liberties, rights and privileges, and to take care that the
Word of God be preached and published there, but yet by no means to suffer that
those of the Romish Church should be in any sort prejudiced, or that any
impediment should be offered to them in the exercise of their religion."[12]
Meanwhile, Alva was
left literally without a penny; and, finding it hard to prosecute the siege of
Mons on an empty military chest, he announced his willingness to remit the tax
of the tenth penny, provided the States-General would give him "the annual
twenty tuns of gold"[13] (about two millions of
florins) which they had formerly promised him in lieu of the obnoxious tax; and
he summoned the States of Holland to meet at the Hague, on the 15th of July, and
consider the matter.
The States of Holland met on the day named, not at
the Hague, but at Dort; and in obedience to the summons, not of Alva, but of
William. Nor had they assembled to deliberate on the proposal of Alva, and to
say whether it was the "tenth penny" or the "twenty tuns of gold" that they were
henceforth to lay at his feet. The banner of freedom now floated on their walls,
and they had met to devise the means of keeping it waving there. The battle was
only beginning: the liberty which had been proclaimed had yet to be fought for.
Of this we find their great leader reminding them. In a letter which William
addressed at this time to the States of Holland, he told them, in words as plain
as they were weighty, that if in a quarrel like this they should show themselves
sparing of their gold, they would incur the anger of the great Ruler, they would
make themselves the scorn of foreign nations, and they would bind a bloody yoke
on themselves and their posterity for ever. William was not present in the
assembly at Dolt, but he was ably represented by St. Aldegonde.
This
eloquent plenipotentiary addressed the members in a powerful speech, in which he
rehearsed the efforts the Prince of Orange had already made for the deliverance
of the land from Spanish cruelty; that he had embarked the whole of his fortune
in the struggle; that the failure of the expedition of 1568 was owing to no
fault of his, but entirely in his not being adequately supported, not a Fleming
having lifted a finger in the cause; that he was again in the field with an
army, and that supplies must be found if it was to be kept there, or if it was
to accomplish anything for the country. "Arouse ye, then," were the thrilling
words in which St. Aldegonde concluded his oration, "awaken your own zeal and
that of your sister cities. Seize Opportunity by the locks, who never appeared
fairer than she does to-day."
St. Aldegonde was further instructed by the
prince to state the broad and catholic aims that he proposed to himself in the
struggle which they were to wage together. If that struggle should be crowned
with success, the Papist would have not less cause to rejoice than the
Protestant; the two should divide the spoils. "As for religion," said St.
Aldegonde, "the desires of the prince are that liberty of conscience should be
allowed as well to the Reformed as to the Roman Catholics; that each party
should enjoy the public exercise of it in churches or chapels, without any
molestation, hindrance, or trouble, and that the clergy should remain free and
unmolested in their several functions, provided they showed no tokens of
disaffection, and that all things should be continued on this footing till the
States-General otherwise directed." In these intentions the States expressed
themselves as at one with the prince.
A patriotic response was made to
the prince's appeal by the Northern Netherlands. All classes girded themselves
for the great struggle. The aristocracy, the guilds, the religious houses, and
the ordinary citizens came forward with gifts and loans. Money, plate,
jewellery, and all kinds of valuables were poured into the common treasury. A
unanimous resolution of the States declared the Prince of Orange Stadtholder of
Holland. The taxes were to be levied in his name, and all naval and land
officers were to take an oath of obedience to him. What a contrast between the
little territory and the greatness of the contest that is about to be waged! We
behold the inhabitants of a small platform of earth, walled in by dykes lest the
ocean should drown it, heroically offering themselves to fight the world's
battle against that great combination of kingdoms, nationalities, and armies
that compose the mighty monarchy of Spain!
CHAPTER
17 Back to
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WILLIAM'S SECOND CAMPAIGN, AND
SUBMISSION OF BRABANT AND FLANDERS.
William's New Levies He crosses
the Rhine Welcome from Flemish Cities Sinews of War Hopes in France
Disappointed by the St. Bartholomew Massacre Reverses Mutiny William
Disbands his Army Alva takes Revenge on the Cities of Brabant Cruelties in
Mons Mechlin Pillaged Terrible Fate of Zutphen and Naarden Submission of
the Cities of Brabant Holland Prepares for Defence Meeting of Estates at
Haarlem Heroic Resolution Civil and Ecclesiastical Reorganisation of Holland
Novel Battle on the Ice Preparations for the Siege of
Haarlem.
William, Prince of Orange, Stadtholder and virtual
King of Holland, Zealand, and Friesland, if the prayers and suffrages of an
entire people can avail to invest one with that august office, was approaching
the Netherlands at the head of his newly-enrolled levies. He crossed the Rhine
on the 7th of July, 1572, with an army of 17,000 foot and 7,000 horse. Advancing
as far as Roermonde, he halted before that town to demand a supply of provisions
for his soldiers. The government of the place was in the hands of zealous Roman
Catholics, and the refusal of Roermonde to comply with the request of the
Liberator was rendered still more ungracious by the haughtiness and insolence
with which it was accompanied. William stormed the city and took it. Unhappily
his soldiers here dishonored the cause for which the prince was in arms, by
putting to death certain priests and monks under circumstances of great
barbarity. Germany was at that time a magazine of mercenary soldiers, from which
both the Prince of Orange and Alva drew supplies, and troops of this class were
but little amenable to discipline when their pay fell into arrears, as was now
the case. But William felt that such excesses must be checked at all hazards,
otherwise his cause would be disgraced and ultimately ruined; and accordingly he
issued an order forbidding all such barbarities in future under pain of death.[1]
For some time his
march was a triumphal one. The standards of William shed a gleam through the
darkness that shrouded Brabant, and the spirits of its terror-stricken
inhabitants for a moment revived. On the first occasion when the Deliverer
approached their cities, the Flemings abode within their gates, but now they
seemed as if they would rise at his call, and redeem themselves from the yoke of
Spain. The important city of Mechlin declared in his favor. Louvain refused to
admit a garrison of his soldiers, but sent him a contribution of 16,000 ducats.
Tirlemont, Termonde, Oudenarde, Nivelles, and many other towns and villages
opened their gates to the prince; the most part spontaneously, in the eager hope
of deliverance from a tyranny which threatened to cease its ravages only when
nothing more should be left in the Netherlands to destroy. A successful
beginning of the great struggle had been made, but now the prince began to be in
straits. The friends of the cause had not yet realised its full grandeur or its
immense difficulty, and their scale of giving was totally inadequate. If the
tide of bigotry and tyranny now overflowing Christendom was to be stemmed, the
friends of liberty, both at home and abroad, must not be sparing either of their
blood or their gold. But as yet it was hardly understood that all must be parted
with if the pearl of freedom was to be won.
But if the States of Holland,
and the refugees in England and other countries, were sending supplies which
were disproportionate to the enormous expense to which William had been put in
levying, equipping, and maintaining his troops, he had the best hopes of
succours from France. The net was being then woven for the Huguenots, and their
great chief, Admiral Coligny, was being caressed at the court of the Louvre. "I
will fight Philip of Spain on the soil of the Netherlands," said that consummate
dissembler, Charles IX. "William of Orange shall not want for money and
soldiers," continued he, with a frankness that seemed the guarantee of a perfect
sincerity. Coligny suffered himself to be persuaded of the good faith of the
king, and labored to produce the same conviction in the mind of the Prince of
Orange, bidding him expect him soon at the head of 15,000 Huguenots. William,
believing that France was at his back, thought that the campaign could have but
one issue namely, the expulsion of the Spaniards, and the liberation of the
Netherlands from their unbearable yoke. But his hopes were destined to a cruel
overthrow. Instead of an army of Huguenots to help him on to victory, there came
tidings that felled him to the earth. Three weeks from the date of Coligny's
letter, William received the terrible news of the St. Bartholomew Massacre. The
men who were to have emancipated the Low Countries were watering with their
blood and strewing with their corpses the plains of their native land! The
Prince of Orange opened his eyes on blank desolation; he saw the campaign ending
in inevitable failure, and the dark night of Spanish oppression again closing in
around a country which he had believed to be as good as emancipated. The shock
was terrible, but the lesson was salutary. Those instruments whom Providence
selects to fight the holy battles of religion and freedom need a higher training
than ordinary warriors. To genius and courage heroes of this class must add
faith; but this quality they can acquire only in the school of repeated
disappointment. They can never learn this virtue in the midst of numerous and
victorious hosts, where success is won by mere numbers, and where victory is of
that ordinary and vulgar sort which the worst as well as the best of causes can
command.
The fate of his second campaign had been decided at Paris when
the St. Bartholomew was struck, but William still continued to prosecute the
war. His attempts, however, to stem the swelling tide of Spanish tyranny were
without success. First, he failed to relieve his brother, who was shut up in the
city of Mons, besieged by Alva; next, he himself narrowly escaped being captured
by the Spaniards in a night attack on his camp, in which 600 of his soldiers
were slain. He owed his escape to a small spaniel which he kept in his
bed-chamber, and which awoke him by scratching his face.[2] There followed a mutiny of
his troops, provoked by the repeated disasters that had befallen them, and the
arrears due to them, but which the prince was unable to discharge; they talked,
indeed, of delivering him up to Alva. They soon became ashamed of having
harboured so base a design, but the incident convinced William that he had no
alternative but to disband his army and retire to Holland, and this course he
now adopted.
The departure of the Prince of Orange was the signal for
Alva to take a terrible revenge on those cities in Brabant which had hoisted the
flag of the Deliverer. Mons surrendered, but the terms of the capitulation were
most perfidiously violated by the Spaniards. The citizens were sent in hundreds
to the gallows; murder and spoliation ran riot in its streets; the axe and the
halter rested not for well-nigh a whole year, till the awful silence proclaimed
that Mons was now little else than a charnel-house. Its commercial prosperity
never recovered this terrible blow. Those of its merchants and artisans who had
escaped the gibbet were driven away, and only beggars and idlers were left in
their room a meet population, surely, to wear the yoke of Spain.
In the
eyes of Alva, the archiepiscopal city of Mechlin was a greater offender than
even Mons, and he resolved to wreak upon it, if possible, a yet more terrible
vengeance. Considering the strength of its Romanism, and the rank and influence
of its clergy, one would have expected that it would be the last city in Brabant
to open its gates to William; it was, as we have seen, the first. The conqueror
resolved that it should suffer as pre-eminently as it had sinned. His regiments
had recently received no pay, and Alva pointed to the rich city of the priests,
and bade them seek their wages in it. The soldiers threw themselves upon the
town, like a pack of hungry wolves upon their prey. Some swam the moat, others
battered open the gates, while hundreds, by the help of scaling-ladders, climbed
the walls, and swarmed down into the city. Along every street and lane poured a
torrent of furious men, robbing, murdering, violating, without making the least
distinction between friend and foe, Papist and Protestant.
No age, nor
sex, nor rank, nor profession had exemption from the sword, or the worse
brutality of the soldiery. Blood flowed in torrents. Churches, monasteries,
private dwellings, and public establishments were broken into and pillaged to
the last penny. Altars were pulled down, the chalices and other rich vessels
used in the mass were carried off, the very Host itself was profaned and trodden
under foot by men who professed to regard it as the body and soul of Christ, and
who had come from a distant land to avenge the insults which had been offered to
it by others. Their rage far exceeded that of the iconoclasts, who had vented
their fury on idols alone. Three days this dreadful work went on,[3] and then the soldiers of
Alva collected their booty, and carrying it on board ship, sent it off to
Antwerp, to be converted into money.[4] The inhabitants of the
other cities which had submitted to William were permitted to redeem their lives
by the payment of an enormous ransom.
Not so, however, the cities of
Zutphen and Naarden. Zutphen was subjected to the same shocking barbarities
which had been inflicted on Mechlin. Here the spoil to be gathered was less, for
the town was not so rich as Mechlin, but the licence given to the sword was on
that account all the greater; and when the soldiers grew weary with
slaughtering, they threw their victims into the Issel, and indulged themselves
in the horrid pastime of pelting the drowning men and women with missiles as
they rose to the surface before finally sinking. We record the fate of Naarden
last, because its doom was the most appalling of the three; for it is a series
of horrors which we are thus briefly tracing to its climax. Naarden opened its
gates to Don Frederic de Toledo, the son of Alva, on a promise of immunity from
sack for a slight equivalent. The promise of Toledo was violated with a shocking
perfidy. First the male population were put to the sword; then their wives and
daughters were brutally outraged, and afterwards nearly all were massacred. The
dwellings, the convents, and the hospitals were ransacked for treasure and
spoil; and when the fiends had satiated to the utmost their bloodthirstiness,
lust, and greed, they drove out the few miserable inhabitants that remained into
the open fields, and setting fire to Naarden they burned it to the ground. A
blackened spot covered with charred ruins, ashes, and the remains of human
carcases marked where the city had stood. It was amid these clouds and tempests
that the year 1572 closed. What a contrast to the brilliant promise with which
it had opened, when city after city was hanging out the banner of William upon
its walls, and men were congratulating themselves float the black night of
Spanish usurpation and oppression had come to an end, and the fair morning of
independence had dawned! Smitten down by the mailed hand of Alva, the cities of
Brabant and Flanders are again seen creeping back into their
chains.
Occupied in the siege of Mons and the reduction of the revolted
towns in the Southern Netherlands, the Spanish army were compelled meanwhile to
leave the Northern Provinces in peace. The leisure thus afforded them the
Hollanders wisely turned to account by increasing the number of their ships,
repairing the fortifications of their towns, and enrolling soldiers.
They
saw the terrible legions of Alva coming nearer every day, their path marked in
ruins and blood; but they were not without hope that the preparations they had
made, joined to the natural defences of their country, here intersected by
rivers, there by arms of the sea, would enable them to make a more successful
resistance than Brabant and Flanders had done. When the tyrant should ask them
to bow again their necks to the yoke, they trusted to be able to say, "No,"
without undergoing the terrible alternative with which Alva chastised refusal in
the case of the Brabant cities namely, halters for themselves, and horrible
outrage for their families. Meanwhile they waited anxiously for the coming of
William. He would breathe courage into their hearts, ready to faint at the
dreaded prowess of the Spaniards.
At length William arrived in Holland;
but he came alone; of the 24,000 troops which he had led into the Netherlands at
the opening of his second campaign, only seventy horsemen now remained;
nevertheless, his arrival was hailed with joy, for the Hollanders felt that the
wisdom, patriotism, and bravery of the prince would be to them instead of an
army. William met the Estates at Haarlem, and deliberated with them on the
course to be taken. It was the darkest hour of the Netherlands. The outlook all
round was not only discouraging, but appalling. The wealthy Flanders and Brabant
were again under the heel of the haughty and cruel Spaniard. Of their populous
cities, blackened ruins marked the site of some; those that existed were sitting
in sullen silence with the chain around their neck; the battle for liberty of
conscience had been forced back into the Northern Holland; here the last stand
must be made; the result must be victory or utter extermination. The foe with
whom the Hollanders were to do battle was no ordinary one; he was exasperated to
the utmost degree; he neither respected an oath nor spared an enemy; if they
should resist, they had in Naarden an awful monument before their eyes of what
their own fate would be if their resistance were unsuccessful; and yet the
alternative! Submission to the Spanish yoke! Rather ten deaths than endure a
slavery so vile. The resolution of the Convention was prompt and decided: they
would worship according to their consciences or die.
William now began to
prepare for the great struggle. His sagacity taught him that Holland needed
other defences besides ships and walls and soldiers, if it was to bear the
immense strain to which it was about to be subjected. First of all, he settled
the boundaries of his own power, by voluntarily agreeing to do nothing but with
the consent of the States. By limiting he strengthened his influence. Next he
consolidated the union of the nation by admitting twelve new cities into the
Convention, and giving them the same voice in public affairs as the older towns.
He next set about re-organising the civil service of the country, which had
fallen into great disorder during these unsettled times. Many of the principal
inhabitants had fled; numbers of the judges and officers of the revenue had
abandoned their posts, to the great detriment of justice and the loss of the
finances. William filled up these vacancies with Protestants, deeming them the
only thoroughly trustworthy persons in a contest that was to determine which of
the two faiths was to be the established religion of Holland.
Before
opening the campaign, the Prince of Orange took a step toward the settlement of
the religious question. It was resolved that both Papists and Protestants should
enjoy the public exercise of their worship, and that no one should be molested
on account of his religion, provided he lived quietly, and kept no
correspondence with the Spaniards.[5] In this William obeyed the
wishes of the great body of the people of Holland, who had now espoused the
Reformed faith, and at the same time he laid a basis for unity of action by
purging out, so far as he could, the anti-national element from the public
service, and took reasonable precautions against surprise and treachery when
Holland should be waging its great battle for existence.
At the moment
that the Hollanders were not unnaturally oppressed with grave thoughts touching
the issue of the struggle for which they were girding themselves, uncertain
whether their country was to become the burial-place of their liberties and
their persons, or the theater of a yet higher civilisation, an incident occurred
that helped to enliven their spirits, and confirm them in their resolution to
resist. The one city in Holland that remained on the side of Alva was Amsterdam,
and thither Toledo, after the butchery at Naarden, marched with his army. In the
shallow sea around Amsterdam, locked up in the ice, lay part of the Dutch fleet.
The Spanish general sent a body of troops over the frozen waters to attack the
ships.
Their advance was perceived, and the Dutch soldiers, fastening on
their skates, and grasping their muskets, descended the ships' sides to give
battle to the Spaniards. Sweeping with the rapidity of a cloud towards the
enemy, they poured a deadly volley into his ranks, and then wheeling round, they
retreated with the same celerity out of reach of his fire. In this fashion they
kept advancing and retreating, each time doing murderous execution upon the
Spanish lines, while their own ranks remained unbroken. Confounded by this novel
method of battle, the Spaniards were compelled to quit the field, leaving some
hundreds of their dead upon the ice. Next day a thaw set in, which lasted just
long enough to permit the Dutch fleet to escape, while the returning frost made
pursuit impossible. The occurrence was construed by the Dutch as a favorable
omen.
Established at Amsterdam, the Spanish sword had cut Holland in two,
and from this central point it was resolved to carry that sword over North and
South Holland, making its cities, should they resist, so many Naardens, and its
inhabitants slaves of Alva or corpses. It was agreed to begin with Haarlem,
which was some twelve English miles to the south-west of Amsterdam. Toledo
essayed first of all to win over the citizens by mediation, thinking that the
fate of Naarden had inspired them with a salutary terror of his arms, and that
they only waited to open their gates to him. The tragic end of Naarden had just
the opposite effect on the citizens of Haarlem. It showed them that those who
submitted and those who resisted met the same fearful destruction.
Notwithstanding, two of the magistrates, moved by terror and cowardice, secretly
opened negotiations with Toledo for the surrender of Haarlem; but no sooner did
this come to the ears of Ripperda, a Friesland gentleman, to whom William had
committed the government of the town, than he assembled the citizens and
garrison in the marketplace, and warned them against entertaining the idea of
submission. What have those gained, he asked, who have trusted the promise of
the Spaniards? Have not these men shown that they are as devoid of faith as they
are of humanity? Their assurances are only a stratagem for snatching the arms
from your hands, and then they will load you with chains or butcher you like
sheep. From the blood-sprinkled graves of Mechlin, of Zutphen, and of Naarden
the voices of our brethren call on you to resist. Let us remember our oath to
the Prince of Orange, whom we have acknowledged the only lawful governor of the
Province; let us think of the righteousness of our cause, and resolve, rather
than live the slaves of the Spaniards, to die with arms in our hands, fighting
for our religion and our laws. This appeal was responded to by the stout-hearted
citizens with enthusiastic shouts. As one man they proclaimed their resolution
to resist the Spaniard to the death.
CHAPTER
18 Back to
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THE SIEGE OF
HAARLEM.
Haarlem Its Situation Its Defences Army of Amazons
Haze on the Lake Defeat of a Provisioning Party Commencement of the
Cannonade A Breach Assault Repulse of the Foe Haarlem Reinforced by
William Reciprocal Barbarities The Siege Renewed Mining and
Countermining-Battles below the Earth New Breach Second Repulse of the
Besiegers Toledo contemplates Raising the Siege Alva Forbids him to do so
The City more Closely Blockaded Famine Dreadful Misery in the City Final
Effort of William for its Deliverance It Fails Citizens offer to Capitulate
Toledo's Terms of Surrender Accepted The Surrender Dismal Appearance of
the City Toledo's Treachery Executions and Massacres Moral Victory to the
Protestant Cause William's Inspiriting Address to the
States.
Both sides began to prepare for the inevitable
struggle. The Prince of Orange established himself at Leyden, the town nearest
to Haarlem on the south, and only some ten English miles distant from it. He
hoped from this point to be able to direct the defense, and forward provisions
and reinforcements as the, bravo little town might need them. Alva and his son
Toledo, on the other hand, when they learned that Haarlem, instead of opening
its gates, had resolved to resist, were filled with rage, and immediately gave
orders for the march of their troops on that presumptuous little city which had
dared to throw down the gage of battle to the whole power of
Spain.
Advancing along the causeway which traverses the narrow isthmus
that separates the waters of the Haarlem Lake from the Zuyder Zee, the Spanish
army, on the 11th of December, 1572, sat down before Haarlem. Regiment continued
to arrive after regiment till the beleaguering army was swelled to 30,000, [1] and the city was now
completely invested. This force was composed of Spaniards, Germans, and
Walloons. The population of Haarlem did not exceed 30,000; that is, it was only
equal in number to that of the host now encamped outside its walls. Its ramparts
were far from strong; its garrison, even when at the highest, was not over 4,000
men [2] and it was clear that the
defense of the town must lie mainly with the citizens, whom patriotism had
converted into heroes. Nor did the war-spirit burn less ardently in the breasts
of the wives and daughters of Haarlem than in those of their fathers and
husbands. Three hundred women, all of them of unblemished character, and some of
high birth, enrolled themselves in defense of the city, and donning armor,
mounted the walls, or sallying from the gates, mingled with their husbands and
brothers in the fierce conflicts waged with the enemy under the ramparts. This
army of amazons was led by Kenau Hasselaer, a widow of forty-seven years of age,
and a member of one of the first families of Haarlem.[3] "Under her command," says
Strada, "her females were emboldened to do soldiers' duty at the bulwarks, and
to sally out among the firelocks, to the no less encouragement of their own men
than admiration of the enemy."
Toledo's preparations for the siege were
favored by a thick mist which hung above the Lake of Haarlem, and concealed his
operations. But if the haze favored the Spanish general, it befriended still
more the besieged, inasmuch as it allowed provisions and reinforcements to be
brought into the city before it was finally invested. Moving on skates, hundreds
of soldiers and peasants sped rapidly past the Spanish lines unobserved in the
darkness. One body of troops, however, which had been sent by William from
Leyden, in the hope of being able to enter the town before its blockade, was
attacked and routed, and the cannon and provisions destined for the besieged
were made the booty of the Spaniards. About a thousand were slain, and numbers
made prisoners and carried off to the gibbets which already bristled all round
the walls, and from this time were never empty, relay after relay of unhappy
captives being led to execution upon them.
Don Frederic de Toledo had
fixed his headquarters at the Gate of the Cross. This was the strongest part of
the fortifications, the gate being defended by a ravelin, but Toledo held the
besieged in so great contempt that he deemed it a matter of not the least
consequence where he should begin his assault, whether at the weakest or at the
strongest point.
Haarlem, he believed, following the example of the
Flemish cities, would capitulate at almost the first sound of his cannon. He
allotted one week for the capture, and another for the massacring and ravishing.
This would be ample time to finish at Haarlem; then, passing on in the same
fashion from city to city, he would lay waste each in its turn, till nothing but
ruins should remain in Holland. With this programme of triumph for himself, and
of overthrow for the Dutch, he set vigorously to work. His cannon now began to
thunder against the gate and ravelin. In three days a breach was made in the
walls, and the soldiers were ordered to cross the ditch and deliver the assault.
Greedy of plunder, they rushed eagerly into the breach, but the Spaniards met a
resistance which they little anticipated. The alarm-bell in Haarlem was rung,
and men, women, and children swarmed to the wall to repel the foe. They opened
their cannon upon the assailants, the musketry poured in its fire, but still
more deadly was the shower of miscellaneous yet most destructive missiles rained
from the ramparts on the hostile masses below. Blocks of stone, boiling pitch,
blazing iron hoops, which clung to the necks of those on whom they fell, live
coals, and other projectiles equally dreadful, which even Spanish ferocity could
not withstand, were hurled against the invaders. After contending some time with
a tempest of this sort, the attacking party had to retire, leaving 300 dead, and
many officers killed or wounded.
This repulse undeceived Toledo. He saw
that behind these feeble walls was a stout spirit, and that to make himself
master of Haarlem would not be the easy achievement he had fancied it would
prove. He now began to make his preparations on a scale more commensurate with
the difficulty of the enterprise; but a whole month passed away before he was
ready to renew the assault. Meanwhile, the Prince of Orange exerted himself, not
unsuccessfully, to reinforce the city. The continuance of the frost kept the
lake congealed, and he was able to introduce into Haarlem, over the ice, some
170 sledges, laden with munitions and provisions,. besides 400, veteran
soldiers. A still larger body of 2,000 men sent by the prince were attacked and
routed, having lost their way in the thick mist which, in these winter days,
hung almost perpetually around the city, and covered the camp of the besiegers.
Koning, the second in command of this expedition, being made prisoner, the
Spaniards cut off his head and threw it over the walls into the city, with an
inscription which bore that "this Koning or King was on his road, with two
thousand auxiliaries, to raise the siege."
The rejoinder of the
Haarlemers was in a vein of equal barbarity. They decapitated twelve of their
prisoners, and, putting their heads into a cask, they rolled it down into the
Spanish trenches, with this label affixed: "The tax of the tenth penny, with
the interest due thereon for delay of payment." The Spaniards retaliated by
hanging up a group of Dutch prisoners by the feet in view of their countrymen on
the walls; and the besieged cruelly responded by gibbeting a number of Spanish
prisoners in sight of the camp. These horrible reciprocities, begun by Alva,
were continued all the while that he and his son remained in the
Netherlands.
By the end of January, 1573, Toledo was ready to resume the
operations of the siege. He dug trenches to protect his men from the fire of the
ramparts, a precaution which he had neglected at the beginning, owing to the
contempt in which he held the foe. Three thousand sappers had been sent him from
the mines of Liege. Thus reinforced he resumed the cannonade. But the vigilance
and heroism of the citizens of Haarlem long rendered his efforts abortive. He
found it hard by numbers, however great, and skill, however perfect, to batter
down walls which a patriotism so lofty defended. The besieged would sally forth
at unexpected moments upon the Spanish camp, slay hundreds of the foe, set fire
to his tents, seize his cannon and provisions, and return in triumph into the
city. When Toledo's artillery had made an opening in the walls, and the
Spaniards crowded into the breach, instead of the instant massacre and plunder
which their imaginations had pictured, and which they panted to begin, they
would find themselves in presence of an inner battery that the citizens had run
up, and that awaited the coming of the Spaniards to rain its murderous fire upon
them. The sappers and miners would push their underground trenches below the
ramparts, but when just about to emerge upon the streets of the city, as they
thought, they would find their progress suddenly stopped by a counter-mine,
which brought them face to face in the narrow tunnel with the citizens, and they
had to wage a hand-to- hand battle with them. These underground combats were of
frequent occurrence. At other times the Haarlemers would dig deeper than the
Spaniards, and, undermining them, would fill the excavation with gunpowder and
set fire to it. The ground would suddenly open, and vomit forth vast masses of
earth, stones, mining implements, mixed horribly with the dissevered limbs of
human beings.
After some days' cannonading, Toledo succeeded in battering
down the wall that extended between the Gate of the Cross and that of St. John,
and now he resolved to storm the breach with all his forces. Hoping to take the
citizens by surprise, he assembled his troops over-night, and assigning to each
his post, and particularly instructing all, he ordered them to advance. Before
the sentinels on the walls were aware, several of the storming party had gained
the summit of the breach, but here their progress was arrested.
The bells
of Haarlem rang out the Mama, and the citizens, roused from sleep, hurried en
masse to the ramparts, where a fierce struggle began with the Spaniards. Stones,
clubs, fire-brands, every sort of weapon was employed to repel the foe, and the
contest was still going on when the day broke. After morning mass in the Spanish
camp, Toledo ordered the whole of his army to advance to the walls. By the sheer
force of numbers the ravelin which defended the Gate of the Cross was carried
-a conquest that was to cost the enemy dear. The besiegers pressed tumultuously
into the fortress, expecting to find a clear path into the city; but a most
mortifying check awaited them. The inhabitants, labouring incessantly, had
reared a half-moon battery behind the breached portion of the wall,[4] and instead of the various
spoil of the city, for which the Spaniards were so greedily athirst, they beheld
the cannon of the new erection frowning defiance upon them. The defenders opened
fire upon the mass of their assailants pent up beneath, but a yet greater
disaster hung over the enemy.
The ravelin had been previously undermined,
the citizens foreseeing its ultimate capture, and now when they saw it crowded
with the besiegers they knew that the moment was come for firing it. They
lighted the match, and in a few moments came the peal of the explosion, and the
huge mass, with the hundreds of soldiers and officers whom it enclosed, was seen
to soar into the air, and then descend in a mingled shower of stones and mangled
and mutilated bodies. The Spaniards stood aghast at the occurrence. The trumpet
sounded a retreat; and the patriots issuing forth, before the consternation had
subsided, chased the besiegers to their encampments.[5]
Toledo saw the
siege was making no progress. As fast as he battered down the old walls the
citizens erected new defences; their constant sallies were taxing the vigilance
and thinning the numbers of his troops; more of his men were perishing by cold
and sickness than by battle; his supplies were often intercepted, and scarcity
was beginning to be felt in his camp; in these circumstances he began to
entertain the idea of raising the siege. Not a few of his officers concurred
with him, deeming the possession of Haarlem not worth the labor and lives which
it was costing. Others, however, were opposed to this course, and Toledo
referred the matter to his father, the duke.
The stern Alva, not a little
scandalised that his son should for a moment entertain such a thought, wrote
commanding him to prosecute the siege, if he would not show himself unworthy of
the stock from which he was sprung. He advised him, instead of storming, to
blockade the city; but in whatever mode, he must prosecute the siege till
Haarlem had fallen. If he was unwilling to go on, Alva said he would come
himself, sick though he was; or if his illness should make this impossible, he
would bring the duchess from Spain, and place her in command of the army. Stung
by this sarcasm, Toledo, regardless of all difficulties, resumed the operations
of the siege.
In the middle of February the frost went off, and the ice
dissolving, the Lake of Haarlem became navigable. In anticipation of this
occurrence, the Prince of Orange had constructed a number of vessels, and lading
them with provisions, dispatched them from Leyden. Sailing along the lake, with
a favorable wind, they entered Haarlem in safety. This was done oftener than
once, and the spectre of famine was thus kept at a distance. The besieged were
in good spirits; so long as they held the lake they would have bread to eat, and
so long as bread did not fail them they would defend their city. Meanwhile they
gave the besiegers no rest. The sallies from the town, sometimes from one
quarter, sometimes from another, were of almost daily occurrence. On the 25th of
March, 1,000 of the soldier-citizens threw themselves upon the outposts of
Toledo's army, drove them in, burned 300 tents, and captured cannon, standards,
and many waggon-loads of provisions, and returned with them to the city. The
exploit was performed in the face of 30,000 men. This attacking party of 1,000
had slain each his man nearly, having left 800 dead in the Spanish camp, while
only four of their own number had fallen.[6] The citizens were ever
eager to provoke the Spaniards to battle; and with this view they erected altars
upon the walls in sight of the camp, and tricked them out after the Romish
fashion; they set up images, and walking in procession dressed in canonicals,
they derided the Popish rites, in the hope of stinging the champions of that
faith into fighting. They feared the approach of famine more than they did the
Spanish sword. Alva was amazed, and evidently not a little mortified, to see
such valor in rebels and heretics, and was unable to withhold the expression of
his astonishment. "Never was a place defended with such skill and bravery as
Haarlem," said he, writing to Philip; "it was a war such as never was seen or
heard of in any land on earth."[7]
But now the tide
began to turn against the heroic champions of Protestant liberty. Haarlem was
more closely invested than ever, and a more terrible enemy than the Spaniards
began to make its appearance, gaunt famine namely. Count Bossu, the lieutenant
of Toledo, had mustered a fleet of armed vessels at Amsterdam, and entering the
Lake of Haarlem, fought a series of naval battles with the ships of the Prince
of Orange for the possession of that inland sea. Being a vital point, it was
fiercely contested on both sides, and after much bloodshed, victory declared for
the Spaniards. This stopped nearly all supplies to the city by water. On the
land side Haarlem was as completely blockaded, for Alva had sent forward
additional reinforcements; and although William was most assiduous in
dispatching relief for the besieged, the city was so strictly watched by the
enemy that neither men nor provisions could now enter it. In the end of May
bread failed. The citizens sent to make William aware of their desperate
straits. The prince employed a carrier pigeon as the bearer of his answer.[8] He bade them endure a
little longer, and to encourage them to hold out he told them that he was
assembling a force, and hoped soon to be able to throw provisions into their
city. Meanwhile the scarcity became greater every day, and by the beginning of
June the famine had risen to a most dreadful height. Ordinary food was no longer
to be had, and the wretched inhabitants were reduced to the necessity of
subsisting on the most loathsome and abominable substitutes. They devoured
horses, dogs, cats, mice, and similar vermin. When these failed, they boiled the
hides of animals and ate them; and when these too were exhausted, they searched
the graveyards for nettles and rank grass. Groups of men, women, and children,
smitten down by the famine, were seen dead in the streets. But though their
numbers diminished, their courage did not abate. They still showed themselves on
the walls, "the few performed the duties of many;"[9] and if a Spanish helmet
ventured to appear above the earth-works, a bullet from the ramparts, shot with
deadly aim, tumbled its owner into the trenches.
They again made the
prince aware of the misery to which they were reduced, adding that unless
succours were sent within a very short time they would be compelled to
surrender. William turned his eyes to the Protestant Queen of England, and the
Lutheran princes of Germany, and implored them to intervene in behalf of the
heroic little city. But Elizabeth feared to break with Philip; and the tide of
Jesuit reaction in Germany was at that moment too powerful to permit of its
Protestants undertaking any enterprise beyond their own borders; and so the
sorely beleaguered city was left wholly in the hands of the prince. He did all
which it was possible for one in his circumstances to do for its deliverance. He
collected an army of 5,000, chiefly burghers of good condition in the cities of
Holland, and sent them on to Haarlem, with 400 waggon-loads of provisions,
having first given notice to the citizens by means of carrier pigeons of their
approach. This expedition William wished to conduct in person, but the States,
deeming his life of more value to Holland than many cities, would not suffer him
to risk it, and the enterprise was committed to the charge of Count Battenburg.
The expedition set out on the evening of the 8th of July, but the pigeons that
carried the letters of Orange having been shot, the plan of relief became known
to the Spaniards, and their whole army was put under arms to await the coming of
Battenburg. He thought to have passed their slumbering camp at midnight, but
suddenly the whole host surrounded him; his fresh troops were unable to
withstand the onset of those veterans; 2,000 were slain, including their leader;
the rest were dispersed, and the convoy of provisions fell into the hands of the
victors. William could do no more the last hope of Haarlem was gone.[10] The patriots now offered
to Surrender on condition that the town were exempt from pillage, and the
garrison permitted to march out. Toledo replied that the surrender must be
unconditional. The men of Haarlem understood this to mean that Toledo had
devoted them to destruction. They had before them death by starvation or death
by the Spaniards. The latter they regarded as by much the more dreadful
alternative. The fighting men, in their despair, resolved on cutting their way,
sword in hand, through the Spanish camp, in the hope that the enemy would put a
curb on his ferocity when he found only women and children, and these emaciated
and woe-struck, in the city. But the latter, terror-stricken at the thought of
being abandoned, threw themselves down before their husbands and brothers, and
clinging to their knees, piteously implored them not to leave them, and so
melted them that they could not carry out their purpose.
They next
resolved to form themselves into a hollow square, and placing their wives and
children in the centre, march out and conquer or die. Toledo learned the
desperate attempts which the men of Haarlem were revolving; and knowing that
there was nothing of which they were not capable, and that should it happen that
only ruins were left him, the fruits and honors of his dearly-won victory would
escape him, he straightway sent a trumpeter to say that on payment of 200,000
guilders the city would be spared and all in it pardoned, with the exception of
fifty-seven persons whom he named.[11]
The exceptions were
important, for those who had rendered the greatest service in the siege were
precisely those who were most obnoxious to Toledo. It was with agony of mind
that the citizens discussed the proposal, which would not have been accepted had
not the German portion of the garrison insisted on surrender. A deputation was
sent to Toledo on the 12th of July, to announce the submission of the city on
the proposed terms. At the very moment that Toledo gave the solemn promise which
led to this surrender, he had in his possession a letter from the Duke of Alva,
commanding him to put the garrison to the sword, with the exception of the
Germans, and to hang all the leading citizens of Haarlem.[12]
The first order
issued to the Haarlemers after the surrender was to deposit their arms in the
town-house; the second was to shut themselves up, the men in the Monastery of
Zyl, and the women in the cathedral. Toledo now entered the city. Implacable,
indeed, must that revenge have been which the sights of woe that now met his
gaze could not extinguish. After an exposure for seven months to the Spanish
cannon, the city was little better than a heap of burning ruins. The streets
were blocked up with piles of rubbish, mingled with the skeletons of animals
from which the flesh had been torn, and the unburied bodies of those who had
fallen in the defense, or died by the famine. But of all the memorials of the
siege the most affecting were the survivors. Their protruding bones, parchment
skin, hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes made them seem corpses that still retained
the power of moving about. If they had been guilty of a crime in defying the
soldiers of Spain, surely they had sufficiently atoned for their
presumption.
On the third day after the surrender the Duke of Alva
visited Haarlem, rode round it, and then took his departure, leaving it to his
son to carry out the sequel. The treachery and barbarity of Naarden were
repeated here. We shall not shock our readers with details. The fifty-seven
persons excepted from the amnesty were, of course, executed; but the murders
were far from ending with these. The garrison, with the exception of the
Germans, were massacred; 900 citizens were hanged as if they had been the vilest
malefactors; the sick in the hospitals were carried out into the courtyard and
dispatched; the eloquent Ripperda, whose patriotic address, already recorded,
had so largely contributed to excite the men of Haarlem to resist, was beheaded
in company of several noted citizens. Several hundreds of French, English, and
Scotch soldiers were butchered. Five executioners, each with a staff of
assistants, were kept in constant employment several days. At last, tired of
labors and sick with horrors, they took 300 victims that still remained, tied
them back to back in couples, and threw them into the lake.[13] The number put to death in
cold blood is estimated at about 2,300, in addition to the many thousands that
perished in the siege.
So awful was the tragedy of Haarlem! It wore
outwardly the guise of victory for the Spaniards and of defeat to the
Hollanders; and yet, when closely examined, it is seen to be just the reverse.
It had cost Alva 12,000 men; it had emptied his treasury; and, what was worse,
it had broken the spell of invincibility, which lent such power to the Spanish
arms. Europe had seen a little town defy the power of Philip for seven long
months, and surrender at last only from pressure of famine. There was much here
to encourage the other cities of Holland to stand for their liberties, and the
renewed exhibition of perfidy and cruelty on the part of Toledo deepened their
resolution to do so. It was clear that Spain could not accept of many such
victories without eventually overthrowing her own power, and at the same time
investing the cause of the adversary she was striving to crush with a moral
prestige that would in the issue conduct it to triumph.
Such was the view
taken by the Prince of Orange on a calm survey of all the circumstances
attending the fall of Haarlem. He saw nothing in it that should cause him to
think for one moment of abandoning the prosecution of his great design, or that
should shake his confidence in the ultimate triumph of his cause; and without
abating a jot of courage he wrote to his deputy, Sonoy, in North Holland, to
inspirit the States to resist the power of Spain to the death. "Though God," he
said, "had suffered Haarlem to fall, ought men therefore to forsake his Word?
Was not their cause a righteous one? was not the Divine arm still able to uphold
both it and them? Was the destruction of one city the ruin of the Church? The
calamities and woes of Haarlem well deserved their commiseration, but the blood
of the martyrs was the seed of the Church, and having now had a full disclosure
made to them of the character and intentions of their enemy, and that in the war
he was waging for the utter extirpation of truth, he shrunk from no perfidy and
cruelty, and trampled on all laws, Divine and human, they ought the more
courageously to resist him, convinced that the great Ruler would in the end
appear for the vindication of the cause of righteousness, and the overthrow of
wickedness. If Haarlem had fallen, other and stronger towns still stood, and
they had been able to put themselves into a better posture of defense from the
long detention of the Spaniards under the walls of Haarlem, which had been
subdued at last, not by the power of the enemy, but by the force of famine." The
prince wound up his address with a reply to a question the States had put to him
touching his foreign alliances, and whether he had secured the friendship of any
powerful potentate abroad, on whose aid they could rely in the war. The answer
of the prince reveals the depth of his piety, and the strength of his faith. "He
had made a strict alliance," he informed the States, "with the Prince of princes
for the defense of the good Christians and others of this oppressed country, who
never forsook those who trusted in him, and would assuredly, at the last,
confound both his and their enemies. He was therefore resolved never to forsake
his dear country, but by venturing both life and fortune, to make use of those
means which the Lord of Hosts had supplied him with."[14]
CHAPTER
19 Back to
Top
SIEGE OF ALKMAAR, AND RECALL OF
ALVA.
Alkmaar Its Situation Its Siege Sonoy's Dismay
Courageous Letter of the Prince Savage Threats of Alva Alkmaar Cannonaded
Breach Stormed Fury of the Attack Heroism of the Repulse What Ensign
Solis saw within the Walls The Spaniards Refuse to Storm the Town a Second
Time The Dutch Threaten to Cut the Dykes, and Drown the Spanish Camp The
Siege Raised Amsterdam Battle of Dutch and Spanish Fleets before it Defeat
of the Spaniards Admiral Bossu taken Prisoner Alva Recalled His Manner of
Leaving Number Executed during his Government Medina Coeli appointed
Governor He Resigns -Requesens appointed -Assumes the Guise of Moderation
Plain Warning of William Question of Toleration of Roman Worship Reasonings
The States at Leyden Forbid its Public Celebration Opinions of William of
Orange.
The Duke of Alva soon found that if he had taken
Haarlem he had crippled himself. The siege had emptied his military chest; he
was greatly in arrears with his troops, and now his soldiers broke out into
mutiny, and absolutely refused to march to Alkmaar and commence its siege till
the sums owing them were paid. Six weeks passed away before the army was reduced
to obedience, and the duke enabled to resume his programme of the war. His own
prestige as a disciplinarian had also suffered immensely. Alkmaar was situated
at the extremity of the peninsula, amid the lagunes of North Holland. It was
late in the season when the Spanish army, 16,000 strong, sat down before this
little town, with its garrison of 800 soldiers, and its 1,300 citizens capable
of bearing arms. Had it been invested earlier in the summer it must have fallen,
for it was then comparatively defenceless, and its population divided between
the prince and the duke; but while Alva was quelling the mutiny of his troops,
Alkmaar was strengthening its defences, and William was furnishing it with
provisions and garrisoning it with soldiers. The commander of the besieging army
was still Toledo.
When Governor Sonoy saw the storm rolling up from the
south, and when he thought of his own feeble resources for meeting it, he became
somewhat despondent, and wrote to the prince expressing a hope that he had been
able to ally himself with some powerful potentate, who would supply him with
money and troops to resist the terrible Spaniard. William replied to his deputy,
gently chiding him for his want of faith. He had indeed contracted alliance, he
said, with a mighty King, who would provide armies to fight his own battles, and
he bade Sonoy not grow faint-hearted, as if the arm of that King had grown weak.
At the very moment that William was striving to inspirit himself and his
followers, by lifting his eyes to a mightier throne than any on earth, Alva was
taking the most effectual means to raise up invincible defenders of Holland's
Protestantism, and so realize the expectations of the prince, and justify his
confidence in that higher Power on whom he mainly leaned. The duke took care to
leave the people of Alkmaar in no doubt as to the fate in reserve for them
should their city be taken. He had dealt gently with Haarlem; he had hanged only
900 of its citizens; but he would wreak a full measure of vengeance on Alkmaar.
"If I take Alkmaar," he wrote to Philip, "I am resolved not to leave a single
creature alive; the knife shall be put to every throat. Since the example of
Haarlem has proved of no use, perhaps an example of cruelty will bring the other
cities to their senses."[1] Alva thought that he was
rendering certain the submission of the men over whose heads he hung that
terrible threat: he was only preparing discomfiture for himself by kindling in
their breasts the flame of an unconquerable courage.
Toledo planted a
battery on the two opposite sides of the town, in the hope of dividing the
garrison. After a cannonade of twelve hours he had breached the walls. He now
ordered his troops to storm. They advanced. in overwhelming numbers, confident
of victory, and rending the air with their shouts as if they had already won it.
They dashed across the moat, they swarmed up the breach, but only to be grappled
with by the courageous burghers, and flung headlong into the ditch below. Thrice
were the murderous hordes of Alva repulsed, thrice did they return to the
assault. The rage of the assailants was inflamed with each new check, but
Spanish fury, even though sustained by Spanish discipline, battled in vain
against Dutch intrepidity and patriotism. The round-shot of the cannon ploughed
long vacant lines in the beleaguering masses; the musketry poured in its deadly
volleys; a terrible rain of boiling oil, pitch, and water, mingled with tarred
burning hoops, unslaked lime, and great stones, descended from the
fortifications; and such of the besiegers as were able to force their way up
through that dreadful tempest to the top of the wall, found that they had scaled
the ramparts only to fall by the daggers of their-defenders. The whole
population of the town bore its part in the defense. Not only the matrons and
virgins of Alkmaar, but the very children, were constantly passing between the
arsenal and the walls, carrying ammunition and missiles of all sorts to their
husbands, brothers, and fathers, careless of the shot that was falling thick
around them. The apprehension of those far more terrible calamities that were
sure to follow the entrance of the Spaniards, made them forgetful of every other
danger. It is told of Ensign Solis, that having mounted the breach he had a
moment's leisure to survey the state of matters within the city, before he was
seized and flung from the fortifications. Escaping with his life, he was able to
tell what that momentary glance had revealed to him within the walls. He had
beheld no masses of military, no men in armor; on the streets of the beleaguered
town he saw none but plain men, the most of whom wore the garb of fishermen.
Humiliating it was to the mailed chivalry of Spain to be checked, flung back,
and routed by "plain men in the garb of fishermen." The burghers of Alkmaar wore
their breastplates under their fisherman's coat the consciousness, namely, of
a righteous cause.
The assault had commenced at three of the afternoon;
it was now seven o'clock of the evening, and the darkness was closing in. It was
evident that Alkmaar would not be taken that day. A thousand Spaniards lay dead
in the trenches,[2] while of the defenders
only thirteen citizens and twenty-four of the garrison had fallen. The trumpet
sounded a recall for the night.
Next morning the cannonade was renewed,
and after some 700 shot had been discharged against the walls a breach was made.
The soldiers were again ordered to storm. The army refused to obey. It was in
vain that Toledo threatened this moment and cajoled the next, not a man in his
camp would venture to approach those terrible ramparts which were defended, they
gravely believed, by invisible powers. The men of Alkmaar, they had been told,
worshipped the devil, and the demons of the pit fought upon the walls of their
city, for how otherwise could plain burghers have inflicted so terrible a defeat
upon the legions of Spain? Day passed after day, to the chagrin of Toledo, but
still the Spaniards kept at a safe distance from those dreaded bulwarks on which
invisible champions kept watch and ward. The rains set in, for the season was
now late, and the camping-ground became a marsh. A yet more terrible disaster
impended over them, provided they remained much longer before Alkmaar, and of
this they had certain information. The Dutch had agreed to cut their dykes, and
bury the country round Alkmaar, and the Spanish camp with it, at the bottom of
the ocean. Already two sluices had been opened, and the waters of the North Sea,
driven by a strong north-west wind, had rushed in and partially inundated the
land; this was only a beginning: the Hollanders had resolved to sacrifice, not
only their crops, but a vast amount of property besides, and by piercing their
two great dykes, to bring the sea over Toledo and his soldiers. The Spaniards
had found it hard to contend against the burghers of Alkmaar, they would find it
still harder to combat the waves of the North Sea. Accordingly Don Frederic de
Toledo summoned a council of his officers, and after a short deliberation it was
resolved to raise the siege, the council having first voted that it was no
disgrace to the Spanish army to retire, seeing it was fleeing not before man,
but before the ocean.
The humiliations of Alva did not stop here. To
reverses on land were added disasters at sea. To punish Amsterdam for the aid it
had given the Spaniards in the siege of Haarlem, North Holland fitted out a
fleet, and blockaded the narrow entrance of the Y which leads into the Zuyder
Zee. Shut out from the ocean, the trade of the great commercial city was at an
end. Alva felt it incumbent on him to come to the help of a town which stood
almost alone in Holland in its adherence to the Spanish cause. He constructed a
fleet of still larger vessels, and gave the command of it to the experienced and
enterprising Count Bossu. The two fleets came to a trial of strength, and the
battle issued in the defeat of the Spaniards. Some of their ships were taken,
others made their escape, and there remained only the admiral's galley. It was
named the Inquisition, and being the largest and most powerfully armed of all in
the fleet, it offered a long and desperate resistance before striking its flag.
It was not till of the 300 men on board 220 were killed, and all the rest but
fifteen were wounded, that Bossu surrendered himself prisoner to the Dutch
commander.[3] Well aware that it was of
the last consequence for them to maintain their superiority at sea, the Dutch
hailed this victory with no common joy, and ordered public thanks to be offered
for it in all the churches of Holland.
With the turn in the tide of
Spanish successes, the eyes of Philip began to open. Alva, it is true, in all
his barbarities had but too faithfully carried out the wishes, if not the
express orders, of his master, but that master now half suspected that this
policy of the sword and the gallows was destined not to succeed. Nor was Philip
alone in that opinion. There were statesmen at Madrid who were strongly
counselling the monarch to make trial of more lenient measures with the
Netherlanders. Alva felt that Philip was growing cold toward him, and alleging
that his health had sustained injury from the moist climate, and the fatigues he
had undergone, he asked leave to retire from the government of the Low
Countries. The king immediately recalled him, and appointed the Duke de Medina
Coeli, governor in his room. Alva's manner of taking leave of Amsterdam, where
he had been staying some time, was of a piece with all his previous career. He
owed vast sums to the citizens, but had nothing wherewith to pay. The duke,
however, had no difficulty in finding his way out of a position which might have
been embarrassing to another man. He issued a proclamation, inviting his
creditors to present their claims in person on a certain day. On the night
previous to the day appointed, the duke attended by his retinue quitted
Amsterdam, taking care that neither by tuck of drum nor salvo of cannon should
he make the citizens aware that he was bidding them adieu. He traveled to Spain
by way of Germany, and boasted to Count Louis van Koningstein, the uncle of the
prince, at whose house he lodged a night, that during his government of five and
a half years he had caused 18,000 heretics to be put to death by the hands of
the executioner, besides a much greater number whom he had slain with the sword
in the cities which he besieged, and in the battles he had fought.[4]
When the Duke de
Medina Coeli arrived in the Netherlands, he stood aghast at the terrible wreck
his predecessor had left behind him. The treasury was empty, the commerce of the
country was destroyed, and though the inhabitants were impoverished, the taxes
which were still attempted to be wrung from them were enormous. The cry of the
land was going up to heaven, from Roman Catholic as well as Protestant. The
cautious governor, seeing more difficulty than glory in the administration
assigned to him, "slipped his neck out of the collar," says Brandt, and returned
to Spain. He was succeeded by Don Luis de Requesens and Cuniga, who had been
governor at Milan. The Netherlanders knew little of their new ruler, but they
hoped to find him less the demon, and more the man, than the monstrous compound
of all iniquity who for five years had revelled in their blood and treasure.
They breathed more freely for a little space. The first act of the new governor
was to demolish the statue which Alva had erected of himself in the citadel of
Antwerp; Requesens wished the Netherlanders to infer from this beginning that
the policy of Alva had been disavowed at head-quarters, and that from this time
forward more lenient measures would be pursued. William was not to be imposed
upon by this shallow device. Fearing that the lenity of Requesens might be even
more fatal in the end than the ferocity of Alva, he issued an address to the
States, in which he reminded them that the new deputy was still a Spaniard a
name of terrific import in Dutch ears that he was the servant of a despot, and
that not one Hollander could Requesens slay or keep alive but as Philip willed;
that in the Cabinet of Madrid there were abysses below abysses; that though it
might suit the monarch of Spain to wear for a moment the guise of moderation,
they might depend upon it that his aims were fixed and unalterable, and that
what he sought, and would pursue to the last soldier in his army, and the last
hour of his earthly existence, was the destruction of Dutch liberty, and the
extermination of the Protestant faith; that if they stopped where they were in
the middle of the conflict all that they had already suffered and sacrificed,
all the blood that had been shed, the tens of thousands of their brethren hanged
on gibbets, burned at stakes, or slain in battle, their mothers, wives, and
daughters subjected to horrible outrage and murder, all would have been endured
in vain. If their desire of peace should reduce them into a compromise with the
tyrant, it would assuredly happen that the abhorred yoke of Spain would yet be
riveted upon their necks. The conflict, it was true, was one of the most awful
that nation had ever been called to wage, but the part of wisdom was to fight it
out to the end, assured that, come when it might, the end would be good; the
righteous King would crown them with victory. These words, not less wise than
heroic, revived the spirits of the Dutch.
At this stage of the struggle
(1573) a question of the gravest kind came up for discussion namely, the
public toleration of the Roman worship. In the circumstances of the
Netherlanders the delicacy of this question was equal to its difficulty. It was
not proposed to proscribe belief in the Romish dogmas, or to punish any one for
his faith; it was not proposed even to forbid the celebration in private of the
Romish rites; all that was proposed was to forbid their public exercise. There
were some who argued that their contest was, at bottom, a contest against the
Roman faith; the first object was liberty, but they sought liberty that their
consciences might be free in the matter of worship; their opponents were those
who professed that faith, and who sought to reduce them under its yoke, and it
seemed to them a virtual repudiation of the justness of their contest to
tolerate what in fact was their real enemy, Romanism. This was to protect with
the one hand the foe they were fighting against with the other. It was replied
to this that the Romanist detested the tyranny of Alva not less than the
Protestant, that he fought side by side on the ramparts with his Protestant
fellow-subject, and that both had entered into a confederacy to oppose a tyrant,
who was their common enemy, on condition that each should enjoy liberty of
conscience.
Nevertheless, not long after this, the States of Holland, at
an assembly at Leyden, resolved to prohibit the public exercise of the Romish
religion. The Prince of Orange, when the matter was first broached, expressed a
repugnance to the public discussion of it, and a strong desire that its decision
should be postponed; and when at last the resolution of the States was arrived
at, he intimated, if not his formal dissent, his non-concurrence in the judgment
to which they had come. He tells us so in his Apology, published in 1580; but at
the same time, in justification of the States, he adds, "that they who at the
first judged it for the interest and advantage of the country, that one religion
should be tolerated as well as the other, were afterwards convinced by the bold
attempts, cunning devices, and treacheries of the enemies, who had insinuated
themselves among the people, that the State was in danger of inevitable
destruction unless the exercise of the Roman religion were suspended, since
those who professed it (at least the priests) had sworn allegiance to the Pope,
and laid greater stress on their oaths to him than to any others which they took
to the civil magistrate." The prince, in fact, had come even then to hold what
is now the generally received maxim, that no one ought to suffer the smallest
deprivation of his civil rights on account of his religious belief; but at the
same time he felt, what all have felt who have anxiously studied to harmonize
the rights of conscience with the safety of society, that there are elements in
Romanism that make it impossible, without endangering the State, to apply this
maxim in all its extent to the Papal religion. The maxim, so just in itself, is
applicable to all religions, and to Romanism among the rest, so far as it is a
religion; but William found that it is more than a religion, that it is a
government besides; and while there may be a score of religions in a country,
there can be but one government in it. The first duty of every government is to
maintain its own unity and supremacy; and when it prosecutes any secondary end
and the toleration of conscience is to a government but a secondary end when,
we say, it prosecutes any secondary object, to the parting in twain of the
State, it contravenes its own primary end, and overthrows itself. The force with
which this consideration pressed itself upon the mind of William of Orange,
tolerant even to the measure of the present day, is seen from what he says a
little farther on in his Apology. "It was not just," he adds, "that such people
should enjoy a privilege by the means of which they endeavored to bring the land
under the power of the enemy; they sought to betray the lives and fortunes of
the subjects by depriving them not of one, two, or three privileges, but of all
the rights and liberties which for immemorial ages had been preserved and
defended by their predecessors from generation to generation."[5]
From this time
forward the Reformed religion as taught in Geneva and the Palatinate was the one
faith publicly professed in Holland, and its worship alone was practiced in the
national churches. No Papist, however, was required to renounce his faith, and
full liberty was given him to celebrate his worship in private. Mass, and all
the attendant ceremonies, continued to be performed in private houses for a long
while after. To all the Protestant bodies in Holland, and even to the
Anabaptists, a full toleration was likewise accorded. Conscience may err, they
said, but it ought to be left free. Should it invade the magistrate's sphere, he
has the right to repel it by the sword; if it goes astray within its own domain,
it is equally foolish and criminal to compel it by force to return to the right
road; its accountability is to God alone.
CHAPTER
20 Back to
Top
THIRD CAMPAIGN OF WILLIAM, AND DEATH
OF COUNT LOUIS OF NASSAU
Middelburg Its Siege Capture by the Sea
Beggars-Destruction of One-half of the Spanish Fleet Sea-board of Zealand and
Holland in the hands of the Dutch William's Preparations for a Third Campaign
Funds France gives Promises, but no Money Louis's Army Battle of Mook
Defeat and Death of Louis William's Misfortunes His Magnanimity and Devotion
His Greatness of the First Rank He Retires into Holland Mutiny in Avila's
Army The Mutineers Spoil Antwerp Final Destruction of Spanish Fleet
Opening of the Siege of Leyden Situation of that Town Importance of the
Siege Stratagem of Philip Spirit of the Citizens.
The only town in the important island of Walcheren
that now held for the King of Spain was Middelburg. It had endured a siege of a
year and a half at the hands of the soldiers of the Prince of Orange. Being the
key of the whole of Zealand, the Spaniards struggled as hard to retain it as the
patriots did to gain possession of it. The garrison of Middelburg, reduced to
the last extremity of famine, were now feeding on horses, dogs, rats, and other
revolting substitutes for food, and the Spanish commander Mondrogon, a brave and
resolute man, had sent word to Requesens, that unless the town was succored ill
a very few days it must necessarily surrender. Its fall would be a great blow to
the interests of Philip, and his Governor of the Low Countries exerted himself
to the utmost to throw supplies into it, and enable it to hold out. He
collected, a fleet of seventy-five sail at Bergen-op-Zoom, another of thirty
ships at Antwerp, and storing them with provisions and military equipments, he
ordered them to steer for Middelburg and relieve it. But unhappily for
Requesens, and the success of his project, the Dutch were masters at sea. Their
ships were manned by the bravest and most skillful sailors in the world; nor
were they only adventurous seamen, they were firm patriots, and ready to shed
the last drop of their blood for their country and their religious
liberties.
They served not for wages, as did many in the land armies of
the prince, which being to a large extent made up of mercenaries, were apt to
mutiny when ordered into battle, if it chanced that their pay was in arrears;
the soldiers of the fleet were enthusiastic in the cause for which they fought,
and accounted that to beat the enemy was sufficient reward for their valor and
blood.
The numerous fleet of Requesens, in two squadrons, was sailing
down the Scheldt (27th January, 1574), on its way to raise the siege of
Middelburg, when it sighted near Romerswael, drawn up in battle array, the ships
of the Sea Beggars. The two fleets closed in conflict. After the first
broadside, ship grappled with ship, and the Dutch leaping on board the Spanish
vessels, a hand-to-hand combat with battle-axes, daggers, and pistols, was
commenced on the deck of each galley. The admiral's ship ran foul of a
sand-bank, and was then set fire to by the Zealanders; the other commander,
Romers, hastened to his relief, but only to have the flames communicated to his
own ship. Seeing his galley about to sink, Romers jumped overboard and saved his
life by swimming ashore. The other ships of the Spanish fleet fared no better
The Zealanders burnt some, they sunk others, and the rest they seized. The
victory was decisive. Twelve hundred Spaniards, including the Admiral De Glimes,
perished in the flames of the burning vessels, or fell in the fierce struggles
that raged on their decks. Requesens himself, from the dyke of Zacherlo, had
witnessed, without being able to avert, the destruction of his fleet, which he
had constructed at great expense, and on which he built such great hopes. When
the second squadron learned that the ships of the first were at the bottom of
the sea, or in the hands of the Dutch, its commander instantly put about and
made haste to return to Antwerp. The surrender of Middelburg, which immediately
followed, gave the Dutch the command of the whole sea-board of Zealand and
Holland.
Success was lacking to the next expedition undertaken by
William. The time was come, he thought, to rouse the Southern Netherlands, that
had somewhat tamely let go their liberties, to make another attempt to recover
them before the yoke of Spain should be irretrievably riveted upon their neck.
Accordingly he instructed his brother, Count Louis, to raise a body of troops in
Germany, where he was then residing, in order to make a third invasion of the
Central Provinces of the Low Countries. There would have been no lack of
recruits had Louis possessed the means of paying them; but his finances were at
zero; his brother's fortune, as well as his own, was already swallowed up, and
before enlisting a single soldier, Louis had first of all to provide funds to
defray the expense of the projected expedition. He trusted to receive some help
from the German princes, he negotiated loans from his own relations and friends,
but his main hopes were rested on France. The court of Charles IX. was then
occupied with the matter of the election of the Duke of Anjou to the throne of
Poland, and that monarch was desirous of appearing friendly to a cause which,
but two years before, he had endeavored to crush in the St. Bartholomew
Massacre; and so Count Louis received from France as many promises as would,
could he have coined them into gold, have enabled him to equip and keep in the
field ten armies; but of sterling money he had scarce so much as to defray the
expense of a single battalion. He succeeded, however, in levying a force of some
4,000 horse and 7,000 foot [1] in the smaller German
States, and with these he set out about the beginning of February, 1575, for
Brabant. He crossed the Rhine, and advanced to the Meuse, opposite Maestricht,
in the hope that his friends in that town would open its gates when they saw him
approach. So great was their horror of the Spaniards that they feared to do so;
and, deeming his little army too weak to besiege so strongly fortified a place,
he continued his march down the right bank of the river till he came to
Roeremonde. Here, too, the Protestants were overawed. Not a single person durst
show himself on his side. He continued his course along the river-banks, in the
hope of being joined by the troops of his brother, according to the plan of the
campaign; the Spanish army, under Avila, following him all the while on a
parallel line on the opposite side of the river. On the 13th of April, Louis
encamped at the village of Mock, on the confines of Cleves; and here the
Spaniards, having suddenly crossed the Meuse and sat down right in his path,
offered him battle. He knew that his newly-levied recruits would fight at great
disadvantage with the veteran soldiers of Spain, yet the count had no
alternative but to accept the combat offered him. The result was disastrous in
the extreme. After a long and fierce and bloody contest the patriot army was
completely routed. Present on that fatal field, along with Count Louis, were his
brother Henry, and Duke Christopher, son of the Elector of the Palatinate; and
repeatedly, during that terrible day, they intrepidly rallied their soldiers and
turned the tide of battle, but only to be overpowered in the end. When they saw
that the day was lost, and that some 6,000 of their followers lay dead around
them, they mustered a little band of the survivors, and once more, with fierce
and desperate courage, charged the enemy. They were last seen fighting in the
melee. From that conflict they never emerged, nor were their dead bodies ever
discovered; but no doubt can be entertained of their fate. Falling in the
general butchery, their corpses would be undistinguishable in the ghastly heap
of the slain, and would receive a common burial with the rest of the
dead.
So fell Count Louis of Nassau. He was a brilliant soldier, an able
negotiator, and a firm patriot. In him the Protestant cause lost an enthusiastic
and enlightened adherent, his country's liberty a most devoted champion, and his
brother, the prince, one who was "his right hand" as regarded the prompt and
able execution of his plans. To Orange the loss was irreparable, and was felt
all the more at this moment, seeing that St. Aldegonde, upon whose sagacity and
patriotism Orange placed such reliance, was a captive in the Spanish camp. This
was the third brother whom William had lost in the struggle against Spain. The
repeated deaths in the circle of those so dear to him, as well as the many other
friends, also dear though not so closely related, who had fallen in the war,
could not but afflict him with a deep sense of isolation and loneliness. To
abstract his mind from his sorrows, to forget the graves of his kindred, the
captivity and death of his friends, the many thousands of his followers now
sleeping their last sleep on the battle-field, his own ruined fortune, the
vanished splendor of his home, where a once princely affluence had been replaced
by something like penury, his escutcheon blotted, and his name jeered at to
rise above all these accumulated losses and dire humiliations, and to prosecute
with unflinching resolution his great cause, required indeed a stout heart, and
a firm faith. Never did the prince appear greater than now.
The gloom of
disaster but brought out the splendor of his virtues and the magnanimity of his
soul. The burden of the great struggle now lay on him alone, lie had to provide
funds, raise armies, arrange the plan of campaigns, and watch over their
execution. From a sick-bed he was often called to direct battles, and the siege
or defense of cities. Of the friends who had commenced the struggle with him
many were now no more, and those who survived were counseling submission; the
prince alone refused to despair of the deliverance of his country. Through
armies foiled, and campaigns lost, through the world's pity or its scorn, he
would march on to that triumph which he saw in the distance. When friends fell,
he stayed his heart with a sublime confidence on the eternal Arm. Thus stripped
of human defenses, he displayed a pure devotion to country and to religion. It
was this that placed the Prince of Orange in the first rank of
greatness.
There have been men who have been borne to greatness upon the
steady current of continuous good fortune; they never lost a battle, and they
never suffered check or repulse. Their labors have been done, and their
achievements accomplished, at the head of victorious armies, and in the presence
of admiring senates, and of applauding and grateful nations. These are great;
but there is an order of men who are greater still. There have been a select few
who have rendered the very highest services to mankind, not with the applause
and succor of those they sought to benefit, but in spite of their opposition,
amid the contempt and scorn of the world, and amid ever-blackening and
ever-bursting disasters, and who lifting their eyes from armies and thrones have
fixed them upon a great unseen Power, in whose righteousness and justice they
confided, and so have been able to struggle on till they attained their, sublime
object. These are the peers of the race, they are the first magnates of the
world. In this order of great men stands William, Prince of Orange. On receiving
the melancholy intelligence of the death of his brother on the fatal field of
Mook, William retreated northward into Holland. He expected that the Spaniards
would follow him, and improve their victory while the terror it inspired was
still recent; but Avila was prevented pursuing him by a mutiny that broke out in
his army. The pay of his soldiers was three years in arrears, and instead of the
barren pursuit of William, the Spanish host turned its steps in the direction of
the rich city of Antwerp, resolved to be its own paymaster. The soldiers
quartered themselves upon the wealthiest of the burghers. They took possession
of the most sumptuous mansions, they feasted on the most luxurious dishes, and
daily drank the most delicate wines. At the end of three weeks the citizens,
wearied of seeing their substance thus devoured by the army, consented to pay
400,000 crowns, which the soldiers were willing to receive as part payment of
the debt due to them. The mutineers celebrated their victory over the citizens
by a great feast on the Mere, or principal street of Antwerp. They were busy
carousing, gambling, and masquerading when the boom of cannon struck upon their
ears. William's admiral had advanced up the Scheldt, and was now engaged with
the Spanish fleet in the river. The revelers, leaving their cups and grasping
their muskets, hurried to the scene of action, but only to be the witnesses of
the destruction of their ships. Some were blazing in the flames, others were
sinking with their crews, and the patriot admiral, having done his work, was
sailing away in triumph. We have recorded the destruction of the other division
of Philip's fleet; this second blow completed its ruin, and thus the King of
Spain was as far as ever from the supremacy of the sea, without which, as
Requesens assured him, he would not be able to make himself master of
Holland.
Another act of the great drama now opened. We have already
recorded the fall of Haarlem, after unexampled horrors. Though little else than
a city of ruins and corpses when it fell to the Spaniards, its possession gave
them great advantages. It was an encampment between North and South Holland, and
cut the Country in two. They were desirous of strengthening their position by
adding Leyden to Haarlem, the town next to it on the south, and a place of yet
greater importance. Accordingly, it was first blockaded by the Spanish troops in
the winter of 1574; but the besiegers were withdrawn in the spring to defend the
frontier, attacked by Count Louis. After his defeat, and the extinction of the
subsequent mutiny in the Spanish army, the soldiers returned to the siege, and
Leyden was invested a second time on the 26th of May, 1574. The siege of Leyden
is one of the most famous in history, and had a most important bearing on the
establishment of Protestantism in Holland. Its devotion and heroism in the cause
of liberty and religion have, like a mighty torch, illumined other lands besides
Holland, and fired the soul of more peoples than the Dutch.
Leyden is
situated on a low plain covered with rich pastures, smiling gardens, fruitful
orchards, and elegant villas. It is washed by an arm of the Rhine, that, on
approaching its walls, parts into an infinity of streamlets which, flowing
languidly through the city, fill the canals that traverse the streets, making it
a miniature of Venice. Its canals are spanned by 150 stone bridges, and lined by
rows of limes and poplars, which soften and shade the architecture of its
spacious streets, that present to the view public buildings and sumptuous
private mansions, churches with tall steeples, and universities and halls with
imposing facades. At the time of the siege the city had a numerous population,
and was defended by a deep moat and a strong wall flanked with bastions. The
city was a prize well worth all the ardor displayed both in its attack and
defense. Its standing or falling would determine the fate of
Holland.
When the citizens saw themselves a second time shut in by a
beleaguering army of 8,000 men, and a bristling chain of sixty-four redoubts,
they reflected with pain on their neglect to introduce provisions and
reinforcements into their city during the two months the Spaniards had been
withdrawn to defend the frontier. They must now atone for their lack of
prevision by relying on their own stout arms and bold hearts. There were scarce
any troops in the city besides the burghal guard. Orange told them plainly that
three months must pass over them before it would be possible by any efforts of
their friends outside to raise the siege; and he entreated them to bear in mind
the vast consequences that must flow from the struggle on which they were
entering, and that, according as they should bear themselves in it with a craven
heart or with an heroic spirit, so would they transmit to their descendants the
vile estate of slavery or the glorious heritage of liberty.
The defense
of the town was entrusted to Jean van der Does, Lord of Nordwyck. Of noble birth
and poetic genius, Does was also a brave soldier, and an illustrious patriot. He
breathed his own heroic spirit into the citizens. The women as well as men
worked day and night upon the walls, to strengthen them against the Spanish
guns. They took stock of the provisions in the city, and arranged a plan for
their economical distribution. They passed from one to another the terrible
words, "Zutphen," "Naarden," names suggestive of horrors not to be mentioned,
but which had so burned into the Dutch the detestation of the Spaniards, that
they were resolved to die rather than surrender to an enemy whose instincts were
those of tigers or fiends.
It was at this moment, when the struggle
around Leyden was about to begin, that Philip attempted to filch by a stratagem
the victory which he found it so hard to win by the sword. Don Luis de Requesens
now published at Brussels, in the king's name, a general pardon to the
Netherlanders, on condition that they went to mass and received absolution from
a priest, [2] Almost all the clergy and
many of the leading citizens were excepted from this indemnity. "Pardon!"
exclaimed the indignant Hollanders when they read the king's letter of grace;
"before we can receive pardon we must first have committed offense. We have
suffered the wrong, not done it; and now the wrongdoer comes, not to sue for,
but to bestow forgiveness! How grateful ought we to be!" As regarded going to
mass, Philip could not but know that this was the essence of the whole quarrel,
and to ask them to submit on this point was simply to ask them to surrender to
him the victory. Their own reiterated vows, the thousands of their brethren
martyred, their own consciences all forbade.
They would sooner go to
the halter. There was now scarcely a native Hollander who was a Papist; and
speaking in their name, the Prince of Orange declared, "As long as there is a
living man left in the country, we will contend for our liberty and our
religion."[3] The king's pardon had
failed to open the gates of Leyden, and its siege now went
forward.
CHAPTER
21 Back to
Top
THE SIEGE OF
LEYDEN.
Leyden Provisions Fail William's Sickness His Plan of
Letting in the Sea The Dykes Cut The Waters do not Rise The Flotilla
cannot be Floated Dismay in Leyden Terrors of the Famine Pestilence
Deaths Unabated Resolution of the Citizens A Mighty Fiat goes forth The
Wind Shifts The Ocean Overflows the Dykes The Flotilla, Approaches Fights
on the Dykes The Fort Lammen Stops the Flotilla Midnight Noise Fort
Lainmen Abandoned Leyden Relieved Public Solemn Thanksgiving Another
Prodigy The Sea Rolled Back.
For two months the citizens manned their walls, and
with stern courage kept at bay the beleaguering host, now risen from 10,000 to
three times that number. At the end of this period provisions failed them. For
some days the besieged subsisted on malt-cake, and when that was consumed they
had recourse to the flesh of dogs and horses. Numbers died of starvation, and
others sickened and perished through the unnatural food on which the famine had
thrown them. Meanwhile a greater calamity even than would have been the loss of
Leyden seemed about to overtake them.
Struck down by fever, the result of
ceaseless toil and the most exhausting anxiety, William of Orange lay apparently
at the point of death. The illness of the prince was carefully concealed, lest
the citizens of Leyden should give themselves up altogether to despair. Before
lying down, the prince had arranged the only plan by which, as it appeared to
him, it was possible to drive out the Spaniards and raise the siege; and in
spite of his illness he issued from his sick-bed continual orders respecting the
execution of that project. No force at his disposal was sufficient to enable him
to break through the Spanish lines, and throw provisions into the starving city,
in which the suffering and misery had now risen to an extreme pitch. In this
desperate strait he thought of having recourse to a more terrible weapon than
cannon or armies. He would summon the ocean against the Spaniards. He would cut
the dykes and sink the country beneath the sea. The loss would be tremendous;
many a rich meadow, many a fruitful orchard, and many a lovely villa would be
drowned beneath the waves; but the loss, though great, would be recoverable: the
waves would again restore what they had swallowed up; whereas, should the
country be overwhelmed lay the power of Spain, never again would it be restored:
the loss would be eternal. What the genius and patriotism of William had dared
his eloquence prevailed upon the States to adopt.
Putting their spades
into the great dyke that shielded their land, they said, "Better a drowned
country than a lost country." Besides the outer and taller rampart, within which
the Hollanders had sought safety from their enemy the sea, there rose concentric
lines of inner and lower dykes, all of which had to be cut through before the
waves could flow over the country.
The work was executed with equal
alacrity and perseverance, but not with the desired result. A passage had been
dug for the waters, but that ocean which had appeared but too ready to overwhelm
its barriers when the inhabitants sought to keep it out, seemed now unwilling to
overflow their country, as if it were in league with the tyrant from whose fury
the Dutch besought it to cover them. Strong north-easterly winds, prevailing
that year longer than usual, beat back the tides, and lowering the level of the
German Sea, prevented the ingress of the waters. The flood lay only a few inches
in depth on the face of Holland; and unless it should rise much higher,
William's plan for relieving Leyden would, after all, prove abortive.
At
great labor and expense he had constructed a flotilla of 200 fiat-bottomed
vessels at Rotterdam and Delft; these he had mounted with guns, and manned with
800 Zealanders, and stored with provisions to be thrown into the famine-stricken
city, so soon as the depth of water, now slowly rising over meadow and
corn-field, should enable his ships to reach its gates. But the flotilla lay
immovable. The expedition was committed to Admiral Boisot; the crews were
selected from the fleet of Zealand, picked veterans, with faces hacked and
scarred with wounds which they had received in their, former battles with the
Spaniards; and to add to their ferocious looks they wore the Crescent in their
caps, with the motto, "Turks rather than Spaniards." Ships, soldiers, and
victuals all had William provided; but unless the ocean should cooperate all
had been provided in vain.
Something like panic seized on the besiegers
when they beheld this new and terrible power advancing to assail them. Danger
and death in every conceivable form they had been used to meet, but they never
dreamt of having to confront the ocean. Against such an enemy what could their
or any human power avail? But when they saw that the rise of the waters was
stayed, their alarm subsided, and they began to jeer and mock at the stratagem
of the prince, which was meant to be grand, but had proved contemptible. He had
summoned the ocean to his aid, but the ocean would not come. In the city of
Leyden despondency had taken the place of elation. When informed of the
expedient of the prince for their deliverance they had rung their bells for very
joy; but when they saw the ships, laden with that bread for lack of which some
six or eight thousand of their number had already died, after entering the gaps
in the outer dyke, arrested in their progress to their gates, hope again forsook
them. Daily they climbed the steeples and towers, and scanned with anxious eyes
the expanse around, if haply the ocean was coming to their aid. Day after day
they had to descend with the same depressing report: the wind was still adverse;
the waters refused to rise, and the ships could not float. The starvation and
misery of Leyden was greater even than that which Haarlem had endured. For seven
weeks there had not been a morsel of bread within the city. The vilest
substitutes were greedily devoured; and even these were now almost exhausted. To
complete their suffering, pestilence was added to famine. Already reduced to
skeletons, hundreds had no strength to withstand this new attack. Men and women
every hour dropped dead on the streets. Whole families were found to be corpses
when the doors of their houses were forced open in the morning, and the
survivors had hardly enough strength left to bury them. The dead were carried to
their graves by those who to-morrow would need the same office at the hands of
others.
Amid the awful reiteration of these dismal scenes, one passion
still survived-resistance to the Spaniards. Some few there were, utterly broken
down under this accumulation of sorrows, who did indeed whisper the word
"surrender," deeming that even Spanish soldiers could inflict nothing more
terrible than they were already enduring. But these proposals were instantly and
indignantly silenced by the great body of the citizens, to whom neither famine,
nor pestilence, nor death appeared so dreadful as the entrance of the Spaniards.
The citizens anew exchanged vows of fidelity with one another and with the
magistrates, and anew ratified their oaths to that Power for whose truth they
were in arms. Abandoned outside its walls, as it seemed, by all: pressed within
by a host of terrible evils: succor neither in heaven nor on the earth, Leyden
nevertheless would hold fast its religion and its liberty, and if it must
perish, it would perish free. It was the victory of a sublime faith over
despair.
At last heaven heard the cry of the suffering city, and issued
its fiat to the ocean. On the 1st of October, the equinoctial gales, so long
delayed, gave signs of their immediate approach. On that night a strong wind
sprung up from the north-west, and the waters of the rivers were forced back
into their channels. After blowing for some hours from that quarter, the gale
shifted into the south-west with increased fury. The strength of the winds
heaped up the waters of the German Ocean upon the coast of Holland; the deep
lifted up itself; its dark flood driven before the tempest's breath with mighty
roar, like shout of giant loosed from his fetters and rushing to assail the foe,
came surging onwards, and poured its tumultuous billows over the broken dykes.
At midnight on the 2nd of October the flotilla of Boisot was afloat, and under
weigh for Leyden, on whose walls crowds of gaunt, famished, almost exanimate men
waited its coming. At every short distance the course of the ships was disputed
by some half-submerged Spanish fort, whose occupants were not so much awed by
the terrors of the deep which had risen to overwhelm them as to be unable to
offer battle. But it was in vain. Boisot's fierce Zealanders were eager to
grapple with the hated Spaniards; the blaze of canon lighted up the darkness of
that awful night, and the booming of artillery, rising above the voice of the
tempest, told the citizens of Leyden that the patriot fleet was on its way to
their rescue. These naval engagements, on what but a few days before had-been
cornland or woodland, but was now ocean a waste of water blackened by the
scowl of tempest and the darkness of night formed a novel as well as awful
sight. The Spaniards fought with a desperate bravery, but everywhere without
success. The Zealanders leaped from their fiat-bottomed vessels and pursued them
along the dykes, they fired on them from their boats, or, seizing them with
hooks fixed to the ends of long poles, dragged them down from the causeway, and
put them to the sword. Those who escaped the daggers and harpoons of the
Zealanders, were drowned in the sea, or stuck fast in the mud till overtaken and
dispatched. In that flight some 1,500 Spaniards perished.
Boisot's fleet
had now advanced within two miles of the walls of Leyden, but here, at about a
mile's distance from the gates, rose the strongest of all the Spanish forts,
called Lammen, blocking up the way, and threatening to render all that had been
gained without avail. The admiral reconnoitered it; it stood high above the
water; it was of great strength and full of soldiers; and he hesitated attacking
it. The citizens from the walls saw his fleet behind the fort, and understood
the difficulty that prevented the admiral's nearer approach. They had been
almost delirious with joy at the prospect of immediate relief. Was the cup after
all to be dashed from their lips! It was arranged by means of a carrier-pigeon
that a combined assault should take place upon the fort of Lammen at dawn, the
citizens assailing it on one side, and the flotilla bombarding it on the other
Night again fell, and seldom has blacker night descended on more tragic scene,
or the gloom of nature been more in unison with the anxiety and distress of man.
At midnight a terrible crash was heard. What that ominous sound, so awful in the
stillness of the night, could be, no one could conjecture. A little after came a
strange apparition, equally inexplicable. A line of lights was seen to issue
from Lammen and move over the face of the deep. The darkness gave terror and
mystery to every occurrence. All waited for the coming of day to explain these
appearances. At last the dawn broke; it was now seen that a large portion of the
city walls of Leyden had fallen over-night, and hence the noise that had caused
such alarm. The Spaniards, had they known, might have entered the city at the
last hour and massacred the inhabitants; instead of this, they were seized with
panic, believing these terrible sounds to be those of the enemy rushing to
attack them, and so, kindling their torches and lanterns, they fled when no man
pursued. Instead of the cannonade which was this morning to be opened against
the formidable Lammen, the fleet of Boisot sailed under the silent guns of the
now evacuated fort, and entered the city gates. On the morning of the 3rd of
October, Leyden was relieved.
The citizens felt that their first duty was
to offer thanks to that Power to whom exclusively they owed their deliverance.
Despite their own heroism and Boisot's valor they would have fallen, had not
God, by a mighty wind, brought up the ocean and overwhelmed their foes. A
touching procession of haggard but heroic forms, headed by Admiral Boisot and
the magistrates, and followed by the Zealanders and sailors, walked to the great
church, and there united in solemn prayer. A hymn of thanksgiving was next
raised, but of the multitude of voices by which its first notes were pealed
forth, few were able to continue singing to the close. Tears choked their
voices, and sobs were mingled with the music. Thoughts of the awful scenes
through which they had passed, and of the many who had shared the conflict with
them, but had not lived to join in the hymn of victory, rushed with
overmastering force into their minds, and compelled them to mingle tears with
their praises.
A letter was instantly dispatched to the Prince of Orange
with the great news. He received it while he was at worship in one of the
churches of Delft, and instantly handed it to the minister, to be read from the
pulpit after sermon. That moment recompensed him for the toil and losses of
years; and his joy was heightened by the fact that a nation rejoiced with him.
Soon thereafter, the States assembled, and a day of public thanksgiving was
appointed.
This series of wonders was to be fittingly closed by yet
another prodigy. The fair hind of Holland lay drowned at the bottom of the sea.
The whole vast plain from Rotterdam to Leyden was under water. What time, what
labor and expense would it require to recover the country, and restore the
fertility and beauty which had been so sorely marred! The very next day, the 4th
of October, the wind shifted into the north-east, and blowing with great
violence, the waters rapidly assuaged, and in a few days the land was bare
again, He who had brought up the ocean upon Holland with his mighty hand rolled
it back.
CHAPTER
22 Back to
Top
MARCH OF THE SPANISH ARMY THROUGH THE
SEA SACK OF ANTWERP.
The Darkest Hour Passed A University Founded
in Leyden Its Subsequent Eminence Mediation Philip Demands the Absolute
Dominancy of the Popish Worship-The Peace Negotiations Broken off The Islands
of Zealand The Spaniards March through the Sea The Islands Occupied The
Hopes that Philip builds on this These Hopes Dashed Death of Governor
Requesens Mutiny of Spanish Troops They Seize on Alost Pillage the Country
around The Spanish Army Join the Mutiny-Antwerp Sacked Terrors of the Sack
Massacre, Rape, Burning The "Antwerp Fury" Retribution.
The night of this great conflict was far from being
at an end, but its darkest hour had now passed. With the check received by the
Spanish Power before the walls of Leyden, the first streak of dawn may be said
to have broken; but cloud and tempest long obscured the rising of Holland's
day.
The country owed a debt of gratitude to that heroic little city
which had immolated itself on the altar of the nation's religion and liberty,
and before restarting the great contest, Holland must first mark in some signal
way its sense of the service which Leyden had rendered it. The distinction
awarded Leyden gave happy augury of the brilliant destinies awaiting that land
in years to come. It was resolved to found a university within its walls.
Immediate effect was given to this resolution. Though the Spaniard was still in
the land, and the strain of armies and battles was upon William, a grand
procession was organized on the 5th of February, 1575, at which symbolic
figures, drawn through the streets in triumphal cars, were employed to represent
the Divine form of Christianity, followed by the fair train of the arts and
sciences. The seminary thus inaugurated was richly endowed; men of the greatest
learning were sought for to fill its chairs, their fame attracted crowds of
students from many countries; and its printing presses began to send forth works
which have instructed the men of two centuries. Thus had Leyden come up from the
"seas devouring depths" to be one of the lights of the world.[1]
There came now a
brief pause in the conflict. The Emperor Maximilian, the mutual friend of Philip
of Spain and William of Orange, deemed the moment opportune for mediating
between the parties, and on the 3rd of March, 1575, a congress assembled at
Breda with the view of devising a basis of peace. The prince gave his consent
that the congress should meet, although he had not the slightest hope of fruit
from its labors. On one condition alone could peace be established in Holland,
and that condition, he knew, was one which Philip would never grant, and which
the States could never cease to demand namely, the free and open profession of
the Reformed religion. When the commissioners met it was seen that William had
judged rightly in believing the religious difficulty to be insurmountable.
Philip would agree to no peace unless the Roman Catholic religion were installed
in sole and absolute dominancy, leaving professors of the Protestant faith to
convert their estates and goods into money, and quit the country. In that case,
replied the Protestants, duly grateful for the wonderful concessions of the
Catholic king, there will hardly remain in Holland, after all the heretics shall
have left it, enough men to keep the dykes in repair, and the country had better
be given back to the ocean at once. The conference broke up without
accomplishing anything, and the States, with William at their head, prepared to
resume the contest, in the hope of conquering by their own perseverance and
heroism what they despaired ever to obtain from the justice of
Philip.
The war was renewed with increased exasperation on both sides.
The opening of the campaign was signalized by the capture of a few small Dutch
towns, followed by the usual horrors that attended the triumph of the Spanish
arms. But Governor Requesens soon ceased to push his conquests in that
direction, and turned his whole attention to Zealand, 'where Philip was
exceedingly desirous of acquiring harbors, in order to the reception of a fleet
which he was building in Spain. This led to the most brilliant of all the feats
accomplished by the Spaniards in the war.
In the sea that washes the
north-east of Zealand are situated three large islands Tolen, Duyveland, and
Schowen. Tolen, which lies nearest the mainland, was already in the hands of the
Spaniards; and Requesens, on that account, was all the more desirous to gain
possession of the other two. He had constructed a flotilla of fiat-bottomed
boats, and these would soon have made him master of the coveted islands; but he
dared not launch them on these waters, seeing the estuaries of Zealand were
swept by those patriot buccaneers whose bravery suffered no rivals on their own
element.
Requesens, in his great strait, bethought him of another
expedient, but of such a nature that it might well seem madness to attempt it.
The island of Duyveland was separated from Tolen, the foothold of the Spaniards,
by a strait of about five miles in width; and Requesens learned from some
traitor Zealanders that there ran a narrow fiat of sand from shore to shore, on
which at ebb-tide there was not more than a depth of from four to five feet of
water. It was possible, therefore, though certainly extremely hazardous, to
traverse this submarine ford. The governor, however, determined that his
soldiers should attempt it. He assigned to 3,000 picked men the danger and the
glory of the enterprise. At midnight, the 27th September, 1575, the host
descended into the deep, Requesens himself witnessing its departure from the
shore, "and with him a priest, praying for these poor souls to the Prince of the
celestial militia, Christ Jesus."[2] A few guides well
acquainted with the ford led the way; Don Osorio d'Uiloa, a commander of
distinguished courage, followed; after him came a regiment of Spaniards, then a
body of Germans, and lastly a troop of Walloons, followed by 200 sappers and
miners. The night was dark, with sheet, lightning, which bursting out at
frequent intervals, shed a lurid gleam upon the face of the black waters. At
times a moon, now in her fourth quarter, looked forth between the clouds upon
this novel midnight march. The soldiers walked two and two; the water at times
reached to their necks, and they had to hold their muskets above their head to
prevent their being rendered useless. The path was so narrow that a single step
aside was fatal, and many sank to rise no more. Nor were the darkness and the
treacherous waves the only dangers that beset them. The Zealand fleet hovered
near, and when its crews discerned by the pale light of the moon and the fitful
lightning that the Spaniards were crossing the firth in this meet extraordinary
fashion, they drew their ships as close to the ford as the shallows would
permit, and opened their guns upon them. Their fire did little harm, for the
darkness made the aim uncertain. Not so, however, the harpoons and long hooks of
the Zealanders; their throw caught, and numbers of the Spaniards were dragged
down into the sea. Nevertheless, they pursued their dreadful path, now
struggling with the waves, now fighting with their assailants, and at last,
after a march of six hours, they approached the opposite shore, and with ranks
greatly thinned, emerged from the deep.[3]
Wearied by their
fight with the sea and with the enemy, the landing of the Spaniards might have
been withstood, but accident or treachery gave them possession of the island. At
the moment that they stepped upon the shore, the commander of the Zealanders,
Charles van Boisot, fell by a shot whether from one of his own men, or front
the enemy, cannot now be determined. The incident caused a panic among the
patriots. The strangeness of the enemy's advance for it seemed as if the sea
had miraculously opened to afford them passage helped to increase the
consternation. The Zealanders fled in all directions, and the invading force
soon found themselves in possession of Duyveland.
So far this most
extraordinary and daring attempt had been successful, but the enterprise could
not be regarded as completed till the island of Schowen, the outermost of the
three, had also been occupied. It was divided from Duyveland by a narrow strait
of only a league's width. Emboldened by their success, the Spaniards plunged a
second time into the sea, and waded through the firth, the defenders of the
island fleeing at their approach, as at that of men who had conquered the very
elements, and with whom, therefore, it was madness to contend. The Spanish
commander immediately set about the reduction of all the forts and cities on the
island, and in this he was successful, though the work occupied the whole
Spanish army not less than nine months.[4] Now fully master of these
three islands (June, 1576), though their acquisition had cost all immense
expenditure of both money and lives, Requesens hoped that he had not only cut
the communication between Holland and Zealand, but that he had secured a
rendezvous for the fleet which he expected from Spain, and that it only remained
that he should here fix the headquarters of his power, and assemble a mighty
naval force, in order from this point to extend his conquests on every side, and
reconquer Holland and the other Provinces which had revolted from the scepter of
Philip and the faith of Rome. He seemed indeed in a fair way of accomplishing
all this; the sea itself had parted to give him a fulcrum on which to rest the
lever of this great expedition, but an incident now fell out which upset his
calculations and dashed all his fondest hopes. Holland was never again to own
the scepter of Philip.
Vitelli, Marquis of Cetona, who was without
controversy the ablest general at that time in the Netherlands, now died. His
death was followed in a few days by that of Governor Requesens. These two losses
to Philip were quickly succeeded by a third, and in some respects greater, a
formidable mutiny of the troops. The men who had performed all the valorous
deeds we have recited, had received no pay. Philip had exhausted his treasury in
the war he was carrying on with the Turk, and had not a single guelden to send
them. The soldiers had been disappointed, moreover, in the booty they expected
to reap from the conquered towns of Schowen. These laborers were surely worthy
of their hire. What dark deed had they ever refused to do, or what enemy had
they ever refused to face, at the bidding of their master? They had scaled
walls, and laid fertile provinces waste, for the pleasure of Philip and the
glory of Spain, and now they were denied their wages. Seeing no help but in
becoming their own paymasters, they flew to arms, depose their officers, elected
a commander-in-chief from among themselves, and taking an oath of mutual
fidelity over the Sacrament, they passed over to the mainland, and seizing on
Alost, in Flanders, made it their head-quarters, intending to sally forth in
plundering excursions upon the neighboring towns. Thus all the labor and blood
with which their recent conquests had been won were thrown away, and the hopes
which the King of Spain had built upon them were frustrated at the very moment
when he thought they were about to be realized.
As men contemplate the
passage of a dark cloud charged with thunder and destruction through the sky, so
did the cities of Brabant and Flanders watch the march of this mutinous host.
They knew it held pillage and murder and rape in its bosom, but their worst
fears failed to anticipate the awful vengeance it was destined to inflict. The
negotiators sent to recall the troops to obedience reminded them that they were
tarnishing the fame acquired by years of heroism. What cared these mutineers for
glory ~ They wanted shoes, clothes, food, money. They held their way past the
gates of Mechlin, past the gates of Brussels, and of other cities; but swarming
over the walls of Alost, while the inhabitants slept, they had now planted
themselves in the center of a rich country, where they promised themselves store
of booty. No sooner had they hung out their flag on the walls of Alost than the
troops stationed in other parts of the Netherlands caught the infection. By the
beginning of September the mutiny was universal; the whole Spanish army in the
Netherlands were united in it, and all the forts and citadels being in their
hands, they completely dominated the land, plundered the citizens, pillaged the
country, and murdered at their pleasure. The State Council, into whose hands the
government of the Netherlands had fallen on the sudden death of Requesens, were
powerless, the mutineers holding them prisoners in Brussels; and though the
Council prevailed on Philip to issue an edict against his revolted army,
denouncing them as rebels, and empowering any one to slay this rebellious host,
either singly or in whole, the soldiers paid as little respect to the edict of
their king as to the exhortations of the Council. Thus the instrument of
oppression recoiled upon the hands that were wielding it. War now broke out
between the Flemings and the army. The State Council raised bands of militia to
awe the proscribed and lawless troops, and bloody skirmishes were of daily
occurrence between them.
The carnage was all on one side, for the
disciplined veterans routed at little cost the peasants and artisans who had
been so suddenly transformed into soldiers, slaughtering them in thousands. The
rich cities, on which they now cast greedy eyes, began to feel their vengeance,
but the awful calamity which overtook Antwerp has effaced the memory of the woes
which at their hands befell some of the other cities.
Antwerp, since the
beginning of the troubles of the Netherlands, had had its own share of calamity;
its cathedral and religious houses had been sacked by the image-breakers, and
its warehouses and mansions had been partially pillaged by mutinous troops; but
its vast commerce enabled it speedily to surmount all these losses, and return
to its former flourishing condition. Antwerp was once more the richest city in
the world. The ships of all nations unloaded in its harbor, and the treasures of
all climes were gathered into its warehouses. Its streets were spacious and
magnificent; its shops were stored with silver and gold and precious stones, and
the palaces of its wealthy merchants were filled with luxurious and costly
furniture, and embellished with precious ornaments, beautiful pictures, and fine
statues. This nest of riches was not likely to escape the greedy eyes and
rapacious hands of the mutineers.
Immediately outside the walls of
Antwerp was the citadel, with its garrison. The troops joined the mutiny, and
from that hour Antwerp was doomed. The citizens, having a presentiment of the
ruin that hung above their heads, took some very ineffectual measures to secure
themselves and their city against it, which only drew it the sooner upon them.
The mutineers in the citadel were joined by the rebellious troops from Alost,
about 3,000 in number, who were so eager to begin the plundering that they
refused even to refresh themselves after their march before throwing themselves
upon the ill-fated city. It was Sunday, the 4th of November, and an hour before
noon the portals of Alva's citadel were opened, and 6,000 men-at-arms rushed
forth. They swept along the esplanade leading to the city. They crashed through
the feeble barrier which the burghers had reared to protect them from the
apprehended assault. They chased before them the Walloons and the militia, who
had come out to withstand them, as the furious tempest drives the cloud before
it. In another minute they were over the walls into the city. From every street
and lane poured forth the citizens to defend their homes; but though they fought
with extraordinary courage it was all in vain. The battle swept along the
streets, the Spanish hordes bearing down all before them, and following close on
the rear of the vanquished, till they reached the magnificent Place de Mere,
where stood the world-renowned Exchange, in which 7,000 merchants were wont
daily to assemble. Here an obstinate combat ensued. The citizens fought on the
street, or, retreating to their houses, fired from their windows on the
Spaniards. The carnage was great; heaps of corpses covered the pavement, and the
kennels ran with blood; but courage availed little against regular discipline,
and the citizens were broken a second time.
The battle was renewed with
equal obstinacy in the Grand Place. Here stood the Guildhall, accounted the most
magnificent in the world. Torches were brought and it was set fire to and burned
to the ground. The flames caught the surrounding buildings, and soon a thousand
houses, the finest in the city, were ablaze, their conflagration lighting up the
pinnacles and the unrivaled spire of the neighboring cathedral, and throwing its
ruddy gleam on the combatants who were struggling in the area below. The battle
had now spread over all the city. In every street men were fighting and blood
was flowing. Many rushed to the gates and sought to escape, but they found them
locked, and were thrown back upon the sword and fire. The battle was going
against the citizens, but their rage and hatred of the Spaniards made them
continue the fight. Goswyn Verreyek, the margrave of the city, combated the foe
with the burgomaster lying dead at his feet, and at last he himself fell, adding
his corpse to a heap of slain, composed of citizens, soldiers, and magistrates.
While the fire was devouring hundreds of noble mansions and millions of
treasure, the sword was busy cutting off the citizens. The Spaniard made no
distinction between friend and foe, between Papist and Protestant, between poor
and rich. Old men, women, and children; the father at the hearth, the bride at
the altar, and the priest in the sanctuary the blood of all flooded the
streets of their city on that terrible day.
Darkness fell on this scene
of horrors, and now the barbarities of the day were succeeded by the worse
atrocities of the night. The first object of these men was plunder, and one
would have thought there was now enough within their reach to content the most
boundless avarice. Without digging into the earth or crossing the sea, they
could gather the treasures of all regions, which a thousand ships had carried
thither, and stored up in that city of which they were now masters. They rifled
the shops, they broke into the warehouses, they loaded themselves with the
money, the plate, the wardrobes, and the jewels of private citizens; but their
greed, like the grave, never said it was enough. They began to search for hidden
treasures, and they tortured their supposed possessors to compel them to reveal
what often did not exist. These crimes were accompanied by infamies of so foul
and revolting a character, that by their side murder itself grows pale. The
narrators of the "Antwerp Fury," as it has come to be styled, have recorded many
of these cruel and shameful deeds, but we forbear to chronicle them. For three
clays the work of murdering and plundering went on, and when it had come to an
end, how awful the spectacle which that city, that three days before had been
the gayest and wealthiest upon earth, presented! Stacks of blackened ruins
rising where marble palaces had stood; yawning hovels where princely mansions
had been; whole streets laid in ashes; corpses, here gathered in heaps, there
lying about, hacked, mutilated, half-burned some naked, others still encased
in armor! Eight thousand citizens, according to the most trustworthy accounts,
were slain. The value of the property consumed by the fire was estimated at
£4,000,000, irrespective of the hundreds of magnificent edifices that were
destroyed. An equal amount was lost by the pillage, not reckoning the
merchandise and jewelry appropriated in addition by the Spaniards. Altogether
the loss to the mercantile capital of Brabant was incalculable; nor was it
confined to the moment, for Antwerp never recovered the prosperity it had
enjoyed before the bloody and plundering hand of the Spaniard was laid upon
it.[5]
But this awful
calamity held in its bosom a great moral. During fifty years the cry had been
going up to heaven, from tens of thousands of scaffolds, where the axe was
shedding blood like water; from prisons, where numberless victims were writhing
on the rack; from stakes, where the martyr was consuming amid the flames; from
graveyards, where corpses were rotting above-ground; from trees and door-posts
and highway gibbets, where human bodies were dangling in the air; from graves
which had opened to receive living men and women; from sacked cities; from
violated matrons and maidens; from widows and orphans, reared in affluence but
now begging their bread; from exiles wandering desolate in foreign lands from
all, these had the cry gone up to the just Judge, and now here was the beginning
of vengeance. The powerful cities of the Netherlands, Antwerp among the rest,
saw all these outrages committed, and all these men and women dragged to prison,
to the halter, to the stake, but they "forbore to deliver," they "hid themselves
from their own flesh."
A callous indifference on the part of a nation to
the wrongs and sufferings of others is always associated with a blindness to its
own dangers, which is at once the consequence and the retribution of its
estranging itself from the public cause of humanity and justice. Once and again
and a third time had the Southern Netherlands manifested this blindness to the
mighty perils that menaced them on the side of Spain, and remained deaf to the
call of patriotism and religion. When the standards of William first approached
their frontier, they were unable to see the door of escape from the yoke of a
foreign tyrant thus opened to them. A tithe of the treasure and blood which were
lost in the "Antwerp Fury" would have carried the banner of William in triumph
from Valenciennes to the extreme north of Zealand; but the Flemings cared not to
think that the hour had come to strike for liberty. A second time the Deliverer
approached them, but the ease-loving Netherlanders understood not the offer now
made to them of redemption from the Spanish yoke. When Alva and his soldiers
an incarnated ferocity and bigotry entered the Low Countries, they sat still:
not a finger did they lift to oppose the occupation. When the cry of Naarden,
and Zutphen, and Haarlem was uttered, Antwerp was deaf.
Wrapt in luxury
and ease, it had seen its martyrs burned, the disciples of the Gospel driven
away, and it returned to that faith which it had been on the point of
abandoning, and which, by retaining the soul in vassalage to Rome, perpetuated
the serfdom of the Spanish yoke; and yet Antwerp saw no immediate evil effects
follow. The ships of all nations continued to sail up its river and discharge
their cargoes on its wharves. Its wealth continued to increase, and its palaces
to grow in splendor. The tempests that smote so terribly the cities around it
rolled harmlessly past its gates. Antwerp believed that it had chosen at once
the easier and the better part; that it was vastly preferable to have the Romish
faith, with an enriching commerce and a luxurious ease, than Protestantism with
battles and loss of goods; till one day, all suddenly, when it deemed calamity
far away, a blow, terrible as the bolt of heaven, dealt it by the champions of
Romanism, laid it in the dust, together with the commerce, the wealth, and the
splendor for the sake of which it had parted with its
Protestantism.
CHAPTER
23 Back to
Top
THE "PACIFICATION OF GHENT," AND
TOLERATION.
William of Orange more than King of Holland The "Father
of the Country" Policy of the European Powers Elizabeth France Germany
Coldness of Lutheranism Causes Hatred of German Lutherans to Dutch
Calvinists . Instances William's New Project His Appeal to all the
Provinces to Unite against the Spaniards The "Pacification of Ghent " Its
Articles Toleration Services to Toleration of John Calvin and William the
Silent.
The great struggle which William, Prince of Orange,
was maintaining on this foot-breadth of territory for the religion of Reformed
Christendom, and the liberty' of the Netherlands, had now reached a well-defined
stage. Holland and Zealand were united under him as Stadtholder or virtual
monarch. The fiction was still maintained that Philip, as Count of Holland, was
the nominal monarch of the Netherlands, but this was nothing more than a
fiction, and to Philip it must have appeared a bitter satire; for, according to
this fiction, Philip King of the Netherlands was making war on Philip King of
Spain. The real monarch of the United Provinces of Holland and Zealand was the
Prince of Orange. In his hands was lodged the whole administrative power of the
country, as also well-nigh the whole legislative functions. He could make peace
and he could make war. He appointed to all offices; he disposed of all affairs;
and all the revenues of the kingdom were paid to him for national uses, and
especially for the prosecution of the great struggle in which he was engaged for
the nation's independence. These revenues, given spontaneously, were larger by
far than the sums which Alva by all his taxation and terror had been able to
extort from the Provinces. William, in fact, possessed more than the powers of a
king. The States had unbounded trust in his wisdom, his patriotism, and his
uprightness, and they committed all into his hands.
They saw in him a
sublime example of devotion to his country, and of abnegation of all ambitions,
save the one ambition of maintaining the Protestant religion and the freedom of
Holland. They knew that he sought neither title, nor power, nor wealth, and that
in him was perpetuated that order of men to which Luther and Calvin belonged
men not merely of prodigious talents, but what is infinitely more rare, of
heroic faith and magnanimous souls; and so "King of Holland" appeared to them a
weak title they called him the "Father of their Country."
The great
Powers of Europe watched, with an interest bordering on amazement, this gigantic
struggle maintained by a handful of men, on a diminutive half-submerged
territory, against the greatest monarch of his day. The heroism of the combat
challenged their admiration, but its issues awakened their jealousies, and even
alarms. It was no mere Dutch quarrel; it was no question touching only the
amount of liberty and the kind of religion that were to be established on this
sandbank of the North Sea that was at issue; the cause was a world-wide one, and
yet none of the Powers interfered either to bring aid to that champion who
seemed ever on the point of being overborne, or to expedite the victory on the
powerful side on which it seemed so sure to declare itself; all stood aloof and
left these two most unequal combatants to fight out the matter between them.
There was, in truth, the same play of rivalries around the little Holland which
there had been at a former era around Geneva. This rivalry reduced the
Protestant Powers to inaction, and prevented their assisting Holland, just as
the Popish Powers had been restrained from action in presence of Geneva. In the
case of the little city on the shores of the Leman, Providence plainly meant
that Protestantism should be seen to triumph in spite of the hatred and
opposition of the Popish kingdoms; and so again, in the case of the little
country on the shores of the North Sea, Providence meant to teach men that
Protestantism could triumph independently of the aid and alliance of the Powers
friendly to it. The great ones of the earth stood aloof, but William, as he told
his friends, had contracted a firm alliance with a mighty Potentate, with him
who is King of kings; and seeing this invisible but omnipotent Ally, he endured
in the awful conflict till at last his faith was crowned with a glorious
victory.
In England a crowd of statesmen, divines, and private Christians
followed the banners of the Prince of Orange with their hopes and their prayers.
But nations then had found no channel for the expression of their sympathies,
other than the inadequate one of the policy of their sovereign; and Elizabeth,
though secretly friendly to William and the cause of Dutch independence, had to
shape her conduct so as to balance conflicting interests. Her throne was
surrounded with intrigues, and her person with perils. She had to take account
of the pretensions and partisans of the Queen of Scots, of the displeasure of
Philip of Spain, and of the daggers of the Jesuits, and these prevented her
supporting the cause of Protestantism in Holland with arms or, to any adequate
extent, with money. But if she durst not accord it public patronage or
protection, neither could she openly declare against it; for in that case France
would have made a show of aiding William, and Elizabeth would have seen with
envy the power of her neighbor and rival considerably extended, and the
influence of England, as a Protestant State, proportionately curtailed and
weakened.
France was Roman Catholic and Protestant by turns. At this
moment the Protestant fit was upon it: a peace had been made with the Huguenots
which promised them everything but secured them nothing, and which was destined
to reach the term of its brief currency within the year. The protaean
Medici-Valois house that ruled that country was ready to enter any alliance,
seeing it felt the obligation to fidelity in none; and the Duke of Anjou:. to
spite both Philip and Elizabeth, might have been willing to have taken the title
of King of the Netherlands, and by championing the cause of Dutch Protestantism
for an hour ruined it for ever. This made France to William of Orange, as well
as to Elizabeth, an object of both hope and fear; but happily the fear
predominating, for the horror of the St. Bartholomew had not yet left the mind
of William, he was on his guard touching offers of help from the Court of the
Louvre.
But what of Germany, with which the Prince of Orange had so many
and so close relationships, and which lay so near the scene of the great
conflict, whose issues must so powerfully influence it for good or for ill? Can
Germany fail to see that it is its own cause that now stands at bay on the
extreme verge of the Fatherland, and that could the voice of Luther speak from
the tomb in the Schloss-kirk of Wittemberg, it would summon the German princes
and knights around the banner of William of Orange, as it formerly summoned them
to the standard of Frederick of Saxony? But since Luther was laid in the grave
the great heart of Germany had waxed cold. Many of its princes seemed to be
Protestant for no other end but to be able to increase their revenues by
appropriations from the lands and hoards of the Roman establishment, and it was
hardly to be, expected that Protestants of this stamp would feel any lively
interest in the great struggle in Holland. But the chief cause of the coldness
of Germany was the unhappy jealousy that divided the Lutherans from the
Reformed. That difference had been widening since the evil day of Marburg.
Luther on that occasion had been barely able to receive Zwingle and his
associates as brethren, and many of the smaller men who succeeded Luther lacked
even that small measure of charity; and in the times of William of Orange to be
a Calvinist was, in the eyes of many Lutherans, to be a heretic. When the death
of Edward VI. compelled the celebrated John Alasco, with his congregation, to
leave England and seek asylum in Denmark, West-phalus, a Lutheran divine, styled
the wandering congregation of Alasco "the martyrs of the devil;" whilst another
Lutheran, Bugenhagius, declared that "they ought not to be considered as
Christians;" and they received intimation from the king that he would "sooner
suffer Papists than them in his dominions; " and they were compelled, at a most
inclement season, to embark for the north of Germany, where the same
persecutions awaited them, the fondness for the dogma of con-substantiation on
the part of the Lutheran ministers having almost stifled in their minds the love
of Protestantism.[1] But William of Orange was
an earnest Calvinist, and the opinions adopted by the Church of Holland on the
subject of the Sacrament were the same with those received by the Churches of
Switzerland and of England, and hence the coldness of Germany to the great
battle for Protestantism on its borders.
William, therefore, seeing
England irresolute, France treacherous, and Germany cold, withdrew his eyes from
abroad, in seeking for allies and aids, and fixed them nearer home. Might he not
make another attempt to consolidate the cause of Protestant liberty in the
Netherlands themselves?
The oft-recurring outbreaks of massacre and
rapine were deepening the detestation of the Spanish rule in the minds of the
Flemings, and now, if he should try, he might find them ripe for joining with
their brethren of Holland and Zealand in an effort to throw off the yoke of
Philip. The chief difficulty, he foresaw, in the way of such a confederacy was
the difference of religion. In Holland and Zealand the Reformed faith was now
the established religion, whereas in the other fifteen Provinces the Roman was
the national faith. Popery had had a marked revival of late in the Netherlands,
the date of this second growth being that of their submission to Alva; and now
so attached were the great body of the Flemings to the Church of Rome, that they
were resolved "to die rather than renounce their faith." This made the patriotic
project which William now contemplated the more difficult, and the negotiation
in favor of it a matter of great delicacy, but it did not discourage him from
attempting it. The Flemish Papist, not less than the Dutch Calvinist, felt the
smart of the Spanish steel, and might be roused to vindicate the honor of a
common country, and to expel the massacring hordes of a common tyrant. It was
now when Requesens was dead, and the government was for the time in the hands of
the State Council, and the fresh atrocities of the Spanish soldiers gave added
weight to his energetic words, that he wrote to the people of the Netherlands to
the effect that "now was the time when they might deliver themselves for ever
from the tyranny of Spain. By the good providence of God, the government had
fallen into their own hands. It ought to be their unalterable resolve to hold
fast the power which they possessed, and to employ it in delivering their
fellow-citizens from that intolerable load of misery under which they had so
long groaned. The measure of the calamities of the people, and of the iniquity
of the Spaniards, was now full. There was nothing worse to be dreaded than what
they had already suffered, and nothing to deter them from resolving either to
expel their rapacious tyrants, or to perish in the glorious attempt."[2] To stimulate them to the
effort to which he called them, he pointed to what Holland and Zealand
single-handed had done; and if "this handful of cities" had accomplished so
much, what might not the combined strength of all the Provinces, with their
powerful cities, achieve?
This appeal fell not to the ground. In
November, 1576, a congress composed of deputies from all the States assembled at
Ghent, which re-echoed the patriotic sentiments of the prince; the deliberations
of its members, quickened and expedited by the Antwerp Fury, which happened at
the very time the congress was sitting, ended in a treaty termed the
"Pacification of Ghent." This "Pacification" was a monument of the diplomatic
genius, as well as patriotism, of William the Silent. In it the prince and the
States of Holland and Zealand on the one side, and the fifteen Provinces of the
Netherlands on the other, agreed to bury all past differences, and to unite
their arms in order to effect the expulsion of the Spanish soldiers from their
country. Their soil cleared of foreign troops, they were to call a meeting of
the States-General on the plan of that great assembly which had accepted the
abdication of Charles V. By the States-General all the affairs of the
Confederated Provinces were to be finally regulated, but till it should meet it
was agreed that the Inquisition should be for ever abolished; that the edicts of
Philip touching heresy and the tumults should be suspended; that the ancient
forms of government should be revived; that the Reformed faith should be the
religion of the two States of Holland and Zealand, but that no Romanist should
be oppressed on account of his opinion; while in the other fifteen Provinces the
religion then professed, that is the Roman, was to be the established worship,
but no Protestant was to suffer for conscience sake. In short, the basis of the
treaty, as concerned religion, was toleration.[3]
A great many events
were crowded upon this point of time. The Pacification of Ghent, which united
all the Provinces in resistance to Spain, the Antwerp Fury, and the recovery of
that portion of Zealand which the Spaniards by their feats of daring had wrested
from William, all arrived contemporaneously to signalize this epoch of the
struggle.
This was another mile-stone on the road of the Prince of
Orange. In the Pacification of Ghent he saw his past efforts beginning to bear
fruit, and he had a foretaste of durable and glorious triumphs to be reaped
hereafter. It was an hour of exquisite gladness in the midst of the sorrow and
toil of his great conflict. The Netherlands, participating in the prince's joy,
hailed the treaty with a shout of enthusiasm. It was read at the market-crosses
of all the cities, amid the ringing of bells and the blazing of
bonfires.
But the greatest gain in the Pacification of Ghent, and the
matter which the Protestant of the present day will be best pleased to
contemplate, is the advance it notifies in the march of toleration. Freedom of
conscience was the basis on which this Pacification, which foreshadowed the
future Dutch Republic, was formed. Calvin, twenty years before, had laid down
the maxim that no one is to be disturbed for his religious opinions unless they
are expressed in words or acts that are inimical to the State, or prejudicial to
social order. William of Orange, in laying the first foundations of the Batavin
Republic, placed them on the principle of toleration, as his master Calvin had
defined it. To these two great men-John Calvin and William the Silent we owe,
above most, this great advance on the road of progress and human freedom. The
first had defined and inculcated the principle in his writings; the second had
embodied and given practical effect to it in the new State which his genius and
patriotism had called into existence.
CHAPTER
24 Back to
Top
ADMINISTRATION OF DON JOHN, AND FIRST
SYNOD OF DORT.
Little and Great Countries Their respective Services
to Religion and Liberty The Pacification of Ghent brings with it an Element of
Weakness Divided Counsels and Aims Union of Utrecht The new Governor Don
John of Austria Asked to Ratify the Pacification of Ghent Refuses At last
Consents " The Perpetual Edict" Perfidy meditated A Martyr Don John
Seizes the Castle of Namur Intercepted Letters William made Governor of
Brabant His Triumphal Progress to Brussels Splendid Opportunity of achieving
Independence Roman Catholicism a Dissolvent Prince Matthias his
Character-Defeat of the Army of the Netherlands Bull of the Pope Amsterdam
Joins the Protestant Side Civic Revolution Progress of Protestantism in
Antwerp, Ghent, etc. First National Synod Their Sentiments on Toleration "
Peace of Religion " The Provinces Disunite A Great Opportunity Lost Death
of Don John.
The great battles of religion and liberty have, as a
rule, been fought not by the great, but by the little countries of the world.
History supplies us with many striking examples of this, both in ancient and in
modern times. The Pacification of Ghent is one of these. It defined the
territory which was to be locked in deadly struggle with Spain, and greatly
enlarged it. By the side of the little Holland and Zealand it placed Brabant and
Flanders, with their populous towns and their fertile fields. With this vast
accession of strength to the liberal side, one would have expected that
henceforth the combat would be waged with greater vigor, promptitude, and
success. But it was not so, for from this moment the battle began to languish.
William of Orange soon found that if he had widened the area, he had diminished
the power of the liberal cause. An element of weakness had crept in along with
the new territories. How this happened it is easy to explain. The struggle on
both sides was one for religion Philip had made void all the charters of ancient
freedom, and abolished all the privileges of the cities, that he might bind down
upon the neck of the Netherlands the faith and worship of Rome. On the other
hand, William and the States that were of his mind strove to revive these
ancient charters, and immemorial privileges, that under their shield they might
enjoy freedom of conscience, and be able to profess the Protestant religion.
None but Protestants could be hearty combatants in such a battle; religion alone
could kindle that heroism which was needed to bear the strain and face the
perils of so great and so prolonged a conflict. But the fifteen Provinces of the
Southern Netherlands were now more Popish than at the abdication of Charles V.
The Protestants whom they contained at that era had since been hanged, or
burned, or chased away, and a reaction had set in which had supplied their
places with Romanists; and therefore the Pacification, which placed Brabant
alongside of Holland in the struggle against Spain, and which gave to the Dutch
Protestant as his companion in arms the Popish Fleming, was a Pacification that
in fact created two armies, by proposing two objects or ends on the liberal
side. To the Popish inhabitants of the Netherlands the yoke of Spain would in no
long time be made easy enough; for the edicts, the Inquisition, and the bishops
were things that could have no great terrors to men who did not need their
coercion to believe, or at least profess, the Romish dogmas. The professors of
the Romish creed, not feeling that wherein lay the sting of the Spanish yoke,
could not be expected therefore to make other than half-hearted efforts to throw
it off.
But far different was it with the other and older combatants.
They felt that sting in all its force, and therefore could not stop half-way in
their great struggle, but must necessarily press on till they had plucked out
that which was the root of the whole Spanish tyranny. Thus William found that
the Pacification of Ghent had introduced among the Confederates divided
counsels, dilatory action, and uncertain aims; and three years after (1579) the
Pacification had to be rectified by the "Union of Utrecht," which, without
dissolving the Confederacy of Ghent, created an inner alliance of seven States,
and thereby vastly quickened the working of the Confederacy, and presented to
the world the original framework or first constitution of that Commonwealth
which has since become so renowned under the name of the "United
Provinces."
Meanwhile, and before the Union of Utrecht had come into
being, Don John of Austria, the newly-appointed governor, arrived in the Low
Countries. He brought with him an immense prestige as the son of Charles V., and
the hero of Lepanto. He had made the Cross to triumph over the Crescent in the
bloody action that reddened the waters of the Lepantine Gulf; and he came to the
Netherlands with the purpose and in the hope of making the Cross triumphant over
heresy, although it should be by dyeing the plains of the Low Countries with a
still greater carnage than that with which he, had crimsoned the Greek seas. He
arrived to find that the seventeen Provinces had just banded themselves together
to drive out the Spanish army: and to re-assert their independence; and before
they would permit him to enter they demanded of him an oath to execute the
Pacification of Ghent. This was a preliminary which he did not relish; but
finding that he must either accept the Pacification or else return to Spain, he
gave the promise, styled the "Perpetual Edict," demanded of him (17th February,
1577), and entered upon his government by dismissing all the foreign troops,
which now returned into Italy [1] With the departure of the
soldiers the brilliant and ambitious young governor seemed to have abandoned all
the great hopes which had lighted him to the Netherlands. There were now great
rejoicings in the Provinces: all their demands had been conceded.
But Don
John trusted to recover by intrigue what he had surrendered from necessity. No
sooner was he installed at Brussels than he opened negotiations with the Prince
of Orange, in the hope of drawing him from "the false position" in which he had
placed himself to Philip, and winning him to his side. Don John had had no
experience of such lofty spirits as William, and could only see the whims of
fanaticism, or the aspirings of ambition, in the profound piety and grand aims
of William. He even attempted, through a malcontent party that now arose, headed
by the Duke of Aerschot, to work the Pacification of Ghent so as to restore the
Roman religion in exclusive dominancy in Holland and Zealand, as well as in the
other Provinces. But these attempts of Don John were utterly
futile.
William had no difficulty in penetrating the true character and
real design of the viceroy. He knew that, although the Spanish troops had been
sent away, Philip had still some 15,000 German mercenaries in the Provinces, and
held in his hands all the great keys of the country. William immovably
maintained his attitude of opposition despite all the little arts of the
viceroy. Step by step Don John advanced to his design, which was to restore the
absolute dominancy at once of Philip and of Rome over all the Provinces. His
first act was to condemn to death Peter Panis, a tailor by trade, and a man of
most exemplary life, and whose only crime had been that of hearing a sermon from
a Reformed minister in the neighborhood of Mechlin. The Prince of Orange made
earnest intercession for the martyr, imploring the governor "not again to open
the old theaters of tyranny, which had occasioned the shedding of rivers of
blood;" [2] notwithstanding the poor
man was beheaded by the order of Don John. The second act of the viceroy, which
was to seize on the Castle of Namur, revealed his real purpose with even more
flagrancy. To make himself master of that stronghold he had recourse to a
stratagem. Setting out one morning with a band of followers, attired as if for
the chase, but with arms concealed under their clothes, the governor and his
party took their way by the castle, which they feigned a great desire to see. No
sooner were they admitted by the castellan than they drew their swords, and Don
John at the same instant winding his horn, the men-at-arms, who lay in ambush in
the surrounding woods, rushed in, and the fortress was captured.[3] As a frontier citadel it
was admirably suited to receive the troops which the governor expected soon to
return from Italy; and he remarked, when he found himself in possession of the
castle, that this was the first day of his regency: it might with more propriety
have been called the first day of those calamities that pursued him to the
grave.
Intercepted letters from Don John to Philip II. fully unmasked the
designs of the governor, and completed the astonishment and alarm of the States.
These letters urged the speedy return of the Spanish troops, and dilating on the
inveteracy of that disease which had fastened on the Netherlands, the letters
said, "the malady admitted of no remedies but fire and sword."
This
discovery of the viceroy's baseness raised to the highest pitch the admiration
of the Flemings for the sagacity of William, who had given them early warning of
the duplicity of the governor, and the cruel designs he was plotting. Thereupon
the Provinces a third time threw off their obedience to Philip II., declaring
that Don John was no longer Stadtholder or legitimate Governor of the
Provinces.[4]Calling the Prince of Orange to Brussels, they
installed him as Governor of Brabant, a dignity which had been bestowed hitherto
only on the Viceroys of Spain. As the prince passed along in his barge from
Antwerp to Brussels, thousands crowded to the banks of the canal to gaze on the
great patriot and hero, oil whose single shoulder rested the weight of this
struggle with the mightiest empire then in existence. The men of Antwerp stood
on this side-of the canal, the citizens of Brussels lined the opposite bank, to
offer their respectful homage to one greater than kings. They knew the toils he
had borne, the dangers he had braved, the princely fortune he had sacrificed,
and the beloved brothers and friends he had seen sink around him in the contest;
and when they saw the head on which all these storms had burst still erect, and
prepared to brave tempests not less fierce in the future, rather than permit the
tyranny of Spain to add his native country to the long roll of unhappy kingdoms
which it had already enslaved and crushed, their admiration and enthusiasm knew
no bounds, and they saluted him with the glorious appellations of the Father of
his Country, and the guardian of its liberties and laws?[5]
This was the third
time that liberty had offered herself to the Flemings; and as this was to be the
last, so it was the fairest opportunity the Provinces ever had of placing their
independence on a firm and permanent foundation, in spite of the despot of the
Escorial. The Spanish soldiers were withdrawn, the king's finances were
exhausted, the Provinces were knit together in a bond for the prosecution of
their common cause, and they had at their head a man of consummate ability, of
incorruptible patriotism, and they lacked nothing but hearty co-operation and
union among themselves to guide the struggle to a glorious issue. With liberty,
who could tell the glories and prosperities of that future that awaited
Provinces so populous and rich? But, alas! it began to be seen what a solvent
Romanism was, and of how little account were all these great opportunities in
the presence of so disuniting and dissolving a force. The Roman Catholic nobles
grew jealous of William, whose great abilities and pre-eminent influence threw
theirs into the shade. They affected to believe that liberty was in danger from
the man who had sacrificed all to vindicate it, and that so zealous a Calvinist
must necessarily persecute the Roman religion, despite the efforts of his whole
life to secure toleration for all creeds and sects. In short, the Flemish
Catholics would rather wear the Spanish yoke, with the Pope as their spiritual
father, than enjoy freedom under the banners of William the Silent. Sixteen of
the grandees, chief among whom was the Duke of Aerschot, opened secret
negotiations with the Archduke Matthias, brother of the reigning emperor,
Rudolph, and invited him to be Governor of the Netherlands. Matthias, a weak but
ambitious youth, greedily accepted the invitation; and without reflecting that
he was going to mate himself with the first politician of the age, and to
conduct a struggle against the most powerful monarch in Christendom, he departed
from Vienna by night, and arrived in Antwerp, to the astonishment of those of
the Flemings who were not in the intrigue.[6] The archduke owed the
permission given him to enter the Provinces to the man he had come to supplant.
William of Orange, so far from taking offense and abandoning his post, continued
to consecrate his great powers to the liberation of his country. He accepted
Matthias, though forced upon him by an intrigue; he prevailed upon the States to
accept him, and install him in the rank of Governor of the Netherlands, he
himself becoming his lieutenant-general. Matthias remained a puppet by the side
of the great patriot, nevertheless his presence did good; it sowed the seeds of
enmity between the German and Spanish branches of the House of Austria, and it
made the Roman Catholic nobles, whose plot it was, somewhat obnoxious in the
eyes both of Don John and Philip. The cause of the Netherlands was thus rather
benefited by it. And moreover, it helped William to the solution of a problem
which had occupied his thoughts for some time past namely, the permanent form
which he should give to the government of the Provinces. So far as the matter
had shaped itself in his mind, he purposed that a head or Governor should be
over the Netherlands, and that under this virtual monarch should be the
States-General or Parliament, and under it a State Council or Executive; but
that neither the Governor nor the State Council should have power to act without
the concurrence of the States-General. Such was the programme, essentially one
of constitutionalism, that William had sketched in his own mind for his native
land. Whom he should make Governor he had not yet determined: most certainly it
would be neither himself nor Philip of Spain; and now an intrigue of the Roman
Catholic nobles had placed Matthias of Austria in the post, for which William
knew not where to find a suitable occupant. But first the country had to be
liberated; every other work must be postponed for this.
The Netherlands,
their former Confederacy ratified (December 7th, 1577) in the "New Union" of
Brussels the last Confederacy that was ever to be formed by the Provinces
had thrown down the gauntlet to Philip, and both sides prepared for war, The
Prince of Orange strengthened himself by an alliance with England. In this
treaty, formed through the Marquis of Havree, the States ambassador, Elizabeth
engaged to aid the Netherlanders with the loan of 100,000 pounds sterling, and a
force of 5,000 infantry and 1,000 cavalry, their commander to have a seat in the
State Council. Nor was Don John idle He had collected a considerable army from
the neighboring Provinces, and these were joined by veteran troops from Italy
and Spain, which Philip had ordered Alexander Farnese, Duke of Parma, to lead
back into the Netherlands The States army amounted to about 10,000; that of
Spain to 15,000; the latter, if superior in numbers, were still more superior in
discipline. On joining battle at Gemblours the army of the Netherlands
encountered a terrible overthrow, a result which the bulk of the nation
attributed to the cabals and intrigues of the Roman Catholic nobles.
At
this stage the two great antagonistic principles which were embodied in the
respective policies of Philip and William, and whose struggles with one another
made themselves audible in this clash of arms, came again to the front. The
world was anew taught that it was a mortal combat between Rome and the
Reformation that was proceeding on the theater of the Netherlands. The torrents
of blood that were being poured out were shed not to revive old charters, but to
rend the chains from conscience, and to transmit to generations unborn the
heritage of religious freedom. In this light did Pope Gregory XIII. show that he
regarded the struggle when he sent, as he did at this time, a bull in favor of
all who should fight under the banner of Don John, "against heretics, heretical
rebels, and enemies of the Romish faith." The bull was drafted on the model of
those which his predecessors had been wont to fulminate when they wished to
rouse the faithful to slaughter the Saracens and Turks; it offered a plenary
indulgence and remission of sins to all engaged in this new crusade in the Low
Countries. The bull further authorised Don John to impose a tax upon the clergy
for the support of the war, "as undertaken for the defense of the Romish
religion." The banners of the Spanish general were blazoned with the sign of the
cross, and the following motto: In hoc signo vici Turcos: in hoc signo vincam
hereticos (" Under this sign I have vanquished the Turks: under this sign I will
vanquish the heretics"). And Don John was reported to have said that "the king
had rather be lord only of the ground, of the trees, shrubs, beasts, wolves,
waters, and fishes of this country, than suffer one single person who has taken
up arms against him, or at least who has been polluted with heresy, to live and
remain in it."[7] On the other side
Protestantism also lifted itself up. Amsterdam, the capital of Protestant
Holland, still remained in the hands of the Romanists.
This state of
matters, which weakened the religious power of the Northern States, was now
rectified. Mainly by the mediation of Utrecht, it was agreed on the 8th of
February, 1578, that Amsterdam should enroll itself with the States of Holland,
and swear allegiance to the Prince of Orange as its Stadtholder, on condition
that the Roman faith were the only one publicly professed in the city, with
right to all Protestants to practice their own worship, without molestation,
outside the walls, and privilege of burying their dead in unconsecrated but
convenient ground, provided that neither was psalm sung, nor prayer offered, nor
any religious act performed at the grave, and that the corpse was followed to
the tomb by not more than twenty-six persons. To this was added a not less
important concession namely, that all who had been driven away on account of
difference of religious opinion should have liberty to return to Amsterdam, and
be admitted to their former rights and privileges.[8] This last stipulation, by
attracting back crowds of Protestant exiles, led to a revolution in the
government of the city. The Reformed faith had now a vast majority of the
citizens scarcely were there any Romanists in Amsterdam save the magistrates
and the friars and a plot was laid, and very cleverly executed, for changing
the Senate and putting it in harmony with the popular sentiment. On the 26th
May, 1578, the Stadthouse was surrounded by armed citizens, and the magistrates
were made prisoners.
All the monks were at the same time secured by
soldiers and others dispersed through the city. The astonished senators, and the
not less astonished friars, were led through the streets by their captors, the
crowd following them and shouting, "To the gallows! to the gallows with them,
whither they have sent so many better men before them!" The prisoners trembled
all over, believing that they were being conducted to execution. They were
conveyed to the river's edge, the magistrates were put on board one boat, and
the friars, along with a few priests who had also been taken into custody, were
embarked in another, and both were rowed out into deep water. Their pallid
faces, and despairing adieus to their relations, bespoke the apprehensions they
entertained that the voyage on which they had set out was destined to be fatal.
The vessels that bore them would, they believed, be scuttled, and give them
burial in the ocean. No such martyrdom, however, awaited them; and the worst
infliction that befell them was the terror into which they had been put of a
watery death.
They were landed in safety on St. Anthony's Dyke, and left
at liberty to go wherever they would, with this one limitation, that if ever
again they entered Amsterdam they forfeited their lives. Three days after these
melo-dramatic occurrences a body of new senators was elected and installed in
office, and all the churches were closed during a week. They were then opened to
the Reformed by the magistrates, who, accompanied by a number of carpenters, had
previously visited them and removed all their images. Thus, without the effusion
of a drop of blood, was Protestantism established in Amsterdam. The first
Reformed pastors in that capital were John Reuchelin and Peter Hardenberg.[9] The Lutherans and
Anabaptists were permitted to meet openly for their worship, and the Papists
were allowed the private exercise of theirs.
With this prosperous gale
Protestantism made way in the other cities of Holland and of Brabant. This
progress, profoundly peaceful in the majority of cases, was attended with tumult
in one or two instances. In Haarlem the Protestants rose on a Communion Sunday,
and coming upon the priests in the cathedral while in the act of kindling their
tapers and unfurling their banners for a grand procession, they dispossessed
them of their church. In the tumult a priest was slain, but the soldier who did
the deed had to atone for it with his life; the other rioters were summoned by
tuck of drum to restore the articles they had stolen, and the Papists were
assured, by a public declaration, of the free exercise of their religion.[10] The presence of the Prince
of Orange in Brussels, and the Pacification of Ghent, which shielded the
Protestant worship from violence, had infused new courage into the hearts of the
Reformed in the Southern Netherlands.
From their secret conventicles in
some cellar or dark alley, or neighboring wood, they came forth and practiced
their worship in the light of day. In Flanders and Brabant the Protestants were
increasing daily in numbers and courage. On Sunday, the 16th of May, in the
single city of Antwerp, Protestant sermons were preached in not less than
sixteen places, and the Sacrament dispensed in fourteen. In Ghent it was not
uncommon for Protestant congregations to convene in several places, of four,
five, and six hundred persons, and all this in spite of the Union of Brussels
(1577), which trenched upon the toleration accorded in the Pacification of
Ghent.[11]
The first National
Synod of the Dutch Reformed Church met at Dort on the 2nd of June, 1578. This
body, in a petition equally distinguished for the strength of its reasonings and
the liberality of its sentiments, urged the States-General to make provision for
the free exercise of the Reformed religion, as a measure righteous in itself,
and the surest basis for the peace of the Provinces. How truly catholic were the
Dutch Calvinists, and how much the cause of toleration owes to them, can be seen
only from their own words, addressed to the Archduke Matthias and the Council of
State.
After having proved that the cruelties practiced upon them had led
only to an increase of their numbers, with the loss nevertheless of the nation's
welfare, the desolation of its cities, the banishment of its inhabitants, and
the ruin of its trade and prosperity, they go on to say that the refusal of the
free exercise of their religion reduced them to this dilemma, "either that they
must live without any religion, or that they themselves must force a way to the
public exercise of it." They object to the first alternative as leading to an
epicurean life, and the contempt of all laws human and divine; they dread the
second as tending to a breach in the union of the Provinces, and possibly the
dissolution of the present Government. But do they therefore ask exclusive
recognition or supremacy? Far from it. "Since the experience of past years had
taught them," they say, "that by reason of their sins they could not all be
reduced to one and the same religion, it was necessary to consider how both
religions could be maintained without damage or prejudice to each other. As for
the objection," they continue, "that two religions are incompatible, in the same
country, it had been refuted by the experience of all ages. The heathen emperors
had found their account more in tolerating the Christians, nay, even in using
their service in their wars, than in persecuting them. The Christian emperors
had also allowed public churches to those who were. of a quite different opinion
from them in religious matters, as might be seen in the history of Constantine,
of his two sons, of Theodosius, and others. The Emperor Charles V. found no
other expedient to extricate himself from the utmost distress than by consenting
to the exercise of both religions." After citing many other examples they
continue thus: "France is too near for us to be ignorant that the rivers of
blood with which that kingdom is; overflowed can never be dried up but by a
toleration of religion. Such a toleration formerly produced peace there; whereas
being interrupted the said kingdom was immediately in a flame, and in danger of
being quite consumed. We may likewise learn from the Grand Seignior, who knows
how to tyrannise as well as any prince, and yet tolerates both Jews and
Christians in his dominions without apprehending either tumults or defections,
though there be more Christians in his territories who never owned the authority
of the Pope, than there are in Europe that acknowledge it." And they concluded
by craving "that both religions might be equally tolerated till God should be
pleased to reconcile all the opposite notions that reigned in the land."[12]
In accordance with
the petition of the Synod of Dort, a scheme of "Religious Peace," drafted by the
Prince of Orange and signed by Matthias, was presented to the States-General for
adoption. Its general basis was the equal toleration of both religions
throughout the Netherlands. In Holland and Zealand, where the Popish worship had
been suppressed, it was to be restored in all places where a hundred resident
families desired it. In the Popish Provinces an equivalent indulgence was to be
granted wherever an equal number of Protestant families resided. [Nowhere was
the private exercise of either faith to be obstructed; the Protestants were to
be eligible to all offices for which they were qualified, and were to abstain
from all trade and labor on the great festivals of the Roman Church. This scheme
was approved by the States-General, under the name of the "Peace of Religion."
William was overjoyed to behold his most ardent hopes of a united Fatherland,
and the vigorous prosecution of its great battle against a common tyranny, about
to be crowned.
But these bright hopes were only for a moment. The banner
of toleration, bravely uplifted by William, had been waved over the Netherlands
only to be furled again. The Roman Catholic nobles, with Aerschot and Champagny
at their head, refused to accept the "Peace of Religion." In their immense
horror of Protestantism they forgot their dread of the Spaniard, and rather than
that heresy should defile the Fatherland, they were willing that the yoke of
Philip should be bound down upon it.
Tumults, violences, and conflicts
broke out in many of the Provinces. Revenge begat revenge, and animosity on the
one side kindled an equal animosity on the other. Something like a civil war
raged in the Southern Netherlands, and the sword that ought to have been drawn
against the common foe was turned against each other. These strifes and
bigotries wrought at length the separation of the Walloon Provinces from the
rest, and in the issue occasioned the loss of the greater part of the
Netherlands. The hour for achieving liberty had passed, and for three centuries
nearly these unwise and unhappy Provinces were not to know independence, but
were to be thrown about as mere political make-weights, and to be the property
now of this master and now of that.
Meanwhile the two armies lay inactive
in the presence of each other. Both sides had recently received an augmentation
of strength. The Netherlands army had been increased to something like 30,000,
first by an English levy led by John Casimir, and next by a French troop under
the command of the Duke of Alencon, for the Netherlands had become the pivot on
which the rival policies of England and France at this moment revolved. The
sinews of war were lacking on both sides, and hence the pause in hostilities.
The scenes were about to shift in a way that no one anticipated. Struck down by
fever, Don John lay a corpse in the Castle of Namur. How different the destiny
he had pictured for himself when he entered this fatal land! Young, brilliant,
and ambitious, he had come to the Netherlands in the hope of adding to the vast
renown he had already won at Lepanto, and of making for himself a great place in
Christendom-of mounting, it might be, one of its thrones. But a mysterious
finger had touched the scene, and suddenly changed its splendours into
blackness, and transformed the imagined theater of triumph into one of
misfortune and defeat. Fortune forsook her favourite the moment his foot touched
this charmed soil. Withstood and insulted by the obstinate Netherlanders,
outwitted and baffled by the great William of Orange, suspected by his jealous
brother Philip II., by whom he was most inadequately supported with men and
money, all his hours were embittered by toil, disappointment, and chagrin. The
constant dread in which he was kept by the perils and pitfalls that surrounded
him, and the continual circumspection which he was compelled to exercise,
furrowed his brow, dimmed his eye sapped his strength, and broke his spirit. At
last came fever, and fever was followed by delirium. He imagined himself upon
the battle-field: he shouted out his orders: his eye now brightened, now faded,
as he fancied victory or defeat to be attending his arms. Again came a lucid
interval,[13] but only to fade away into
the changeless darkness of death. He died before he had reached his thirtieth
year. Another hammer, to use Beza's metaphor, had been worn out on the anvil of
the Church. [14]
CHAPTER
25 Back to
Top
ABJURATION OF PHILIP, AND RISE OF THE
SEVEN UNITED PROVINCES.
Alexander, Duke of Parma His Character
Divisions in the Provinces Siege of Maestricht Defection of the Walloons
Union of Utrecht Bases of Union Germ of the United Provinces Their Motto
Peace Congress at Cologne Its Grandeur Philip makes Impossible Demands
Failure of Congress Attempts to Bribe William His Incorruptibility Ban
Fulminated against him His "Apology " Arraignment of Philip The
Netherlands Abjure Philip II. as King Holland and Zealand confer their
Sovereignty on William Greatness of the Revolution-Its Place in the History of
Protestantism.
Don JOHN having on his death-bed nominated Alexander
Farnese, Duke of Parma, to succeed him, and the choice having soon afterwards
been ratified by Philip II., the duke immediately took upon him the burden of
that terrible struggle which had crushed his predecessor. If brilliant abilities
could have commanded corresponding success, Parma would have speedily
re-established the dominion of Spain throughout the whole of the Netherlands.
His figure was finely moulded, and his features were handsome, despite that the
lower part of his face was buried in a bushy beard, and that his dark eye had a
squint which warned the spectator to be on his guard. His round compact head was
one which a gladiator might have envied; his bearing was noble; he was
temperate, methodical in business, but never permitted its pressure to prevent
his attendance on morning mass; his coolness on the battle-field gave confidence
to his soldiers; and while his courage and skill fitted him to cope with his
antagonists in war, his wisdom, and cunning, and patience won for him not a few
victories in the battles of diplomacy. His conduct and valor considerably
retrieved at the beginning the affairs of Philip, but the mightier intellect
with which he was confronted, and the destinies of the cause against which he
did battle, attested in the end their superiority over all the great talents and
dexterous arts of Alexander of Parma, seconded by the powerful armies of Spain.
After the toil and watchfulness of years, and after victories gained with much
blood, to yield not fruit but ashes, he too had to retire from the scene
disappointed, baffled, and vanquished.
A revived bigotry had again split
up the lately united Fatherland, and these divisions opened an entrance for the
arts and the arms of Parma. Gathering up the wreck of the army of Don John, and
reinforcing the old battalions by new recruits, Parma set vigorously to work to
reduce the Provinces, and restore the supremacy of both Philip and Rome. Sieges
and battles signalized the opening of the campaign; in most of these he was
successful, but we cannot stay to give them individual narration, for our task
is to follow the footsteps of that Power which had awakened the conflict, and
which was marching on to victory, although through clouds so dark and tempests
so fierce that a few only of the Netherlanders were able to follow it. The first
success that rewarded the arms of Parma was the capture of Maestricht. Its
massacre of three days renewed the horrors of former sieges. The cry of its
agony was heard three miles off; and when the sword of the enemy rested, a
miserable remnant (some three or four hundred, say the old chroniclers)[1] was all that was spared of
its thirty-four thousand inhabitants. Crowds of idlers from the Walloon country
flocked to the empty city; but though it was easy to repeople it, it was found
impossible to revive its industry and prosperity. Nothing besides the grass that
now covered its streets would flourish in it but vagabondism. The loss which the
cause of Netherland liberty sustained in the fall of Maestricht was trifling,
compared with the injury inflicted by another achievement of Parma, and which he
gained not by arms, but by diplomacy. Knowing that the Walloons were fanatically
attached to the old religion, he opened negotiations, and ultimately prevailed
with them to break the bond of common brotherhood and form themselves upon a
separate treaty. It was a masterly stroke. It had separated the Roman from the
Batavian Netherlands. William had sought to unite the two, and make of them one
nationality, placing the key-stone of the arch at Ghent, the capital of the
Southern Provinces, and the second city in the Netherlands. But the subtle
policy of Parma had cut the Fatherland in twain, and the project of William fell
to the ground.
The Prince of Orange anxiously considered how best to
parry the blow of Parma, and neutralise its damaging effects. The master-stroke
of the Spaniard led William to adopt a policy equally masterly, and fruitful
beyond all the measures he had yet; employed; this was the "Union of Utrecht."
The alliance was formed between the States of Holland, Zealand, Utrecht,
Guelder-land, Zutphen, Overyssel, and Groningen. It was signed on the 23rd of
January, 1579, and six days thereafter it was proclaimed at Utrecht, and hence
its name. This "Union" constituted the first foundation-stone in the
subsequently world-renowned Commonwealth of the United Provinces of the Low
Countries. The primary and main object of the Confederated States was the
defense of their common liberty; for this end they resolved to remain hereafter
and for ever united as one Province without prejudice, however, to the ancient
privileges and the peculiar customs of each several State. As regarded the
business of religion, it was resolved that each Province should determine that
question for itself with this proviso, that no one should be molested for his
opinion. The toleration previously enacted by the Pacification of Ghent was to
rule throughout the bounds of the Confederacy.[2] When the States contrasted
their own insignificance with the might of their great enemy, seven little
Provinces banding themselves against an aggregate of nearly twice that number of
powerful Kingdoms, they chose as a fitting representation of their doubtful
fortunes, a ship laboring amid the waves without sail or oars, and they stamped
his device upon their first coins, with the words Incertum quo fata ferant [3] ("We know not whither the
fates shall bear us"). Certainly no one at that hour was sanguine or bold enough
to conjecture the splendid future awaiting these seven adventurous
Provinces.
This attitude on their part made the King of Spain feign a
desire for conciliation. A Congress was straightway assembled at Cologne to make
what was represented as a hopeful, and what was certainly a laudable, attempt to
heal the breach. On the Spanish side it was nothing more than a feint, but on
that account it wore externally all the greater pomp and stateliness. In these
respects nothing was lacking that could make it a success. The first movers in
it were the Pope and the emperor. The deputies were men of the first rank in the
State and the Church; they were princes, dukes, bishops, and the most renowned
doctors in theology and law. Seldom indeed have so many mitres, and princely
stars, and ducal coronets graced any assembly as those that shed their
brilliance on this; and many persuaded themselves, when they beheld this union
of rank and office with skill in law, in art, and diplomacy, that the Congress
would give birth to something correspondingly magnificent. It met in the
beginning of May, 1579, and it did not separate till the middle of November of
the same year. But the six months during which it was in session were all too
short to enable it to solve the problem which so many conventions and
conferences since the breaking out of the Reformation had attempted to solve,
but had failed namely, how the absolute demands of authority are to be
reconciled with the equally inflexible claims of conscience. There were only two
ideas promulgated in that assembly; so far the matter was simple, and the
prospect of a settlement hopeful; but these two ideas were at opposite poles,
and all the stars, coronets, and mitres gathered there could not bridge over the
gulf between them. The two ideas were those to which we have already referred
Prerogative and Conscience.
The envoys of the Netherland States presented
fourteen articles, of which the most important was the one referring to
religion. Their proposal was that "His Majesty should be pleased to tolerate the
exercise of the Reformed religion and the Confession of Augsburg in such towns
and places where the same were at that time publicly professed. That the States
should also on their part, presently after the peace was declared, restore the
exercise of the Roman Catholic religion in all the aforesaid towns and places,
upon certain equitable conditions which should be inviolably preserved." "The
Christian religion," said the envoys in supporting their proposal, "was a great
mystery, in promoting of which God did not make use of impious soldiers, nor of
the sword or bow, but of his own Spirit and of the ministry of pastors, or
shepherds sent by him. That the dominion over souls and consciences belonged to
God only, and that he only was the righteous Avenger and Punisher of the abuses
committed in matters of religion. They insisted particularly upon the free
exercise of religion."[4]
The deputies on the
king's side refused to listen to this proposal. They would agree to nothing as a
basis of peace, save that the Roman Catholic religion all others excluded
should be professed in all the Provinces; and as regarded such as might refuse
to return to the Roman faith, time would be given them to settle their affairs,
and retire from the country. [5] Half the citizens well-nigh would have had to exile
themselves if this condition had been accepted. Where so large a body of
emigrants were to find new seats, or how the towns left empty by their departure
were to be re-peopled, or by what hands the arts and agriculture of the country
were to be carried on, does not seem to have been provided for, or even thought
of, by the Congress.
William of Orange had from the first expected
nothing from this Conference. He knew Philip never would grant what only the
States could accept the restoration, namely, of their charters, and the free
exercise of their Protestant faith; he knew that to convene such an assembly was
only to excite hopes that could not possibly be fulfilled, and so to endanger
the cause of the Provinces; he knew that mitres and ducal coronets were not
arguments, nor could render a whit more legitimate the claims of prerogative;
that ingenious and quirky expedients, and long and wordy discussions, would
never bring the two parties one hair's-breadth nearer to each other; and as he
had foreseen, so did it turn out. When the Congress ended its sitting of six
months, the only results it had to show were the thousands of golden guilders
needed for its expenses, and the scores of hogsheads of Rhenish wine which had
been consumed in moistening its dusty deliberations and
debates.
Contemporaneously with this most august and most magnificent,
yet most resultless Congress, attempts were made to detach the Prince of Orange
from his party and win him over to the king's side. Private overtures were made
to him, to the effect that if he would forsake the cause of Netherland
independence and retire to a foreign land, he had only to name his "price" and
it should be instantly forthcoming, in honor, or in money, or in
both.
More particularly he was promised the payment of his debts, the
restitution of his estates, reimbursement of all the expenses he had incurred in
the war, compensation for his losses, the liberation of his son the Count of
Buren, and should William retire into Germany, his son would be placed in the
Government of Holland and Utrecht, and he himself should be indemnified, with a
million of money as a gratuity. These offers were made in Philip's name by Count
Schwartzenburg, who pledged his faith for the strict performance of
them.
This was a mighty sum, but it could not buy William of Orange. Not
all the honors which this monarch of a score of kingdoms could bestow, not all
the gold which this master of the mines of Mexico and Peru could offer, could
make William sell himself and betray his country. He was not to be turned aside
from the lofty, the holy object he had set before him the glory of redeeming
from slavery a people that confided in him, and of kindling the lamp of a pure
faith in the land which he so dearly loved. If his presence were an obstacle to
peace on the basis of his country's liberation, he was ready to go to the ends
of the earth, or to his grave; but he would be no party to a plot which had only
for its object to deprive the country of its head, and twine round it the chain
of a double slavery. [6]
The gold of Philip
had failed to corrupt the Patriot: the King of Spain next attempted to gain his
end by another and a different stratagem. The dagger might rid him of the man
whom armies could not conquer, and whom money could not buy. This "evil thought"
was first suggested by Cardinal Granvelle, who hated the prince, as the vile
hate the upright, and it was eagerly embraced by Philip, of whose policy it was
a radical principle that "the end justifies the means." The King of Spain
fulminated a ban, dated 15th March, 1580, against the Prince of Orange, in which
he offered "thirty thousand crowns, or so, to any one who should deliver him,
dead or alive." The preamble of the ban set forth at great length, and with due
formality, the "crimes," in other words the services to liberty, which had
induced his patient and loving sovereign to set a price upon the head of
William, and make him a mark for all the murderers in Christendom. But the
indignation of the virtuous king call be adequately understood only by perusing
the words of the ban itself. "For these causes," said the document, "we declare
him traitor and miscreant, enemy of ourselves and of the country. As such we
banish him perpetually from all our realms, forbidding all our subjects..... to
administer to him victuals, drink, fire, or other necessaries......We expose the
said William as an enemy of the human race, giving his property to all who may
seize it. And if any one of our subjects, or any stranger, should be found
sufficiently generous of heart to rid us of this pest, delivering him to us,
dead or alive, or taking his life, we will cause to be furnished to him,
immediately after the deed shall have been done, the sum of twenty-five thousand
crowns of gold. If he have committed any crime, however heinous, we promise to
pardon him; and if he be not already noble we will ennoble him for his
valor."
The dark, revengeful, cowardly, and bloodthirsty nature of Philip
II. appears in every line of this proclamation. In an evil hour for himself had
the King of Spain launched this fulmination. It fixed the eyes of all Europe
upon the Prince of Orange, it gave him the audience of the whole world for his
justification; and it compelled him to bring forward facts which remain an
eternal monument of Philip's inhumanity, infamy, and crime. The Vindication or
"Apology" of William, addressed to the Confederated, States, and of which copies
were sent to all the courts of Europe, is one of the most precious documents of
history, for the light it throws on the events of the time, and the exposition
it gives of the character and motives of the actors, and more especially of
himself and Philip. It is not so much a Defence as an Arraignmnent, which,
breaking in a thunder-peal of moral indignation, must have made the occupant of
the throne over which it rolled to shake and tremble on his lofty seat. After
detailing his own efforts for the emancipation of the down-trodden Provinces, he
turns to review the acts, the policy, and the character of the man who had
fulminated against him this ban of assassination and murder. He charges Philip
with the destruction, not of one nor of a few of those liberties which he had
sworn to maintain, but of all of them; and that not once, but a thousand times;
he ridicules the idea that a people remain bound while the monarch has released
himself from every promise, and oath, and law; he hurls contempt at the
justification set up for Philip's perjuries namely, that the Pope had loosed
him from his obligations branding it as adding blasphemy to tyranny, and
adopting a principle which is subversive of faith among men; he accuses him of
having, through Alva, concerted a plan with the French king to extirpate from
France and the Netherlands all who favored the Reformed religion, giving as his
informant the French king himself, He pleads guilty of having disobeyed Philip's
orders to put certain Protestants to death, and of having exerted himself to the
utmost to prevent the barbarities and cruelties of the "edicts." He boldly
charges Philip with living in adultery, with having contracted an incestuous
marriage, and opening his way to this foul couch by the murder "of his former
wife, the mother of his children, the daughter and sister of the kings of
France." He crowns this list of crimes, of which he accuses Philip, with a yet
more awful deed the murder of his son, the heir of his vast dominions, Don
Carlos.
With withering scorn he speaks of the King of Spain's attempt to
frighten him by raising against him "all the malefactors and criminals in the
world." "I am in the hand of God," said the Christian patriot, "he will dispose
of me as seems best for his glory and my salvation." The prince concludes his
Apology by dedicating afresh what remained of his goods and life to the service
of the States. If his departure from the country would remove an impediment to a
just peace, or if his death could bring an end to their calamities, Philip
should have no need to hire assassins and poisoners: exile would be sweet, death
would be welcome. He was at the disposal of the States. They had only to speak
to issue their orders, and he would obey; he would depart, or he would remain
among them, and continue to toil in their cause, till death should come to
release him, or liberty to crown them with her blessings.[7]
This Apology was
read in a meeting of the Confederated Estates at Delft, the 13th of December,
1580, and their mind respecting it was sufficiently declared by the step they
were led soon thereafter to adopt. Abjuring their allegiance to Philip, they
installed the Prince of Orange in his room. Till this time Philip had remained
nominal sovereign of the Netherlands, and all edicts and deeds were passed in
his name, but now this formality was dropped. The Prince of Orange had before
this been earnestly entreated by the States to assume the sovereignty, but he
had persistently declined to allow himself to be clothed with this office,
saying that he would give no ground to Philip or to any enemy to say that he had
begun the war of independence to obtain a crown, and that the aggrandisement of
his family, and not the liberation of his country, was the motive which had
prompted him in all his efforts for the Low Countries. Now, however (5th July,
1581), the dignity so often put aside was accepted conditionally, the prince
assuming, at the solemn request of the States of Holland and Zealand, the
"entire authority, as sovereign and chief of the land, as long as the war should
continue."[8]
This step was
finally concluded on the 26th of July, 1581, by an assembly of the States held
at the Hague, consisting of deputies from Brabant, Guelderland, Zutphen,
Flanders, Holland, Zealand, Utrecht, Overyssel, and Friesland. The terms of
their "Abjuration" show how deeply the breath of modern constitutional liberty
had entered the Low Countries in the end of the sixteenth century; its preamble
enunciates truths which must have shocked the adherents of the doctrine of
Divine right. The "Abjuration" of the States declared "that the people were not
created by God for the sake of the prince, and only to submit to his commands,
whether pious or impious, right or wrong, and to serve him and his slaves; but
that, on the contrary, the prince was made for the good of the people, in order
to feed, preserve, and govern them according to justice and equity, as a father
his children, and a shepherd his flock: that whoever in opposition to these
principles pretended to rule his subjects as if they were his bondmen, ought to
be deemed a tyrant, and for that reason might be rejected or deposed, especially
by virtue of the resolution of the States of the nation, in case the subjects,
after having made use of the most humble supplications and prayers, could find
no other means to divert him from his tyrannical purposes, nor to secure their
own native rights."[9]
They next proceed
to apply these principles. They fill column after column with a history of
Philip's reign over the Low Countries, in justification of the step they had
taken in deposing him. The document is measured and formal, but the horrors of
these flaming years shine through its dry technicalities and its cold
phraseology. If ever there was a tyrant on the earth, it was Philip II. of
Spain; and if ever a people was warranted in renouncing its allegiance, it was
the men who now came forward with this terrible tale of violated oaths, of
repeated perfidies, of cruel wars, of extortions, banishments, executions,
martyrdoms, and massacrings, and who now renounced solemnly and for ever their
allegiance to the prince who was loaded with all these crimes.
The act of
abjuration was carried into immediate execution. Philip's seal was broken, his
arms were torn down, his name was forbidden to be used in any letters-patent, or
public deed, and a new oath was administered to all persons in public office and
employment.
This is one of the great revolutions of history. It realized
in fact, and exhibited for the first time to the world, Representative
Constitutional Government. This revolution, though enacted on a small theater,
exemplified principles of universal application, and furnished a precedent to be
followed in distant realms and by powerful kingdoms. It is important to remark
that this is one of the mightiest of the births of Protestantism.
For it
was Protestantism that inspired the struggle in the Low Countries, and that
maintained the martyr at the stake and the hero in the field till the conflict
was crowned with this ever-memorable victory. The mere desire for liberty, the
mere reverence for old charters and municipal privileges, would not have carried
the Netherlanders through so awful and protracted a combat; it was the new force
awakened by religion that enabled them to struggle on, sending relay after relay
of martyrs to die and heroes to fight for a free conscience and a scriptural
faith, without which life was not worth having. In this, one of the greatest
episodes of the great drama of the Reformation, we behold Protestantism, which
had been proceeding step by step in its great work of creating a new society a
new world making another great advance. In Germany it had produced disciples
and churches; in Geneva it had moulded a theocratic republic; in France it had
essayed to set up a Reformed throne, but, failing in this, it created a Reformed
Church so powerful as to include well-nigh half the nation. Making yet another
essay, we see it in the Netherlands dethroning Philip of Spain, and elevating to
his place William of Orange. A constitutional State, summoned into being by
Protestantism, is now seen amid the despotisms of Christendom, and its
appearance was a presage that in the centuries to follow, Protestantism would,
in some cases by its direct agency, in others by its reflex influence,
revolutionise all the governments and effect a transference of all the crowns of
Europe.
CHAPTER
26 Back to
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ASSASSINATION OF WILLIAM THE
SILENT.
What the United Provinces are to become The Walloons Return
to Philip William's Sovereignty Brabant and the Duke of Anjou His Entry
into the Netherlands His Administration a Failure Matthias Departs The
Netherlands offer their Sovereignty to William He Declines Defection of
Flanders Attempt on William's Life Anastro, the Spanish Banker The
Assassin He Wounds the Prince Alarm of the Provinces Recovery of William
Death of his Wife Another Attempt on William's Life Balthazar Gerard His
Project of Assassinating the Prince Encouraged by the Spanish Authorities
William's Murder His Character.
THE Seven United Provinces the fair flower of
Netherland Protestantism had come to the birth. The clouds and tempests that
overhung the cradle of the infant States were destined to roll away, the sun of
prosperity and power was to shine forth upon them, and for the space of a full
century the number of their inhabitants, the splendor of their cities, the
beauty of their country, the vastness of their commerce, the growth of their
wealth, the number of their ships, the strength of their armies, and the glory
of their letters and arts, were to make them the admiration of Europe, and of
the world. Not, however, till that man who had helped above all others to find
for Protestantism a seat where it might expand into such a multiform
magnificence, had gone to his grave, was this stupendous growth to be, beheld by
the world. We have now to attend to the condition in which the dissolution of
Philip's sovereignty left the Netherlands.
In the one land of the Low
Countries, there were at this moment three communities or nations. The Walloons,
yielding to the influence of a common faith, had returned under the yoke of
Spain. The Central Provinces, also mostly Popish, had ranged themselves under
the sovereignty of the Duke of Anjou, brother of Henry III. of France. The
Provinces of Holland and Zealand had elected (1581), as we have just seen, the
Prince of Orange as their king.[1] His acceptance of the
dignity was at first provisional. His tenure of sovereignty was to last only
during the war; but afterwards, at the earnest entreaty of the States, the
prince consented that it should be perpetual. His lack of ambition, or his
exceeding sense of honor, made him decline the sovereignty of the Central
Provinces, although this dignity was also repeatedly pressed upon him; and had
he accepted it, it may be that a happier destiny would have been in store for
the Netherlands. His persistent refusal made these Provinces cast their eyes
abroad in search of a chief, and in an evil hour their choice lighted upon a son
of Catherine de Medici. The Duke of Anjou, the elect of the Provinces, inherited
all the vices of the family from which he was sprung. He was treacherous in
principle, cruel in disposition, profuse in his habits, and deeply superstitious
in his faith; but his true character had not then been revealed; and the Prince
of Orange, influenced by the hope of enlisting on the side of the Netherlands
the powerful aid of France, supported his candidature. France had at that
moment, with its habitual vacillation, withdrawn its hand from Philip II. and
given it to the Huguenots, and this seemed to justify the prince in indulging
the hope that this great State would not be unwilling to extend a little help to
the feeble Protestants of Flanders. It was rumoured, moreover, that Anjou was
aspiring to the hand of Elizabeth, and that the English queen favoured his suit;
and to have the husband of the Queen of England as King of the Netherlands, was
to have a tolerable bulwark against the excesses of the Spanish Power. But all
these prudent calculations of bringing aid to Protestantism were destined to
come to nothing. The duke made his entry (February, 1582) into the Netherlands
amid the most joyous demonstrations of the Provinces;[2] and to gratify him, the
public exercise of the Popish religion, which for some time had been prohibited
in Antwerp, was restored in one of the churches. But a cloud soon overcast the
fair morning of Anjou's sovereignty ill the Netherlands. He quickly showed that
he had neither the principle nor the ability necessary for so difficult a task
as he had undertaken. Bitter feuds sprang up between him and his subjects, and
after a short administration, which neither reflected honor on himself nor
conferred benefit on the Provinces, he took his departure, followed by the
reproaches and accusations of the Flemings. The cause of Protestantism was
destined to owe nothing to a son of Catherine de Medici. Matthias, who had
dwindled in William's overshadowing presence into a nonentity, and had done
neither good nor evil, had gone home some time before. Through neither of these
men had the intrigues of the Romanists borne fruit, except to the prejudice of
the cause they were intended to further.
The Duke of Anjou being gone,
the States of Brabant and Flanders came to the Prince of Orange (August, 1583)
with an offer of their crown; but no argument could induce him to accept the
scepter they were so anxious to thrust into his hand. He took the opportunity,
however, which his declinature offered, of tendering them some wholesome advice.
They must, he said, bestir themselves, and contribute more generously, if they
wished to speed in the great conflict in which they had embarked. As for
himself, he had nothing now to give but his services, and his blood, should that
be required. All else he had already parted with for the cause: his fortune he
had given; his brothers he had given. He had seen with pleasure, as the fruit of
his long struggles for the Fatherland and freedom of conscience, the fair
Provinces of Holland and Zealand redeemed from the Spanish yoke.
And to
think that now these Provinces were neither oppressed by Philip, nor darkened by
Rome, was a higher reward than would be ten crowns, though they could place them
upon his head. He would never put it in the power of Philip of Spain to say that
William of Orange had sought other recompense than that of rescuing his native
land from slavery [3]
William, about this
time, was deeply wounded by the defection of some friends in whom he had reposed
confidence as sincere Protestants and good patriots, and he was not less
mortified by the secession of Flanders, with its powerful capital, Ghent, from
the cause of Netherland independence to the side of Parma. Thus one by one the
Provinces of (.he Netherlands, whose hearts had grown faint in the struggle, and
whose "strength was weakened: in the way," crept back under the shadow of Spain,
little dreaming what a noble heritage they had forfeited, and what centuries of
insignificance, stagnation, and serfdom spiritual and bodily awaited them, as
the result of the step they had now taken. The rich Southern Provinces, so
stocked with cities, so finely clothed, so full of men, and so replenished with
commercial wealth, fell to the share of Rome: the sand-banks of Holland and
Zealand were given to Protestantism, that it might convert the desert into a
garden, and rear on this narrow and obscure theater an empire which, mighty in
arms and resplendent in arts, should fill the world with its light.
The
ban which Philip had fulminated against the prince began now to bear fruit.
Wonderful it would have been if there had not been found among the malefactors
and murderers of the world some one bold enough to risk the peril attendant on
grasping the golden prize which the King of Spain held out to them. A year only
had elapsed since the publication of the ban, and now an attempt was made to
destroy the man on whose head it had set a price. Gaspar Anastro, a Spanish
banker in Antwerp,: finding himself on the verge of bankruptcy, bethought him of
earning Philip's reward, and doing the world a service by ridding it of so great
a heretic, and helping himself, at the same time, by retrieving his ruined
fortunes. But lacking courage to do the bloody deed with his own hand, he hired
his servant to execute it. This man, having received from a priest absolution of
his sins, and the assurance that the doors of paradise stood open to him,
repaired to the mansion of the prince, and waited an opportunity to commit the
horrible act. As Orange was crossing the hall, from the dinner-table, the
miscreant approached him on pretence of handing him a petition, and putting his
pistol, loaded with a single bullet, close to his head, discharged it at the
prince. The ball, entering a little below the right ear, passed out through the
left jaw, carrying with it two teeth. The wound bled profusely, and for some
weeks the prince's life was despaired of, and vast crowds of grief-stricken
citizens repaired to the churches to beseech, with supplications and tears, the
Great Disposer to interpose his power, and save from death the Father of his
Country. The prayer of the nation was heard. William recovered to resume his
burden, and conduct another stage on the road to freedom the two Provinces which
he had rescued from the paws of the Spanish bear. But if the husband survived,
the wife fell by the murderous blow of Philip. Charlotte de Bourbon, so devoted
to the prince, and so tenderly beloved by him, worn out with watching and
anxiety, fell ill of a fever, and died. William sorely missed from his side that
gentle but heroic spirit, whose words had so often revived him in his hours of
darkness and sorrow.
The two years that now followed witnessed the
progressive disorganisation of the Southern Netherlands, under the combined
influence of the mismanagement of the Duke of Anjou, the intrigues of the
Jesuits, and the diplomacy and arms of the Duke of Parma. Despite all warnings,
and their own past bitter experience, the Provinces of Brabant and Flanders
again opened their ear to the "cunning charmers" of Spain and the "sweet
singers" of Rome, and began to think that the yoke of Philip was not so heavy
and galling as they had accounted it, and that the pastures of "the Church" were
richer and more pleasant than those of Protestantism. Many said, "Beware!" and
quoted the maxim of the old Book: "They who wander out of the way of
understanding shall remain in the congregation of the dead." But the Flemings
turned away from these counsellors. Divisions, distractions, and perpetual
broils made them fain to have peace, and, to use the forcible metaphor of the
Burgomaster of Antwerp, "they confessed to a wolf, and they had a wolf's
absolution."
It was in the Northern Provinces only, happily under the
scepter of William, who had rescued them. from the general shipwreck of the
Netherlands, that order prevailed, and that anything like steady progress could
be traced. But now the time was come when these States must lose the wisdom and
courage to which they owed the freedom they already enjoyed, and the yet greater
degree of prosperity and power in store for them. Twenty years had William the
Silent "judged" the Low Countries: now the tomb was to close over him. He had
given the labors of his life for the cause of the Fatherland: he was now to give
his blood for it. Not fewer than five attempts had been made to assassinate him.
They had failed; but the sixth was to succeed. Like all that had preceded it,
this attempt was directly instigated by Philip's proscription, In the summer of
1584, William was residing at Delft, having married Louisa de Coligny, the
daughter of the admiral, and the widow of Teligny, who perished, as we have
seen, in the St. Bartholomew. A young Burgundian, who hid great duplicity and
some talent under a mean and insignificant exterior, had that spring been
introduced to the prince, and had been employed by him in some business, though
of small moment. This stranger professed to be a zealous Calvinist, the son of a
French Protestant of the name of Guion, who had died for his faith. His real
name was Balthazar Gerard, and being a fanatical Papist, he had long wished to
"serve God and the king" by taking off the arch-heretic. He made known his
design to the celebrated Franciscan, Father Gery of Tournay, by whom he was
"much comforted and strengthened in his determination." He revealed his project
also to Philip's Governor of the Low Countries. The Duke of Parma, who had at
that time four ruffians lurking in Delft on the same business, did not dissuade
Gerard from his design, but he seems to have mistrusted his fitness for it;
although afterwards, being assured on this point, he gave him some encouragement
and a little money. The risk was great, but so too were the inducements a
fortune, a place in the peerage of Spain, and a crown in paradise.
It was
Tuesday, the 10th of July, 1584. The prince was at dinner with his wife, his
sister (the Princess of Schwartzenberg), and the gentlemen of his suite. Ill the
shadow of a deep arch in the wall of the vestibule, stood a mean-looking
personage with a cloak cast round him. This was Balthazar Gerard. His figure had
caught the eye of Louisa de Coligny as, leaning on her husband's arm, she passed
through the hall to the dining-room, and his pale, agitated, and darkly sinister
countenance smote her with a presentiment of evil. "He has come for a passport,"
said the prince, calming her alarm, and passed into the dining-hail. At table,
the prince, thinking nothing of the muffled spectre in the ante-chamber, was
cheerful as usual. The Burgomaster of Leeuwarden was present at the family
dinner, and William, eager to inform himself of the religious and political
condition of Friesland, talked much, and with great animation, with his guest.
At two o'clock William rose from table, and crossed the vestibule on his way to
his private apartments above. His foot was already on the second step of the
stairs, which he was ascending leisurely, when the assassin, rushing from his
hiding-place, fired a pistol loaded with three balls, one of which passed
through the prince's body, and struck the wall opposite. On receiving the shot,
William exclaimed: "O my God, have mercy on my soul! O my God, have mercy on
this poor people!"[4] He was carried into the
dining-room, laid upon a couch, and in a few minutes he breathed his last. He
had lived fifty-one years and sixteen days. On the 3rd of August he was laid in
his tomb at Delft, mourned, not by Holland and Zealand only, but by all the
Netherlands the Walloons excepted as a father is mourned.[5]
So closed the great
career of William the Silent. It needs not that we paint his character: it has
portrayed itself in the actions of his life which we have narrated. Historians
have done ample justice to his talents, so various, so harmonious, and each so
colossal, that the combination presents a character of surpassing intellectual
and moral grandeur such as has rarely been equalled, and yet more rarely
excelled. But as the ancient tree of Netherland liberty never could have borne
the goodly fruit that clothed its boughs in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries unless the shoot of Protestantism had been grafted upon it, and new
sap infused into the old decaying charters, so the talents of William of Orange,
varied, beautiful, and brilliant though they were, unless linked with something
diviner, could not have evolved that noble character and done those great deeds
which have made the name of William the Silent one of the brightest on the page
of history. Humanity, however richly endowed with genius, is a weak thing in
itself; it needs to be grafted with a higher Power in order to reach the full
measure of greatness. In the case of William of Orange it was so grafted. It was
his power of realising One unseen, whose will he obeyed, and on whose arm he
leaned, that constituted the secret of his strength. He was the soldier, the
statesman, the patriot; but before all he was the Christian. The springs of his
greatness lay in his faith. Hence his lofty aims, which, rising high above fame,
above power, above all the ordinary objects of ambition, aspired to the only and
supreme good. Hence, too, that inflexible principle which enabled him, without
turning to the right or to the left, to go straight on through all the
intricacies of his path, making no compromise with falsehood, never listening to
the solicitations of self-interest, and alive only to the voice of duty. Hence,
too, that unfaltering perseverance and undying hope that upheld him in the
darkest hour, and amid the most terrible calamities, and made him confident of
ultimate victory where another would have abandoned the conflict as
hopeless.
William of Orange persevered and triumphed where a Caesar or a
Napoleon would have despaired and been defeated. The man and the country are
alike: both are an epic. Supremely tragic outwardly is the history of both. It
is defeat succeeding defeat; it is disaster heaped upon disaster, and calamity
piled upon calamity, till at last there stands personified before us an Iliad of
woes. But by some marvellous touch, by some transforming fiat, the whole scene
is suddenly changed: the blackness kindles into glorious light, the roar of the
tempest subsides into sweetest music, and defeat grows into victory. The man we
had expected to see prostrate beneath the ban of Philip, rises up greater than
kings, crowned with the wreath of a deathless sovereignty; and the little State
which Spain had thought to consign to an eternal slavery, rends the chain from
her neck; and from her seat amid the seas, she makes her light to circulate
along the shores of the islands and continents of the deep, and her power to be
felt, and her name reverenced, by the mightiest kingdoms on the
earth.
CHAPTER
27 Back to
Top
ORDER AND GOVERNMENT OF THE
NETHERLAND CHURCH.
The Spiritual Movement beneath the Armed Struggle
The Infant Springs Gradual Development of the Church of the Netherlands
The "Forty Ecclesiastical Laws " Their Enactments respecting the Election of
Ministers Examination and Admission of Pastors Care for the Purity of the
Pulpit The "Fortnightly Exercise " Yearly Visitation Worship and Schools
Elders and Deacons Power of the Magistrate in the Church Controversy
respecting it Efforts of the States to Compose these Quarrels~Synod at
Middelburg It Completes the Constitution of the Dutch
Church.
The development of the religious principle is
somewhat overshadowed by the struggle in arms which Protestantism had to
maintain in the Low Countries. But; the well-defined landing-place at which we
have arrived, permits us to pause and take a closer view of the inner and
spiritual conflict. Amid the armies that are seen marching to and fro over the
soil of the Netherlands; amid the battles that shake it from side to side; amid
the blaze of cities kindled by the Spaniard's torch, and fields drowned in blood
by the Spanish sword, we can recognize the silent yet not inefficacious presence
of a great power. It is here that we find the infant springs of a movement that
to the outward eye seems so very martial and complex. It is in closets where the
Bible is being read; it is in little assemblies gathered in cellar or thicket or
cave, where prayer is being offered up and the Scriptures are being searched; it
is in the prison where the confessor languishes, and at, the stake where the
martyr is expiring, that we find the beginnings of that impulse which brought a
nation into the field with arms in its hands, and raised up William of Orange to
withstand the power of Spain. It was not the old charters that kindled the fire
in the Netherlands. These were slowly and silently returning to dust, and the
Provinces were sinking with them into slavery, and both would have continued
uninterruptedly their quiescent repose had not an old Book, which claims a
higher than human authorship, awakened conscience, and made it more
indispensable to the men of the Netherlands to have freedom of worship than to
enjoy goods or estate, or even life itself. It was this inexorability that
brought on the conflict.
But was it not a misfortune to transfer such a
controversy to the arena of the battle-field? Doubtless it was; but for that
calamity the disciples of the Gospel in the Netherlands are not to blame. They
waited long and endured much before they betook them to arms. Nearly half a
century passed away after the burning of the first martyrs of Protestantism in
Brussels till the first, sword was unsheathed in the war of independence. During
that period, speaking generally for the exact number never can be ascertained
from 50,000 to 100,000 men and women had been put to death for religion. And
when at last war came, it came not from the Protestants, but from the Spaniards.
We have seen the powerful army of soldiers which Alva led across the Alps, and
we have seen the terrible work to which they gave themselves when they entered
the country. The Blood Council was set up, the preaching of the Gospel was
forbidden, the ministers were hanged, whole cities were laid in ashes, and, the
gibbets being full, the trees of the field were converted into gallows, and
their boughs were seen laden with the corpses of men and women whose only crime
was that they were, or were suspected of being, converts to Protestantism. As if
this were not enough, sentence of death was passed upon all the inhabitants of
the Netherlands. Not even yet had a sword been drawn in opposition to a tyranny
that had converted the Provinces, recently so flourishing, into a
slaughter-house, and that threatened speedily to make them as silent as a
graveyard. Nor did Philip mean that his strangling, burnings, and massacrings
should stop at the Netherlands. The orders to his devastating hordes were to
follow the steps of Protestantism to every land where it had gone; to march to
the shores of the Leman; to the banks of the Thames; to France, should the
Guises fail in the St. Bartholomew they were at that moment plotting: everywhere
"extermination, utter extermination," was to be inflicted. Protestantism was to
be torn up by the roots, although it should be necessary to tear up along with
it all human rights and liberties. It is not the Netherlands, with William at
their head, for whom we need to offer vindication or apology, for coming forward
at the eleventh hour to save Christendom and the world from a catastrophe so
imminent and so tremendous; the parties that need to be defended are those more
powerful States and princes who stood aloof, or rendered but inadequate aid at
this supreme crisis, and left the world's battle to be fought by one of the
smallest of its kingdoms. It is no doubt true, as we are often reminded, that
the great Defender of the Church is her heavenly King; but it is equally true
that he saves her not by miracle, but by blessing the counsels and the arms, as
well as the teaching and the blood of her disciples. There is a time to die for
the truth, and there is a time to fight for it; and the part of Christian wisdom
is to discern the "times," and the duty which they call for.
Leaving the
armed struggles that are seen on the surface, let us look at the under-current,
which, from one hour to another, is waxing in breadth and power. Protestantism
in the Netherlands does not form one great river, as it did in some other
countries. For half a century, at least, it is a congeries of fountains that
burst out here and there, and send forth a multitude of streamlets, that are
seen flowing through the country and refreshing it with living water. The course
of Netherland Protestantism is the exact reverse of that of the great river of
the land, the Rhine, which long keeping its floods united, divides at last into
an infinity of streams, and falls into the ocean. Netherland Protestantism, long
parted into a multitude of courses, gathers at length its waters into one
channel, and forms henceforth one great river. This makes it somewhat difficult
to obtain a clear view of the Netherland Protestant Church. That Church is first
seen in her martyrs, and it may be truly said that her martyrs are her glory,
for they are excelled in numbers, and in holy heroism, by those of no Church in
Christendom. The Netherland Church is next seen in her individual congregations,
scattered through the cities of Flanders, Brabant, and Holland; and these
congregations come into view, and anon disappear, according as the cloud of
persecution now rises and now falls; and last of all, that Church is seen in her
Synods. Her days of battle and martyrdom come at length to an end; and under the
peaceful scepter of the princes of the House of Orange, her courts regularly
convene, her seminaries flourish, her congregations fill the land, and the
writings of her theologians are diffused through Christendom. The schools of
Germany have ceased by this time to be the crowded resort of scholars they once
were; the glory of the French Huguenots has waxed dim; and the day is going away
in Geneva, where in the middle and end of the sixteenth century it had shone so
brightly; but the light of Holland is seen burning purely, forming the link
between Geneva and the glory destined to illuminate England in the seventeenth
century.
The order and government established in the Church of Holland
may be clearly ascertained from the "Forty Ecclesiastical Laws," which in the
year 1577 were drawn up and published in the name of the Prince of Orange as
Stadtholder, and of the States of Holland, Zealand, and their allies. The
preamble of the Act indicates the great principle of ecclesiastical
jurisprudence entertained by the framers, and which they sought to embody in the
Dutch Church. "Having," say they, "nothing more at heart than that the doctrine
of the holy Gospel may be propagated in its utmost purity in the towns and other
places of our jurisdiction, we have thought fit, after mature deliberation, to
make the following rules, which we will and require to be inviolably preserved;
and we have judged it necessary that the said rules should chiefly relate to the
administration of Church government, of which there are to be found in Holy
Scripture four principal kinds: 1. That of Pastors,
who are likewise styled Bishops, Presbyters, Ministers in the Word of God, and
whose office chiefly consists in teaching the said Word, and in the
administration of the Sacraments. 2. That of Doctors, to whose office is now
substituted that of Professors of Divinity. 3. That of Elders, whose main
business is to watch over men's morals, and to bring transgressors again into
the right way by friendly admonitions; and 4. That of Deacons, who have the care
of the sick."
According to this programme of Church government, or body
of ecclesiastical canons, now enacted by the States, the appointment of
ministers was lodged in the hands of the magistrates, who were to act, however,
upon "the information and with the advice of the ministers." Towns whose
magistrates had not yet embraced the Reformed religion, were to be supplied with
pastors from a distance. No one was to assume at his own hands an office so
sacred as the ministry: he must receive admission from the constituted
authorities of the Church. The minister "elect" of a city had first to undergo
examination before the elders, to whom he must give proofs that his learning was
competent, that his pulpit gifts were such as might enable him to edify the
people, and, above all, that his life was pure, lest he should dishonor the
pulpit, and bring reproach upon "the holy office of the ministry." If found
qualified in these three particulars, "he shall be presented," say the canons,
"to the magistrate for his approbation, in order to his preaching to the
people," that they, too, may be satisfied as to his fitness to instruct them.
There still awaits him another ordeal before he can enter a pulpit as pastor of
a flock. He has been nominated by the magistrate with advice of the ministers;
he has been examined by the elders; he has been accepted by the people; and thus
has given guarantees as to his learning, his life, and his power of
communicating instruction; but before being ordained to the office of the
ministry, "his name shall be published from the pulpit," say the canons, "three
Sundays successively, to the end that if any man has aught to object against
him, or can show any cause why he should not be admitted, he may have time to do
it." We shall suppose that no objections have been offered at least none such
as to form a bar to his admission the oath of allegiance is then administered
to him. In that oath he swears obedience to the lawful authorities "in all
things not contrary to the will of God." To this civil oath was appended a
solemn vow of spiritual fidelity, in these words: "Moreover, I swear that I will
preach and teach the Word of God. after the purest manner, and with the greatest
diligence, to the end it may bring forth much fruit in this congregation, as
becomes a true and faithful shepherd..... Neither will I forsake this ministry
on account of any advantage or disadvantage." It was to the ecclesiastical
authorities that this promise was comnonly given in other Presbyterian Churches,
but in Holland it was tendered to the nation through the magistrate, the
autonomy of the Church not being as yet complete. The act of ordination was to
be preceded by a sermon on the sacred function, and followed by prayers for a
blessing on the pastor and his flock. So simple was the ritual in studied
contrast to the shearings, the anointings, and the investitures of the Roman
Church, which made the entrance into sacred orders an affair of so much mystic
pomp. "This," the canons add, "we think sufficient, seeing that the ancient
ceremonies are degenerated into abominable institutions," and they might have
added, had failed to guard the purity of the priesthood.[1]
In these canons we
see at least an earnest desire evinced on the part of the civil authorities of
Holland to secure learned and pious men for its pulpits, and to provide
guarantees, so far as human foresight and arrangement could do so, against the
indolent and unfaithful discharge of the office on the part of those entrusted
with it. And in this they showed a wise care. The heart of a Protestant State is
its Church, and the heart of a Church is its pulpit, and the centuries which
have elapsed since the era of the Reformation furnish us with more than one
example, that so long as the pulpit retains its purity, the Church will preserve
her vigour; and while the Church preserves her vigour, the commonwealth will
continue to flourish; and that, on the other hand, when languor invades the
pulpit, corruption sets-in in the Church, and from the Church the leprosy
quickly extends to the State; its pillars totter, and its bulwarks
fall.
Following an example first originated at Geneva, the ministers of a
city and of the parishes around met every fortnight to confer together on
religious matters, as also on their studies, and, in short, on whatever
concerned the welfare of the Church and the efficiency of her pastors. Every
minister, in his turn, preached before his brethren; and if his sermon was
thought to contain anything contrary to sound doctrine, the rest admonished him
of his error. In order still more to guard the purity and keep awake the
vigilance of the ministry, a commission, consisting of two elders and two
ministers of the chief town, was to make a yearly circuit through the dependent
Provinces, and report the state of matters to the magistrate on their return,
"to the end," say the canons, "that if they find anything amiss it may be
seasonably redressed." Not fewer than three sermons a week were to be preached
"in all public places," and on the afternoon of Sunday the Heidelberg Catechism
was to be expounded in all the churches.
Baptism was to be administered
by a minister only; it was not to be denied to any infant; it was "pious and
praiseworthy" for the parent himself to bring the child to be baptised, and the
celebration was to take place in the church in presence of the congregation,
unless the child were sick, when the ordinance might be dispensed at home "in
presence of some godly persons." The Lord's Supper was to be celebrated four
times yearly, care being taken that all who approached the table were well
instructed in the faith. The canons, moreover, prescribe the duty of ministers
touching the visitation of the sick, the care of prisoners, and attendance at
funerals. A body of theological professors was provided for the University of
Leyden; and the magistrates planted a school in every town under their
jurisdiction, selecting as teachers only those who professed the Reformed faith,
"whose business it. shall be to instil into them principles of true religion as
well as learning."
The elders were chosen, not by the congregation, but
by the magistrates of the city. They were to be selected from their own body,
"good men, and not inexperienced in the matters of religion;" they were to sit
with the pastors, constituting a court of morals, and to report to the
Government such decisions and transactions as it might concern the Government to
know. To the deacons was assigned the care of the poor. The State arrangements
in Holland for this class of the community made the office of deacon well-nigh
superfluous; nevertheless, it was instituted as being an integral part of the
Church machinery; and so the canons bid the magistrates take care "that fit and
godly stewards be appointed, who understand how to assist the poor according to
their necessities, by which means the trade of begging may be prevented, and the
poor contained within the bounds of their duty; this will be easily brought
about as soon as an end shall be put to our miseries by peace and public
tranquillity."[2]
This first
framework of the Netherland Reformed Church left the magistrate the highest
functionary in it. The final decision of all matters lay with him. In matters of
administration and of discipline, in questions of morals and of doctrine, he was
the court of last appeal. This presents us with a notable difference between the
Protestant Church of the Netherlands and the Churches of Geneva and France.
Calvin aimed, as we have seen, at a complete separation of the civil and the
spiritual domain; he sought to exclude entirely the power of the magistrate in
things purely spiritual, and he effected this in the important point of
admission to the Communion-table; but in Geneva, the Church being the State, the
two necessarily touched each other at a great many points, and the Reformer
failed to make good the perfect autonomy which he aimed at conferring on the
Church. In France, however, as we have also seen, he realized his ideal fully.
He established in that country an ascending gradation of Church courts, or
spiritual tribunals, according to which the final legislation and administration
of all spiritual affairs lay within the Church herself. We behold the French
Protestant Church taking her place by the side of the French Government, and
exhibiting a scheme of spiritual administration and rule as distinct and
complete as that of the civil government of the country. But in the Netherlands
we fail to see a marked distinction between the spiritual and the civil power:
the ecclesiastical courts merge into the magistrates tribunal, and the head of
the State is to the Church in room of ]National Synod and Assembly. One reason
of the difference is to be found in the fact that whereas in France the
magistrate was hostile, in the Low Countries he was friendly, and was oftener
found in the van than in the rear of the Reform. Moreover, the magistrates of
Holland could plead a very venerable and a very unbroken precedent for their
interference in the affairs of the Church: it had been, they affirmed, the
practice of princes from the days of Justinian downwards.[3]
This was one source
of the troubles which afterwards afflicted the States, and which we must not
pass wholly without notice. Peter Cornelison and Gaspar Koolhaes, ministers in
Leyden, were (1579) the first to begin the war which raged so long and so
fiercely in Holland on the question of the authority of the Civil Government in
Ecclesiastical matters. Peter Cornelison maintained that elders and deacons
ought to be nominated by the Consistory and proposed to the congregation without
the intervention of the magistrate. Gaspar Koolhaes, on the contrary, maintained
that elders and deacons, on being nominated by the Consistory, should be
approved of by the magistrates, and afterwards presented to the congregation.
The dispute came before the magistrates, and decision was given in favor of the
latter method, that elders and deacons elect should receive the approval of the
magistrate before being presented to the people. The States of Holland, with the
view of preserving the public peace and putting an end to these quarrels,
appointed certain divines to deduce from Scripture, and embody in a concise
treatise, the Relations of the Civil and Ecclesiastical Powers in other words,
to give an answer to the question, what the magistrate may do and what he may
not do in the Church. It is almost unnecessary to say that their dissertation on
this difficult and delicate question did not meet the views of all parties, and
that the tempest was not allayed. The worthy divines took somewhat decided views
on the magistrate's functions. His duty, they said, was "to hinder those who
corrupt the Word of God from disturbing the external peace of the Church, to
fine and imprison them, and inflict corporal punishments upon them." As an
illustration Peter Cornelison, the champion of the Consistorial rights, was
dismissed from his charge in Leyden, an apology accompanying the act, in which
the magistrates set forth that they "did not design to tyrannise over the
Church, but to rid her of violent and seditious men," adding" that the Church
ought to be governed by Christ alone, and not by ministers and Consistories."
This looked like raising a false issue, seeing both parties admitted that the
government of the Church is in Christ alone, and only disputed as to whether
that government ought to be administered through magistrates, or through
ministers and Consistories.[4]
The National Synod
which met at Dort in 1578, and which issued the famous declaration in favor of
toleration, noticed in a previous chapter, agreed that a National Synod should
be convened once every three years. In pursuance of that enactment, the Churches
of Antwerp and Delft, to whom the power had been given of convoking the
assembly, issued circular letters calling the Synod, which accordingly assembled
in 1581 at Middelburg in Zealand. The constitution of the Netherland Reformed
Church so far framed by the "Ecclesiastical Laws" - this Synod completed on
the French model. The Consistories, or Kirk-sessions, it placed under classes or
Presbyteries; and the Presbyteries it placed under particular Synods. The other
regulations tended in the direction of curtailing the power of the magistrate in
Church matters. The Synod entirely shut him out in the choice of elders and
deacons, and it permitted him to interfere in the election of ministers only so
far as to approve the choice of the people. The Synod likewise decreed that all
ministers, elders, deacons, and professors of divinity should subscribe the
Confession of Faith of the Netherland Church. In the case of Koolhaes, who had
maintained against Cornelison the right of the magistrate to intervene in the
election of elders and deacons, the Synod found his doctrine erroneous, and
ordained him to make a public acknowledgement. Nevertheless, he refused to
submit to this judgment, and though excommunicated by the Synod of Haarlem next
year, he was sustained in the spiritual functions and temporal emoluments of his
office by the magistrates of Leyden. The matter was abundantly prolific of
strifes and divisions, which had all but ruined the Church at Leyden, until it
ended in the recalcitrant resigning his ministry and adopting the trade of a
distiller.[5]
CHAPTER
28 Back to
Top
DISORGANISATION OF THE
PROVINCES.
Vessels of Honour and of Dishonour Memorial of the
Magistrates of Leyden They demand an Undivided Civil Authority The Pastors
demand an Undivided Spiritual Authority The Popish and Protestant
Jurisdictions Oath to Observe the Pacification of Ghent Refused by many of the
Priests The Pacification Violated Disorders Tumults in Ghent, etc.
Dilemma of the Romanists Their Loyalty Miracles The Prince obliged to
Withdraw the Toleration of the Roman Worship Priestly Charlatanties in
Brussels William and Toleration.
In proportion as the Reformed Church of the
Netherlands rises in power and consolidates her order, the Provinces around her
fall into disorganisation and weakness. It is a process of selection and
rejection that is seen going on in the Low Countries. All that is valuable in
the Netherlands is drawn out of the heap, and gathered round the great principle
of Protestantism, and set apart for liberty and glory; all that is worthless is
thrown away, and left to be burned in the fire of despotism.
Of the
Seventeen Provinces seven are taken to be fashioned into a "vessel of honour,"
ten are left to become a "vessel of dishonour." The first become the "head of
gold," the second are the "legs and feet of clay." Notwithstanding the efforts
of the Synod of Middelburg, the peace at large was not restored; there was still
war between the pastors and some of the municipalities. The next move in the
battle came from the magistrates of Leyden. Their pride had been hurt by what
the Synod of Middelburg had done, and they presented a complaint against it to
the States of Holland. In a Synod vested with the power of enacting canons, the
magistrates of Leyden saw, or professed to see, another Papacy rising up. The
fear was not unwarranted, seeing that for a thousand years the Church had
tyrannised over the State. "If a new National Synod is to meet every three
years," say the magistrates in their memorial to the States, "the number of
ecclesiastical decrees will be so great that we shall have much ado to find the
beginning and the end of that link." It was a second canon law which they
dreaded. "If we receive the decrees of Synods we shall become their vassals,"
they reasoned. "We demand," said they in conclusion, "that the civil authority
may still reside in the magistrates, whole and undivided; we desire that the
clergy may have no occasion to usurp a new jurisdiction, to raise themselves
above the Government, and rule over the subjects."
The ministers and
elders of the Churches of Holland met the demand for an undivided civil
authority on the, part of the magistrates by a demand for an undivided spiritual
authority on the part of the Church. They asked that "the government of the
Church, which is of a spiritual nature, should still reside, whole and
undivided, in the pastors and overseers of the Churches, and that politicians,
and particularly those who plainly showed that they were not of the Reformed
religion, should have no occasion to exercise an unreasonable power over the
Church, which they could no more endure than the yoke of Popery." And they add,
"that. having escaped from the Popish tyranny, it behoved them to see that the
people did not fall into unlimited licentiousness, or libertinage, tending to
nothing but disorder and confusion. The blunted rod should not be thrown away
lest peradventure a sharper should grow up in its room."[1] It is true that both the
Popish and the Protestant Churches claim a spiritual jurisdiction, but there is
this essential difference between the two powers claimed the former is
lawless, the latter is regulated by law. The Popish jurisdiction cannot be
resisted by conscience, because, claiming to be infallible, it is above
conscience. The Protestant jurisdiction, on the contrary, leaves conscience free
to resist it, should it exceed its just powers, because it teaches that God
alone is Lord of the conscience.
But to come to the root of the unhappy
strifes that now tore up the Netherlands, and laid the better half of the
Provinces once more at the feet of Rome there were two nations and two faiths
struggling in that one country. The Jesuits had now had time to bring their
system into fill operation, and they succeeded so far in thwarting the measures
which were concerted by the Prince of Orange with the view of uniting the
Provinces, on the basis of a toleration of the two faiths, in a common struggle
for the one liberty. Led by the disciples of Loyola, the Romanists in the
Netherlands would neither be content with equality for themselves, nor would
they grant toleration to the Protestants wherever they had the power of refusing
it; hence the failure of the Pacification of Ghent, and the Peace of Religion.
The Fathers kept the populations in continual agitation and alarm, they stirred
up seditions and tumults, they coerced the magistrates, and they provoked the
Protestants in many places into acts of imprudence and violence. On the framing
of the Pacification of Ghent, the Roman Catholic States issued an order
requiring all magistrates and priests to swear to observe it. The secular
priests of Antwerp took the oath, but the Jesuits refused it, "because they had
sworn to be faithful to the Pope, who favored Don John of Austria."[2] Of the Franciscan monks in
the city twenty swore the oath, and nineteen refused to do so, and were
thereupon conducted peaceably out of the town along with the Jesuits. The
Franciscans of Utrecht fled, as did those of other towns, to avoid the
oath.
In some places the Peace of Religion was not accepted, and in
others where it had been formally accepted, it was not only not kept, it was
flagrantly violated by the Romanists. The basis of that treaty was the
toleration of both worships all over the Netherlands. It gave to the Protestants
in the Roman Catholic Provinces in all places where they numbered a hundred
the right to a chapel in which to celebrate their worship; and where their
numbers did not enable them to claim this privilege, they were nevertheless to
be permitted the unmolested exercise of their worship in private. But in many
places the fights accorded by the treaty were denied them: they could have no
chapel, and even the private exercise of their worship exposed them to
molestations of various kinds. The Protestants, incensed by this anti-national
spirit and bad faith, and emboldened moreover by their own growing numbers,
seized by force in many cities the rights which they could not obtain by
peaceable means.
Disorders and seditions were the consequence. Ghent, the
city which had given its name to the Pacification, led the van in these
disgraceful tumults; and it was remarked that nowhere was the Pacification worse
kept than in the city where it had been framed. The Reformed in Ghent, excited
by the harangues delivered to them from the pulpit by Peter Dathenus, an
ex-monk, and now a Protestant high-flier, who condemned the toleration granted
to the Romanists as impious, and styled the prince who had framed the treaty an
atheist, rose upon the Popish clergy and chased them away, voting them at the
same time a yearly pension. They pillaged the abbeys, pulled down the convents,
broke the images, melted the bells and cast them into cannon, and having
fortified the town, and made themselves masters of it they took several villages
in the neighborhood and enacted there the same excesses.[3] These deplorable disorders
were not confined to Ghent; they extended to Antwerp, to Utrecht, to Mechlin,
and to other towns the Protestants taking the initiative in some places, and
the Romanists in others; but all these violences grew out of the rejection of
the Peace of Religion, or out of the flagrant violation of its articles.[4] The commanding influence
of the Prince of Orange succeeded in pacifying the citizens in Ghent and other
towns, but the tumults stilled for a moment broke out afresh, and raged with
greater violence. The country was torn as by a civil war.
This state of
matters led to the adoption of other measures, which still more complicated and
embarrassed the movement. It was becoming evident to William that his basis of
operations must be narrowed if he would make it stable; that the Pacification of
Ghent, and the Peace of Re-ligon, in themselves wise and just, embraced peoples
that were diverse, and elements that were irreconcilable, and in consequence
were failing of their ends. A few Romanists were staunch patriots, but the great
body were showing themselves incapable of sympathising with, or heartily
co-operating in, the great struggle for the liberation of their native land.
Their consciences, in the guidance of the Jesuits, stifled their patriotism.
They were awkwardly placed between two alternatives: if Philip should conquer in
the war they would lose their country, if victory should declare for the Prince
of Orange they would lose their faith. From this dilemma they could be delivered
only by becoming Protestants, and Protestants they were determined not to
become; they sought escape by the other door namely, that of persuading or
compelling the Protestants to become Romanists. Their desire to solve the
difficulty by this issue introduced still another element of disorganisation and
danger. There came a sudden outburst of propagandist zeal on the part of the
priests, and of miraculous virtue on the part of statues and relics. Images
began to exude blood, and from the bones of the dead a healing power went forth
to cure the diseases of the living. These prodigies greatly edified the piety of
the Roman Catholics, but they inflamed their passions against their Protestant
fellow subjects, and they rendered them decidedly hostile to the cause of their
country's emancipation. The prince had always stood up for the full toleration
of their worship, but he now began to perceive that what the Flemish Romanists
called worship was what other men called political agitation; and though still
holding by the truth of his great maxim, and as ready to tolerate all religions
as ever, he did not hold himself bound to tolerate charlatanry, especially when
practiced for the overthrow of Netherland liberty. He had proclaimed toleration
for the Roman worship, but he had not bound himself to tolerate everything which
the Romanist might substitute for worship, or which it might please him to call
worship.
The prince came at length to the conclusion that he had no
alternative but to withdraw by edict the toleration which he had proclaimed by
edict; nor in doing so did he feel that he was trenching on the rights of
conscience, for he recognised on the part of no man, or body of men, a right to
plead conscience for feats of jugglery and tricks of legerdemain. Accordingly,
on the 26th of December, 1581, an edict was published by the prince and the
States of Holland, forbidding the public and private exercise of the Roman
religion, but leaving opinion free, by forbidding inquisition into any man's
conscience.[5] This was the first
"placard" of the sort published in Holland since the States had taken up arms
for their liberties; and the best proof of its necessity is the fact that some
cities in Brabant, where the bulk of the inhabitants were Romanist-Antwerp and
Brussels in particular were compelled to have recourse to the same measure, or
submit to the humiliation of seeing their Government bearded, and their public
peace hopelessly embroiled. Antwerp chose six "discreet ecclesiastics" to
baptise, marry, and visit the sick of their own communion, granting them besides
the use of two little chapels; but even these functions they were not permitted
to undertake till first they had sworn fidelity to the Government. The rest of
the priests were required to leave the town within twenty-four hours under a
penalty of 200 crowns.[6] In Brussels the
suppression of the Popish worship, which was occasioned by a tumult raised by a
seditious curate, brought with it an exposure of the arts which had rendered the
edict of suppression necessary. "The magistrates," says the edict, "were
convinced that the three bloody Hosts, which were shown to the people by the
name of the Sacrament of Miracles, were only a stained cloth; that the clergy
had exposed to the people some bones of animals as relics of saints, and
deceived the simple many other ways to satisfy their avarice; that they had made
them worship some pieces of alder-tree as if they had been a part of our
Savior's cross; that in some statues several holes had been discovered, into
which the priests poured oil to make them sweat; lastly, that in other statues
some springs had been found by which they moved several parts of their bodies.[7]
These edicts,
unlike the terrible placards of Philip, erected no gibbets, and dug no graves
for living men and women; they were in all cases temporary, "till public
tranquillity should be restored; " they did not proscribe opinion, nor did they
deny to the Romanist the Sacraments of his Church; they suppressed the public
assembly only, and they suppressed it because a hundred proofs had demonstrated
that it was held not for worship but sedition, and that its fruits were not
piety but tumults and disturbances of the public peace. Most unwilling was the
Prince of Orange to go even this length; it placed him, he saw, in apparent, not
real, opposition to his formerly declared views. Nor did he take this step till
the eleventh hour, and after being perfectly persuaded that without some such
measure he could not preserve order and save liberty.
CHAPTER
29 Back to
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THE SYNOD OF DORT.
First
Moments after William's Death Defection of the Southern Provinces Courage of
Holland Prince Maurice States offer their Sovereignty to Henry III. of
France Treaty with Queen Elizabeth Earl of Leicester Retires from the
Government of the Netherlands Growth of the Provinces Dutch Reformed Church
Calvinism the Common Theology of the Reformation Arminius his Teaching
His Party Renewal of the Controversy touching Grace and Free-will The Five
Points The Remonstrants The Synod of Dort Members and Delegates
Remonstrants Summoned before it-Their Opinions Condemned by it Remonstrants
Deposed and Banished The Reformation Theology of the Second Age as compared
with that of the First.
William, Prince of Orange, had just fallen, and the
murderous blow that deprived of life the great founder of the Dutch Republic was
as much the act of Philip of Spain as if his own hand had fired the bullet that
passed through the prince's body, and laid him a corpse in the hall of his own
dwelling-house. Grief, consternation, despair overspread the Provinces. The very
children cried in the streets. Father William had fallen, and the Netherlands
had fallen with him; so did men believe, and for a time it verily seemed as if
the calamity had all the frightful magnitude in which it presented itself to the
nation in the first moments of its surprise and terror. The genius, wisdom,
courage, and patriotism of which the assassin's shot had deprived the Low
Countries could not possibly be replaced. William could have no successor of the
same lofty stature as himself. 'While he lived all felt that they had a bulwark
between them and Spanish tyranny; but now that he was dead, the shadow of Rome
and Spain seemed again to approach them, and all trembled, from the wealthy
merchant on the exchanges of Antwerp and Brussels, to the rude fisherman on the
solitary coast of Zealand. The gloom was universal and tragical. The diplomacy
of Parma and the ducats of Spain were instantly set to work to corrupt and
seduce the Provinces. The faint-hearted, the lukewarm, and the secretly hostile
were easily drawn away, and induced to abandon the great struggle for Netherland
liberty and the Protestant faith. Ghent, the key-stone of that arch of which one
side was Roman Catholic and the other Protestant, reconciled itself to Philip.
Bruges, Brussels, Antwerp, Mechlin, and other towns of Brabant and Flanders, won
by the diplomacy or vanquished by the arms of Parma, returned under the yoke. It
seemed as if the free State which the labors and sacrifices of William the
Silent had called into existence was about to disappear from the scene, and
accompany its founder to the tomb.
But the work of William was not so to
vanish; its root was deeper. When the first moments of panic were over, the
spirit of the fallen hero asserted itself in Holland. The Estates of that
Province passed a resolution, the very day of his murder, "to maintain the good
cause, by God's help, to the uttermost, without sparing gold or blood," and they
communicated their resolve to all commanders by land and sea. A State Council,
or provisional executive board, was established for the Seven Provinces of the
Union. At the head of it was placed Prince Maurice, William's second son, a lad
of seventeen, who already manifested no ordinary decision and energy of
character, and who in obedience to the summons of the States now quitted the
University of Leyden, where he had been pursuing his studies, to be invested
with many of his father's commands and honors. The blandishments of the Duke of
Parma the States strenuously repelled, decreeing that no overture of
reconciliation should be received from "the tyrant; " and the city of Dort
enacted that whoever should bring any letter from the enemy to any private
person "should forthwith be hanged."
It was Protestantism that had fired
Holland and her six sister Provinces with this great resolve; and it was
Protestantism that was to build up their State in the face of the powerful
enemies that surrounded it, and in spite of the reverses and disasters to which
it still continued to be liable. But the Hollanders were slow to understand
this, and to see wherein their great strength lay. They feared to trust their
future to so intangible and invisible a protector. They looked abroad in the
hope of finding some foreign prince who might be willing to accept their crown,
and to employ his power in their defense. They hesitated some time between Henry
III. of France and Elizabeth of England, and at last their choice fell on the
former. Henry was nearer them, he could the more easily send them assistance;
besides, they hoped that on his death his crown would devolve on the King of
Navarre, the future Henry IV., in whose hands they believed their religion and
liberty would be safe. Willingly would Henry III. have enhanced the splendor of
his crown by adding thereto the Seven United Provinces, but he feared the wrath
of the League, the intrigues of Philip, and the ban of the Pope.
The
infant States next repaired to Elizabeth with an offer of their sovereignty.
This offer the Protestant queen felt she could neither accept nor decline. To
accept was to quarrel with Philip; and the state of Ireland at that moment, and
the numbers and power of the Roman Catholics in England, made a war with Spain
dangerous to the stability of her own throne; and yet should she decline, what
other resource had the Provinces but to throw themselves into the arms of
Philip? and, reconciled to the Netherlands, Spain would be stronger than ever,
and a stage nearer on its road to England. The prudent queen was in a strait
between the two. But though she could not be the sovereign, might she not be the
ally of the Hollanders ~ This she resolved to become. She concluded a treaty
with them, "that the queen should furnish the States with 5,000 foot and 1,000
horse, to be commanded by a Protestant general of her appointment, and to be
paid by her during the continuance of the war; the towns of Brill and Flushing
being meanwhile put into her possession as security for the reimbursement to her
of the war expenses" It was further stipulated "that should it be found
expedient to employ a fleet in the common cause, the States should furnish the
same number of ships as the queen, to be commanded by an English
admiral."
The force agreed upon was immediately despatched to Holland
under the command of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. Leicester possessed but
few qualities fitting him for the weighty business now put into his hands. He
was vain, frivolous, greedy, and ambitious, but he was an immense favourite with
the queen. His showy accomplishments blinded at the first the Hollanders, who
entertained him at a series of magnificent banquets (December, 1585), loaded him
with honors and posts, and treated him more as one who had already achieved
their deliverance, than one who was only beginning that difficult and doubtful
task. The Provinces soon began to see that their independence was not to come
from the hand of Leicester.
He proved no match for the genius and address
of the Duke of Parma, who was daily winning victories for Spain, while Leicester
could accomplish nothing. His prudence failing him, he looked askance on the
grave statesmen and honest patriots of Holland and Zealand, while he lavished
his smiles on the artful and the designing who submitted to his caprice and
flattered his vanity. His ignorance imposed restrictions on their commerce which
greatly fettered it, and would ultimately have ruined it, and he gave still
deeper offense by expressing contempt for those ancient charters to which the
Dutch were unalterably attached. Misfortune attended all that he undertook in
the field. He began to intrigue to make himself master of the country. His
designs came to light, the contempt of the Provinces deepened into disgust, and
just a year after his first arrival in Holland, Leicester returned to England,
and at the desire of Elizabeth resigned his government.
The distractions
which the incapacity and treachery of the earl had occasioned among the Dutch
themselves, offered a most inviting opportunity to Parma to invade the
Provinces, and doubtless he would have availed himself of it but for a dreadful
famine that swept over the Southern Netherlands. The famine was followed by
pestilence. The number of the deaths, added to the many banishments which had
previously taken place, nearly emptied some of the great towns of Brabant and
Flanders. In the country the peasants, owing to the ravages of war, had neither
horses to plough their fields nor seed wherewith to sow them, and the harvest
was a complete failure. In the terrible desolation of the country the beasts of
prey so multiplied, that within two miles of the once populous and wealthy city
of Ghent, not fewer than a hundred persons were devoured by
wolves.
Meanwhile Hollland and Zealand presented a picture which was in
striking contrast to the desolation and ruin that overspread the Southern and
richer Provinces. Although torn by factions, the result of the intrigues of
Leicester, and burdened with the expense of a war which they were compelled to
wage with Parma, their inhabitants continued daily to multiply, and their
wealth, comforts, and power to grow. Crowds of Protestant refugees flocked into
the Northern Provinces, which now became the seat of that industry and
manufacturing skill which for ages had enriched and embellished the Netherlands.
Having the command of the sea, the Dutch transported their products to foreign
markets, and so laid the foundation of that world-wide commerce which was a
source of greater riches to Holland than were the gold anal silver mines of
Mexico and Peru to Spain.[1]
We have seen the
throes and agonies amid which the Dutch Republic came to the birth, and before
depicting the prosperity and power in which the State culminated, it is
necessary to glance at the condition of the Dutch Church. From and after 1603,
dissensions and divisions broke out in it, which tended to weaken somewhat the
mighty influences springing out of a free conscience and a pure faith, which
were lifting the United Provinces to prosperity and renown. Up till the year we
have named, the Church of the Netherlands was strictly Calvinistic, but now a
party in it began to diverge from what had been the one common theology of the
Reformation.
It is an error to suppose that Calvin held and propagated a
doctrine peculiar to himself or different from that of his fellow-Reformers. His
theology contained nothing new, being essentially that of the great Fathers of
the early Christian Church of the West, and agreeing very closely with that of
his illustrious fellow laborers, Luther and Zwingle. Our readers will remember
the battles which Luther waged with the champions of Rome in defense of the
Pauline teaching under the head of the corruption of man's whole nature, the
moral inability of his will, and the absolute sovereignty of God. It was on the
same great lines that Calvin's views developed themselves. On the doctrine of
Divine sovereignty, for instance, we find both Luther and Zwingle expressing
themselves in terms fully stronger than Calvin ever employed. Calvin looked at
both sides of the tremendous subject. he maintained the free agency of man not
less strenuously than he did God's eternal fore-ordination. He felt that both
were great facts, but he doubted whether it lay within the power of created
intelligence to reconcile the two, and he confessed that he was not able to do
so. Many, however, have made this attempt. There have been men who have denied
the doctrine of God's eternal fore-ordination, thinking thereby to establish
that of man's free agency; and there have been men who have denied the doctrine
of man's free agency, meaning thereby to strengthen that of the eternal
fore-ordination of all things by God; but these reconcilements are not solutions
of this tremendous question they are only monuments of man's inability to
grapple with it, and of the folly of expending strength and wasting time in such
a discussion. Heedless of the warnings of past ages, there arose at this time in
the Reformed Church of Holland a class of divines who renewed these discussions,
and attempted to solve the awful problem by attacking the common theology of
Luther, and Zwingle, and Calvin [2] on the doctrines of grace
and of the eternal decrees.
The controversy had its beginning thus: the
famous Francis Junius, Professor of Divinity at Leyden, died of the plague in
1602; and James Arminius, who had studied theology at Geneva under Beza, and was
pastor at Amsterdam, was appointed to succeed him [3] Arminius was opposed by
many ministers of the Dutch Church, on the ground that, although he was
accounted learned, eloquent, and pious, he was suspected of holding views
inconsistent with the Belgic Confession and the Heidelberg Catechism, which
since 1570 had possessed authority in the Church. Promulgating his views
cautiously and covertly from his chair, a controversy ensued between him and his
learned colleague, Gomarus.
Arminius rested God's predestination of men
to eternal life on his foresight of their piety and virtue; Gomarus, on the
other hand, taught that these were not the causes, but the fruits of God's
election of them to life eternal. Arminius accused Gomarus of instilling the
belief of a fatal necessity, and Gomarus reproached Armthins with making man the
author of his own salvation. The controversy between the two lasted till the
death of Arminius, which took place in 1609. He died in the full hope of
everlasting life. He is said to have chosen for his motto, Bona conscientia
Paradisus [4]
After his death,
his disciple Simon Episcopius became the head of the party, and, as usually
happens in such cases, gave fuller development to the views of his master than
Arminius himself had done. From the university, the controversy passed to the
pulpit, and the Church was divided. In 1610 the followers of Arminius presented
a Remonstrance to the States of Holland, complaining of being falsely accused of
seeking to alter the faith, but at the same time craving revision of the
standard books of the Dutch Church the Belgic Confession and the Heidelberg
Catechism-and demanding toleration for their views, of which they gave a summary
or exhibition in five points, as follow
As to the question whether those who have once
believed to the saving of the soul can again fall away from faith, and lose the
grace of God, the authors of the Remonstrance were not prepared to give any
answer. It was a point, they said, that needed further examination; but the
logical train of the previous propositions clearly pointed to the goal at which
their views touching the "perseverance of the saints" must necessarily arrive;
and accordingly, at a subsequent stage of the controversy, they declared, "That
those who have a true faith may, nevertheless, fall by their own fault, and lose
faith wholly and for ever."[5]
It is the first
receding wave within the Protestant Church which we are now contemplating, and
it is both instructive and curious to mark that the ebb from the Reformation
began at what had been the starting-point of the Reform movement. We have
remarked, at an early stage of our history, that the question touching the Will
of man is the deepest in theology. Has the Fall left to man the power of willing
and doing what is spiritually good? or has it deprived him of that power, and
inflicted upon his will a moral inability? If we answer the first question
affirmatively, and maintain that man still retains the power of willing and
doing what is spiritually good, we advance a proposition from which, it might be
argued, a whole system of Roman theology can be worked out. And if we answer the
second question affirmatively, we lay a foundation from which, it might be
contended on the other hand, a whole system of Protestant theology can be
educed. Pursuing the one line of reasoning, if man still has the power of
willing and doing actions spiritually good, he needs only cooperating grace in
the matter of his salvation; he needs only to be assisted in the more difficult
parts of that work which he himself has begun, and which, mainly in the exercise
of his own powers, he himself carries on to the end. Hence the doctrine of good
works, with all the dogmas, rites, penances, and merits that Rome has built upon
it. But, following the other line of reasoning, if man, by his fall, lost the
power of doing what is spiritually good, then he must be entirely dependent upon
Divine grace for his recovery he must owe all to God, from whom must come the
beginning, the continuance, and the end of his salvation; and hence the
doctrines of a sovereign election, an effectual calling, a free justification,
and a perseverance to life eternal. The point, to an ordinary eye, seems an
obscure one it looks a purely speculative point, and one from which no
practical issues of moment can flow; nevertheless, it lies at the foundation of
all theology, and as such it was the first great battle-ground at the period of
the Reformation. It was the question so keenly contested, as we have already
narrated, between Dr. Eck on the one side, and Carlstadt and Luther on the
other, at Leipsic.[6] This question is, in fact,
the dividing line between the two theologies.
Of the five points stated
above, the third, fourth, and fifth may be viewed as one; they teach the same
doctrine namely, that man fallen still possesses such an amount of spiritual
strength as that he may do no inconsiderable part of the work of his salvation,
and needs only cooperating grace; and had the authors of the Remonstrance been
at Leipsic, they must have ranged themselves on the side of Eck, and done battle
for the; Roman theology. It was this which gave the affair its grave aspect in
the eyes of the majority of the pastors of the Church of Holland. They saw in
the doctrine of the "Five Points" the ground surrendered which had been won at
the beginning of the Reformation; and they saw seed anew deposited from which
had sprung the great tree of Romanism.
This was not concealed on either
side. The Remonstrants-so called from the Remonstrance given in by them to the
States put forward their views avowedly as intermediate between the Protestant
and Roman systems, in the hope that they might conciliate not a few members of
the latter Church, and lead to peace. The orthodox party could not see that
these benefits would flow from the course their opponents were pursuing; on the
contrary, they believed that they could not stop where they were that their
views touching the fall and the power of free-will must and would find their
logical development in a greater divergence from the theology of the Protestant
Churches, and that by removing the great boundary-line between the two
theologies, they were opening the way for a return to the Church of Rome; and
hence the exclanlation of Gomarus one day, after listening to a statement of his
views by Arminius, in the University of Leyden. Rising up and leaving the hall,
he uttered these words: "Henceforward we shall no longer be able to oppose
Popery."[7]
Peace was the final
goal which the Remonstrants sought to reach; but the first-fruits of their
labors were schisms and dissensions. The magistrates, sensible of the injury
they were doing the State, strove to put an end to these ecclesiastical wars,
and with this view they summoned certain pastors of both sides before them, and
made them discuss the points at issue in their presence; but these conferences
had no effect in restoring harmony. A disputation, of this sort took place at
the Hague in 1611, but like all that had gone before it, it failed to reconcile
the two parties and establish concord. The orthodox pastors now began to demand
the assembling of a National Synod, as a more legitimate and competent tribunal
for the examination and decision of such matters, and a more likely way of
putting an end to the dissensions that prevailed; but the Remonstrant clergy
opposed this proposal. They had influence enough with the civil authorities to
prevent the calling of a Synod for several years; but the war waxing louder and
fiercer every day, the States-General at last convoked a National Synod to meet
in November, 1618, at Dort.
Than the Synod of Dort there is perhaps no
more remarkable Assembly in the annals of the Protestant Church. It is alike
famous whether we regard the numbers, or the learning, or the eloquence of its
members. It met at a great crisis, and it was called to review, re-examine, and
authenticate over again, in the second generation since the rise of the
Reformation, that body of truth and system of doctrine which that great movement
had published to the world. The States-General had agreed that the Synod should
consist of twenty-six divines of the United Provinces, twenty-eight foreign
divines, five theological professors, and sixteen laymen. The sum of 100,000
florins was set apart to defray its estimated expenses. Its sessions lasted six
months.
Learned delegates were present in this Assembly from almost all
the Reformed Churches of Europe. The Churches of England, Scotland, Switzerland,
Geneva, Bremen, Hesse, and the Palatinate were represented in it. The French
Church had no delegate in the Synod. That Church had deputed Peter du Moulin and
Andrew Rivet, two of the most distinguished theologians of the age, to represent
it, but the king forbade their attendance. From England came Dr. George
Carleton, Bishop of Llandaff; Joseph Hall, Dean of Worcester; John Davenant,
Professor of Theology and Master of Queen's College, Cambridge; and Samuel Ward,
Archdeacon of Taunton, who had been appointed to proceed to Holland and take
part in the proceedings at Dort not indeed by the Church of England, but by the
King and the Archbishop of Canterbury. Walter Balcanqual represented Scotland in
the Synod.[8]
The Synod was
opened on the 16th of November, 1618, with a sermon by Balthazar Lydius,
minister of Dort. Thereafter, the members repaired to the hall appointed for
their meeting. Lydius offered a prayer in Latin. The commissioners of the States
sat on the right of the president, and the English divines on his left. An empty
seat was kept for the French deputies. The rest of the delegates took their
places according to the rank of the country from which they came. John Bogerman,
minister of Leeuwarden, was chosen president; Daniel Heinsius was appointed
secretary. Heinsius was an accomplished Latin scholar, and it had been agreed
that; that language should be used in all the transactions of the Assembly, for
the sake of the foreign delegates. There came thirty-six ministers and twenty
elders, instead of the twenty-six pastors and sixteen laymen which the
States-General had appointed, besides deputies from other Provinces, thus
swelling the roll of the Synod to upwards of a hundred.
The Synod
summoned thirteen of the leading Remonstrants, including Episcopius, to appear
within a fortnight. Meanwhile the Assembly occupied itself with arrangements for
a new translation of the Bible into Dutch, and the framing of rules about other
matters, as the catechising of the young and the training of students for the
ministry. On the 5th of December, the thirteen Remonstrants who had been
summoned came to Dort, and next day presented themselves before the Assembly.
They were saluted by the moderator as "Reverend, famous, and excellent brethren
in Jesus Christ," and accommodated with seats at a long table in the middle of
the hall. Episcopius, their spokesman, saluting the Assembly, craved more time,
that himself and his brethren might prepare themselves for a conference with the
Synod on the disputed points. They were told that they had been summoned not to
confer with the Synod, but to submit their opinions for the Synod's decision,
and were bidden attend next day.
On that day Episcopius made a speech of
an hour and a half's length, in which he discovered all the art and power of an
orator. Thereafter an oath was administered to the members of Synod, in which
they swore, in all the discussions and determinations of the Synod, to "use no
human writing, but only the Word of God, which is an infallible rule of faith,"
and "only aim at the glory of God, the peace of the Church, and especially the
preservation of the purity of doctrine."
The Remonstrants did battle on a
great many preliminary points: the jurisdiction of the court, the manner in
which they were to lay their opinions before it, and the extent to Which they
were to be permitted to go in vindicating and defending their five points. In
these debates much time was wasted, and the patience and good temper of the
Assembly were severely tried. When it was found that the Remonstrants persisted
in declining the authority of the Synod, and would meet it only to discuss and
confer with it, but not to be judged by it, the States-General was informed of
the deadlock into which the affair had come. The civil authority issued an order
requiring the Remonstrants to submit to the Synod. To this order of the State
the Remonstrants gave no more obedience than they had done to the authority of
the Church. They were willing to argue and defend their opinions, but not to
submit them for judgment. After two months spent in fruitless attempts to bring
the Remonstrants to obedience, the Assembly resolved to extract their views from
their writings and speeches, and give judgment upon them. The examination into
their opinions, and the deliberations upon them, engaged the Assembly till the
end of April, by which time they had completed a body of canons, that was signed
by all the members. The canons, which were read in the Cathedral of Dort with
great solemnity, were a summing-up of the doctrine of the Reformation as it had
been held by the first Reformers, and accepted in the Protestant Churches
without division or dissent, the article of the Eucharist excepted, until
Arminius arose. The decision of the Synod condemned the opinions of the
Remonstrants as innovations, and sentenced them to deprivation of all
ecclesiastical and academical functions [9] The States-General
followed up the spiritual part of the sentence by banishing them from their
country. It is clear that the Government of the United Provinces had yet a good
deal to learn on the head of toleration; but it is fair to say that while they
punished the disciples of Arminius with exile, they would permit no inquisition
to be made into their consciences, and no injury to be done to their persons or
property. A few years thereafter (1626) the decree of banishment was recalled.
The Remonstrants returned to their country, and were permitted freely to
exercise their worship. They established a theological seminary at Amsterdam,
which was adorned by some men of great talents and erudition, and became a
renowned fountain of Arminian theology.
The Synod of Dort was the first
great attempt to arrest the begun decline in the theology of the Reformation,
and to restore it to its pristine purity and splendor. It did this, but not with
a perfect success. The theology of Protestantism, as seen in the canons of Dort,
and as seen in the writings of the first Reformers, does not appear' quite the
same theology: it is the same in dogma, but it lacks, as seen in the canons of
Dort, the warm hues, the freshness, the freedom and breadth, and the stirring
spiritual vitalities it possessed as it flowed from the pens, or was thundered
from the pulpits, of the Reformers. The second generation of Protestant divines
was much inferior, both fix intellectual endowments and in spiritual gifts, to
the first. In the early days it was the sun of genius that irradiated the
heavens of the Church: now it was the moon of culture that was seen in her
waning skies. And in proportion to the more restricted faculties of the men, so
the theology was narrow, stinted, and cold. It was formal and critical. Turning
away somewhat from the grander, objective, soul-inspiring truths of
Christianity, it dealt much with the abstruser questions, it searched into deep
and hidden things; it was quicker to discern the apparent antagonisms than the
real harmonies between truth and truth; it was prone to look only at one
question, or at one side of a question, forgetful of its balancings and
modifications, and so was in danger of distorting or even caricaturing truth.
The empirical treatment which the doctrine of predestination received perhaps
we ought to say on both sides is an example of this. Instead of the awe and
reverence with which a question involving the character and government of God,
and the eternal destinies of men, ought ever to inspire those who undertake to
deal with a subject so awful, and the solution of which so far transcends the
human faculties, it was approached in a proud, self-sufficient, and flippant
spirit, that was at once unchristian and unphilosophical. Election and
reprobation were singled out, separated from the great and surpassingly solemn
subject of which they are only parts, looked at entirely dissociated from their
relations to other necessary truths, subjected to an iron logic, and compelled
to yield consequences which were impious and revolting. The very interest taken
in these questions marked an age more erudite than religious, and an intellect
which had become too subtle to be altogether sound; and the prominence given
them, both in the discussions of the schools and the ministrations of the
pulpit, reacted on the nation, and was productive of animosities and
dissensions.
Nevertheless, these evils were sensibly abated after the
meeting of the Synod of Dort. The fountains of truth were again purified, and
peace restored to the churches and the schools. The nation, again reunited,
resumed its onward march in the path of progress. For half a century the
university and the pulpit continued to be mighty powers in Holland the
professors and pastors took their place in the first rank of theologians. Abroad
the canons of the Synod of Dort met with a very general acquiescence on the part
of the Protestant Churches, and continued to regulate the teaching and mould the
theology of Christendom. At home the people, imbued with the spirit of the
Bible, and impregnate with that love of liberty, and that respect for law, which
Protestantism ever engenders, made their homes bright with virtue and their
cities resplendent with art, while their land they taught by their industry and
frugality to bloom in beauty and overflow with riches.
CHAPTER
30 Back to
Top
GRANDEUR OF THE UNITED
PROVINCES.
The One Source of Holland's Strength Prince Maurice made
Governor His Character Dutch Statesmen Spanish Power Sinking Philip's
Many Projects His Wars in France Successes o£ Maurice Death of the Duke of
Parma Mighty Growth of Holland Its 'Vast Commerce Its Learning
Desolation of Brabant and Flanders Cause of the Decline of Holland The
Stadtholder of Holland becomes King of England.
WE have narrated the ill success that attended the
government of the Earl of Leicester in the Low Countries. These repeated
disappointments rebuked the Provinces for looking abroad for defense, and
despising the mightier source of strength which existed within themselves; and
in due time they came to see that it was not by the arm of any foreign prince
that they were to be holden up and made strong, but by the nurturing virtue of
that great principle which, rooted in their land by the blood of their martyrs,
had at last found for their nation a champion in William of Orange. This
principle had laid the foundations of their free Commonwealth, and it alone
could give it stability and conduct it to greatness.
Accordingly, after
Leicester's departure, at a meeting at the Hague, the 6th of February, 1587, the
States, after asserting their own supreme authority, unanimously chose Prince
Maurice as their governor, though still with a reservation to Queen Elizabeth.
It was not respect alone for the memory of his great father which induced the
States to repose so great a trust, at so momentous a period of their existence,
in one who was then only twenty-one years of age. From his earliest youth the
prince had given proof of his superior prudence and capacity, and in the
execution of his high command he made good the hopes entertained of him when he
entered upon it. If he possessed in lower degree than his illustrious sire the
faculty of governing men, he was nevertheless superior to him in the military
art, and this was the science most needed at this moment by the States. Maurice
became the greatest captain of his age: not only was he famous in the discipline
of his armies, but his genius,: rising above the maxims then in vogue, enabled
him to invent or to perfect a system of fortification much more complete, and
which soon became common.[1] The marvellous
political ability of William, now lost to the States, was supplied in some sort
by a school of statesmen that arose after his death in Holland, and whose
patriotic honesty, allied with an uncommon amount of native sagacity and
shrewdness, made them a match for the Machiavellian diplomatists with which the
age abounded.
Philip II. was at that time getting ready the Armada for
the subjugation of England. The Duke of Parma was required to furnish his
contingent of the mighty fleet., and while engaged in this labor he was unable
to undertake any operation in the Netherlands. Holland had rest, and the
military genius of Prince Maurice found as yet no opportunity of displaying
itself. But no sooner had Philip's "invincible" Armada vanished in the North
Sea, pursued by the English admiral and the tempests of heaven, than Parma made
haste to renew the war. He made no acquisition of moment, however the gains of
the campaign remained with Prince Maurice; and the power of Spain in the Low
Countries began as visibly to sink as that of Holland to rise.
From this
time forward blow after blow came upon that colossal fabric which for so long a.
period had not only darkened the Netherlands, but had overshadowed all
Christendom. The root of the Spanish Power was dried up, and its branch began to
wither. Philip, aiming to be the master of the world, plunged into a multitude
of schemes which drained his resources, and at length broke in pieces that
mighty empire of which he was the monarch. As his years grew his projects
multiplied, till at last he found himself warring with the Turks, the Morescoes,
the Portuguese, the French, the English, and the Netherlanders. The latter
little country he would most certainly have subdued, had his ambition permitted
him to concentrate his power in the attempt to crush it. Happily for the Low
Countries, Philip was never able to do this. And now another dream misled him
the hope of seizing the crown of France for himself or his daughter,[2] Clara Eugenia, during the troublous times that followed
the accession of Henry of Navarre. In this hope he ordered Parma to withdraw the
Spanish troops from the Netherlands, and help the League to conquer Henry IV.
Parma remonstrated against the madness of the scheme, and the danger of taking
away the army out of the country; but Philip, blinded by his ambition, refused
to listen to the prudent counsels of his general. The folly of the King of Spain
gave a breathing-space to the young Republic, and enabled its governor, Prince
Maurice, to display that resource, prudence, and promptitude which gained him
the confidence and esteem of his subjects, and which, shining forth yet more
brilliantly in future campaigns, won for him the admiration of
Europe.
When Parma returned from France (1590) he found Holland greatly
stronger than he had left it: its frontier was now fortified; several towns
beyond the boundary of the United Provinces had been seized by their army; and
Parma, with a treasury drained by his campaign, and soldiers mutinous because
ill-paid, had to undertake the work of recovering what had been lost. The
campaign now opened was a disastrous one both for himself and for Spain. After
many battles and sieges he found that the Spanish Power had been compelled to
retreat before the arms of the infant Republic, and that his own prestige as a
soldier had been eclipsed by the renown of his opponent, acquired by the
prudence with which his enterprises had been concerted, the celerity with which
they had been executed, and the success with which they had been crowned. The
Duke of Parma was a second time ordered into France to assist the League, and
pave Philip's way for mounting the throne of that country; and foolish though he
deemed the order, he had nevertheless to obey it. He returned broken in health,
only to find that in his absence the Spanish Power had sustained new losses,
that the United Provinces had acquired additional strength, and that Prince
Maurice had surrounded his name with a brighter glory than ever. In short, the
affairs of Spain in the Low Countries he perceived were becoming hopeless. Worn
out with cares, eaten up with vexation and chagrin, and compelled the while to
strain every nerve in the execution of projects which his judgment condemned as
chimerical and ruinous, his sickness increased, and on the 3rd of December,
1592, he expired in the forty-seventh year of his age, and the fourteenth of his
government of the Netherlands. "With the Duke of Parma," says Sir William
Temple, "died all the discipline, and with that all the fortunes, of the Spanish
arms in Flanders."[3]
There now
opened to the United Provinces a career of prosperity that was as uniform and
uninterrupted as their previous period of distress and calamity had been
continuous and unbroken. The success that attended the arms of Prince Maurice,
the vigour with which he extended the dominions of the Republic, the prudence
and wisdom with which he administered affairs at home, the truce with Spain, the
League with Henry IV. of France, and the various circumstances and methods by
which the prince, and the upright and wise counsellors that surrounded him,
advanced the credit and power of the United Provinces, belong to the civil
history of the country, and hardly come within the scope of our special design.
But the mighty growth of the United Provinces, which was the direct product of
Protestantism, is one of the finest proofs which history furnishes of the spirit
and power of the Reformation, and affords a lesson that the ages to come will
not fail to study, and an example that they will take care to imitate.
On
the face of all the earth there is not another such instance of a nation for
whom nature had done literally nothing, and who had all to create from their
soil upwards, attaining such a pitch of greatness. The Dutch received at the
beginning but a sand-bank for a country. Their patience and laborious skill
covered it with verdure, and adorned it with cities. Their trade was as truly
their own creation as their soil. The narrow limits of their land did not
furnish them with the materials of their manufactures; these they had to import
from abroad, and having worked them up into beautiful fabrics, they carried them
back to the countries whence they had obtained the raw materials. Thus their
land became the magazine of the world. Notwithstanding that their country was
washed:, and not unfrequently inundated, by the ocean, nature had not given them
harbors; these, too, they had to create. Their scanty territory led them to make
the sea their country; and their wars with Spain compelled them to make it still
more their home. They had an infinity of ships and sailors. They sent their
merchant fleet over every sea to the fertile islands of the West, to the rich
continents of the East. They erected forts on promontories and creeks, and their
settlements were dispersed throughout the world. They formed commercial treaties
and political alliances with the most powerful nations. The various wealth that
was wafted to their shores was ever greater than that which had flowed in on
Spain after the discovery of the mines of Mexico and Peru. Their land, which
yielded little besides milk and butter, overflowed with the necessaries and
luxuries of all the earth. The wheat, and wine, and oil of Southern Europe; the
gold and silver of Mexico; the spices and diamonds of the East; the furs of
Northern Europe; silk, cotton, precious woods, and marbles everything, in
short, which the earth produces, and which can contribute to clothe the person,
adorn the dwelling, supply the table, and enhance the comfort of man, was
gathered into Holland. And while every wind and tide were bringing to their
shores the raw materials, the persecutions which raged in other countries were
daily sending crowds of skillful and industrious men to work them up. And with
every increase of their population came a new expansion of their trade, and by
consequence a new access to the wealth that flowed from it.
With the
rapid growth of material riches, their respect for learning, their taste for
intellectual pursuits, and their love of independence still continued with them.
They were plain and frugal in habit, although refined and generous in
disposition. The sciences were cultivated, and their universities flourished. To
be learned or eloquent inferred as great eminence in that country as to be rich
or high-born did in others. All this had come out of their great struggle for
the Protestant faith.
And, as if to make the lesson still plainer and
more striking, by the side of this little State, so illustrious for its virtue,
so rich in all good things, and so powerful among the nations of the world, were
seen those unhappy Provinces which had retreated within the pale of Rome, and
submitted to the yoke of Philip. They were fallen into a condition of poverty
and slavery which was as complete as it was deplorable, and which, but a few
years before, any one who had seen how populous, industrious, and opulent they
were, would have deemed impossible. Commerce, trade, nay, even daily bread, had
fled from that so recently prosperous land. Bankers, merchants, farmers,
artisans all were sunk in one great ruin. Antwerp, the emporium of the
commerce of Europe, with its river closed, and its harbor and wharves forsaken,
was reduced to beggary. The looms and forges of Ghent, Bruges, and Namur were
idle. The streets, trodden erewhile by armies of workmen, were covered with
grass; fair mansions were occupied by paupers; the fields were falling out of
cultivation; the farm-houses were sinking into ruins; and, in the absence of
men, the beasts of the field were strangely multiplying. To these evils were
added the scourge of a mutinous soldiery, and the incessant rapacious demands of
Philip for money, not knowing, or not caring to know, into what a plight of
misery and penury his tyranny had already sunk them. Spain itself, towards the
close of the nineteenth century, is still as great a wreck; but it required
three hundred years for despotism and Popery to ripen their fruits in the
Iberian Peninsula, whereas in the Southern Netherlands their work was
consummated in a very few years.
We turn once more to their northern
sister. The era of the flourishing of the United Provinces was from 1579, when
the Union of Utrecht was formed, till 1672 that is, ninety-three years. In the
year 1666 we find Holland and her sister States at the acme of their prosperity.
They are populous in men; they have a revenue of 40,000,000 florins; they
possess a land army of 60,000 men, a fleet of above 100 men-of-war, a countless
mercantile navy, a world-wide commerce, and, not content with being one of the
great Powers of Europe, they are contesting with England the supremacy of the
seas.[4] It is hardly possible not to ask what led to the decline
and fall of so great a Power? Sir William Temple, who had studied with the
breadth of a statesman, and the insight of a philosopher, both the rise and the
fall of the United Provinces, lays their decay at the door of the Arminian
controversy, which had parted the nation in two.
At least, this he makes
the primary cause, and the one first led on to others. The Prince of Orange or
Calvinist faction, he tells us, contended for the purity of the faith, and the
Arminian faction for the liberties of the nation; and so far this was true, but
the historian forgets to say that the contest for the purity of the faith
covered the nation's liberties as well, and when the sacred fire which had
kindled the conflict for liberty was permitted to go out, the flame of freedom
sunk down, the nation's heart waxed cold, and its hands grew feeble in defense
of its independence. The decay of Holland became marked from the time the
Arminian party gained the ascendency.[5] But though the nation
decayed, the line of William of Orange, the great founder of its liberties,
continued to flourish. The motto of Prince Maurice, Tandem fit surculus arbor
("The twig will yet become a tree"), was made good in a higher sense than he had
dreamed, for the epics of history are grander than those of fiction, and the
Stadtholder of Holland, in due time, mounted the throne of Great
Britain.
Book 19 Index
FOOTNOTES
VOLUME THIRD
BOOK EIGHTEENTH
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 1
[1] Caesar, Comment. de Bello Gallico, lib. 2., cap. 15 30. Hoc praelio facto, et prope ad internecionem gente, ac nomine Nerviorum redacto, are the words of the conqueror (lib. 2., cap. 28). Niebuhr, Lectures on Roman History, vol. 3., PD. 43, 44; Lond. and Edin, 1850.
[2] Muller, Univ. Hist., vol. 2., bk. 14., sec. 13-18.
[3] Stevens, Hist. of the Scot. Church, Rotterdam, pp. 259, 260; Edin., 1833.
[4] Ibid., p. 260.
[5] See Historical Introduction to Rise of the Dutch Republic by John Lothrop Motley; Edin. and Lond., 1859.
[6] Muller, Univ. Hist., vol. 2., p. 230.
[7] Relationi del Cardinal Bentivoglio, in Pareigi, 1631; lib. 1., cap. 7, p. 32.
[8] Misson, Travels, vol. 1., p. 4.
[9] Relat. Card. Bentiv., lib. 1., cap. 7, p. 32: Che sia non solo in Europa, ma in tutto il mondo.
[10] The Papal nuncio, Bentivoglio, willingly acknowledges their great physical and mental qualities, and praises them alike for their skill in arts and their bravery in war. Gli huomini, che produce il paese, sono ordinariamente di grande statura; di bello, e candido aspetto, e di corpo vigorose, e robusto. Hanno gli animi non men vigorosi de corpi; e cio s e veduto in quella si lunga, e si pertinace resistenza, che da loro s e fatta all armi Spagnuole, etc. (Relat. Card. Bentiv., lib. 1., cap. 3, pp. 4, 5)
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 2
[1] Brandt, History of the Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. 1., p. 14; Lond., 1720.
[2] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 14.
[3] Ibid.
[4] Gerdesius, Hist. Evan. Ren., tom. 3., p. 3; Groning.,1749.
[5] Gerdesius, tom. 3., p. 3.
[6] If Lyra had not piped, Luther had not danced.
[7] Brandt, bk. 1., passim.
[8] Ibid., vol. 1., p. 17.
[9] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 19.
[10] Sleidan, bk. 16., p. 342; Lond., 1689.
[11] Grot., Annal., lib. 1., 17; Amsterdam, 1658. Watson, Philip II, vol. 1., p. 113.
[12] Sleidan, bk. 16., p. 343.
[13] See ante, vol. 1., bk. 9., chap. 3, p. 490.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 3
[1] Gerdesius, tom. 3., pp. 23 25.
[2] Totum peccatum tolerans et tollens. (Gerdesius, tom. 3., Appendix, p. 18.)
[3] Gerdesius, tom. 3., pp. 28 30.
[4] See ante, vol. 1, bk. 9., chap. 6, p. 506.
[5] Dirutum est penitusque eversum. (Gerdesius tom. 3., p. 29.)
[6] See ante, vol. 1., bk. 9., chap. 3, p. 490.
[7] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 45.
[8] Gerdesius, tom. 3., p. 37. Brandt, vol. 1., p. 51.
[9] Gerdesius, tom. 3., p. 39.
[10] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 56. Gerdesius, tom. 3., p. 56.
[11] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 57, 58.
[12] Ibid.
[13] See ante, vol. 1., bk. 9., chap. 8; and vol. 2., bk. 12., chap. 2.
[14] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 79; Gerdesius, tom. 3., p, 143.
[15] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 42.
[16] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 52.
[17] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 53.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 4
[1] Badovaro MS., apud Motley, Rise of the Dutch Republic, pt. 1., chap. 1; Edin., 1859.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 5
[1] Watson, Philip ll., vol. 1., p. 118,
[2] Relat. Card. Bent., lib. 2., cap. 1, p. 45.
[3] Motley,. Rise of the Dutch Republic, pt. 1., ch. 3, p. 110.
[4] Bentivoglio. Chegli voleva piu tosto restar senza regni che possedergli con heresia.
[5] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 132, 133.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 6
[1] Bentivoglio.
[2] Motley, Rise of the Dutch. Republic, vol. 1., p. 170; Edin., 1859.
[3] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 108, 109.
[4] Ibid., vol. 1., p. 93.
[5] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 94.
[6] Ibid., vol. 1., p. 93.
[7] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 135.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 7
[1] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 138, 139.
[2] Hooft, 2. 42 apud Motley, 1. 178. Brandt, 1. 127,128.
[3] Strada, bk. 4., p. 79; Lond., 1667.
[4] Strada, bk. 4., p. 80.
[5] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 142.
[6] Brandt, vol. 1., 158.
[7] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 158, 159.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 8
[1] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 149.
[2] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 150.
[3] Strada, p. 183 apud Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 150, 151. Laval, vol. 3, p. 134.
[4] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 154. Laval, vol. 3., p. 134.
[5] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 158.
[6] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 154, 155. Laval, vol. 3., pp. 136, 137.
[7] Sleidan, Continuation, bk. 2., p. 27.
[8] Discours des Conjurations de ceux de la Maison de Guise, contre le Roy, son Royaume, les Princes de son Sang, et ses Etats; printed in 1565, and republished at Ratisbon in 1712, among the proofs of Satyre Menipee, tom. 3.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 9
[1] So Brandt affirms, on the authority of a MS. Journal in Juniuss own handwriting (vol. 1., p. 162).
[2] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 163.
[3] Watson; Philip II., vol. 1., pp. 255, 256.
[4] Motley, vol. 1., p. 224. Laval, vol. 3., p. 138.
[5] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 165.
[6] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 165, 166
[7] Pontus Peyen, 2., MS. apud Motley, vol. 1., p. 254.
[8] Gueux. It is a French word, and seems to be derived, says Brandt, from the Dutch Guits, which signifies as much as rogues, vagabonds, or sturdy beggars.
[9] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 167. Laval, vol. 3., p. 139.
[10] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 168,169.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 10
[1] Laval, vol. 3., p. 140.
[2] Ibid., p. 171.
[3] N. Burgund, Hist. Belg., lib. 3., p. 213 apud Brandt, vol. 1., p. 171.
[4] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 172.
[5] Ibid., p. 173.
[6] Ibid., p.174.
[7] Brandt, vol. 1, pp. 178, 179.
[8] Memoirs of Laurence Jacobson Real, an eye-witness apud Brandi, vol. 1., pp. 179 181.
[9] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 183.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 11
[1] Strada, lib. 5.
[2] Grotius, Annales, lib. 1., p. 22 apud Brandt, vol. 1., p. 191.
[3] Hooft, lib. 3., p. 99. Strada, lib. 5., p. 260. Brandt, vol. 1., p. 191.
[4] Strada, lib. 5.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Ibid.
[7] Strada, lib. 5.
[8] Strada, lib. 5
[9] Hooft, Strada, etc. apud Brandt, vol. 1., p. 192.
[10] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 192.
[11] Strada, p. 254 apud Brandt, vol. 1., p. 193.
[12] Ibid., lib. 5.
[13] Ibid., pp. 255, 269 apud Brandt, vol. 1., p. 193.
[14] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 194.
[15] Ibid., p. 258.
[16] Brandt, vol.1., p.196.
[17] Ibid., p. 197.
[18] Motley, 1., 282.
[19] Hooft, lib. 3. apud Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 199, 200.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 12
[1] Grotins, Annales, lib. 1., p. 23. Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 204, 205.
[2] Hooft, p. 111. Strada, p. 268. Brandt, vol. 1., p. 206.
[3] Letter of Morillon to Granvelle, 29th September, 1566, in Gachard, Annal. Belg., 254 apud Motley, vol. 1., p. 284.
[4] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 249.
[5] Valenciennes MS. (Roman Catholic), quoted by Motley, vol. 1., p. 325.
[6] Laval, vol. 3., p. 143.
[7] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 250, 251.
[8] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 251. Pontus Peyen MS. apud Motley, vol. 1., p. 325.
[9] Gachard, Preface to William the Silent apud Motley, vol. 1., p. 326.
[10] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 251.
[11] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 254.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 13
[1] Strada, bk. 6., p. 286.
[2] Meteren, vol. 2., f. 45.
[3] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 257.
[4] Strada. bk. 6., p. 29.
[5] Badovaro MS. apud Motley, vol. 1, p. 339.
[6] Strada, bk. 6., p. 30. Le Clerq, Hist. des Provinces Unies des Pays Bas, tom. 1., livr. 2., p. 13; Amsterdam, 1723.
[7] Strada
[8] Bentivoglio, lib. 2., cap. 3, pp. 50, 51. Hooft, vol. 4., pp. 150, 151. Brandt, vol. 1., p. 260.
[9] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 260.
[10] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 260. Meteren, lib. 3., p. 66.
[11] Ibid., vol. 1., p. 261.
[12] Le Clerq. Hist. des Provinces Unies, etc., tom. 1., livr. 2., p. 14.
[13] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 261.
[14] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 263.
[15] Ibid., p. 266.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 14
[1] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 267.
[2] Bentivoglio, lib. 2., cap. 3, p. 52. Strada, lib. 7. Brandt, vol. 1., p. 267.
[3] Strada, lib. 7.
[4] Strada, lib. 7. Brandt, vol. 1., p. 267.
[5] Strada, lib. 7. Watson, Philip II., vol. 1., pp. 329, 330.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 15
[1] Brandt, vol., 1., pp. 269, 270.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 271.
[4] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 275.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Strada, lib. 7. Brandt, vol. 1., p. 276.
[7] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 294
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 16
[1] Ad patibulum, ad patibulum. (Brandt)
[2] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 280.
[3] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 286, 287.
[4] Strada, lib. 7.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 295.
[7] Watson, Philip II., vol. 1., pp. 426-431.
[8] Strada, lib. 7.
[9] Steven, Hist. Scottish Church, Rotterdam, p. 304.
[10] Strada, lib. 7.
[11] Bentivoglio, lib. 2., p. 54.
[12] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 298.
[13] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 298
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 17
[1] Bor, 6. 398, 399. Strada, 7. 75; Lond., 1667.
[2] Strada, 7. 76.
[3] Strada, 7. 77.
[4] Bor, 6. 409 415.
[5] Brandt, vol. 1., bk. 10., p. 298.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 18
[1] Motley, vol. 2., p. 58.
[2] Strada, 7. 74.
[3] Strada, 7. 74.
[4] Hooft, 7. 293.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Thaunus, tom. 3., p. 218.
[7] Correspondance de Philippe II., 2. 1230.
[8] They revived, says Strada,:. the ancient invention of carrier pigeons. For a while before they were blocked up they sent to the princes fleet, and to the nearest towns of their own party, some of these pigeons..By these winged posts the Prince of Orange encouraged the townsmen to hold out for the last three months; till one of them, tired with flying, lighted upon a tent, and being shot by a soldier, ignorant of the stratagem, the mystery of the letters was discovered. (Bk, 7., p. 74,)
[9] Strada, bk. 7., p. 74.
[10] Bor, 6. 440. Hooft, 8. 312. Motley, vol. 2., p. 68. Watson, vol. 2., pp. 82, 83.
[11] Hooft, 8. 313.
[12] Correspondance de Philippe II., 2. 1253
[13] Brandt, vol. 1., p.303. Bor, 6. 441. Hooft, 8. 315, 316. Motley, vol. 2, p. 70.
[14] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 304.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 19
[1] Correspondance de Philippe II., 2. 1264.
[2] Hooft, 8. 324. Bor, 6. 453. Watson, 2. 95, 96.
[3] Thaunus, lib. 4., sec. 7. Meteren, p. 25. Watson, vol. 2., p. 99.
[4] Hooft, lib. 8. 332. Brandt, vol. 1., p. 306.
[5] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 307, 308.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 20
[1] Thaunus, lib. 4. Meteren, p. 133.
[2] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 310.
[3] Archives de la Maison dOrangc, 5:27 apud Motley, vol. 2., p. 122.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 21
none
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 22
[1] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 312, 313
[2] Strada, bk. 8., p. 11.
[3] Bor, lib, 8., pp. 648-650. Strada, bk. 8., pp. 11,12.
[4] Strada, bk. 8., pp. 13, 14.
[5] Bor, 9:728 732. Hooft, 11:460 465. Meteren, 6. 110. Strada, 8:21, 22. Brandt., 1:325. Motley, 2. 18.5 195.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 23
[1] Krasinski, Slavonia, p. 213.
[2] Watson, Philip II vol 2., p. 180. See also Letter to States of Brabant, in Bor, lib. 9., p. 695
[3] Bor, lib. 9, pp. 738 741. Brandt, vol. 1, pp. 327, 328. Sir William Temple, United Provinces of the Netherlands, p.33; Edin., 1747. Watson, Philip II., vol. 2., pp.193-195
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 24
[1] Strada, bk.9., p. 32.
[2] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 333
[3] Bentivoglio, lib. 10., pp. 192 195
[4] Bor, lib, 11., p. 916.
[5] Watson, Philip II., vol. 2., p. 221
[6] Bor, lib. 11., p. 900. Strada, bk. 9., p. 38.
[7] Braudt, vol. 1., p. 333
[8] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 334.
[9] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 338.
[10] Ibid., p. 339
[11] Ibid., p. 339.
[12] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 339 341. Motley in his great history, The Rise of the Dutch Republic, when speaking of the intolerance and bigotry of the religious bodies of the Netherlands, specially emphasises the
[13] Strada, bk. 10., p. 16
[14] Of the transport of his body through France, and its presentation to Philip II. in the Escorial, Strada (bk. 10.) gives a minute but horrible account. To avoid those vast expenses and ceremonious contentions of magistrates and priests at city gates, that usually waylay the progress of princes whether alive or dead, he caused him to be taken in pieces, and the bones of his arms, thighs, legs, breast, and head (the brains being taken out), with other the severed parts, filling three mails, were brought safely into Spain; where the bones being set again, with small wires, they easily rejointed all the body, which being filled with cotton, armed, and richly habited, they presented Don John entire to the king as if he stood only resting himself upon his commanders-staff, looking as if he lived and breathed. On presenting himself thus before Philip, the monarch was graciously pleased to permit Don John to retire to his grave, which he had wished might be beside that of his father, Charles V., in the Escorial.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 25
[1] Bor, lib. 13., p. 65; Hooft, lib. 15., p. 633
[2] See Articles of Union in full in Brandt; Sir W. Temple; Watson, Philip II.; Motley, Dutch RepubIic, etc..
[3] Temple, United Provinces, etc.., chap. 1., p. 38.
[4] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 366.
[5] Bor, lib. 13., pp. 58, 59. Brandt, vol. 1., p. 366
[6] Reidanus, ann. 2., 29. Gachard, Correspondance de Guillaume le Tacit, vol. 4., Preface. Bor, lib. 13., p. 95.
[7] The Apology is given at nearly full length in Watson, Philip II., vol. 3., Appendix
[8] Bor, lib. 15., pp. 181 185
[9] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 383
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 26
[1] Bor, lib. 15., pp. 185, 186
[2] Bor, lib. 17., pp. 297-301. Hooft, lib. 19., p. 295
[3] Message of William to the States-General, MS. apud Motley, vol. 2., p. 437
[4] Mon Dieu, ayez pitie de mon ame! mon Dieu, ayez pitie de ce pauvre peuple!
[5] The original authority from which the historians Bor, Meteren, Hooft, and others have drawn their details of the assassination of William of Orange is the Official Statement, compiled by order of the States-General, of which there is a copy in the Royal Library at the Hague. The basis of this Statement is the Confession of Balthazar Gerard, written by himself. There is a recent edition of this Confession, printed from an old MS. copy, and published by M. Gachard.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 27
[1] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 318, 319
[2] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 321, 322
[3] See Reasons of prescribing these Ecclesiastical Laws Brandt, vol. 1., p. 322.
[4] Abridgment of Brandts History, vol. 1., pp. 200 202.
[5] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 381, 382.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 28
[1] Brandt, vol. 1., pp. 384 386.
[2] Abridgment of Brandts History, vol. 1., p. 185.
[3] Brandt, vol. 1, p. 342.
[4] Abridgment of Brandts History, vol. 1., p. 196.
[5] Brandt, vol. 1., p. 383
[6] Ibid., p. 382
[7] Abridgment of Brandt, vol. 1., p. 207.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 29
[1] Meteren, lib. 4., p. 434.
[2] See Calv., Inst., lib. in., cap. 21, 22, etc.
[3] Brandt (abridg.), vol. 1., bk. 18., p. 267.
[4] Brandt A good conscience is Paradise,
[5] Brandt (abridg.), vol. 10., bk. 19., pp. 307, 308,
[6] See ante, vol. 1., bk. 5., chap. 15.
[7] Brandt (abridg), vol, 1., bk. 18, p. 285
[8] Brandt (abridg.), vol. 2., bk. 23., p, 394.
[9] Brandt (abridg.), vol. 2., bks. 23-28., pp. 397-504.
VOLUME THIRD- BOOK EIGHTEENTH- CHAPTER 30
[1] Muller, Universal History, 3. P. 67. Sir Willam Temple, United Provinces, chap, 1., p. 48; Eidn., 1747.
[2] Muller, 3. 68.
[3] The United Provinces, chap. 1., p. 49.
[4] Sir William Temple, chap. 7, p. 174.
[5] Sir William Temple. Compare chap. 1., p. 59, with chap. 8., p. 179.