Holland - Thomas Colley Grattan
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[Footnote 2: Strada.]
Philip was conscious that he had himself to blame for the consequent
disorder. In nominating the members of the two councils, he had
overreached himself in his plan for silently sapping the liberty
that was so obnoxious to his designs. But to neutralize the influence
of the restive members, he had left Granvelle the first place
in the administration. This man, an immoral ecclesiastic, an
eloquent orator, a supple courtier, and a profound politician,
bloated with pride, envy, insolence, and vanity, was the real
head of the government.[3] Next to him among the royalist party
was Viglius, president of the privy council, an erudite schoolman,
attached less to the broad principles of justice than to the letter
of the laws, and thus carrying pedantry into the very councils of
the state. Next in order came the count de Berlaimont, head of
the financial department--a stern and intolerant satellite of the
court, and a furious enemy to those national institutions which
operated as checks upon fraud. These three individuals formed
the stadtholderess's privy council. The remaining creatures of
the king were mere subaltern agents.
[Footnote 3: Strada, a royalist, a Jesuit, and therefore a fair
witness on this point, uses the following words in portraying the
character of this odious minister: _Animum_avidum_invidumque,_ac_
_simultates_inter_principem_et_populos_occulti_foventum_.]
A government so composed could scarcely fail to excite discontent
and create danger to the public weal. The first proof of incapacity
was elicited by the measures required for the departure of the
Spanish troops. The period fixed by the king had already expired,
and these obnoxious foreigners were still in the country, living
in part on pillage, and each day committing some new excess.
Complaints were carried in successive gradation from the government
to the council, and from the council to the king. The Spaniards
were removed to Zealand; but instead of being embarked at any of
its ports, they were detained there on various pretexts. Money,
ships, or, on necessity, a wind, was professed to be still wanting
for their final removal, by those who found excuses for delay in
every element of nature or subterfuge of art. In the meantime
those ferocious soldiers ravaged a part of the country. The simple
natives at length declared they would open the sluices of their
dikes; preferring to be swallowed by the waters rather than remain
exposed to the cruelty and rapacity of those Spaniards. Still
the embarkation was postponed; until the king, requiring his
troops in Spain for some domestic project, they took their
long-desired departure in the beginning of the year 1561.
The public discontent at this just cause was soon, however,
overwhelmed by one infinitely more important and lasting. The
Belgian clergy had hitherto formed a free and powerful order in
the state, governed and represented by four bishops, chosen by
the chapters of the towns or elected by the monks of the principal
abbeys. These bishops, possessing an independent territorial
revenue, and not directly subject to the influence of the crown,
had interests and feelings in common with the nation. But Philip
had prepared, and the pope had sanctioned, the new system of
ecclesiastical organization before alluded to, and the provisional
government now put it into execution. Instead of four bishops, it
was intended to appoint eighteen, their nomination being vested
in the king. By a wily system of trickery, the subserviency of
the abbeys was also aimed at. The new prelates, on a pretended
principle of economy, were endowed with the title of abbots of
the chief monasteries of their respective dioceses. Thus not
only would they enjoy the immense wealth of these establishments,
but the political rights of the abbots whom they were to succeed;
and the whole of the ecclesiastical order become gradually
represented (after the death of the then living abbots) by the
creatures of the crown.
The consequences of this vital blow to the integrity of the national
institutions were evident; and the indignation of both clergy
and laity was universal. Every legal means of opposition was
resorted to, but the people were without leaders; the states
were not in session. While the authority of the pope and the king
combined, the reverence excited by the very name of religion, and
the address and perseverance of the government, formed too powerful
a combination, and triumphed over the national discontents which
had not yet been formed into resistance. The new bishops were
appointed; Granvelle securing for himself the archiepiscopal
see of Mechlin, with the title of primate of the Low Countries.
At the same time Paul IV. put the crowning point to the capital
of his ambition, by presenting him with a cardinal's hat.
The new bishops were to a man most violent, intolerant, and it
may be conscientious, opponents to the wide-spreading doctrines
of reform. The execution of the edicts against heresy was confided
to them. The provincial governors and inferior magistrates were
commanded to aid them with a strong arm; and the most unjust and
frightful persecution immediately commenced. But still some of
these governors and magistrates, considering themselves not only
the officers of the prince, but the protectors of the people,
and the defenders of the laws rather than of the faith, did not
blindly conform to those harsh and illegal commands. The Prince
of Orange, stadtholder of Holland, Zealand, and Utrecht, and
the count of Egmont, governor of Flanders and Artois, permitted
no persecutions in those five provinces. But in various places
the very people, even when influenced by their superiors, openly
opposed it. Catholics as well as Protestants were indignant at
the atrocious spectacles of cruelty presented on all sides. The
public peace was endangered by isolated acts of resistance, and
fears of a general insurrection soon became universal.
The apparent temporizing or seeming uncertainty of the champions
of the new doctrines formed the great obstacle to the reformation,
and tended to prolong the dreadful struggle which was now only
commencing in the Low Countries. It was a matter of great difficulty
to convince the people that popery was absurd, and at the same time
to set limits to the absurdity. Had the change been from blind
belief to total infidelity, it would (as in a modern instance)
have been much easier, though less lasting. Men might, in a time
of such excitement, have been persuaded that _all_ religion
productive of abuses such as then abounded was a farce, and that
common sense called for its abolition. But when the boundaries
of belief became a question; when the world was told it ought to
reject some doctrines, and retain others which seemed as difficult
of comprehension; when one tenet was pronounced idolatry, and
to doubt another declared damnation--the world either exploded
or recoiled: it went too far or it shrank back; plunged into
atheism, or relapsed into popery. It was thus the reformation
was checked in the first instance. Its supporters were the
strong-minded and intelligent; and they never, and least of all
in those days, formed the mass. Superstition and bigotry had
enervated the intellects of the majority; and the high resolve
of those with whom the great work commenced was mixed with a
severity that materially retarded its progress. For though personal
interests, as with Henry VIII. of England, and rigid enthusiasm,
as with Calvin, strengthened the infant reformation; the first
led to violence which irritated many, the second to austerity
which disgusted them; and it was soon discovered that the change
was almost confined to forms of practice, and that the essentials
of abuse were likely to be carefully preserved. All these, and
other arguments, artfully modified to distract the people, were
urged by the new bishops in the Netherlands, and by those whom
they employed to arrest the progress of reform.
Among the various causes of the general confusion, the situation
of Brabant gave to that province a peculiar share of suffering.
Brussels, its capital, being the seat of government, had no
particular chief magistrate, like the other provinces. The executive
power was therefore wholly confided to the municipal authorities
and the territorial proprietors. But these, though generally
patriotic in their views, were divided into a multiplicity of
different opinions. Rivalry and resentment produced a total want
of union, ended in anarchy, and prepared the way for civil war.
William of Nassau penetrated the cause, and proposed the remedy
in moving for the appointment of a provincial governor. This
proposition terrified Granvelle, who saw, as clearly as did his
sagacious opponent in the council, that the nomination of a special
protector between the people and the government would have paralyzed
all his efforts for hurrying on the discord and resistance which
were meant to be the plausible excuses for the introduction of
arbitrary power. He therefore energetically dissented from the
proposed measure, and William immediately desisted from his demand.
But he at the same time claimed, in the name of the whole country,
the convocation of the states-general. This assembly alone was
competent to decide what was just, legal, and obligatory for
each province and every town. Governors, magistrates, and simple
citizens, would thus have some rule for their common conduct;
and the government would be at least endowed with the dignity
of uniformity and steadiness. The ministers endeavored to evade
a demand which they were at first unwilling openly to refuse.
But the firm demeanor and persuasive eloquence of the Prince
of Orange carried before them all who were not actually bought
by the crown; and Granvelle found himself at length forced to
avow that an express order from the king forbade the convocation
of the states, on any pretext, during his absence.
The veil was thus rent asunder which had in some measure concealed
the deformity of Philip's despotism. The result was a powerful
confederacy, among all who held it odious, for the overthrow of
Granvelle, to whom they chose to attribute the king's conduct; thus
bringing into practical result the sound principle of ministerial
responsibility, without which, except in some peculiar case of
local urgency or political crisis, the name of constitutional
government is but a mockery. Many of the royalist nobles united
for the national cause; and even the stadtholderess joined her
efforts to theirs, for an object which would relieve her from
the tyranny which none felt more than she did. Those who composed
this confederacy against the minister were actuated by a great
variety of motives. The duchess of Parma hated him, as a domestic
spy robbing her of all real authority; the royalist nobles, as
an insolent upstart at every instant mortifying their pride.
The counts Egmont and Horn, with nobler sentiments, opposed him
as the author of their country's growing misfortunes. But it is
doubtful if any of the confederates except the Prince of Orange
clearly saw that they were putting themselves in direct and personal
opposition to the king himself. William alone, clear-sighted
in politics and profound in his views, knew, in thus devoting
himself to the public cause, the adversary with whom he entered
the lists.
This great man, for whom the national traditions still preserve
the sacred title of "father" (Vader-Willem), and who was in truth
not merely the parent but the political creator of the country,
was at this period in his thirtieth year. He already joined the
vigor of manhood to the wisdom of age. Brought up under the eye
of Charles V., whose sagacity soon discovered his precocious
talents, he was admitted to the councils of the emperor at a
time of life which was little advanced beyond mere boyhood. He
alone was chosen by this powerful sovereign to be present at
the audiences which he gave to foreign ambassadors, which proves
that in early youth he well deserved by his discretion the surname
of "the taciturn." It was on the arm of William, then twenty
years of age, and already named by him to the command of the
Belgian troops, that this powerful monarch leaned for support on
the memorable day of his abdication; and he immediately afterward
employed him on the important mission of bearing the imperial
crown to his brother Ferdinand, in whose favor he had resigned
it. William's grateful attachment to Charles did not blind him
to the demerits of Philip. He repaired to France, as one of the
hostages on the part of the latter monarch for the fulfilment
of the peace of Cateau-Cambresis; and he then learned from the
lips of Henry II., who soon conceived a high esteem for him,
the measures reciprocally agreed on by the two sovereigns for
the oppression of their subjects. From that moment his mind was
made up on the character of Philip, and on the part which he
had himself to perform; and he never felt a doubt on the first
point, nor swerved from the latter.
But even before his patriotism was openly displayed, Philip had
taken a dislike to one in whom his shrewdness quickly discovered
an intellect of which he was jealous. He could not actually remove
William from all interference with public affairs; but he refused
him the government of Flanders, and opposed, in secret, his projected
marriage with a princess of the House of Lorraine, which was
calculated to bring him a considerable accession of fortune,
and consequently of influence. It may be therefore said that
William, in his subsequent conduct, was urged by motives of personal
enmity against Philip. Be it so. We do not seek to raise him
above the common feelings of humanity; and we should risk the
sinking him below them, if we supposed him insensible to the
natural effects of just resentment.
The secret impulses of conduct can never be known beyond the
individual's own breast; but actions must, however questionable,
be taken as the tests of motives. In all those of William's
illustrious career we can detect none that might be supposed to
spring from vulgar or base feelings. If his hostility to Philip
was indeed increased by private dislike, he has at least set an
example of unparalleled dignity in his method of revenge; but in
calmly considering and weighing, without deciding on the question,
we see nothing that should deprive William of an unsullied title
to pure and perfect patriotism. The injuries done to him by Philip
at this period were not of a nature to excite any violent hatred.
Enough of public wrong was inflicted to arouse the patriot, but
not of private ill to inflame the man. Neither was William of
a vindictive disposition. He was never known to turn the knife
of an assassin against his royal rival, even when the blade hired
by the latter glanced from him reeking with his blood. And though
William's enmity may have been kept alive or strengthened by the
provocations he received, it is certain that, if a foe to the
king, he was, as long as it was possible, the faithful counsellor
of the crown. He spared no pains to impress on the monarch who
hated him the real means for preventing the coming evils; and
had not a revolution been absolutely inevitable, it is he who
would have prevented it.
Such was the chief of the patriot party, chosen by the silent
election of general opinion, and by that involuntary homage to
genius which leads individuals in the train of those master-minds
who take the lead in public affairs. Counts Egmont and Horn,
and some others, largely shared with him the popular favor. The
multitude could not for some time distinguish the uncertain and
capricious opposition of an offended courtier from the determined
resistance of a great man. William was still comparatively young;
he had lived long out of the country; and it was little by little
that his eminent public virtues were developed and understood.
The great object of immediate good was the removal of Cardinal
Granvelle. William boldly put himself at the head of the confederacy.
He wrote to the king, conjointly with Counts Egmont and Horn,
faithfully portraying the state of affairs. The duchess of Parma
backed this remonstrance with a strenuous request for Granvelle's
dismission. Philip's reply to the three noblemen was a mere tissue
of duplicity to obtain delay, accompanied by an invitation to
Count Egmont to repair to Madrid, to hear his sentiments at large
by word of mouth. His only answer to the stadtholderess was a
positive recommendation to use every possible means to disunite
and breed ill-will among the three confederate lords. It was
difficult to deprive William of the confidence of his friends,
and impossible to deceive him. He saw the trap prepared by the
royal intrigues, restrained Egmont for a while from the fatal
step he was but too well inclined to take, and persuaded him and
Horn to renew with him their firm but respectful representations;
at the same time begging permission to resign their various
employments, and simultaneously ceasing to appear at the court
of the stadtholderess.
In the meantime every possible indignity was offered to the cardinal
by private pique and public satire. Several lords, following
Count Egmont's example, had a kind of capuchon or fool's-cap
embroidered on the liveries of their varlets; and it was generally
known that this was meant as a practical parody on the cardinal's
hat. The crowd laughed heartily at this stupid pleasantry; and
the coarse satire of the times may be judged by a caricature,
which was forwarded to the cardinal's own hands, representing him
in the act of hatching a nest full of eggs, from which a crowd
of bishops escaped, while overhead was the devil _in_propria_
_persona_, with the following scroll: "This is my well-beloved
son--listen to him!"
Philip, thus driven before the popular voice, found himself forced
to the choice of throwing off the mask at once, or of sacrificing
Granvelle. An invincible inclination for manoeuvring and deceit
decided him on the latter measure; and the cardinal, recalled
but not disgraced, quitted the Netherlands on the 10th of March,
1564. The secret instructions to the stadtholderess remained
unrevoked; the president Viglius succeeded to the post which
Granvelle had occupied; and it was clear that the projects of
the king had suffered no change.
Nevertheless some good resulted from the departure of the unpopular
minister. The public fermentation subsided; the patriot lords
reappeared at court; and the Prince of Orange acquired an increasing
influence in the council and over the stadtholderess, who by his
advice adopted a conciliatory line of conduct--a fallacious but
still a temporary hope for the nation. But the calm was of short
duration. Scarcely was this moderation evinced by the government,
when Philip, obstinate in his designs, and outrageous in his
resentment, sent an order to have the edicts against heresy put
into most rigorous execution, and to proclaim throughout the
seventeen provinces the furious decree of the Council of Trent.
The revolting cruelty and illegality of the first edicts were
already admitted. As to the decrees of this memorable council,
they were only adapted for countries in submission to an absolute
despotism. They were received in the Netherlands with general
reprobation. Even the new bishops loudly denounced them as unjust
innovations; and thus Philip found zealous opponents in those on
whom he had reckoned as his most servile tools. The stadtholderess
was not the less urged to implicit obedience to the orders of the
king by Viglius and De Berlaimont, who took upon themselves an
almost menacing tone. The duchess assembled a council of state,
and asked its advice as to her proceedings. The Prince of Orange
at once boldly proposed disobedience to measures fraught with
danger to the monarchy and ruin to the nation. The council could
not resist his appeal to their best feelings. His proposal that
fresh remonstrances should be addressed to the king met with
almost general support. The president Viglius, who had spoken
in the opening of the council in favor of the king's orders, was
overwhelmed by William's reasoning, and demanded time to prepare
his reply. His agitation during the debate, and his despair of
carrying the measures against the patriot party, brought on in
the night an attack of apoplexy.
It was resolved to despatch a special envoy to Spain, to explain
to Philip the views of the council, and to lay before him a plan
proposed by the Prince of Orange for forming a junction between
the two councils and that of finance, and forming them into one
body. The object of this measure was at once to give greater
union and power to the provisional government, to create a central
administration in the Netherlands, and to remove from some obscure
and avaricious financiers the exclusive management of the national
resources. The Count of Egmont, chosen by the council for this
important mission, set out for Madrid in the month of February,
1565. Philip received him with profound hypocrisy; loaded him
with the most flattering promises; sent him back in the utmost
elation: and when the credulous count returned to Brussels, he
found that the written orders, of which he was the bearer, were
in direct variance with every word which the king had uttered.
These orders were chiefly concerning the reiterated subject of
the persecution to be inflexibly pursued against the religious
reformers. Not satisfied with the hitherto established forms of
punishment, Philip now expressly commanded that the more revolting
means decreed by his father in the rigor of his early zeal, such
as burning, living burial, and the like, should be adopted; and
he somewhat more obscurely directed that the victims should be no
longer publicly immolated, but secretly destroyed. He endeavored,
by this vague phraseology, to avoid the actual utterance of the word
"inquisition"; but he thus virtually established that atrocious
tribunal, with attributes still more terrific than even in Spain;
for there the condemned had at least the consolation of dying
in open day, and of displaying the fortitude which is rarely
proof against the horror of a private execution. Philip had thus
consummated his treason against the principles of justice and the
practices of jurisprudence, which had heretofore characterized
the country; and against the most vital of those privileges which
he had solemnly sworn to maintain.
His design of establishing this horrible tribunal, so impiously
named "holy" by its founders, had been long suspected by the
people of the Netherlands. The expression of those fears had
reached him more than once. He as often replied by assurances
that he had formed no such project, and particularly to Count
d'Egmont during his recent visit to Madrid. But at that very time
he assembled a conclave of his creatures, doctors of theology,
of whom he formally demanded an opinion as to whether he could
conscientiously tolerate two sorts of religion in the Netherlands.
The doctors, hoping to please him, replied, that "he might, for
the avoidance of a greater evil." Philip trembled with rage,
and exclaimed, with a threatening tone, "I ask not if I _can_,
but if I _ought_." The theologians read in this question the
nature of the expected reply; and it was amply conformable to
his wish. He immediately threw himself on his knees before a
crucifix, and raising his hands toward heaven, put up a prayer
for strength in his resolution to pursue as deadly enemies all
who viewed that effigy with feelings different from his own. If
this were not really a sacrilegious farce, it must be that the
blaspheming bigot believed the Deity to be a monster of cruelty
like himself.
Even Viglius was terrified by the nature of Philip's commands;
and the patriot lords once more withdrew from all share in the
government, leaving to the duchess of Parma and her ministers the
whole responsibility of the new measures. They were at length put
into actual and vigorous execution in the beginning of the year
1566. The inquisitors of the faith, with their familiars, stalked
abroad boldly in the devoted provinces, carrying persecution
and death in their train. Numerous but partial insurrections
opposed these odious intruders. Every district and town became
the scene of frightful executions or tumultuous resistance. The
converts to the new doctrines multiplied, as usual, under the
effects of persecution. "There was nowhere to be seen," says a
contemporary author, "the meanest mechanic who did not find a
weapon to strike down the murderers of his compatriots." Holland,
Zealand and Utrecht alone escaped from those fast accumulating
horrors. William of Nassau was there.
CHAPTER VIII
COMMENCEMENT OF THE REVOLUTION
A.D. 1566
The stadtholderess and her ministers now began to tremble. Philip's
favorite counsellors advised him to yield to the popular despair;
but nothing could change his determination to pursue his bloody
game to the last chance. He had foreseen the impossibility of
reducing the country to slavery as long as it maintained its
tranquillity, and that union which forms in itself the elements
and the cement of strength. It was from deep calculation that
he had excited the troubles, and now kept them alive. He knew
that the structure of illegal power could only be raised on the
ruins of public rights and national happiness; and the materials
of desolation found sympathy in his congenial mind.