Philip II. of Spain 15

Philip II. of Spain 15

An elaborate appearance of his departure being spontaneous and only temporary was

made, but when two years afterwards his leave of absence had expired and

he wanted to go back, the king advised him to pass a short time in Rome,

and then he knew for certain that disgrace had fallen upon him. He would

go thither--or to the farthest end of the world--he said, if the king

ordered him, but he much feared that his absence from Flanders would not mend matters. He had departed from Brussels in the spring of 1564, and the three nobles at once wrote dutiful letters to Philip, who replied graciously.

They once more took an active part in the government, and in the first

few months after Granvelle left, the relief and rejoicing were great.

But the sore still remained behind. Granvelle, indeed, had only carried

out the policy inaugurated by Philip of governing Flanders as a Spanish

province. The policy was not dead though the instrument was disgraced.

Such a system of government, where popular control is loosened,

invariably leads to corruption; and this case was no exception to the

rule. Granvelle’s parasites--Morillon, Bave, Bordey, and the rest of

them--had made his patronage a crying scandal, the judges were

shamelessly bought and sold, the administration was a sink of iniquity,

the inquisitor Titelmans was ferociously hounding to death inoffensive

citizens, even good Catholics, without legal form of trial, and now

Margaret of Parma herself, and her pet secretary, Armenteros, thought it

was time that they should reap a fat harvest; so, after the first joy of

Granvelle’s retreat had passed, it was decided by the nobles to send

Egmont to Spain to explain to the king how the rights he swore to

maintain were still being violated. Egmont might take with him the

vigorous protest of his peers, but Egmont was one of those men whom

princes like Philip have no cause to fear. He was vain and superficial,

and easily soothed into satisfaction. Philip made much of him, promised

him “mounts and marvels,” chided him a little; and sent him home

rejoicing, full of praises for the generosity and magnanimity of the

king. But Philip’s policy was not varied a hair’s-breadth nevertheless.

On the contrary, there is no room for doubt that he had now made up his

mind to break the spirit of the stubborn Flemings for once and for all,

and to stamp out the rebellious talk about rights and privileges which

he had sworn to maintain. There were no mundane rights and privileges

that should stand against the will of God’s own vice-regent upon earth.

“God and his Majesty” had willed that the Flemings must be governed like

the Spaniards, and that was enough. No sooner had Egmont left Madrid

than the king sent strict orders that nothing was to be changed, and

that heresy was to be pursued without mercy or truce. Thousands of

industrious citizens were flocking over to England, carrying their looms

and their household gods with them, and English Protestants looked more

sourly than ever upon Philip and all his works. Philip remained unmoved.

The fewer heretics there were in Flanders the easier would it be for him

to have his way later. “Kill! kill!” wrote one of Philip’s Spanish

friars to him; “we must kill 2000 people all over the States. Your

Majesty has the weapon which God has placed in your hand. Draw it, bathe

it in the blood of heretics, unless you wish the blood of Christ to cry

to God. Moderation touches not your Majesty. Let them seek moderation

in their heresies to save their lives.”

 

But Philip was in no hurry; he only told his sister that nothing was to

be changed. “You know,” answered she, “how the Spanish Inquisition is

hated here. I have already told you that to suppress heresy here I am

asked to cast into the flames 60,000 or 70,000 people, and the governors

of the provinces will not allow it. They wish to resign, and I also

shall be obliged to do so.”

 

Philip’s answer in a few words gives a clearer idea of his character

than a volume could do. For months he did not answer at all, and then

wrote, “Why all these disquietudes? Are not my intentions understood? Is

it believed that I have any intentions than the service of God and the

good of the States?” Persecution might crush Latin peoples if continued

long enough, but it could not crush the stubborn Dutchmen. There arose

now a new element in the strife. Hitherto the motive power had mostly

been the great nobles, Catholics nearly all of them, whose object was to

prevent the extinction of the political liberties of the States; but now

the religious power of resistance was aroused, and the bourgeoisie stood

shoulder to shoulder crying aloud that no papist should burn them or

theirs for the faith. Many such had fled to England, but the towns of

Holland and Zeeland were full of them still. First the landed gentlemen

protested, under the leadership of Orange’s brother, Louis of Nassau,

and Saint Aldegonde, against the proceedings of the Inquisition; and

they bound themselves by solemn oath to follow the recent example of the

Neapolitans and withstand the “gang of strangers,” who were seeking to

impose the Spanish form of the Holy Office upon them. Then Brederode,

the man of highest lineage and most insatiable thirst in Holland, joined

them, and together they went, a couple of hundred of them, to hand their

solemn protest to the regent. Tears fell from Margaret’s eyes as they

filed past her, for she knew now that her brother’s stubborn spirit had

met its match, and in future it must be war to the knife. Then the

Gargantuan banquet at the hostelry of Culemburg unlocked their tongues

still further, and tippling Brederode gave his memorable toast to the

“Beggars.” No one knew what he meant, perhaps he did not himself know at

the end of such an orgy, but the name caught on, and the sturdy

“Beggars” arose thenceforward from their dykes and marshes to be quelled

no more for good, but to hold for all time to come the country which

they themselves had rescued from the sea.

 

The new turn of affairs did not please the great nobles. They were

Catholics, though patriots, and they saw that the championship of the

national cause was about to fall into the hands of the Protestants; so

Egmont, Horn, Montigny, Arschot, and the rest of them did their best to

stem the tide. All but Orange. He knew Philip better than any of them,

and he foresaw that there would be no surrender or conciliation from

him. Why should there be? Could the lieutenant of the Most High stoop to

palter with sottish Brederode and his crew? If Philip had spies in

Flanders, so had Orange in Madrid, and nothing passed without his

knowledge. He had learned of the king’s plans of vengeance, but he could

not afford yet to cast himself into the scale alone with Brederode and

the little gentry, leaving the great nobles on the side of the Spaniard;

so for the moment he stood aloof saying no word either of praise or

condemnation, but seeking to moderate the storm on both sides. But the

spark had caught the tinder. Protestant fervour blazed up in every town

in Flanders in open defiance of the edicts. The regent was powerless.

She could not punish all Flanders, and violent councillors of the Alba

school whispered distrust to Philip even of her, for she wrote

ceaselessly to her brother urging him to gentler methods. His action was

characteristic: at first he authorised his sister to pardon the

confederates and suppress the Inquisition, and with reassuring words

sought to gain Orange to his side. But only a week after (August 9,

1566) he signed a solemn document before a notary, setting forth that he

was not bound by his promise, and would punish all those who had

directly or indirectly aided the disturbances. He avowed to the pope

that the Inquisition in Flanders should be upheld at all costs, and that

his promise to suppress it was void. “Before allowing any backsliding in

religion, or in the service of God, I will lose all my dominions and a

hundred lives, if I had them, for I will never be a ruler of heretics.”

Thus Philip threw down the gage. Then came the sacking of Catholic

churches by the mob in Antwerp, St. Omer, Malines, and elsewhere, sacred

images profaned, sacrilegious mockeries perpetrated, holy mysteries

blasphemously parodied, and priceless treasures of art wantonly wrecked.

The Protestant mob, in fact, was paramount, and the regent and her

inquisition could only look on in dismay, until the former fell ill and

lost all heart. Philip was very far from doing that. Away in distant

Spain, trying to pull the wires that move humanity from his work-room,

his only policy was extermination of heresy, utter and complete.

 

Wise Granvelle, even the pope himself, warned him that too much severity

might defeat his own purpose. The king scornfully and coldly rebuked

even the pontiff for his weakness. In the meanwhile Alba was storming in

the council at Philip’s delay in giving the orders for extermination.

But Philip looked upon himself as one who turned the handle of the

wheels of fate, and was in no hurry. He wanted to watch closely which

were the tallest heads to be stricken first. The regent was working

night and day, making such concessions as she dared, whilst putting down

tumult by force of arms. The Catholic nobles too, Egmont especially,

were doing their best with their armed Walloons to suppress with a

strong hand rebellion at Valenciennes and elsewhere, but Orange was in

Antwerp standing apart from both factions, and Saint Aldegonde with a

rabble was in arms outside the city. At length even diplomatic Orange

had to quit the mask. Distrusted by both parties, but idolised by the

peaceful citizens of Antwerp, who only asked to be allowed to live in

quietude, he saw the time had come; and early in 1567 reverted to the

faith of his fathers, and promised to lead the cause of reform. Tumult

immediately ceased; the regent’s severity and conciliation together, and

the blind adhesion of the nobles, except Orange and Brederode, had

suppressed all disorder by the spring, and “all the cities are coming

now to us with halters round their necks.” Orange was in Germany making

preparations for the fray, whilst Flemish Protestants were flying to

England again by the hundred, crying out that Orange and Brederode had

betrayed and abandoned them. Margaret entered Antwerp in state and

rejoicing, and all looked calm and happy, except to those who were led

to the halter and the stake for the service of “God and his Majesty.” It

was but the calm that precedes the storm; and if no one else perceived

this, Philip and Orange certainly did so. The former knew that he must

crush the national feeling, and the nobles that started it, that he must

make Flanders a province of Spain before he could have his own way in

all things, and he decided to go himself with Alba and superintend the

killing, or at least he announced his intention of making the voyage,

which gave him an excuse for raising a considerable fleet and a large

force as an escort. The Queen of England affected to rejoice at her

“good brother’s” coming; but the English fleet was hastily fitted out,

and all England was in a panic of apprehension as to what it might

forebode. In vain the Regent Margaret assured the king that all was

quiet, and that no more punishment was now needed. The king replied that

he wished personally to thank her and others who had brought about the

pacification.

 

At last when all was ready in Spain, vast sums of money collected, and

the troops under arms--no longer an escort but an avenging army--Philip

announced that he could not go himself, but would send the Duke of Alba

alone. Then all the world saw what it meant. The regent protested that

the presence of Alba would be fatal, “as he is so detested in this

country that his coming itself will be sufficient to make all the

Spanish nation hated.” If he comes she must retire; and retire she did.

The news of Alba’s coming sped across the Channel by the Protestant

fugitives, and Elizabeth at once retorted by renewed severity against

the Catholics in England. Huguenots in France, Lutherans in Germany,

Protestants in England, all knew now that the time of struggle was