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Title: The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1555-59

Author: John Lothrop Motley

Release Date: January, 2004  [EBook #4804]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on March 12, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.

1855



PHILIP THE SECOND IN THE NETHERLANDS

1555-1558  [CHAPTER II.]

     Sketch of Philip the Second--Characteristics of Mary Tudor--Portrait
     of Philip--His council--Rivalry of Rup Gomez and Alva--Character of
     Rup Gomez--Queen Mary of Hungary--Sketch of Philibert of Savoy--
     Truce of Vaucelles--Secret treaty between the Pope and Henry II.--
     Rejoicings in the Netherlands on account of the Peace--Purposes of
     Philip--Re-enactment of the edict of 1b60--The King's dissimulation
     --"Request" to the provinces--Infraction of the truce in Italy--
     Character of Pope Paul IV.--Intrigues of Cardinal Caraffa--War
     against Spain resolved upon by France--Campaign in Italy--Amicable
     siege of Rome--Pence with the pontiff--Hostilities on the Flemish
     border--Coligny foiled at Douay--Sacks Lens--Philip in England--
     Queen Mary engages in the war--Philip's army assembled at Givet--
     Portrait of Count Egmont--The French army under Coligny and
     Montmorency--Siege of St.  Quentin--Attempts of the constable to
     relieve the city--Battle of St. Quentin--Hesitation and timidity of
     Philip--City of St. Quentin taken and sacked--Continued indecision
     of Philip--His army disbanded--Campaign of the Duke of Guise--
     Capture of Calais--Interview between Cardinal de Lorraine and the
     Bishop of Arran--Secret combinations for a league between France and
     Spain against heresy--Languid movements of Guise--Foray of De
     Thermes on the Flemish frontier--Battle of Gravelines--Popularity of
     Egmont--Enmity of Alva.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




1558-1559  [CHAPTER III.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Upon the King's accession to the sovereignty he had arranged a truce of
five years, which had been broken through by the faithlessness of France.
He had, therefore, been obliged, notwithstanding his anxiety to return to
a country where his presence was so much needed, to remain in the
provinces till he had conducted the new war to a triumphant close.
In doing this he had been solely governed by his intense love for the
Netherlands, and by his regard for their interests.  All the money which
he had raised from their coffers had been spent for their protection.
Upon this account his Majesty expressed his confidence that the estates
would pay an earnest attention to the "Request" which had been laid
before them, the more so, as its amount, three millions of gold florins,
would all be expended for the good of the provinces.  After his return to
Spain he hoped to be able to make a remittance.  The Duke of Savoy, he
continued, being obliged, in consequence of the fortunate change in his
affairs, to resign the government of the Netherlands, and his own son,
Don Carlos, not yet being sufficiently advanced in years to succeed to
that important post, his Majesty had selected his sister, the Duchess
Margaret of Parma, daughter of the Emperor, as the most proper person for
Regent.  As she had been born in the Netherlands, and had always
entertained a profound affection for the provinces, he felt a firm
confidence that she would prove faithful both to their interests and his
own.  As at this moment 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 upon 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.  All governors, councillors, and others having authority, were
also instructed to do their utmost to accomplish this great end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

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





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