Part 3

On this occasion of giving up his crown he stood before the people of the Netherlands, in the great hall of his palace at Brussels, clothed in black Imperial robes, with a pale face and tears streaming down his cheeks. He had a great sense of dramatic effect, and it was an impressive spectacle. He had persuaded himself that he had nothing on his conscience, and by so doing he persuaded his subjects too. He told them in a choking voice that he had been nothing but a benefactor, and that he had acted as he had done only for their good and because he cared for them. He told them how he regretted leaving the Netherlands and his reasons for going. A greater contrast could hardly be imagined than this worn-out man and the young and noble-looking being on whose shoulder he leant. But the Emperor, with a real regard for Orange, which was a bright spot in his character, passed him on with words of advice to Philip: for, believing as he did in young William’s great powers of statesmanship, he wished that his own son might defer to him and regard him as an adviser in time to come.

Philip at once set Orange to bring about peace between Spain and France, and this he accomplished with brilliant success, securing excellent terms for his master. Philip saw how great were Orange’s persuasive powers as a diplomatist, and realized how valuable he could be in his schemes.

Philip II was twenty-eight when he became king. He had not the pleasant manner of his father, and he was not nearly so cultivated or so diplomatic. Unlike Charles, he knew no language but Spanish. He was a small and wretched-looking creature in appearance, with thin legs and a narrow chest. His lower jaw protruded most horribly, and he had a heavy hanging lip and enormous mouth, inherited from his father. He was fair, with a yellow beard, and had a habit of always looking on the ground when he spoke, as if he had some crime to hide or as though he were suffering. This, it is said, came from pains in his stomach, the result of too great a love of pastry. It had been thought politic that he should marry Mary Tudor of England; and when Philip became king she had been his wife two years. They ought certainly to have been very happy together, having the same tastes—a hatred of Protestants and a delight in burning and massacring—but in spite of this they did not get on. Mary was older than Philip and very unattractive, so he neglected her completely and left her to herself in England, where she shortly afterwards died.

Philip’s ambition on his accession was to make peace with Europe in order to be able to devote himself to putting down what he called heresy. Orange was meanwhile chosen as a hostage by the King of France while the treaty between the two countries was being completed, and it was during his stay in France that Orange made the discovery which was to influence his whole life.

While he was hunting one day with the King of France (Henry II) in the Forest of Vincennes, he found himself alone with the King, who at once began to talk of all his plans and schemes, of which he was full to overflowing. The gist of the matter was a plot just formed between himself and the other Catholic sovereigns to put a final end to Protestantism or heresy. They had, Henry confided to Orange, solemnly bound themselves to kill all the converts to the New Religion in France and the Netherlands, and the Duke of Alva—a Spaniard and fellow-hostage of Orange—was to carry out their schemes. The King described exactly how they would set about ridding the world of “that accursed vermin,” how they were to be discovered and how massacred. In his excitement and enthusiasm the French King never observed how Orange was taking it. He believed him to be party to the whole arrangement. He failed to notice that Orange never opened his lips or spoke a word—for though absolutely horrified, the Prince managed to control his expression and to remain silent—and thus he earned his well-known but misleading title. But Orange, hearing all this, made up his mind. His purpose was fixed, and as soon as possible he got permission to visit the Netherlands, where he was determined to persuade the people to show opposition to the presence of the Spanish troops and to get them out of the country. They were put there by Philip for the one and only purpose of crushing independence and stamping on Protestantism. Orange found that an Inquisition had been decided upon, more terrible than anything that had gone before.

We have seen that already under Philip’s father the Netherlands had been treated with great cruelty, and the Papal Inquisition had been used to put a stop to Lutheranism. The spirit of the great Reformer had taken a firm hold in this country, and Luther’s work, combined with the work of Calvin in France, had made the country keenly Protestant and determined to resist any sort of Catholic domination. The Netherlands character itself was marked by one great quality which, in the words of the historian Motley, was “the love of liberty and the instinct of self-government.” The country was composed of brave and hardy races who for centuries had been fighting for their liberty against great odds. Divided as their country was into provinces, they had had no king of their own, but had been governed by feudal lords and treated as slaves and dependents, with no power or voice in their own government. From this wretched position they emerged by their own efforts. By their great industry and character they made themselves rich and powerful, and, forming themselves in the cities into trade guilds and leagues, they fought against, and in many cases turned out, the feudal lords, governing themselves by their own laws and choosing their own governors from among themselves. Seeing their great wealth and prosperity, neighboring countries were desirous of adding these riches to their own territories, and thus, through war and purchase, the Netherlands fell under the dominion of Burgundy with its powerful reigning dukes, and under Austria through further wars, and finally, by a marriage of a Prince of Burgundy with a Princess of Spain, they became subjects of the latter country.

Charles V was the first King of Spain and the Netherlands, and with his rule the worst of their trials began. Under the Burgundian dukes the people of the Netherlands had managed to retain self-government, firmly clinging to their liberties, and at no price would they consent to become a province of Spain. No two peoples could have been more opposite in character—Spain quite behind the age, bigoted, superstitious, violently Catholic, cruel and aristocratic; and the Netherlands, full of life and activity, the rival of Italy in art and learning, ready to go ahead and adopt all the advanced and enlightened thought of the Reformation. In trade they had no rivals, for they were the busiest manufacturers in the world. Their stuffs were celebrated everywhere, and their ships visited all the ports in the world. This happy, brave little people were to be crushed and persecuted for their valor. But they were to find a deliverer—a leader who was to be the source of their inspiration and courage in the awful days to come—one who was willing, though he could gain nothing by it, to throw in his lot with theirs, to suffer and endure the same as they.

Orange had not much sympathy with the Reformers. He was an aristocrat and a Catholic, and had never thought of being anything but completely loyal to kings—after all he was one of them: he had what is considered the privilege of addressing crowned heads as “cousin.” But his sense of justice was one of the strongest things in his character, and he was quite determined to protect the harmless multitudes in the Netherlands from the horrible punishments and deaths which were in store for them, and these people were all his inferiors by birth—what are termed “the masses.” Dyers, tanners, and trades-people were the only Protestants in those days, so it was a more tremendous thing than one thinks for an aristocrat to take up the cause of the people as Orange was about to do. It is generally some remarkable man among the people who fights for justice for his own class, and it was, as I have said, the more wonderful for William to have taken up the cause of the people as his sympathy did not come from his agreement with them on religion, but purely from his manly, just, and generous disposition.

At this time in his twenty-seventh year, William was very rich, prosperous, and powerful. Few perhaps realized that there lay within him the seeds of future greatness. But though he had a thoughtful and an intellectual nature, he also had a pleasure-loving, easygoing nature, and nothing could exceed the luxury and magnificence of the life he led in his great palace at Brussels. It was a life full of color, variety, and amusement, with masquerades, banquets, chases, and tourneys from morning till night. Twenty-four noblemen and eighteen pages of gentle birth served in his household. One day, in order to economize, Orange dismissed twenty-eight cooks! Princely houses in Germany sent their cooks to learn in his kitchen, so celebrated was the excellence of his dishes. He kept, as princes and noblemen did in those days, open house, but he did not keep his money. A contemporary historian—a Catholic and an opponent—describes him at this time:

Never did arrogant or indiscreet word issue from his mouth under the impulse of anger or other passion. If any of his servants committed a fault, he was satisfied to admonish them gently, without resorting to menace or to abusive language. He was master of a sweet and winning power of persuasion, by means of which he gave form to the great ideas within him, and thus he succeeded in bending to his will the other lords about the court as he chose, beloved and in high favour above all men with the people by reason of a gracious manner that he had of saluting and addressing in a fascinating and familiar way all whom he met.

Orange had become a widower at twenty-five, but two years later he married again; his bride was Anne of Saxony, the daughter of a great German Lutheran magnate. The marriage met with great opposition from the Catholics, and this seemed to make Orange only more determined. There was nothing to recommend Anne except her wealth and lands. She was lame and had no charm, and became later an odious and impossible woman who made her husband very unhappy.

King Philip meanwhile continued to shower honors upon Orange. He made him a Councilor of State and Stadtholder or Governor of Holland, Zeeland, and Utrecht, and head of the troops in those provinces. If Orange had been content to do as he was told, his prosperous, pleasant life might have continued. Fortune from his birth had smiled upon him, and everything that the heart of man could desire seemed to lie within the hollow of his hand. But at the risk of losing everything—his high honors and worldly position—he was to speak and to act as his heart and conscience told him to, which was in direct opposition to the King and to his own material welfare. From this time onwards Orange, in a quiet, determined way, resisted Philip and his commands. His resistance was so far guarded, as he could not as yet defy him openly. His first step by way of protecting the Netherlanders was to use his position to persuade some powerful members of the States General (a form of Parliament,) to refuse supplies unless the Spanish troops were removed. Philip had given Orange the names of “several excellent persons” suspected of the New Religion and commanded Orange to put them to death. Orange not only did not do this, but gave them warning so that they might escape. Philip now issued an edict that no one should read or copy any of the writings of Luther or Calvin, or discuss any doubtful matters in the Scriptures, or break images, on pain of death by fire, or by being beheaded or buried alive if a woman. The troops were to be there to enforce the edicts. He made more bishoprics in the Netherlands in order that the ruffian bishops might spy and pry and assist in finding heretics. The principal ruffian was one Granvelle, on whom the Pope conferred the title of cardinal.

Philip himself left the Netherlands for Spain, and made his half-sister, Margaret of Parma, Regent. She was thirty-seven and an ardent Catholic. Her recommendation to Philip was that she felt greater horror for heretics than for any other form of evil-doer. She was not particularly clever, but she had learnt to dissimulate—in other words, to tell stories—and never to give a direct answer to a question. She looked mannish, having a mustache, and she suffered from gout. This gave the impression that she was masterful and like a man, which she was not at all.

It was not long before Philip discovered that Orange was not seeing eye to eye with him. He found out that, as commander of the Spanish troops, he was using his position to check persecution. Philip therefore ceased to admit him and Count Egmont, another suspect, to the inner councils. But he was not willing to get rid of Orange or to drive him into rebellion. He knew his power, and the service he could still render, and he realized the great anger it would cause in the Netherlands were William to be dismissed. When the persecution under Granvelle and the enormities committed by the Spanish troops on innocent people became too much for Orange to bear without open protest, Philip, fearing a general revolt, undertook to do what Orange asked him. He dismissed the troops temporarily, and the Cardinal retired into Spain to hatch more horrible plots, especially against Orange, whom he hated more than any one in the world. Orange had threatened to resign if he remained. In doing this he was not in a temper; that was not his way, for he scarcely ever lost his head. When he addressed himself to Philip with these requests, he faced the consequences. He knew that he would almost certainly incur the everlasting anger of the King.

The country having a moment’s respite from Granvelle, Orange now set himself to obtain three things:

1. A regular meeting of the States General (or Parliament).

2. The organization of a real, single, and efficient Council of State that should be the supreme source of government.

3. A relaxation of the persecution of heresy.

He worked ceaselessly amongst the nobles trying to get their powerful aid on the side of the people and the Protestant Revolution, persuading Count Egmont, one of the foremost and most powerful of the Flemish noblemen, to go on a mission to Philip in Spain to beg him to relax his persecutions.

William of Orange’s younger brother, Louis, had also taken up the cause of the Reformers in a whole-hearted and enthusiastic spirit. He had the advantage over his brother of being an avowed anti-Catholic, and being perfectly free and fearless, he was able to do the most useful work in the way of propaganda and in inspiring resistance to the Catholics. He gathered together several violent and reckless young men, young aristocrats of spirit but of bad reputation, and he gave these young wastrels something to think about, something to work and to live for. Under his leadership they held meetings, and formed themselves into a League of Protest against the Inquisition, drawing up, as a result of their meetings, a petition to the Regent, Margaret of Parma, entitled _The Request_. But the writing of it was in such violent language—though perfectly justifiable in the circumstances—that Orange, who was more of a statesman than his brother, could not advise the Regent to accept it. He believed it would do more harm than good. But finally it was put into humbler and more polite language, and being signed by two hundred nobles and burghers in Holland, it was presented to the Regent. She was upset, and tried to get out of giving them any answer to their requests. She assured them she would ask the King. One of her court turned to her saying, “Is Your Highness to be terrorized by these beggars?” and hereafter the Leaguers took upon themselves this title, and went about in beggars’ garb of loose grey frieze, a terror to the Catholics and a great force, as their numbers increased, in the coming Revolution.

The position of Orange at this time, trying as he was to keep loyal to the King and yet to protect the people against him, was becoming more and more difficult to himself. At thirty, Orange was a very different man from what he had been at twenty-six. He had much changed, and was no longer the prosperous and brilliant grandee of those times, but worn and thin and sad. He could not sleep. His position was an impossible one. He could not yet be quite openly against the Catholics; he saw no prospect at present of throwing off the Spanish yoke, and he was not yet prepared for rebellion. He hated what we call propaganda, and the narrowness of the Calvinists. He was charged with treason on one side—the Spanish rulers regarded him as a rebel—and on the other he was looked upon by the Beggars as a lukewarm friend. He was between the devil and the deep sea, desperate and puzzled and seeing no way out. But this state of things did not last long. The excesses of the Spaniards were fast exasperating the Netherlanders. There were constant small outbreaks of rebellion, and finally a great riot of image-breaking in Antwerp. The troops were all recalled, and Orange was commanded to put down the rebels, to quell and to destroy them by the most extreme methods. Tumult, confusion, and outrage were everywhere, and as Orange refused to punish in the way he was requested, his command was brought to an end.

The Regent, through the advice of her brother, challenged him to take the oath “to serve His Majesty, and to act toward and against all and every as shall be ordered on his behalf, without limitation or restriction.” The Prince refused. He might, he said, be asked to kill his own wife. The Regent, still recognizing Orange’s power and qualities, and always hoping to get him on her side, begged him to remain with her and retain his offices. She pressed him to meet Egmont and other influential Flemish magnates to discuss the situation. Orange consented to this, and, seeing Egmont, begged him not to wait and become a party to the frightful holocaust of blood which was about to swamp the Netherlands. Egmont refused, partly out of loyalty to the sovereign and partly out of weakness. Orange, in taking farewell of him, embraced him and was convinced he would never see him again. He never did, for Egmont was, a little later, taken and put to death by the Catholics as a traitor.

This must have been the moment when Orange ceased to have any sympathy with the Catholic Church. But he so far had not joined any other sect, and had apparently no sympathy with the Calvinism which he was afterwards to embrace. He retired now to his palace at Brussels and gave up all his offices. Philip wrote him sham letters of regret while, secretly, he advised Alva to seize Orange and bring him to punishment. They had made their plans, and Orange was then formally outlawed as a rebel, and his eldest son, who was at the University, seized and taken to Spain—his father never saw him again. Orange left Brussels as an outlaw, retiring to his brother’s castle of Dillenburg, where he lived with his mother. Alva then arrived in Brussels at the head of a Spanish army, one of the most splendid ever seen—healthy, well-trained, and courageous. The outbursts of revolt had filled Philip and Granvelle with a perfect fury of vengeance; there in the depths of Spain they had been planning and hatching horrible plots together, and now they set to and worked the Inquisition for all it was worth. The head Inquisitor, Piter Titelman, with his underlings, would scour the country, rushing into people’s houses, dragging out so-called heretics, accusing them, and hanging or burning them without any evidence whatever.

What was the result? The more these fine people of the Netherlands were trampled on, the stronger their spirit of resistance grew. Orange set himself to raise and organize troops to protect them from Alva. He got together some French Huguenots and Flemish refugees, but he was doomed for the present to failure. He had not realized the strength of Alva as a general and of his magnificently organized troops. Only the valiant Louis, his brother, managed by extreme dash and courage to win one victory. Orange struggled on, in spite of reverses. “With God’s help,” he writes to his brother, “I am determined to go on”; but through lack of funds he had to disband his mercenaries, or paid soldiers, and retire again to Dillenburg. This was perhaps the most unhappy period of Orange’s life. He was outlawed and almost a beggar, for he had sold all he possessed—his jewels, his plate, and his lands; his wife was showing signs of losing her mind, and instead of being a comfort to her husband, she hurled abuse and cruel and unjust accusations at him, blaming him for all their misfortunes and giving him no comfort whatever. Only his wonderful mother stood by him and showed her strength and understanding until she died.

Still Orange, with his fortunes at their lowest ebb, did not lose heart or hope. He was lonely and abandoned, indeed, by most people; his resources seem to have come to an end; still he continued to make plans for saving his country. Every nerve he strained to get support for his cause. Day and night he worked—sending messengers to France and England to beg support and money for troops. He was finally supplied with eighteen vessels, and, looking back on the course of the struggle, this seems to have been the turning-point in the future of the Netherlands. They were to suffer still untold misfortunes, but from the moment that the struggle was carried on by sea, so, in proportion, the Spaniards ceased to tell. “The Beggars of the Sea,” as they now termed themselves, were an adventurous and fearless band. They had several successes, and seized the town of Brill and some smaller places. The revolt, gaining courage, spread like fire through Holland and Zeeland, Utrecht and Friesland; all the principal towns of these provinces hailed Orange as their leader and submitted themselves to his authority. Louis of Nassau dashed into France and seized Valenciennes and Mons. Orange himself was nearly taken by the Spaniards in a surprise night attack. They came to his camp when he was asleep with all his clothes on, as his habit was then, his arms beside him, and his horse saddled; but he was awakened by his favorite lapdog, which lay on his couch. So, in the statues of the Prince in Delft and The Hague, the little dog lies at his feet in bronze.

A terrible event now crushed Orange and temporarily set back the cause of Protestantism and freedom. This was the Massacre of St. Bartholomew in Paris, when Coligny, the leader of the Huguenots—the French Protestants—who had promised to come to the assistance of Orange, was murdered by the Catholics.

Orange went to live in Delft, which became his home. He had made up his mind to cast his lot for good and all with the Hollanders and Zeelanders in their struggle for freedom. There in their midst he continued to inspire their spirit of resistance and independence. His was the moving spirit which helped the Dutch gradually by their extraordinary endurance to wear down the Spanish armies. It was his spirit, too, that kept the Spanish at bay at the celebrated siege of Haarlem, when for seven months the inhabitants endured terrible sufferings—the women fighting for their lives as well as the men—until they were starved out. The relief of Leyden was effected by Orange’s own personal exertions, though ill with fever.