Rebels and Reformers: Biographies for Young People

by Baron Arthur Ponsonby Ponsonby; Dorothea Ponsonby

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.

In 1573 Orange became a Calvinist, so as to identify himself more completely with the cause he had at heart. But he was not a bigoted Calvinist any more than he had been a devoted Catholic. He had always been ready to respect the good side of every religion. He never could understand why people should not live happily together, praying in their own way. The spirit of Religion appealed to him, not the letter or the doctrine. He would have been content to remain a Catholic, had it not been for the Church’s persecutions.