Rebels and Reformers: Biographies for Young People

by Baron Arthur Ponsonby Ponsonby; Dorothea Ponsonby

It was on young William’s shoulder that the Emperor leant on the celebrated occasion of his abdication, when, worn out with illness, old before his time—for he was only fifty-five—sick of life and of his own schemes and wars, he gave up his crown and titles to his son, Philip, himself retiring into a monastery in the depths of Spain.

The superstition was still held at that period of history (and, in fact, up to more recent days) that a king is a king by divine right, and that he can therefore do no wrong. Charles’s record in crime is no mean one, though it does not perhaps equal that of his son Philip II. He was a despot, and a cruel despot, though he liked to regard himself, as many kings have before and since him, as merely fatherly. But he had behind his actions some sort of principle, while his son appeared to have none whatever. Charles had never let the system of Inquisition die down in the Netherlands, and on his accession he had immediately made efforts to bring the people to submission, visiting one of its principal towns with an army and taking away by force all its privileges, and imposing heavy fines upon its inhabitants. He passed edicts against the Protestantism of Luther, “to exterminate the root and ground of this pest,” and it is said burnt in his lifetime at the least fifty thousand people. How Charles could have been of service to the Netherlands it is difficult to see, for he only committed crimes against the people, crushing their independence wherever he could, and using their great industry as revenue for his endless wars in other parts of the world. Yet, as some of his admiring biographers tell us, no man could have gone to church more regularly. He attended Mass constantly, and listened to a sermon every Sunday.

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.