Philip II. of Spain

by Martin A. S. Hume

WE have seen that Philip had left his Flemish subjects (August 1559) in no very amiable mood. The opulent, independent communities of the Low Countries held firmly by the liberties they enjoyed. Every ruler had to swear—as Philip had done—to uphold and preserve them intact; on that point nobles and burghers were at one, and amongst the rights they prized most was that no foreigner should be appointed to any administrative post. The Burgundian rulers, although foreigners, had got on well enough with them, and so had the emperor. It was more a question of tastes and manners than of blood; superabundant hospitality, heavy eating, deep drinking, and rough speaking quickly commended a man to the Flemings. The Spaniard of that day was, as he still remains, sober and abstemious to the highest degree, reticent, sensitive, and proud, and Philip was a Spaniard to the finger-tips.

The natural want of sympathy between sovereign and people arising out of these circumstances doubtless began the trouble which ended in Spain’s downfall. No part of Philip’s career shows so clearly as his treatment of the Netherlands the limited and inelastic character of his policy, the lack of adaptability of his methods; for how should a man be yielding or conciliatory who supposed that he was part and parcel of Divine Providence, the one man on earth selected by the Almighty to carry out His irresistible decrees? There is no reason to suppose that when he first decided upon the rearrangement of the Flemish dioceses he desired to offend his subjects; it was probably only a step in his persistent policy of bringing the clergy of his dominions under his more immediate control. But in order to pay his new bishops he designed to appropriate the large revenues of the conventual houses, and he thus raised up against him all the cloistered clergy. The pope was bribed to agree to the change, but the Flemings, already sulky, were willing to listen to the monks, who denounced the innovations of the foreigner which were to deprive them of their revenues, and what would have been under other circumstances a not unwelcome reform became a fruitful source of trouble. There is no doubt, moreover, that before the king attended the States-General just prior to his departure he had every intention of withdrawing the Spanish infantry from Flanders now that peace had been made with France, and the men were badly wanted in Naples, where his principal danger at present lay. But when the States-General so roughly demanded of their sovereign the immediate withdrawal of the troops, Philip’s heart must have hardened and his pride revolted that these independent-minded Flemings should question his omnipotence. Another difficulty was that the troops obstinately refused to budge until they were paid, and the treasury was empty. The Flemings, who had been bled freely during the war, professed inability to find any more resources, and the Antwerp bankers shut their money-bags until some of their previous advances were paid. When Philip arrived in Spain, his sister Margaret, Duchess of Parma, governess of the Netherlands, ceaselessly urged him to withdraw the troops. She assured him that their further stay would cause trouble, and Granvelle warned him gravely of the results. With the first half of his French wife’s dowry of 400,000 ducats Philip was able to pay the troops in the autumn of 1560, and they left in January 1561; but by that time the evil seed had been sown, and Philip was pestered in every letter with reminders of the various rights and privileges which he had sworn to uphold in the respective states. Most of the unpopularity fell upon Granvelle, who had to carry out the arrangements for the new bishoprics. He found his task so difficult that before long he “wished to God that the erection of these new sees had never been thought of,” although the change made him Primate of the Netherlands, and gave the king the advantage of thirteen nominated members in the Assembly of Nobles. This latter fact, indeed, probably to a great extent was the original aim of the project, and was certainly one of the principal reasons why the Flemish nobles opposed it so bitterly.

Granvelle himself, be it recollected, was a foreigner, a Franche-Comtois, and his luxurious, ostentatious mode of life was an additional reason for his unpopularity. Margaret, on the other hand, whose mother had been a Fleming, and whose masculine manners and purely Flemish tastes commended her to her countrymen, was far from being unpopular.

The nobles who had first distinguished themselves by resisting the further stay of the Spanish troops were William, Prince of Orange, and Count Egmont. The former was not a Fleming in blood or education, his principality of Orange being in the south of France, and his descent mainly German Lutheran. By his county of Nassau, however, he was a Flemish prince, and had been brought up in the court of the emperor, of whom he had been a great favourite. His historical name of “the taciturn” gives a very false idea of his character, especially in his youth. He was like a Southern Frenchman in manners, gay, fascinating, prodigal, and voluble. His religious opinions, if he had any, were extremely lax, and he was as ready to seek his advantage on one side as another. His religion indeed was as purely political as that of Philip, but as a statesman he must be ranked far higher, for he had all Philip’s tenacity and foresight, with an opportunism almost as great as that of Elizabeth herself.

Count Egmont, on the other hand, was a dashing and fortunate soldier, chief of the Flemish nobility, handsome, vain, proud, and honest, but of limited intelligence, and exceedingly credulous. The first overt step of these two nobles was to resign the commands they held over the Spanish troops, on the ground that, if they continued to hold them, they would lose all influence in the country. When the Spanish troops had left, Orange and Egmont continued, as usual, to attend the Flemish council of state appointed by Philip to advise Margaret. But the king before he departed had arranged that his own Spanish method of administration should be followed, namely, that the regent and the secretary of state, Granvelle, should practically manage everything, referring to the council only such points as they considered necessary.

As time went on, and Granvelle became more unpopular about the bishoprics, he referred less and less to the council, and in July 1561 Orange and Egmont wrote to the king resigning their seats and complaining bitterly. They had, they said, to bear a share of the unpopularity of the measures adopted, but had no part in controlling the policy of the Government. To this Philip returned, as was usual with him, a temporising answer. He would, he said, consider the matter and reply at length when Count Horn returned from Madrid to Flanders.

Horn’s mission to Flanders was to endeavour to reconcile Granvelle with the nobles, but this was a well-nigh impossible task. It was said that the cardinal and his parasites were plundering right and left, whilst public officers were unpaid and the treasury empty, that he was trying to substitute the unobnoxious inquisition of the Netherlands by the terrible tribunal of Spain, which certainly was not true, and that his arrogance and tyranny had become unbearable. Granvelle indeed was the scapegoat, and had become hateful both to the nobles and to “that perverse animal called the people,” to use his own words. So Horn’s mission was too late, like most of Philip’s attempts at conciliation, and in the spring of 1562 Orange petitioned the Regent Margaret to convoke the States-General. The regent herself, though full of praise for the cardinal in her letters to Philip, had no desire to share his unpopularity, and consented to summon, not the States-General, but a Chapter of the Knights of the Golden Fleece, or in effect the high nobility of Flanders. The pretext for the assembly was that Philip had sent orders that a force of men should be raised in Flanders to be sent to the aid of the Catholic party in France, now in the midst of their first struggle with the Huguenots. The discontented Flemish nobles were in no humour to aid in this, and before the assembly Orange held a private meeting of them, to press upon them the undesirability of allowing Granvelle to have the disposal of troops. This was known to the regent, and she dismissed the assembly as soon as possible, an arrangement being settled for sending a money subsidy to the French Catholics instead of an armed force. But before the nobles separated they decided to send as a delegate to Philip one of their number, Florence de Montmorenci, Baron de Montigny, the brother of Count Horn, to represent to the king the unsatisfactory state of the country with regard to religion and the public finances. He and his brother were Catholics, but firm upholders of the autonomy of the States. Before he left, religious matters were indeed in a disturbed condition. Hainhault, on the French border, with its great commerce and industry in the cities of Tournai, and Valenciennes especially, had largely accepted the Protestant faith from the neighbouring French Calvinists. Philip urged his sister to severity against them, but the magistrates, themselves Flemings, hesitated to torture their fellow-citizens, whose political privileges protected them against such treatment. Margaret threatened the magistrates, and the people of Valenciennes took the matter in their own hands, broke open the prison, and released the accused. Margaret might storm, as she did, Philip might cynically recommend that heads should be lopped, bodies burnt, and mouths gagged, but the Marquis de Bergues, the governor of Hainhault, was a Fleming, and would not countenance any infringement on the rights of his people. Upon him then fell the blame. Nothing that Granvelle could say to the king was bad enough for Bergues, and in return Egmont, Orange, and Horn ceaselessly cast the responsibility upon Granvelle. Letter after letter went to the king in this sense. Philip, as usual, was cool and unmoved. He is not, he says, in the habit of punishing his ministers without just cause. But proud Alba did not take it so coolly. “Every time I see the letters of these three Flemish lords I fall into such a rage, that, if I did not make a great effort to control myself, your Majesty would think me frantic.” Granvelle, on his part, tried to fan the flame. “They want to reduce this country to a sort of republic, in which the king can do more than they like,” and when the Marquis de Bergues was asked by the Duke of Arschot what course he would take if the king would not give way, his reply, as repeated to Philip, was, “By God! we will make him swallow it.”

Things thus went from bad to worse. Granvelle at length saw that he must bend before the storm, and offered concessions to the nobles. But it was too late. Nearly all the nobles, governors, and Knights of Golden Fleece had now sworn to stand together to overthrow the hated foreign cardinal, and a formal letter was sent to the king in March 1563, signed by Orange, Egmont, and Horn, resigning all share in the government. The reply was again in Philip’s temporising vein. He was coming to Flanders himself shortly, and would then inquire into their complaints. In the meanwhile he could not dismiss Granvelle. The nobles sent another, and a stronger, letter to the king in answer to this (July 29, 1563), and said that in future they should absent themselves from the council. At the same time a formal “remonstrance” was addressed to the regent, and thenceforward she and Granvelle were left to govern alone. Margaret had no wish to be dragged down by the impending fall of the minister, and bluntly told Philip, by her trusty secretary, Armenteros, that, if the cardinal were maintained against the will of nobles and people, a revolution might result. Granvelle was assured by the king’s secretary that Philip would rather lose the States than sacrifice his minister. The king sent a curt peremptory letter to the nobles reproaching them for deserting the council for a trifle, and assured the cardinal that he would not deprive himself of his services. But they arranged between them that the cardinal should beg for leave of absence to visit his mother in the Franche Comté and, after much pretended reluctance on the part of Philip, Granvelle was allowed to depart, to the open rejoicing of the nobles, the people, and even of the regent. An elaborate appearance of his departure being spontaneous and only temporary was made, but when two years afterwards his leave of absence had expired and he wanted to go back, the king advised him to pass a short time in Rome, and then he knew for certain that disgrace had fallen upon him. He would go thither—or to the farthest end of the world—he said, if the king ordered him, but he much feared that his absence from Flanders would not mend matters.

He had departed from Brussels in the spring of 1564, and the three nobles at once wrote dutiful letters to Philip, who replied graciously. They once more took an active part in the government, and in the first few months after Granvelle left, the relief and rejoicing were great. But the sore still remained behind. Granvelle, indeed, had only carried out the policy inaugurated by Philip of governing Flanders as a Spanish province. The policy was not dead though the instrument was disgraced. Such a system of government, where popular control is loosened, invariably leads to corruption; and this case was no exception to the rule. Granvelle’s parasites—Morillon, Bave, Bordey, and the rest of them—had made his patronage a crying scandal, the judges were shamelessly bought and sold, the administration was a sink of iniquity, the inquisitor Titelmans was ferociously hounding to death inoffensive citizens, even good Catholics, without legal form of trial, and now Margaret of Parma herself, and her pet secretary, Armenteros, thought it was time that they should reap a fat harvest; so, after the first joy of Granvelle’s retreat had passed, it was decided by the nobles to send Egmont to Spain to explain to the king how the rights he swore to maintain were still being violated. Egmont might take with him the vigorous protest of his peers, but Egmont was one of those men whom princes like Philip have no cause to fear. He was vain and superficial, and easily soothed into satisfaction. Philip made much of him, promised him “mounts and marvels,” chided him a little; and sent him home rejoicing, full of praises for the generosity and magnanimity of the king. But Philip’s policy was not varied a hair’s-breadth nevertheless. On the contrary, there is no room for doubt that he had now made up his mind to break the spirit of the stubborn Flemings for once and for all, and to stamp out the rebellious talk about rights and privileges which he had sworn to maintain. There were no mundane rights and privileges that should stand against the will of God’s own vice-regent upon earth. “God and his Majesty” had willed that the Flemings must be governed like the Spaniards, and that was enough. No sooner had Egmont left Madrid than the king sent strict orders that nothing was to be changed, and that heresy was to be pursued without mercy or truce. Thousands of industrious citizens were flocking over to England, carrying their looms and their household gods with them, and English Protestants looked more sourly than ever upon Philip and all his works. Philip remained unmoved. The fewer heretics there were in Flanders the easier would it be for him to have his way later. “Kill! kill!” wrote one of Philip’s Spanish friars to him; “we must kill 2000 people all over the States. Your Majesty has the weapon which God has placed in your hand. Draw it, bathe it in the blood of heretics, unless you wish the blood of Christ to cry to God. Moderation touches not your Majesty. Let them seek moderation in their heresies to save their lives.”

But Philip was in no hurry; he only told his sister that nothing was to be changed. “You know,” answered she, “how the Spanish Inquisition is hated here. I have already told you that to suppress heresy here I am asked to cast into the flames 60,000 or 70,000 people, and the governors of the provinces will not allow it. They wish to resign, and I also shall be obliged to do so.”