The Golden Grasshopper: A story of the days of Sir Thomas Gresham

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Chapter Fourteen.

Events in Antwerp.

Once more we were in Antwerp. We stayed there, however, but a short time, to confer with Master Clough on various financial and commercial matters. I should mention that an attempt was made by the Papists to stir up enmity against the new Queen of England among the people of Antwerp, in order, if possible, to prevent Sir Thomas Gresham from obtaining the point he required. For this purpose a friar was engaged to preach a sermon. He furiously attacked the Queen, abused her as a heretic and a heathen, who cared not for God nor religion, and whose great object was to make all her people heathens, telling his hearers that any Catholic would be justified in putting her to death; not only that, but he would thereby perform a meritorious work, highly pleasing to the Church and to God. The indignation, however, of the people of Antwerp on hearing this sermon was very great, for at that time there were fully fifty thousand professed Protestants in that city, besides many more who secretly approved of their principles. Had the friar ventured abroad, there would have been little doubt that he would have been well bastinadoed by the populace. He must have suspected that such would be his fate if he showed himself.

The following day Sir Thomas received a visit from Master Lazarus Tucker. He came, he said, on the part of the friar to request that Sir Thomas would throw his protection over him, to save him from the treatment he was likely to receive. I had seldom seen my patron so amused.

“By my troth,” he answered, “this is impudence! Here is a villainous fellow who preaches black treason in the name of religion, and then sends to me, the envoy of the Queen’s Majesty, to protect him! No, no! let him go forth if he lists, and if he is well bastinadoed by the people, he will only obtain his desert.”

The friar, however, remained shut up in his house, but shortly afterwards, through the aid of Cardinal Granvelle, secretly left the city, and took refuge in Brussels. No man in authority was more hated at that time in the Netherlands than was Cardinal Granvelle. When Philip went to Spain, he had been left behind in Flanders. His ambition had procured for him a cardinal’s hat, and, by his insolent and imperious bearing, he soon incurred such deep hatred, that the first noblemen of the country conspired against him, and vowed to effect his ruin.

I was present on one occasion when the spirit which was abroad, even among people of the highest rank, exhibited itself. When at Brussels, our old friend Jasper Schetz, now Lord of Grobbendonck, invited Sir Thomas to a banquet. A large party of Flemish nobles were collected, among whom I felt myself a very humble person. The conversation turned upon the thoroughly hated Cardinal Granvelle, his luxurious style of living, and the air of haughty superciliousness with which he treated all who approached him. As the wine circulated, the abuse of the Cardinal became more vehement. His magnificent equipages, liveries, and the arrangements of his household, excited their derision; the way he lived, and the tinsel and glitter in which the prelate pranked himself, were contrasted with the simple habits and garments of the nobles of Germany.

At length it was proposed that the plainest possible livery should be adopted for the servants of all present, as unlike as possible to that worn by the menials of the Cardinal. Some one also proposed that a symbol should be added to the livery, to show the universal contempt for Granvelle. By whom should it be designed? was the question. It was agreed that the matter should be decided by lot. Dice were called for. Count Egmont won. A few days afterwards his retainers appeared in doublet and hose of the coarsest grey, long hanging sleeves, such as were worn by the humblest classes, the only ornament being a monk’s cowl, or a fool’s cap and bells, embroidered on the sleeves. The other nobles, who had been present at the dinner, ordered all their servants to appear in the same costume, which now became so popular, that all the tailors in Brussels could scarcely furnish those in demand. Many of them, indeed, wore in front of their dress a fool’s head with a cardinal’s hat upon it.

The Regent, Margaret of Parma, at first laughed with the rest at this proceeding, as she had no love for Granvelle. She induced the nobles to omit the fool’s cap from the livery, and to substitute a bundle of arrows, or a wheatsheaf. The Cardinal, who was soon after this recalled, took care to avenge himself on those who had thus mocked him. He represented to Philip, that though he could easily forgive the fools’ caps and cowls, yet the wheatsheaf and the bundle of arrows betokened the existence of a conspiracy against the authority of the Prince himself; and probably on that very occasion the death of Count Egmont was determined on by Philip and the Cardinal. They had, however, to abide their time.