History of the Reign of Philip the Second, King of Spain, Vols. 1 and 2

by William Hickling Prescott

The free people of the Netherlands felt the same dread of the Inquisition that a free and enlightened people of our own day might be supposed to feel. They looked with gloomy apprehension to the unspeakable misery it was to bring to their firesides, and the desolation and ruin to their country. Everything that could in any way be connected with it took the dismal coloring of their fears. The edicts of Charles the Fifth, written in blood, became yet more formidable, as declaring the penalties to be inflicted by this tribunal. Even the erection of the bishoprics, so necessary a measure, was regarded with distrust on account of the inquisitorial powers which of old were vested in the bishops, thus seeming to give additional strength to the arm of persecution. The popular feeling was nourished by every new convert to the Protestant faith, as well as by those who, from views of their own, were willing to fan the flame of rebellion.

Another reason why Philip's policy met with greater opposition than that of his predecessor was the change in the condition of the people themselves. Under the general relaxation of the law, or rather of its execution, in the latter days of Charles the Fifth, the number of the Reformers had greatly multiplied. Calvinism predominated in Luxemburg, Artois, Flanders, and the states lying nearest to France. Holland, Zealand, and the North, were the chosen abode of the Anabaptists. The Lutherans swarmed in the districts bordering on Germany; while Antwerp, the commercial capital of Brabant, and the great mart of all nations, was filled with sectaries of every description. Even the Jew, the butt of persecution in the Middle Ages, is said to have lived there unmolested. For such a state of things, it is clear that very different legislation was demanded than for that which existed under Charles the Fifth. It was one thing to eradicate a few noxious weeds, and quite another to crush the sturdy growth of heresy, which in every direction now covered the land.

A further reason for the aversion to Philip, and one that cannot be too often repeated, was that he was a foreigner. Charles was a native Fleming; and much may be forgiven in a countryman. But Philip was a Spaniard,—one of a nation held in greatest aversion by the men of the Netherlands. It should clearly have been his policy, therefore, to cover up this defect in the eyes of the inhabitants by consulting their national prejudices, and by a show, at least, of confidence in their leaders. Far from this, Philip began with placing a Spanish army on their borders in time of peace. The administration[{228}] he committed to the hands of a foreigner. And while he thus outraged the national feeling at home, it was remarked that into the royal council at Madrid, where the affairs of the Low Countries, as of the other provinces, were settled in the last resort, not a Fleming was admitted.[606] The public murmured. The nobles remonstrated and resisted. Philip was obliged to retrace his steps. He made first one concession, then another. He recalled his troops, removed his minister. The nobles triumphed, and the administration of the country passed into their hands. People thought the troubles were at an end. They were but begun. Nothing had been done towards the solution of the great problem of the rights of conscience. On this the king and the country were at issue as much as ever. All that had been done had only cleared the way to the free discussion of this question, and to the bloody contest that was to follow.

On the departure of Granvelle, the discontented lords, as we have seen, again took their seats in the council of state. They gave the most earnest assurances of loyalty to the king, and seemed as if desirous to make amends for the past by an extraordinary devotion to public business. Margaret received these advances in the spirit in which they were made; and the confidence which she had formerly bestowed on Granvelle, she now transferred in full measure to his successful rivals.[607]

It is amusing to read her letters at this period, and to compare them with those which she wrote to Philip the year preceding. In the new coloring given to the portraits it is hard to recognize a single individual. She cannot speak too highly of the services of the lords,—of the prince of Orange, and Egmont above all,—of their devotion to the public weal and the interests of the sovereign. She begs her brother again and again to testify his own satisfaction by the most gracious letters to those nobles that he can write.[608] The suggestion seems to have met with little favor from Philip. No language, however, is quite strong enough to express Margaret's disgust with the character and conduct of her former minister, Granvelle. It is he that has so long stood betwixt the monarch and the love of the people. She cannot feel easy that he should still remain so near the Netherlands. He should be sent to Rome.[609] She distrusts his influence, even now, over the cabinet at Madrid. He is perpetually talking, she understands, of the probability of his speedy return to Brussels. The rumor of this causes great uneasiness in the country. Should he be permitted to return, it would undoubtedly be the signal for an insurrection.[610]—It is clear the duchess had sorely suffered from the tyranny of Granvelle.[611][{229}]

ASCENDANCY OF THE NOBLES.

But notwithstanding the perfect harmony which subsisted between Margaret and the principal lords, it was soon seen that the wheels of government were not destined to run on too smoothly. Although the cardinal was gone, there still remained a faction of Cardinalists, who represented his opinions, and who, if few in number, made themselves formidable by the strength of their opposition. At the head of these were the viscount de Barlaimont and the President Viglius.

The former, head of the council of finance, was a Flemish noble of the first class,—yet more remarkable for his character than for his rank. He was a man of unimpeachable integrity, stanch in his loyalty both to the Church and to the crown, with a resolute spirit not to be shaken, for it rested on principle.

His coadjutor, Viglius, was an eminent jurist, an able writer, a sagacious statesman. He had been much employed by the emperor in public affairs, which he managed with a degree of caution that amounted almost to timidity. He was the personal friend of Granvelle, had adopted his views, and carried on with him a constant correspondence, which is among our best sources of information. He was frugal and moderate in his habits, not provoking criticism, like that minister, by his ostentation and irregularities of life. But he was nearly as formidable, from the official powers with which he was clothed, and the dogged tenacity with which he clung to his purposes. He filled the high office of president both of the privy council and of the council of state, and was also keeper of the great seal. It was thus obviously in his power to oppose a great check to the proceedings of the opposite party. That he did thus often thwart them is attested by the reiterated complaints of the duchess. "The president," she tells her brother, "makes me endure the pains of hell by the manner in which he traverses my measures."[612] His real object, like that of Granvelle and of their followers, she says on another occasion, is to throw the country into disorder. They would find their account in fishing in the troubled waters. They dread a state of tranquillity, which would afford opportunity for exposing their corrupt practices in the government.[613]

To these general charges of delinquency the duchess added others, of a more vulgar peculation. Viglius, who had taken priest's orders for the purpose, was provost of the church of St. Bavon. Margaret openly accused him of purloining the costly tapestries, the plate, the linen, the jewels, and even considerable sums of money belonging to the church.[614] She insisted on the impropriety of allowing such a man to hold office under the government.