Philip, who seems to have shunned any direct intercourse with his Flemish subjects, had been averse to have Egmont, or any other envoy, sent to Madrid. On learning that the mission was at length settled, he wrote to Margaret that he had made up his mind to receive the count graciously, and to show no discontent with the conduct of the lords. That the journey, however, was not without its perils, may be inferred from a singular document that has been preserved to us. It is signed by a number of Egmont's personal friends, each of whom traced his signature in his own blood. In this paper the parties pledge their faith, as true knights and gentlemen, that if any harm be done to Count Egmont during his absence, they will take ample vengeance on Cardinal Granvelle, or whoever might be the author of it.[645] The cardinal seems to have been the personification of evil with the Flemings of every degree. This instrument, which was deposited with the Countess Egmont, was subscribed with the names of seven nobles, most of them afterwards conspicuous in the troubles of the country. One might imagine that such a document was more likely to alarm than to reassure the wife to whom it was addressed.[646]
In the beginning of January, Egmont set out on his journey. He was accompanied for some distance by a party of his friends, who at Cambray gave him a splendid entertainment. Among those present was the archbishop of Cambray, a prelate who had made himself unpopular by the zeal he had shown in the persecution of the Reformers. As the wine-cup passed freely round, some of the younger guests amused themselves with frequently pledging the prelate, and endeavoring to draw him into a greater degree of conviviality than was altogether becoming his station. As he at length declined their pledges, they began openly to taunt him; and one of the revellers, irritated by the archbishop's reply, would have thrown a large silver dish at his head, had not his arm been arrested by Egmont. Another of the company, however, succeeded in knocking off the prelate's cap;[647] and a scene of tumult ensued, from which the archbishop was extricated, not without difficulty, by the more sober and considerate part of the company. The[{237}] whole affair—mortifying in the extreme to Egmont—is characteristic of the country at this period; when business of the greatest importance was settled at the banquet, as we often find in the earlier history of the revolution.
EGMONT SENT TO SPAIN.
Egmont's reception at Madrid was of the most flattering kind. Philip's demeanor towards his great vassal was marked by unusual benignity; and the courtiers, readily taking their cue from their sovereign, vied with one another in attentions to the man whose prowess might be said to have won for Spain the great victories of Gravelines and St. Quentin. In fine, Egmont, whose brilliant exterior and noble bearing gave additional lustre to his reputation, was the object of general admiration during his residence of several weeks at Madrid. It seemed as if the court of Castile was prepared to change its policy, from the flattering attentions it thus paid to the representative of the Netherlands.
During his stay, Egmont was admitted to several audiences, in which he exposed to the monarch the evils that beset the country, and the measures proposed for relieving them. As the two most effectual, he pressed him to mitigate the edicts, and to reorganize the council of state.[648] Philip listened with much benignity to these suggestions of the Flemish noble; and if he did not acquiesce, he gave no intimation to the contrary, except by assuring the count of his determination to maintain the integrity of the Catholic faith. To Egmont personally he showed the greatest indulgence, and the count's private suits sped as favorably as he could have expected. But a remarkable anecdote proves that Philip, at this very time, with all this gracious demeanor, had not receded one step from the ground he had always occupied.
Not long after Egmont's arrival, Philip privately called a meeting of the most eminent theologians in the capital. To this conclave he communicated briefly the state of the Low Countries, and their demand to enjoy freedom of conscience in matters of religion. He concluded by inquiring the opinion of his auditors on the subject. The reverend body, doubtless supposing that the king only wanted their sanction to extricate himself from the difficulties of his position, made answer, "that, considering the critical situation of Flanders, and the imminent danger, if thwarted, of its disloyalty to the crown and total defection from the Church, he might be justified in allowing the people freedom of worshipping in their own way." To this Philip sternly replied, "He had not called them to learn whether he might grant this to the Flemings, but whether he must do so."[649] The flexible conclave, finding they had mistaken their cue, promptly answered in the negative; on which Philip, prostrating himself on the ground before a crucifix, exclaimed, "I implore thy divine majesty, Ruler of all things, that thou keep me in the mind that I am in, never to allow myself either to become or to be called the lord of those who reject thee for their Lord."[650]—The story was told to the historian who records it by a member of the assembly, filled with admiration at the pious[{238}] zeal of the monarch! From that moment the doom of the Netherlands was sealed.
Yet Egmont had so little knowledge of the true state of things, that he indulged in the most cheerful prognostications for the future. His frank and cordial nature readily responded to the friendly demonstrations he received, and his vanity was gratified by the homage universally paid to him. On leaving the country, he made a visit to the royal residences of Segovia and of the Escorial,—the magnificent pile already begun by Philip, and which continued to occupy more or less of his time during the remainder of his reign. Egmont, in a letter addressed to the king, declares himself highly delighted with what he has seen at both these places, and assures his sovereign that he returns to Flanders the most contented man in the world.[651]
When arrived there, early in April, 1565, the count was loud in his profession of the amiable dispositions of the Castilian court towards the Netherlands. Egmont's countrymen—William of Orange and a few persons of cooler judgment alone excepted—readily indulged in the same dream of sanguine expectation, flattering themselves with the belief that a new policy was to prevail at Madrid, and that their country was henceforth to thrive under the blessings of religious toleration.—It was a pleasing illusion, destined to be of no long duration.