The discussions occupied many and long-protracted sittings of the council; and Philip deeply pondered, in his own closet, on the results, after the discussions were concluded. Even those most familiar with his habits were amazed at the long delay of his decision in the present critical circumstances.[794] The haughty mind of the monarch found it difficult to bend to the required concessions. At length his answer came.
The letter containing it was addressed to his sister, and was dated on the thirty-first of July, 1566, at the Wood of Segovia,—the same place from which he had dictated his memorable despatches the year preceding. Philip began, as usual, with expressing his surprise at the continued troubles of the country. He was not aware that any rigorous procedure could be charged on the tribunals, or that any change had been made in the laws since the days of Charles the Fifth. Still, as it was much more agreeable to his nature to[{270}] proceed with clemency and love than with severity,[795] he would conform as far as possible to the desires of his vassals.
He was content that the Inquisition should be abolished in the Netherlands, and in its place be substituted the inquisitorial powers vested in the bishops. As to the edicts, he was not pleased with the plan of Moderation devised by Margaret; nor did he believe that any plan would satisfy the people short of perfect toleration. Still, he would have his sister prepare another scheme, having due reference to the maintenance of the Catholic faith and his own authority. This must be submitted to him, and he would do all that he possibly could in the matter.[796] Lastly, in respect to a general pardon, as he abhorred rigor where any other course would answer the end,[797] he was content that it should be extended to whomever Margaret thought deserving of it,—always excepting those already condemned, and under a solemn pledge, moreover, that the nobles would abandon the league, and henceforth give their hearty support to the government.
Four days after the date of these despatches, on the second of August, Philip again wrote to his sister, touching the summoning of the states-general, which she had so much pressed. He had given the subject, he said, a most patient consideration, and was satisfied that she had done right in refusing to call them together. She must not consent to it. He never would consent to it.[798] He knew too well to what it must inevitably lead. Yet he would not have her report his decision in the absolute and peremptory terms in which he had given it to her, but as intended merely for the present occasion; so that the people might believe she was still looking for something of a different tenor, and cherish the hope of obtaining their object at some future day![799]
The king also wrote, that he should remit a sufficient sum to Margaret to enable her to take into her pay a body of ten thousand German foot and three thousand horse, on which she could rely in case of extremity. He further wrote letters with his own hand to the governors of the provinces and the principal cities, calling on them to support the regent in her efforts to enforce the laws and maintain order throughout the country.[800]
Such were the concessions granted by Philip, at the eleventh hour, to his subjects of the Netherlands!—concessions wrung from him by hard necessity; doled out, as it were, like the scanty charity of the miser,—too scanty and too late to serve the object for which it is intended. But slight as these concessions were, and crippled by conditions which rendered them nearly nugatory, it will hardly be believed that he was not even sincere in making them! This is proved by a revelation lately made of a curious document in the Archives of Simancas.
PHILIP'S CONCESSIONS.
While the ink was scarcely dry on the despatches to Margaret, Philip summoned[{271}] a notary into his presence, and before the duke of Alva and two other persons, jurists, solemnly protested that the authority he had given to the regent in respect to a general pardon was not of his own free will. "He therefore did not feel bound by it, but reserved to himself the right to punish the guilty, and especially the authors and abettors of sedition in the Low Countries."[801] We feel ourselves at once transported into the depths of the Middle Ages. This feeling will not be changed when we learn the rest of the story of this admirable piece of kingcraft.
The chair of St. Peter, at this time, was occupied by Pius the Fifth, a pope who had assumed the same name as his predecessor, and who displayed a spirit of fierce, indeed frantic intolerance, surpassing even that of Paul the Fourth. At the accession of the new pope there were three Italian scholars, inhabitants of Milan, Venice, and Tuscany, eminent for their piety, who had done great service to the cause of letters in Italy, but who were suspected of too liberal opinions in matters of faith. Pius the Fifth demanded that these scholars should all be delivered into his hands. The three states had the meanness to comply. The unfortunate men were delivered up to the Holy Office, condemned, and burned at the stake. This was one of the first acts of the new pontificate. It proclaimed to Christendom that Pius the Fifth was the uncompromising foe of heresy, the pope of the Inquisition. Every subsequent act of his reign served to confirm his claim to this distinction.
Yet, as far as the interests of Catholicism were concerned, a character like that of Pius the Fifth must be allowed to have suited the times. During the latter part of the fifteenth century and the beginning of the sixteenth, the throne had been filled by a succession of pontiffs notorious for their religious indifference, and their carelessness, too often profligacy, of life. This, as is well known, was one of the prominent causes of the Reformation. A reaction followed. It was necessary to save the Church. A race of men succeeded, of ascetic temper, remarkable for their austere virtues, but without a touch of sympathy for the joys or sorrows of their species, and wholly devoted to the great work of regenerating the fallen Church. As the influence of the former popes had opened a career to the Reformation, the influence of these latter popes tended materially to check it; and long before the close of the sixteenth century the boundary line was defined, which it has never since been allowed to pass.