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

by William Hickling Prescott

Yet he did not, like Charles the First of England, rashly vent his indignation by imprisoning or persecuting the members who had roused it. Even the stout syndic of Ghent was allowed to go unharmed. Philip looked above him to a mark more worthy of his anger,—to those of the higher orders who had encouraged the spirit of resistance in the commons. The most active of these malecontents was William of Orange. That noble, as it may be remembered, was one of the hostages who remained at the Court of Henry the Second for the fulfilment of the treaty of Cateau-Cambresis. While there, a strange disclosure was made to the prince by the French monarch, who told him that, through the duke of Alva, a secret treaty had been entered into with his master, the king of Spain, for the extirpation of heresy throughout their dominions. This inconsiderate avowal of the French king was made to William on the supposition that he was stanch in the Roman Catholic faith, and entirely in his master's confidence. Whatever may have been the prince's claims to orthodoxy at this period, it is certain he was not in Philip's confidence. It is equally certain that he possessed one Christian virtue which belonged neither to Philip nor to Henry,—the virtue of toleration. Greatly shocked by the intelligence he had received, William at once communicated it to several of his friends in the Netherlands. One of the letters unfortunately[{164}] fell into Philip's hands. The prince soon after obtained permission to return to his own country, bent, as he tells us in his Apology, on ridding it of the Spanish vermin.[414] Philip, who understood the temper of his mind, had his eye on his movements, and knew well to what source, in part at least, he was to attribute the present opposition. It was not long after, that a Castilian courtier intimated to the prince of Orange and to Egmont, that it would be well for them to take heed to themselves; that the names of those who had signed the petition for the removal of the troops had been noted down, and that Philip and his council were resolved, when a fitting occasion offered, to call them to a heavy reckoning for their temerity.[415]

Yet the king so far yielded to the wishes of the people as to promise the speedy departure of the troops. But no power on earth could have been strong enough to shake his purpose where the interests of religion were involved. Nor would he abate one jot of the stern provisions of the edicts. When one of his ministers, more hardy than the rest, ventured to suggest to him that perseverance in this policy might cost him the sovereignty of the provinces, "Better not reign at all," he answered, "than reign over heretics!"[416]—an answer extolled by some as the height of the sublime, by others derided as the extravagance of a fanatic. In whatever light we view it, it must be admitted to furnish the key to the permanent policy of Philip in his government of the Netherlands.

Before dissolving the States-General, Philip, unacquainted with the language of the country, addressed the deputies through the mouth of the bishop of Arras. He expatiated on the warmth of his attachment to his good people of the Netherlands, and paid them a merited tribute for their loyalty both to his father and to himself. He enjoined on them to show similar respect to the regent, their own countrywoman, into whose hands he had committed the government. They would reverence the laws and maintain public tranquillity. Nothing would conduce to this so much as the faithful execution of the edicts. It was their sacred duty to aid in the extermination of heretics,—the deadliest foes both of God and their sovereign. Philip concluded by assuring the states that he should soon return in person to the Netherlands, or send his son Don Carlos as his representative.

The answer of the legislature was temperate and respectful. They made no allusion to Philip's proposed ecclesiastical reforms, as he had not authorized this by any allusion to them himself. They still pressed, however, the removal of the foreign troops, and the further removal of all foreigners from office, as contrary to the constitution of the land. This last shaft was aimed at Granvelle, who held a high post in the government, and was understood to be absolute in the confidence of the king. Philip renewed his assurances of the dismissal of the forces, and that within the space, as he promised, of four months. The other request of the deputies he did not condescend to notice. His feelings on the subject were intimated in an exclamation he[{165}] made to one of his ministers: "I too am a foreigner; will they refuse to obey me as their sovereign?"[417]

ORGANIZATION OF THE COUNCILS.

The regent was to be assisted in the government by three councils which of old time had existed in the land;—the council of finance, for the administration, as the name implies, of the revenues; the privy council, for affairs of justice and the internal concerns of the country; and the council of state, for matters relating to peace and war, and the foreign policy of the nation. Into this last, the supreme council, entered several of the Flemish nobles, and among them the prince of Orange and Count Egmont. There were, besides, Count Barlaimont, president of the council of finance, Viglius, president of the privy council, and lastly Granvelle, bishop of Arras.

The regent was to act with the coöperation of these several bodies in their respective departments. In the conduct of the government, she was to be guided by the council of state. But by private instructions of Philip, questions of a more delicate nature, involving the tranquillity of the country, might be first submitted to a select portion of this council; and in such cases, or when a spirit of faction had crept into the council, the regent, if she deemed it for the interest of the state, might adopt the opinion of the minority. The select body with whom Margaret was to advise in the more important matters was termed the Consulta; and the members who composed it were Barlaimont, Viglius, and the bishop of Arras.[418]

The first of these men, Count Barlaimont, belonged to an ancient Flemish family. With respectable talents and constancy of purpose, he was entirely devoted to the interests of the crown. The second, Viglius, was a jurist of extensive erudition, at this time well advanced in years, and with infirmities that might have pressed heavily on a man less patient of toil. He was personally attached to Granvelle; and as his views of government coincided very nearly with that minister's, Viglius was much under his influence. The last of the three, Granvelle, from his large acquaintance with affairs, and his adroitness in managing them, was far superior to his colleagues;[419] and he soon acquired such an ascendancy over them, that the government may be said to have rested on his shoulders. As there is no man who for some years is to take so prominent a part in the story of the Netherlands, it will be proper to introduce the reader to some acquaintance with his earlier history.

Anthony Perrenot—whose name of Granvelle was derived from an estate purchased by his father—was born in the year 1517, at Besançon, a town in Franche Comté. His father, Nicholas Perrenot, founded the fortunes of the family, and from the humble condition of a poor country attorney rose to the[{166}] rank of chancellor of the empire. This extraordinary advancement was not owing to caprice, but to his unwearied industry, extensive learning, and a clear and comprehensive intellect, combined with steady devotion to the interests of his master, Charles the Fifth. His talent for affairs led him to be employed not merely in official business, but in diplomatic missions of great importance. In short, he possessed the confidence of the emperor to a degree enjoyed by no other subject; and when the chancellor died, in 1550, Charles pronounced his eulogy to Philip in a single sentence, saying that in Granvelle they had lost the man on whose wisdom they could securely repose.[420]

Anthony Perrenot, distinguished from his father in later times as Cardinal Granvelle, was the eldest of eleven children. In his childhood he discovered such promise, that the chancellor bestowed much pains personally on his instruction. At fourteen he was sent to Padua, and after some years was removed to Louvain, then the university of greatest repute in the Netherlands. It was not till later that the seminary of Douay was founded, under the auspices of Philip the Second.[421] At the university, the young Perrenot soon distinguished himself by the vivacity of his mind, the acuteness of his perceptions, an industry fully equal to his father's, and remarkable powers of acquisition. Besides a large range of academic study, he made himself master of seven languages, so as to read and converse in them with fluency. He seemed to have little relish for the amusements of the youth of his own age. His greatest amusement was a book. Under this incessant application his health gave way, and for a time his studies were suspended.