Chapter Nineteen.
Image-breaking in Antwerp.
From this time forward Antwerp was in a state of constant excitement and commotion. Count Brederode took up his quarters in the city, and daily entertained a crowd of nobles at his hotel, stirring them up to oppose the Government. Count Meghem, the great enemy of the Reformers, also came into the city; and it was supposed that he was laying a plan for the introduction of a garrison, and for collecting a store of ammunition to overawe the inhabitants. The chief people of the city, therefore, resolved to send to the Prince of Orange, to request his presence, in order to try and pacify all parties. He reached Antwerp on the 13th of July. The inhabitants of the city were wild with enthusiasm at the thought of his coming. Thousands, I may say tens of thousands, from all parts of the city went forth from the gates to bid him welcome. A’Dale and I were among the number. The road along which he was to pass for miles was lined with human beings. The roofs of the houses—the ramparts—every spot whence a sight of the street could be obtained, was packed close with eager and expectant faces. A long cavalcade of citizens, with Count Brederode and a number of confederates, rode forth to escort him into the city. As soon as he appeared at the head of a small body of gentlemen, his demeanour calm and unmoved, Brederode and his companions fired a salute from their pistols. It was the signal for loud and reiterated shouts from the assembled multitude, while again and again the cry of “Long live the Beggars!” was repeated. In vain the Prince entreated them not to utter that cry.
“I have come,” he said, “not to side with any party, but to endeavour to restore tranquillity to the city.”
The general feeling was that he had both the power and ability to keep his word. Day after day he was engaged in endeavouring to quiet the public mind. All classes of the people were consulted. At length it was agreed that the exercise of the Reformed religion should be excluded from the city, but tolerated in the suburbs; and that an armed force of the citizens should be kept in readiness to suppress insurrection. To these arrangements the people agreed, and the Regent highly commended the Prince for what he had done: King Philip pretended also to approve of his conduct, but in reality took no steps to abolish the Inquisition or to renounce persecution. He, as was suspected, only awaited his time to destroy the Prince himself.
Shortly after this the Prince was called away to Brussels, to attend a council held by the Regent. About the same time a meeting of the confederates had been held in Duffel, the result of which was that Louis of Nassau, with twelve associates, laid before the Regent a statement of their views. They declared that they were ever ready to mount and ride against a foreign foe, but that they would never draw a sword to injure their innocent countrymen. Their proposals were received with a very bad grace by the Regent, whom they quitted, most of them feeling that the only resource left was to draw the sword in defence of their country.
No sooner had the Prince of Orange left Antwerp than the city was once more thrown into a state of commotion. I should mention that Antwerp contains numerous fine and richly adorned churches: the largest is that of Our Lady, which King Philip a short time before had converted into a cathedral.
Close to the chief entrance I had frequently seen an old woman—Barbara Trond by name—who gained her livelihood by the sale of wax tapers, little leaden ornaments of the Virgin and saints, and other Papistical trickeries. She managed also to gain many a coin by the persuasive powers of her tongue, which she wagged with considerable effect on all occasions. When she pleased, nothing could be more smooth and oily; but when angered, that tongue could utter oaths and abuse with unsurpassed vehemence. One morning A’Dale and I were strolling beside the cathedral, when a small party of idle boys and ragamuffins happened to come that way intent on mischief, if they could possibly achieve it. One of them with a grave air walked up to the old woman’s table, and, taking a taper in one hand and a saint in the other, inquired the price of the articles. A loud laugh followed her reply.
“What! your whole stock in trade is not worth a tenth of the sum. Your saints if melted together would scarcely make one decent-sized bullet, and all your candles would not afford light sufficient to an honest weaver during the labours of one winter evening. Give up selling such trash, Dame Trond; try and make a livelihood in some more respectable calling!”
Such and similar remarks quickly excited the ire of old Barbara. Her replies were not such as to soothe the tempers of those who stood by her. Gibes and shouts of laughter proceeded from every side, till the old dame, giving way to the fury of her temper, seized the stool on which she sat, and began to lay about her on every side. In an instant, the mob charged the table on which her wares were spread for exhibition, and trampled them on the ground. She retreating, and flourishing her stool, entered the cathedral, where they with shouts of laughter followed her. We should have been wise if we had kept out of the church, but instead of that we could not resist the temptation of following the old woman’s pursuers, as did numbers of others who were near at the time. Her courage was worthy of a better cause, not that any one really attempted to injure her—though she, as she went up the church, seized whatever came in her way, and hurled it at the heads of her assailants. The shouts of the rabble attracted others from a distance, and thus in a short time the cathedral was full of people; some, like Barbara Trond’s first assailants, inclined for mischief, but a large number merely spectators, as we were. The mob began to shout now one thing, now another. “Down with these Romish mummeries! down with the idols!” were the cries we chiefly heard. The crowd surged to and fro, but contented themselves with merely shouting, without attempting to commit any mischief. It was evident, however, that to this they would soon proceed, as several persons had already hurried off to the Town House to give information of the outbreak to the magistrates. In a short time a body of these dignitaries, in their robes of state, were seen entering the cathedral, headed by the Margrave of Antwerp—John Van Immerzeel—the two burgomasters walking on either side of him, and the senators following. He stopped in the centre of the church, and harangued the mob. By his persuasions those on the outside agreed to take their departure, hoping that their example might be followed by the rest. But the hour of evening service was approaching, and the ragamuffin crew, who certainly cared very little for masses or services of any sort, declared that they could not think of leaving the church until they had enjoyed the benefit of that about to be performed. In reply, they were told that no vespers would be held that night, and were again entreated to disperse.
“If we go, the people will follow,” observed one of the burgomasters to the Margrave. “Let all the doors be closed, except the one out of which we go, and the people will swarm out like bees from their hive.”
Thankful to get out of the church with whole skins, the magistrates marched forth in as dignified a manner as they could assume. The Margrave, however, remained behind, endeavouring to persuade those who were still in the church to retreat. But the rabble were not in a humour to be persuaded. Something said by the Margrave offended them, and, in spite of his threats and exhortations, they rushed on him and sent him ignominiously flying out of the church. They instantly threw open all the other portals, and the populace, who had been retiring like an ebbing tide, now rushed back, and flowed into the building, raging and foaming like an angry sea.
A’Dale and I had remained at the further end of the church, unable, without mixing with the crowd, to make our escape. Those who had charge of the building made a vain attempt to carry off some of its more precious possessions, but they had to retreat before the threatening aspect of the crowd. Instead of the expected vespers, a hymn was raised by the multitude who filled the church. At that moment, perhaps many who joined in it hoped that it would have the effect of tranquillising the multitude. Scarcely, however, had it concluded before a band of the most ruffianly-looking of the assemblage united together, and, as if with one accord, made a rush at the figure of the Virgin—the same idol which had been carried about the city a few days previously. Before any one could interfere, it was dragged from its pedestal and hurled to the ground. It was immediately set upon, the rich robes were torn off it, and with axes and hammers, wielded by brawny arms, the figure in a few minutes was hewn into a thousand pieces, which were scattered over the floor. A wild shout of triumph succeeded. All sorts of weapons of destruction were now produced by the mob. Some had sledge-hammers in their hands, others axes, and others bludgeons; while ladders, handspikes, and ropes and blocks were brought into the church. Immediately they went to work. The images which could be most easily got at were hurled from their niches, and the pictures were torn from the walls, and the painted windows shivered to atoms. Some of the men were seen climbing up the carved work, striking with their hammers on every side; others, placing ladders against the walls or columns, ascended to dizzy heights, with ropes and blocks, and pulled down the ornaments which were otherwise out of reach. The wax candles were seized from the altars, and held by some of the party to light the others in executing their task. Everything was done in the most systematic manner. There were no less than seven chapels in the cathedral, every one of which in succession was utterly spoilt. Chests of treasure were broken open, and the gorgeous robes of the priests dragged forth, many of the mob attiring themselves in them. Casks of wine were broached and the liquor poured into the golden chalices, out of which the despoilers quaffed huge draughts to the Beggars’ health. Splendid manuscripts were torn into sheds; and in a short time the interior of the richest church in the Netherlands was an utter wreck. But poor as were the despoilers, not a particle of gold or silver did any of them carry off. The ground was literally strewn with cups and ornaments of precious metals, and jewels, and embroidered garments, broken, torn, and defaced, in every possible way, mingled with the marble fragments of the images and the rich and elaborate carvings which had been cast to the ground.
Their work being complete, the band of image-breakers, each seizing a burning torch, rushed forth from the cathedral, and, as they swept through the streets, shouted with loud and hoarse voices, “Long live the Beggars!” On they went. Every crucifix, every image of the Virgin or other idol, every symbol of Romanism, was dashed to pieces. With sturdy blows they burst open the doors of the next church they reached. In they rushed with their ladders, and sledge-hammers, and other weapons, and in a short time all the images, and all the ornaments were hurled to the ground and broken in pieces. Church after church felt the effects of their fury; none escaped. With wonderful rapidity the interiors were completely gutted.
Although by this time the streets were full of people, yet but a small band—it was generally thought not more than one hundred men—performed the whole of the work. They probably had many friends and supporters; but it was strange that no one should have attempted to interfere with them.
The authorities were completely panic-struck, expecting that their own Town Hall would be the next attacked. From the churches they went to the convents, which they treated in the same way. All the altars, statues, and pictures were utterly destroyed; and, to punish the monks, they descended into the cellars, where they broached every cask they found, pouring out the wine in one great flood, though abstaining from drinking it themselves. The inmates of the nunneries fled, and in all directions they were seen in the streets, rushing here and there, shrieking and crying out as if they were pursued. Their terror, however, was imaginary, for, savage as the image-breakers might have appeared, they had but one object in view, and not a nun or monk was in the slightest degree injured. In the prison of the Barefooted Monastery they found an unhappy monk who had been shut up for twelve years for his heretical opinions, and with loud shouts of joy they liberated him from his dungeon.
When morning dawned, it was found that the interiors of no less than thirty churches inside the walls had been utterly destroyed. Not a graven image, scarcely a picture, remained in any of them.
We were out all night watching what was going forward. I, of course, have given but a very brief account of all the events which took place.
When we returned, Master Clough was not a little angry with us for having gone without his leave, although he was willing enough to receive the account we had to give him. He talked indeed of reporting us to Sir Thomas as idle varlets, who did as little as they could for their pay.
More came out of this matter, as might be expected, as I shall have shortly to describe.
Chapter Twenty.
Adventure with a Witch.
Master Clough punished me for what he was pleased to call my idle behaviour, during the time of the breaking of the images, by making me copy out the whole of a long letter he wrote to Sir Thomas Gresham, giving an account of the affair. He acknowledged that the mob, although he called them ruffianly rascals, had evidently been influenced by one sole motive, that was—to do away with all the symbols of Popery; that neither man nor woman had been in the slightest degree injured, nor a single article (great as was the value of many of them) appropriated by the image-breakers.
Shortly after this we were as usual seated at our desks working away, for Master Clough kept us well employed, when a courier entered the office. He brought the information that Sir Thomas Gresham had landed at Ostend two days before from England, accompanied by a lady, and that he hoped to arrive the following day at Antwerp. Preparations were instantly made for his reception. A’Dale and I were not a little interested in trying to guess who the lady could be. We cross-questioned the courier, but all we could learn from him was that the lady was not Lady Anne Gresham; indeed, he had supposed, from the way Sir Thomas treated her, that she must be his daughter. She was also, we discovered, young and fair. I had some hesitation in asking the man these questions. Her name he did not know. I strongly suspected that she must be Aveline Radford.
Madam Clough, however, at all events seemed to know all about her, and was preparing a room, though I must own that I did not venture to inquire of that lady. I have said very little about Madam Clough hitherto. She was a very good woman, but, in our estimation, not to be compared to Lady Anne. She demanded far more attention and respect as her due, and never allowed us the slightest approach to intimacy; indeed, she seemed to consider that we were in all respects her inferiors. Still she was, as I have said, a worthy woman, and knew how to do her duty. She was inclined to be charitable, as far as helping those who came to her in distress; and I have no doubt that in her own place at Plasclough, in Denbighshire, where she and her husband resided when making holiday, she acted the Lady Bountiful to perfection.
It must be confessed that, after the news we had received, I felt a strange trepidation at my heart, and made a variety of mistakes in the letters I was inditing, for which I received due verbal castigation from Master Clough. What other young lady could be coming besides Aveline? A’Dale, I rather suspect, hoped, for his own sake, that she might be some stranger; for though he admired Aveline, yet he was aware of my feelings with regard to her, and he was too true a friend to wish to interfere in the matter.
I slept very little, it must be owned, that night. I was thinking of Aveline—how she would appear; how she would treat me: whether, in the light of an old friend, or, after having seen so many great and wealthy people, be inclined to look upon me as her inferior. I kept twisting and turning the subject in every possible way, till I made myself perfectly miserable; and it was not till at last I thought that perhaps, after all, the lady who was expected might not be Aveline, that I dropped to sleep.
A bright idea occurred to me in the morning. It would be but respectful if A’Dale and I were to ride out to meet Sir Thomas Gresham as he approached Antwerp. I suggested the same to Master Clough, and, having got through all the work he required of us at an early hour, we were perfectly ready to set forth. He threw no objection in the way. We therefore ordered our horses, and as soon as we could with decency leave the office, we rode forth by the northern gate from the city. We, I must confess, had calculated, from the information gained from the courier, that Sir Thomas would not arrive for at least two or three hours after that time. We should thus have an opportunity of meeting him and his companions at some distance from the city, and enjoy the pleasure of riding back with them. We rode on for some distance, till at length we began to hope that we might soon fall in with the expected travellers. Every cloud of dust which appeared rising ahead of us gave us hopes that they were coming. As we drew nearer, and figures appeared through the cloud of dust, my heart beat quicker. A few minutes more showed us a party of travelling merchants, with their packs on led horses.
“That must be them!” exclaimed A’Dale, as another cloud rose in front of us.
We pushed on eagerly. They were a band of a dozen or more horsemen. The serviceable swords, with the hilts ready to their hands, which they wore at their sides, the pistols in their belts, and the arquebuses slung across their saddles, gave them a somewhat suspicious appearance. They eyed us narrowly, but we put on a bold and independent look. It struck me that the traders we had passed a short time before would not have been well pleased to have fallen in with them, nor would, I suspect, Sir Thomas Gresham and his companions. Thus we were doomed several times to disappointment. At length we rode on for some distance without meeting any one. The day was advancing, and we began to fear that Sir Thomas had for some reason stopped on the way.
“Well, then, all we have to do is to turn our horses and ride back again,” said A’Dale.
As he spoke, however, I thought I saw another light cloud of dust. I pointed it out to him.
“We will go on for ten minutes more, and then, if Sir Thomas does not appear, we will do as you propose,” I said.
As we rode on, I more than once stood up in my stirrups, eagerly looking forward, for I felt convinced that another party of travellers were approaching. I was not mistaken. The cloud of dust rose higher and higher above the horizon, and beneath it, at length, horses and riders were seen. We pushed on with more confidence. As we advanced, we could distinguish a tall cavalier on a stout horse, and a lady riding a palfrey by his side. About that there was no doubt. We felt sure it must be Sir Thomas and his expected female companion. I thought I could distinguish another female behind the first, and several other horsemen and baggage animals. All doubts were set at rest directly afterwards, as we distinguished the well-known features of our patron; but with regard to the lady we were not so certain, as her face was concealed by the veil which she wore to guard her from the dust. As we approached, however, and saluted Sir Thomas Gresham, she drew it aside, and I beheld a lovely face, though somewhat pale, which, I felt sure, from the expression, must be that of Aveline. Of this she gave me assurance, as she replied to my salutation, and a gentle blush came over her features. In truth, I had no reason to be dissatisfied with the way she received me. But I was grieved to find that she was not in the enjoyment of her usual health. Of this also, Sir Thomas informed me, by observing that she had accompanied him, by the invitation of Madam Clough, who had long wished her to pay a visit to Antwerp, in the hope that the change of air and scenery might benefit her.
“Alas! however,” observed Sir Thomas, “such a change has not always proved as beneficial as we might have desired.”
I knew by his remark that he was thinking of his son Richard. I was glad when Sir Thomas addressed A’Dale, who rode by his side, leaving me to drop behind him with Aveline. We had much to speak about. She assured me with a smile that there was no cause for alarm about her health, but that she had been anxious to accept Madam Clough’s invitation, and that Lady Anne had kindly consented to spare her for a few months.
“I have brought over a new waiting-woman,” she observed. “You remember her, though. She is the daughter of Farmer Hadden, whose hospitality you enjoyed when driven back on your voyage from Ipswich, of which you have often told me. Her father and mother are dead, and she applied to Lady Anne for employment as waiting-woman. She is very faithful and loving, and, better still, is a true Christian.”
Among many private matters, interesting chiefly to ourselves, Aveline described the improvements at Osterley which Sir Thomas had lately made, as also the beautiful appearance of the Bourse, which was now nearly completed. I, of course, had much to tell her, in return, of the events which had lately occurred at Antwerp, especially of the image-breaking, and the destruction of the beautiful interiors of so many of the churches.
“They were savage hands which performed the work,” she observed; “yet we should not regret the overthrow of idols, for idols they are, although in appearance full of grace and beauty. I pray that nothing worse may happen; but I fear much, that when King Philip hears of these doings, he will take vengeance on the unhappy people who perpetrated them. I cannot but grieve also that so much rich carving and beautiful decoration should have been destroyed.”
I agreed with Aveline in that respect; at the same time I echoed her remark with regard to the idols which had been pulled down. So quickly passed the time, that the shades of evening stole on us unawares, and we were quite surprised when we saw the towers and stout walls of Antwerp looming through the gloom. It was almost dusk as we rode under the deep gateway, on either side of which was the entrance to the narrow passage between the two walls surrounding the city. The streets were more crowded than usual, and we passed numerous groups of men talking eagerly together. News had arrived, we found, that the example set in Antwerp had been followed in many other cities; but of that I will speak anon.
I was well pleased with the reception which Madam Clough gave Aveline. Master Clough was thankful also to see Sir Thomas, for the difficulty of obtaining money at that time was very great; and he knew that the Queen’s agent would be better able personally to make the required arrangements than he could himself. One thing Sir Thomas saw—that Antwerp would no longer be the city it formerly was for commerce with England; and I may here remark, that he shortly afterwards wrote home, advising that in such brabbling times as these were, some other city should be fixed on, to which British manufactures might be sent.
We had lately had a somewhat dull time in Master Clough’s house. He was out of spirits at the turn affairs were taking, not knowing what might next happen, although, England and Spain, having hitherto been on friendly terms, he was under no apprehension that the English would suffer personally. We had occasionally official banquets, but they were very dull compared to those to which we had formerly been accustomed, while no maskers or mummers were allowed to present themselves. As may be supposed, the arrival of Sir Thomas Gresham and Aveline Radford produced a very pleasant change. As Aveline had been advised to take horse exercise, she rode out, by the desire of Sir Thomas, every day; and A’Dale and I were her constant attendants, Madam Clough occasionally accompanying her, while Mistress Margery was always her companion.
One bright morning Madam Clough had been tempted to ride forth; Sir Thomas and Master Clough, having business of importance to transact, deputed A’Dale and me as usual to escort the ladies. We had two attendants, well-armed, while A’Dale and I carried pistols in our holsters. We were both of us adepts in the use of the sword. A’Dale was able to encounter any trooper, however skilful, with his favourite weapon. Madam Clough was a good horsewoman, having learned the art in Wales, where she had been accustomed to ride over her native mountains, and on the summits of the dizzy precipices. She generally took the lead, Aveline and I riding side by side. Margery often fell to the share of A’Dale, for the damsel was in no way inclined to associate with the serving-men, nor would she have been could she have understood their language; indeed, she was in all respects superior to an ordinary tire-woman. We had gone for some distance along the Mechlin road; soon after passing the village of Berchem it was proposed that we should turn off to the right, where we might enjoy a gallop over the open ground, it being there higher and drier than the surrounding country. The fresh air gave us all spirits, and we rode on rapidly, little thinking of the distance we were going. I was not sorry when Madam Clough took the lead, sitting her horse with an upright figure and stately air, apparently regardless of Aveline and me, who followed out of ear-shot. The rest of the party were still farther off. I enjoyed more than ever being alone with Aveline; and she did not, so it seemed to me, object to my society. There were many things we had to talk of, but I could not yet bring myself to speak of one subject which was at my heart. I felt myself still a dependant on the bounty of Sir Thomas Gresham. He supported me, and supplied me liberally with the wherewithal to pay for my clothes and other expenses, and to leave me an ample supply of pocket-money. But as yet he had never spoken of paying me a fixed salary; and with the possession of that alone should I feel justified in proposing to marry Aveline. She was much in the same condition, for although Lady Anne had carefully preserved the document given to me by her mother, as yet it did not appear that she would benefit thereby. Still I did not despair. I knew that Sir Thomas was generous, and that he had a true regard both for Aveline and for me; and I hoped that, if I put the matter before him, he would enable me to carry out my wishes. Several times during this ride I was on the point of speaking to Aveline, and asking her whether she could make up her mind to marry me; but as often as the words rose to my lips, I let them fall back again into my heart without utterance. There they remained, preventing me for some minutes afterwards from again speaking. On each occasion Aveline looked at me with an inquiring glance, wondering what had thus tied my tongue. Perhaps she suspected the truth, when at length, growing bolder, I approached nearer and nearer the subject, for I saw, or fancied I saw, a blush suffuse her countenance. This gave me yet further boldness, and summoning all my resolution, I was on the point of telling her the wishes of my heart, when a cry from Madam Clough made us hurry forward towards her.
She had at that instant turned the corner of a wood. She pointed to a spot a short distance from where she had reined in her horse, when we saw spread out before us a large concourse of people. They were surrounding a rough platform raised to the height of their heads. On it stood a man, who, with arms stretched out, one hand holding a book, from which he occasionally read, and the other at times lifted towards heaven, was earnestly addressing them. The words did not reach us; but so absorbed were the congregation in them, that for some time our approach was not observed. At length several horsemen, with arquebuses in their hands, galloped towards us. We without difficulty explained who we were, and the horsemen, turning round, accompanied us. The rest of our party coming up, we collected in the outer circle of the vast multitude who were listening to the preacher. He was, we found, an enthusiastic Protestant—Herman Modet by name. He was setting forth, in clear and forcible language, the great truths of Christianity, as opposed to the false teaching of Rome. He showed how the one must, when received, elevate and ennoble the human mind; while the other was calculated in every way to lower and debase it. He then, in eloquent language, called upon his countrymen to unite in overthrowing that fearful system, supported by the Pope and his cardinals, to which King Philip had completely subjected himself. “He who is a slave to such a system is unfit to rule his fellow-men!” he exclaimed. “Already he and his father have brought the most fearful miseries upon our country. What further trials is he not preparing for us? I would urge peace, forbearance, and long-suffering; and yet I cannot believe that we are called upon to submit without resistance to the horrible tyrannies to which we have been subjected for so many years.”
After a time, one of the hymns of Marot, translated into Flemish, was sung with wonderful enthusiasm. I thought that Madam Clough was warmed up by it; I know Aveline and I were, and joined in it with all our hearts. Margery, although she could not understand the words, was carried away by the air, and still more so when A’Dale translated them to her.
Again the preacher continued his address. I would willingly have remained to hear more of it; but Madam Clough, who did not understand Flemish perfectly, made a sign to us to continue our ride.
We soon left the camp-meeting far behind, continuing our course in the direction we had previously been pursuing. I do not know whether the discourse we had heard made any impression on Madam Clough, for she did not allude to it; indeed, she went on in front as she had before been doing, leaving Aveline and me to follow. A’Dale, I conclude, found the conversation of Mistress Margery very much to his taste. Sometimes they laughed long and loudly together, but at other times they spoke in a more serious tone, as far as I could judge by the words I heard when we were together.
The two serving-men brought up the rear, wondering perhaps at the unusually long ride their mistress was taking. At length I thought it would be proper to advise her to return, for, looking behind me, I observed that the horizon was already dark with a bank of clouds which came rapidly rising out of the distant ocean. As, however, the sun continued shining brightly, Madam Clough was not aware of the approaching storm. As soon as I saw what was likely to occur, I pushed on, and, overtaking her, pointed out the rising clouds. She seemed somewhat astonished.
“You should have told me of this before,” she observed.
I replied that I myself had not remarked the state of the sky, or I would have done so.
“Well, we shall perhaps be able to get back before it breaks,” she remarked, turning her horse round.
I doubted this very much; however, there was no help for it, so putting spurs to our steeds, we galloped back, in the hopes of regaining the high road, in the neighbourhood of which we might possibly find shelter. Where we then were, we could see no house or building of any sort which would protect us from the fury of the storm. We had soon cause for anxiety, for the bank of clouds rose higher and higher every instant, and the sun became obscured, as it swept round towards the west. And now it appeared directly overhead. The wind, before soft and balmy, began to blow from the north, increasing every instant in strength, till we found a chill and furious blast in our faces. It rapidly increased in strength. The wind might be endured, but the air grew damper, and more and more chilling. I dreaded the effect on Aveline, to whom such air as was then blowing was especially dangerous. I again looked round in vain for shelter, and in a few minutes the expected storm burst, and the water rushed down from the clouds in heavy sheets. I took off my own cloak, and placed it round Aveline, though she entreated me to wear it. I replied that that would be impossible while she was exposed to so pelting a storm, and that neither the wetting nor cold would have any effect on me. Madam Clough was tolerably well guarded, so that I did not concern myself about her; and I let A’Dale look after Mistress Margery.
The wind blew more furiously; the rain descended in torrents. Notwithstanding the protection my cloak afforded Aveline, I was sure that she would be wet through in a few minutes.
As we were pushing on, I thought I saw on the side of a slight mound of earth, at a little distance, the roof of a cottage: I pointed it out to Madam Clough, and we pushed towards it. On a nearer approach, I saw that the roof rose a very little way above the ground—that it was, in fact, the covering of a sort of cave or hollow in the side of the hill, such as perhaps some shepherd or cattle-keeper might have formed to obtain protection during a similar storm to that which had overtaken us. It was somewhat larger, however, than might have been expected for that purpose; at all events, I welcomed the sight, as I was in hopes that the ladies might find shelter within. As we got up to it, we saw that there was a door to the hut, formed of rough planks. Helping the ladies from their horses, we attempted to open it, but it resisted our efforts.
“Who is there, who comes to disturb me in my retreat?” said a voice from within, in harsh, croaking accents.
It was that of a female, I thought.
“Good mother,” I said, wishing to speak her fair, “there are delicate females here exposed to this raging storm—they entreat you to give them shelter.”
“Let them go the way they came,” answered the voice; “I shall treat others as I myself have been treated. They would not allow me to enter their gorgeous abodes; I now refuse them admittance into mine, albeit it may not be of the most splendid character.”
“That were cruel, mother,” I answered; “we should return good for evil; and those for whom I plead have never wronged you—of that I am certain.”
“Go away, go away, I tell you!” she again cried out; “you have had my reply.”
“This will never do!” I exclaimed to A’Dale, for every instant the rain was coming down heavier and heavier.
The serving-men were holding our horses. Putting our shoulders against the door, we gave a shove together, and it flew open. The hut was much larger than we had expected to find it, and would afford, I saw at a glance, not only shelter for the ladies but for all our party, and for the horses also. At the farther end sat an old crone, her white locks escaping from under her coif; and her bony arms, which were bare to the elbow, extended over a large pan, beneath which were burning coals. She glanced round at us with a look of anger.
“I pray thee, dame, be not offended,” I said, approaching her, while the ladies stood at a little distance. “We have entered your abode with scant ceremony, but have no desire to treat you with disrespect; gladly will we pay, too, for the injury we may have done your door, though we could not remain outside exposed to the pelting storm when shelter was at hand. Had you admitted us without parley, the latch would have remained uninjured, and our tempers would not have been aroused.”
To these remarks she made no reply, but seizing a wand, which lay by her side, began to stir the contents of the pan. As our eyes got accustomed to the gloom of the hut, numerous articles were seen about, which showed us at once the character of the inmate.
“I wish that we had braved the storm rather than have come in here,” whispered Madam Clough. “Perchance, indeed, it was summoned at the beck of this old witch; and by her looks I fear she purposes to work us evil.”
Nothing, could be more forbidding than the aspect of the old dame. Whether witch or not, that she wished to be thought so was very evident. I did not myself share the terror of Madam Clough, nor, I think, did Aveline; still, when I asked the old woman to allow the ladies to approach her fire, in order that they might dry their wet garments, they all drew back, evidently not wishing to be nearer than they were to the witch. She looked up, and uttered a low, croaking laugh, as she saw their terror.
“Ah! ah! ah!—your beauty and your wealth cannot guard you from the power of a wretched old woman like me!” she cried out. “Well, well, when the storm is over, you will ride away, and think no more of me; but I can follow you wherever you go, and find out your thoughts, as I know them now. You think, perhaps, that you are strangers to me—ah! ah! ah!—but I know you well—whence you come, and your future fates. You three fair dames were born in a foreign land, and so was one of you gallant gentlemen, but the other first saw the light in this hapless country. I speak true, do I not? answer me, lady!” she exclaimed, looking towards Madam Clough.
“Yes, indeed you do,” said the latter; “but you might have judged by our tongues that we were not Flemings.”
“Had you kept silence I should have known as well,” said the old witch. “And now would you like to know the future?”
“If you can tell it to us, there may be no harm in so doing,” said Madam Clough. “Can you tell me my fate?”
“Eh! that can I,” answered the old woman. “Twice you have wedded, and once been a widow; again a widow you will be, and once more wedded, till the green turf on which you have been wont to trip so lightly lies heavy above your head. Think of that as you step forth over the green sward, when the air blows softly and the sun shines brightly—think what you will ere long be.”
I saw that Madam Clough did not at all like these remarks, and, willing to relieve her, I asked if she could tell the fortunes of the rest of the party.
“Ay! that will I,” she answered, eyeing us keenly. “There are two fair damsels here, who are ready to wed two bold youths; but danger and trouble, and battle and tempest, will intervene ere their hopes will be fulfilled. If their troubles are short, so may be their joys; but long troubles may bring longer happiness. Choose you which you will, my masters—I will read you a riddle; let me hear if you can answer it.”
“We want no riddles, mother,” said A’Dale; “but if you are a true sorceress, tell us plainly what is about to happen.”
“A true sorceress, indeed!” exclaimed the old woman. “If I was to tell you what was about to occur, your hair would stand on end, and you would rush forth shrieking with terror amid the raging tempest. The future I see looming, and not far off. Bloodshed and destruction, fierce conflagrations, war, famines and miseries unspeakable, the graveyard overflowing, the country depopulated. All this, you Anabaptists, you preachers of the new religion, you promulgators of strange doctrines, are about to bring upon this country. Had matters been allowed to go on as they were, had the Catholic faith been undisturbed, quiet, peace, and prosperity would still have existed in the land.”
“As to that, mother, you are speaking of the past, not foretelling the future!” exclaimed A’Dale. “I will not bandy words with you; and as I knew not the country during the happy times you speak of, I cannot reply to you; but it seems to me as much as saying that the man who is asleep can do no harm. Therefore, as long as the country submitted to the priests, the priests were not inclined to find fault with them.”
I must observe here that Margery did not understand a word that was said; Aveline, indeed, scarcely comprehended the meaning of the old woman’s remarks. She, like most persons of her class, seeing two young people together, at once pronounced them lovers. But I have an idea that her words did not fall altogether unheeded on A’Dale’s ears. Whatever he might have been thinking of before, I suspected, from a glance which I saw him give Mistress Margery, that from that time he began to entertain affectionate feelings for her. The old woman had not all this time offered us seats, or shown any inclination to treat us with courtesy. It struck me, however, that the latter might probably be purchased. I therefore, taking a piece of money from my leather purse, approached her and said, “We must pay you, dame, for telling our fortunes, or we cannot hope that they will come true. Let me cross your palm with this piece of money, and we may have some expectation of finding your predictions fulfilled.”
The expression of the old woman’s countenance immediately changed, and, rising from her seat, she drew forth a bench and some stools, on which she begged we would rest ourselves. I saw, as she moved about, that she was far more active than her appearance betokened; and, after a little time I could not help thinking that I had seen her before. Suddenly it struck me that she was no other than Barbara Trond—the old woman who used to sell tapers and other Popish trickeries in front of the cathedral. If so, as she had frequently seen us, I had no doubt that from the first she knew who we were. I immediately guessed that, finding her old calling valueless, she had betaken herself to her present mode of life, in the hopes of preying on the superstition and credulity of her fellow-creatures. And I found that I was correct in my suspicions.
The rain meantime continued pouring down with unabated violence, and we began to fear that it would not hold up in time to allow us to return to Antwerp before nightfall. Several times I went to the door of the hut to look forth, but the heavens were still dark as at first, not a gleam of light being visible in any direction. Finding the good effect of the first piece of money, I bestowed a second of about the same value on the old woman, telling her that, as we had occupied her abode so long, I thought we were in duty bound to pay her rent. I saw that this second gift had completely secured her services; and she now seemed as anxious to please us as she had at first appeared surly and morose.
“Listen to me, young sir,” she said; “for you seem to understand my language better than the rest of the party. Do not trust to appearances. You think that the Reformers have gained the upper hand. I know King Philip and his advisers too well not to be sure that they will wreak a bitter vengeance on the cities in which the churches of the faith they hold have been desecrated. He may appear indifferent for a time, for the sake of lulling the people to sleep; but, depend upon it, he only bides his time, and he will speedily spring forth like a tiger of the Far East, to crush with his mighty paws all who have ventured to oppose him.”
I was afraid the old woman spoke too truly, though it required no prophet to say the same. Madam Clough seemed very little disposed to talk with her, while Aveline could only partially understand what she said. Thus the weight of the conversation fell on me; for A’Dale thought fit to endeavour to entertain Mistress Margery, who, of course, could not comprehend a single word that was spoken. I was very thankful when at last the loud pattering sound, which had continued for so long, ceased; and, looking forth, I found that it was no longer raining. Wishing old Dame Trond farewell, we led the horses out of the hut, and, quickly mounting, made the best of our way home.
Chapter Twenty One.
A Battle outside Antwerp.
An important event was about to occur in Antwerp. The Reformers were triumphant. They had taken possession of three churches, and in each, one of their principal preachers was to deliver an address, and offer up prayer and praise. The magistrates were greatly alarmed, believing that such a proceeding would draw down on the city the vengeance of the Regent. In their alarm, the Pensionary, Vesembeck, was sent to entreat the ministers to postpone their exercises. One of them, Taffen, a famous Walloon preacher, agreed to do so; but the others were not so easily persuaded to abandon what they believed to be the right course. Herman Modet especially was very firm. He had come into the city on purpose to preach in the cathedral, and he naturally longed for the opportunity of making known the simple Gospel of salvation, where for so many ages false teaching had alone been heard. Aveline had been very anxious to listen to a Flemish sermon from a Protestant minister; and I had promised, should Sir Thomas not object, to accompany her. On the evening before the proposed sermons were to be delivered, a stranger presented himself at the house, desiring to see Sir Thomas. He sent up his name to the room where we were seated at supper.
“Master Overton; he has come from Switzerland,” said my patron. “Do I remember that name?”
“Yes, sir,” I remarked; “it is the name of the priest who, abandoning the Romish faith, came over with us from Ipswich.”
“Go and see, Ernst,” said Sir Thomas. “If you are right, I shall be truly glad to receive him.”
On going to the hall, I was glad to see my old acquaintance; and I should have known him immediately, though his countenance wore a far more happy expression than formerly, and he had altogether lost the sallow complexion of a priest of Rome. I gladly ushered him into the sitting-room, where he was cordially welcomed by Sir Thomas, and introduced to Madam Clough and the rest of the party. He had been ministering, he told us, in Switzerland for some time past to a small congregation; but at length, being anxious to revisit England, and there assist in spreading the truth among his countrymen, he had resigned his post. Aveline had so grown since he last had seen her, that he naturally did not recognise her. She now timidly approached him.
“You are my uncle,” she said, taking his hand; “indeed, I know of no other relative I possess on earth.”
I need scarcely describe the satisfaction with which Master Overton greeted his niece.
I had never met a man whose whole heart was more given to the desire of advancing the cause of his Saviour than was Master Overton. Scarcely even did John Foxe surpass him. I have said little of that good minister. He had now obtained, we heard, a church in Wiltshire; and frequently Master Gresham used to send him money wherewith he might help his poorer neighbours. When Master Overton heard of the proposed preaching, he seconded Aveline’s wish to be allowed to go and hear it.
“I will accompany her myself,” he said.
Sir Thomas no longer objected; and it was arranged that we should set out the following morning, in time to secure a place near the preacher in the cathedral. Although Margery could not understand what was said, she also begged leave to accompany her mistress. We thus formed a considerable party when we entered the cathedral. We found Herman Modet ready to ascend the pulpit, round which were piled up the various articles which had been broken off the images. Already a considerable number of people had collected within the building, and soon after we entered, vast numbers kept pouring in, till the whole edifice was crowded. Just then a body of magistrates appeared in their official garments, headed by Vesembeck, who again appealed to the preacher to abandon his intentions. Earnestly as he pleaded, warning the minister of the danger which might occur, he did so without effect. All Herman Modet would agree to was to shorten his address, and, supported by the people, he refused to agree to any other arrangement.
At length, completely discomfited, those of the magistrates who were Roman Catholics withdrew, while the remainder stopped to listen to the preacher. Ascending the pulpit, in a sonorous voice he gave forth a psalm, the words and air of which were well-known to the vast assemblage below. Hitherto a low murmur had alone been heard throughout the building. But now, many thousand voices swelled up together to the praise of Him who came on earth to die for man—the just for the unjust, that all, by trusting in Him, might have everlasting life. I have not space to give all the sermon, though I made notes of it at the time. It was eloquent, fervent, and convincing. I cannot fancy that any right-minded Romanists, inquiring for the truth, could have heard it and yet not have yielded to its arguments. I should rather say, that it is surprising that they could resist them. Yet there were, I know, many Romanists there who, though perhaps moved at the moment, went away retaining their former opinions.
Herman Modet, though he had consented to preach for a short time, carried away by his feelings, continued to pour forth his words of fire hour after hour, no one wearying even by the length of his discourse. Once again there rose a hymn of praise such as had never before been heard within those walls—not to Mary, not to any of the saints, but to the Lamb without spot or blemish, slain for the sins of the whole world, that all who believe on Him might not perish, but have everlasting life. No thoughts can be more pure and simple and holy, more full of Gospel truth than are those found in the hymns of Marot. Although we had been standing so long, we yet left the cathedral with regret. Several of our party could only comprehend a very small portion of what they had heard. Margery, indeed, did not understand a word, and yet there was that power in the speaker’s manner alone which riveted her attention, while sometimes A’Dale, and sometimes I, explained to her the substance of the discourse.
Madam Clough, when we returned home, could scarcely believe that we had been so long a time at the cathedral, or that we could have been as interested as we professed with the discourse we had heard.
I must now give a short account of the numerous public events of deep interest which occurred after this.
I have said that Master Overton proposed returning to England; but when his presence in Antwerp was known, several Protestant Englishmen, as well as Reformers of other nations in the place, earnestly requested him to remain and minister to them. Sir Thomas Gresham also urging him to do so, he consented to take the charge of a Reformed Church at Antwerp till another should be found to supply his place. This was a great advantage to Aveline especially, as she thus had a relative to whom she could go for advice and instruction, which certainly her friend Madam Clough was unable to afford.
Similar scenes to those I have described in Antwerp took place in numerous towns throughout the Netherlands. In Flanders alone, four hundred churches were sacked, in Mechlin, in Tournay—a city distinguished for its ecclesiastical splendour—in Ghent, and in Valenciennes. In not one of them, however, was a single human being injured.
On the return of the Prince of Orange, he expressed his regret at what had occurred. At the same time, he did not appear disposed to treat the image-breakers with much severity. The Regent Margaret, however, on hearing of the disturbances, was seized with the greatest alarm. When the news reached Philip, he swore a deep oath that they should bitterly pay for what they had done. Owing to the representations of the Prince of Orange, in the meantime liberty of worship was granted in places where it had already been established; and it seemed at first as if the Reformers were about to obtain all they required. Bands of insurgents appeared in various places. In the city of Valenciennes the Reformers had completely gained the upper hand. But the city was declared by the Regent in a state of siege; and a body of troops under the fierce Papist Noircarmes was sent to invest it. Sad news shortly afterwards reached us, that most of the Protestant bands had been cut to pieces by Noircarmes and his troops.
The Prince of Orange was governing Antwerp, with the brave young noble, Hoogstraaten, under him, while Brederode was also in the city secretly raising troops for the defence of the liberal cause. On two occasions I attended Sir Thomas Gresham, when invited by the Prince of Orange to dine with him. The Prince received my patron with great courtesy at a magnificent banquet. From the conversation of the Prince, it was very clear that he was anxious to ascertain from Sir Thomas Gresham the disposition entertained by Queen Elizabeth and her ministers towards the revolutionary party.
“Do you think,” he said, “that she will aid our noblemen and other chiefs, as she did those in France, for the sake of their religion?”
Sir Thomas, in reply, asked whether the noblemen to whom the Prince alluded had demanded any help of her Majesty. He said that he could not tell. Then said Sir Thomas, “I am myself no judge, nor can I interfere in a matter of so much importance.”
Soon after this, Sir Thomas again returned to England. It was now that some of the leading Protestants in Antwerp memorialised Sir Thomas Gresham, explaining that the outbreaks which had lately occurred in the city were greatly contrary to their wishes, and entreating him that he would petition the Queen Elizabeth in their behalf, and that the ruin with which the Low Countries were threatened might be averted. They begged that she would address King Philip, in order that he might be brought to accede to their reasonable request: that they might be allowed liberty to worship God without molestation, asserting that they were perfectly ready to “render to Caesar the things which are Caesar’s,” should they be allowed to “render unto God the things which are God’s.”
I mentioned just now that Brederode was raising men in Antwerp. With him was associated the brave and gallant young nobleman, Marnix of Tholouse. He had left college in order that he might draw his sword in the cause of religious liberty.
The Prince of Orange at length thought it necessary to prohibit Brederode’s enlistments. He and his followers accordingly left the city, and embarked on board several ships which they had seized. More men having joined them, Brederode took his departure for Holland, where he hoped to raise more troops. In the meantime Marnix of Tholouse, with his newly collected force, sailing up the Scheld, landed and attacked the little village called Ostrawell, about a mile from Antwerp. Here he posted himself with considerable judgment. In his rear he had the Scheld and its dikes, on his right and left the dikes and the village. In front he threw up a breastwork and sunk a trench. On this spot might truly be said to have been first hoisted the standard of liberty. A’Dale and I paid a visit to the camp. Daily numbers of men flocked to his standard, till he had collected fully 3,000 round him. If the bravery of one man could have supported a great cause, the gallant young student might have succeeded. His followers, however, had no discipline, and consequently no dependence on each other. Brederode had promised to join him shortly with a body of troops; and it was hoped that he would himself infuse his own spirit into his men, and bring them under discipline.
As the ground was perfectly level between the city and his camp, we were able from the ramparts to see all that was taking place within it.
Although the Prince of Orange would not give his open support to the patriot band, yet he did not feel himself called upon to interfere with them; indeed, he had been fortunately furnished with no troops with which he could have done so. Affairs in the city therefore went on quietly.
One morning, however, at early dawn the sound of firing from the direction of Ostrawell called a vast number of the people of Antwerp to that side of the ramparts. It soon became evident that Tholouse had been suddenly attacked, and that a fierce battle was raging. No one could tell by whom he was assailed. In a short time the roofs of the houses, the towers of the churches, and the higher parts of the walls, were covered with eager spectators. We were among them. We could hear the sound of drums and trumpets, and the sharp rattle of musketry. Then came the shouts of victory, the despairing cries of the vanquished. The glitter of the helmets and spears, the bucklers and corslets of the assailing party we could clearly see, while their standards—they were those of Spain—showed their exact position. The young Count had greatly won our admiration, on account of his youth, his gallant bearing, his talents, and his bravery. He had become a staunch Protestant, and for that cause was ready to lay down his life. A short time before, he had married a very charming young lady, who shared his enthusiastic desire to establish the liberty of their country. She was now in the city, and we could not help thinking what must be her feelings on finding that the camp had been attacked. We could see the enemy approach the breastwork in front of the camp. Alas! it was defended but for a short time: on came the assailants; now they entered the fort. Onward they pressed, some shooting rapidly, while the swords of others were kept in constant exercise.
“What say you, Ernst; shall we go forth to their support?” exclaimed A’Dale. “We shall find hundreds of brave fellows ready to accompany us; and I for one cannot stand here and see our friends butchered by their tyrants. See! see! the enemy are advancing; there is no time to lose, if we are to give them any real help!”
I was as willing as my friend on most occasions to rush into danger; but it seemed to me that already the enemy had gained the day, and that our assistance would come too late. They pressed on till we could see hundreds of the patriots driven into the Scheld. On one side was a farmhouse; round it for some time the battle raged furiously. Then the flames were seen to burst forth. Again the assailants advanced. Small bodies of the patriots who had escaped from the fight were rushing towards the town. Soon the excitement became uncontrollable. It was not surprising that the Calvinists within the city should have felt for their brothers who were thus being destroyed. For a short time, from every street and alley in the city, people were seen coming forth armed with lance, pike, and arquebus; some bearing huge two-handed swords, which had belonged to their fathers, others, battle-axes, and some carried huge sledge-hammers over their shoulders. All were determined to issue forth, in the hope of rescuing their friends ere the whole of them were destroyed. Meantime the young bride of Tholouse was seen flying from street to street, calling on the Calvinists to save their brethren on the point of destruction. Fully 10,000 men were up in arms; but the gates had been closed by order of the Prince of Orange, and they found it impossible to force their way out. The whole city was in a state of commotion. The Lutherans as well as the Calvinists had flown to arms. Some of the fiercest proposed to avenge the death of the patriots by the slaughter of the Roman Catholics. The latter also, in consequence, in their own defence, had taken up arms. A most sanguinary outbreak was, therefore, every moment expected.
Had it begun, no one could say when it would end, or the number of lives which would be sacrificed. While the dreadful scenes I have described were going on, we hurried down from the walls to the open place near the Red Gate, still hoping that there might be some time to render assistance to the defeated patriots. At this moment the Prince, without any guards or attendants, rode in among the crowd collected there. Instead of the usual signs of respect with which he was greeted, he was now received with howls of execration. A thousand hoarse voices called him the Pope’s servant, the minister of antichrist, a traitor to his country. Some even proposed to cut him down on the spot. An arquebus was pointed at him, but, ere it was discharged, a hand from the crowd struck it away. Even before this the postern of the Red Gate had been forced open, and a number of the Calvinists were issuing forth.
The Prince sat calmly on his horse; then, lifting up his hand, he addressed the multitude. As he spoke, every voice was hushed. He told them that he came for their good, that the battle was over, that their friends had been cut to pieces, and that the victorious enemy were retiring; while, brave as those who heard him might be, should they go forth, they would be unable to retrieve the fortunes of the day. He pointed out to them that they were ill-armed and without discipline, and that the same force which had captured the camp at Ostrawell might with equal ease destroy them.
The remarks of the Prince seemed so just, that I persuaded A’Dale to give up his design of marching out to the relief of the remnants of the patriot force. Some hundreds, however, still insisted on going forth. Again and again the Prince and the Count Hoogstraaten, who had a short time before arrived on the spot, entreated them to abandon their design, warning them that their blood would be upon their own heads should they persevere.
Five hundred marched forth. The enemy were seen scattered about the country pursuing the fugitives. On the appearance of the city force, they were quickly again summoned together by the sound of the trumpet; and now, in a compact mass, they advanced towards the city, with drums beating and colours flying. Just before this a rapid firing was heard in the rear of the enemy. We at the time little knew what it was. Alas! the savages were shooting their prisoners, three hundred of whom they had captured, intending to ransom them. When, however, they found they had again to enter into a fresh battle, they shot the whole of the unfortunate men. Thus, in reality, this unadvised sally of the citizens was the cause of the death of a large number of their countrymen. The citizens, finding themselves outnumbered, and not relishing the firm bearing of the Spaniards, retreated rapidly into the city, the gates being shut only just in time to prevent the entrance of the Romanist force. The enemy, then advancing close to the city walls, planted the banners of the unfortunate Tholouse on the margin of the moat, sounding at the same time a trumpet of defiance. The Prince and his lieutenant exerted themselves to prevent another sally, well knowing the thoroughly trained force the citizens would have to encounter. In the opinion of the Prince the time for fighting had not yet arrived.
During the period I have been describing, the whole city continued in a state of the fiercest commotion. The Calvinists in vast numbers had taken possession of the Mere; it was here the market was held: it is a long wide place, too wide almost to be called a street, with fine buildings on either side—the streets which enter it communicating with the Exchange and many other public edifices. This place had been barricaded with paving stones, upturned waggons, and other articles which came to hand. A large body of the people had forced their way into the Arsenal, and obtained a supply of ammunition and several field-pieces; these they planted at the entrance of every street and passage. Another party stormed the city jail, and liberated the prisoners with whom they were crowded. These eagerly took up arms, and assembled in the Mere for its defence.
A’Dale and I, standing well with the Calvinists, were able to go in among them; but what we heard gave us great cause for anxiety. A large number were sincere and devoted men, excited at that moment to the highest pitch of religious enthusiasm. There were, however, no small number of ruffians, eager to commit any crime which came in their way. Some proposed pillaging the churches and the houses of the Romanists, the images only having before been destroyed.
“Let us collect all the wealth which has been so long hoarded up by these wretched drones!” cried out some; others proposed even sacking the whole of the city, and setting up a Republic of their own.
The report of these proposals spread rapidly through the city: nothing could exceed the terror and alarm of the rest of the inhabitants. It was fearful to hear the cries of the women and children, who every moment expected that the place would be given over to rapine and bloodshed.
Night was approaching: it was impossible to say what would take place during the coming darkness. Meantime the Prince summoned the Board of Ancients, the Deans of Guilds, and the Ward Masters, to consult with him at the Council Room: he had also caused eight companies of Guards, which had previously been enrolled, to be mustered on the square in front of the City Hall for its protection. It was rapidly arranged, at his suggestion, that terms should be offered to the insurgents; but who was to carry the message?
“I myself will go forth,” he said; and listening to no remonstrances, he threw himself on his horse, and rode down to the Mere. He was allowed to pass by the guns, till he was once more in the centre of the fierce mob. He told them that they must appoint eight deputies to treat with him and the magistrates at the Town Hall. The deputies were soon chosen, and accompanied him back. Six articles were drawn up, providing that the keys of the city should remain in his possession; that the watch should be held by burghers and soldiers together; that the magistrates should permit the entrance of no garrison; and that the citizens should be entrusted with the care of their own charters. The deputies and the City Government at once gave their cordial assent to these articles. When the deputies returned, their constituents were not very well pleased with what had been done, declaring that they would not submit to be locked up at the mercy of any man, nor would they trust to mercenary troops for guarding their city. The Prince, hearing this, agreed that the burghers, Calvinists, Lutherans, as well as Romanists, should be employed to guard the city.
These arrangements were not made till dark. A’Dale and I returned home. I may say that not one of the household could be persuaded to go to bed. Master Clough’s anxiety was very great, especially on account of his wife. A’Dale and I, therefore, willingly undertook to go forth again and learn the news. As we approached the Mere, where an army of not less than 15,000 Calvinists still remained encamped, with guns loaded, and artillery pointed, we heard cries, “Long live the Beggars!”
“Down with the Papists!” and similar shouts. We waited for some time: again and again they were repeated, till we felt convinced that they were about to march forth, and carry out the threats they had previously uttered. Thus the night passed away.
We were not the only people who kept awake. Few, I believe, slept; but there was one who, with his associates, laboured hard the whole time—that was the Prince of Orange, so we afterwards heard. He was employing every means he could devise to save the city. He had interviews with the leaders of various parties; among others, he saw the ministers and notable members of the Lutheran Churches, and induced them to persuade their congregations to take up arms for the preservation of order. He also engaged the assistance of the chiefs of the various foreign mercantile associations—the English, Italian, Portuguese, and others—and ordered us to remain under arms at our respective factories, ready to act at a moment’s warning. The Romanists also were assembled, and urged to unite with all those who wished to support order. As may be supposed, they were eager enough to do so, as certainly they would be the first to fall, should an outbreak take place.
There were thus three parties in the city—the Calvinists, the Lutherans, and the Romanists. In the two latter were generally found the richest people of the community, though they were the least numerous. They, therefore, would have suffered the most, had a battle been fought in the city. Nothing could have been more horrible than such an event—desolation and destruction would have been brought into every house. Yet, strange as it may seem, all parties were willing and eager to fight. Fresh articles were drawn up, and approved by those who represented the Lutheran and Romanist parties. The Prince resolved early in the morning to present them to the Calvinists; attended by Hoogstraaten and a committee of the municipal authorities, with a guard of a hundred troopers, he once more rode towards the Mere. It had been arranged that all who were anxious to preserve order were to wear a red scarf over their armour. Thus distinguished, he and his party approached the camp. The Calvinists appeared fierce and threatening as ever; but, notwithstanding, he was once more allowed to ride into the middle of the square. It was a moment of the greatest anxiety. One of the magistrates with a loud voice read the articles by the command of the Prince. For some time it seemed doubtful whether they would be accepted. But he in a few words expressed their meaning.
“And now, my friends,” he said, “let me entreat you, by the love you bear your wives and children, by the love you bear your faith, by your duty to your country and to your Maker, to agree to these terms. If you do so, repeat the words with which I will conclude my address.”
There was a pause. Then he cried with a loud voice, “God save the King!”
Again there was a pause. The Calvinists were swayed by conflicting emotions, but the calmness and gentleness of the Prince overcame all other considerations.
“Vive le Roi!” they shouted; and the cry was taken up throughout their ranks.
“I thank Heaven that it is so!” he again cried, when silence was once more procured. “Now let me entreat you quietly to return to your homes, and show that you bear your fellow-citizens no ill-will for what has occurred.”
In a short time, those in charge of the artillery restored them to the Arsenal, where all arms which had been taken were replaced. And now the citizens of all classes were seen addressing each other in friendly terms—the Calvinists, Lutherans, and even Romanists. The passions of some fifty thousand armed men were appeased. The lives of numbers were preserved, and the beautiful city of Antwerp was saved, by the wisdom and courage of William of Orange.