As he drew near to Antwerp the people flocked out by thousands to welcome him. It would seem as if they hailed him as their deliverer; and every window, verandah, and roof was crowded with spectators as he rode through the gates of the capital.[771] The people ran up and down the streets, singing psalms, or shouting, "Vivent les Gueux!" while they thronged round the prince's horse in so dense a mass that it was scarcely possible for him to force a passage.[772] Yet these demonstrations of his popularity were not altogether satisfactory; and he felt no pleasure at being thus welcomed as a chief of the league, which, as we have seen, he was far from regarding with{265} approbation. Waving his hand repeatedly to those around him, he called on them to disperse, impatiently exclaiming, "Take heed what you do, or, by Heaven, you will have reason to rue it."[773] He rode straight to the hall where the magistrates were sitting, and took counsel with them as to the best means of allaying the popular excitement, and of preventing the wealthy burghers from quitting the city. During the few weeks he remained there, the prince conducted affairs so discreetly, as to bring about a better understanding between the authorities and the citizens. He even prevailed on the Calvinists to lay aside their arms. He found more difficulty in persuading them to relinquish the design of appropriating to themselves some place of worship within the walls. It was not till William called in the aid of the military to support him, that he compelled them to yield.[774]

Thus the spirit of reform was rapidly advancing in every part of the country,—even in presence of the court, under the very eye of the regent. In Brussels the people went through the streets by night, singing psalms, and shouting the war-cry of Vivent les Gueux! The merchants and wealthy burghers were to be seen with the insignia of the confederates on their dress.[775] Preparations were made for a public preaching without the walls; but the duchess at once declared, that in that event she would make one of the company at the head of her guard, seize the preacher, and hang him up at the gates of the city![776] This menace had the desired effect.

During these troublous times, Margaret, however little she may have accomplished, could not be accused of sleeping on her post. She caused fasts to be observed, and prayers to be offered in all the churches, to avert the wrath of Heaven from the land. She did not confine herself to these spiritual weapons, but called on the magistrates of the towns to do their duty, and on all good citizens to support them. She commanded foreigners to leave Antwerp, except those only who were there for traffic. She caused placards to be everywhere posted up, reciting the terrible penalties of the law against heretical teachers and those who abetted them; and she offered a reward of six hundred florins to whoever should bring any such offender to punishment.[777] She strengthened the garrisoned towns, and would have levied a force to overawe the refractory; but she had not the funds to pay for it. She endeavored to provide these by means of loans from the great clergy and the principal towns; but with indifferent success. Most of them were already creditors of the government, and they liked the security too little to make further advances. In her extremity, Margaret had no resource but the one so often tried,—that of invoking the aid of her brother. "I have no refuge,"{266} she wrote, "but in God and your majesty. It is with anguish and dismay I must admit that my efforts have wholly failed to prevent the public preaching, which has spread over every quarter of the country."[778] She bitterly complains, in another letter, that, after "so many pressing applications, she should be thus left, without aid and without instructions, to grope her way at random."[779] She again beseeches Philip to make the concessions demanded, in which event the great lords assure her of their support in restoring order.

It was the policy of the cabinet of Madrid not to commit itself. The royal answers were brief, vague, never indicating a new measure, generally intimating satisfaction with the conduct of the regent, and throwing as far as possible all responsibility on her shoulders.

But besides his sister's letters, the king was careful to provide himself with other sources of information respecting the state of the Netherlands. From some of these the accounts he received of the conduct of the great lords were even less favorable than hers. A letter from the secretary, Armenteros, speaks of the difficulty he finds in fathoming the designs of the prince of Orange,—a circumstance which he attributes to his probable change of religion. "He relies much," says the writer, "on the support he receives in Germany, on his numerous friends at home, and on the general distrust entertained of the king. The prince is making preparations in good season," he concludes, "for defending himself against your majesty."[780]

Yet Philip did not betray any consciousness of this unfriendly temper in the nobles. To the prince of Orange, in particular, he wrote: "You err in imagining that I have not entire confidence in you. Should any one seek to do you an ill office with me, I should not be so light as to give ear to him, having had so large experience of your loyalty and your services."[781] "This is not the time," he adds, "for men like you to withdraw from public affairs." But William was the last man to be duped by these fair words. When others inveighed against the conduct of the regent, William excused her by throwing the blame on Philip. "Resolved to deceive all," he said, "he begins by deceiving his sister."[782]{267}

It was about the middle of July that an event occurred which caused still greater confusion in the affairs of the Netherlands. This was a meeting of the confederates at St. Trond, in the neighborhood of Liege. They assembled, two thousand in number, with Count Louis and Brederode at their head. Their great object was to devise some means for their personal security. They were aware that they were held responsible, to some extent, for the late religious movements among the people.[783] They were discontented with the prolonged silence of the king, and they were alarmed by rumors of military preparations, said to be designed against them. The discussions of the assembly, long and animated, showed some difference of opinion. All agreed to demand some guaranty from the government for their security. But the greater part of the body, no longer halting at the original limits of their petition, were now for demanding absolute toleration in matters of religion. Some few of the number, stanch Catholics at heart, who for the first time seem to have had their eyes opened to the results to which they were inevitably tending, now, greatly disgusted, withdrew from the league. Among these was the younger Count Mansfeldt,—a name destined to become famous in the annals of the revolution.

Margaret, much alarmed by these new demonstrations, sent Orange and Egmont to confer with the confederates, and demand why they were thus met in an unfriendly attitude towards the government which they had so lately pledged themselves to support in maintaining order. The confederates replied by sending a deputation of their body to submit their grievances anew to the regent.

The deputies, twelve in number, and profanely nicknamed at Brussels "the twelve apostles,"[784] presented themselves, with Count Louis at their head, on the twenty-eighth of July, at the capital. Margaret, who with difficulty consented to receive them in person, gave unequivocal signs of her displeasure. In the plain language of Louis, "the regent was ready to burst with anger."[785] The memorial, or rather remonstrance, presented to her was not calculated to allay it.

Without going into details, it is only necessary to say, that the confederates, after stating their grounds for apprehension, requested that an assurance should be given by the government that no harm was intended them. As to pardon for the past, they disclaimed all desire for it. What they had done called for applause, not condemnation. They only trusted that his majesty would be pleased to grant a convocation of the states-general, to settle the affairs of the country. In the mean time, they besought him to allow the concerns of the confederates to be placed in the hands of the prince of Orange, and the Counts Egmont and Hoorne, to act as their mediators with the crown, promising in all things to be guided by their counsel. Thus would tranquillity be restored. But without some guaranty for their safety, they should be obliged to protect themselves by foreign aid.[786]{268}

The haughty tone of this memorial forms a striking contrast with that of the petition presented by the same body not four months before, and shows with what rapid strides the revolution had advanced. The religious agitations had revealed the amount of discontent in the country, and to what extent, therefore, the confederates might rely on the sympathy of the people. This was most unequivocally proved during the meeting of St. Trond, where memorials were presented by the merchants, and by persons of the Reformed religion, praying the protection of the league to secure them freedom of worship, till otherwise determined by the states-general. This extraordinary request was granted.[787] Thus the two great parties leaned on each other for support, and gave mutual confidence to their respective movements. The confederates, discarding the idea of grace, which they had once solicited, now darkly intimated a possible appeal to arms. The Reformers, on their side, instead of the mitigation of penalties, now talked of nothing less than absolute toleration. Thus political Revolution and religious Reform went hand in hand together. The nobles and the commons, the two most opposite elements of the body politic, were united closely by a common interest; and a formidable opposition was organized to the designs of the monarch, which might have made any monarch tremble on his throne.

An important fact shows that the confederates coolly looked forward, even at this time, to a conflict with Spain. Louis of Nassau had a large correspondence with the leaders of the Huguenots in France, and of the Lutherans in Germany. By the former he had been offered substantial aid in the way of troops. But the national jealousy entertained of the French would have made it impolitic to accept it. He turned therefore to Germany, where he had numerous connections, and where he subsidized a force consisting of four thousand horse and forty companies of foot, to be at the disposal of the league. This negotiation was conducted under the eye, and, as it seems, partly through the agency, of his brother William.[788] From this moment, therefore, if not before, the prince of Orange may be identified with the party who were prepared to maintain their rights by an appeal to arms.

These movements of the league could not be kept so close but that they came to the knowledge of Margaret. Indeed, she had her secret agents at St. Trond, who put her in possession of whatever was done, or even designed, by the confederates.[789] This was fully exhibited in her correspondence with Philip, while she again called his attention to the forlorn condition of the government, without men, or money, or the means to raise it.[790] "The sectaries go armed," she writes, "and are organizing their forces. The league is with them. There remains nothing but that they should band together, and sack the towns, villages, and churches, of which I am in marvellous great fear."[791]—Her fears had gifted her with the spirit of prophecy. She implores{269} her brother, if he will not come himself to Flanders, to convoke the states-general, quoting the words of Egmont, that, unless summoned by the king they would assemble of themselves, to devise some remedy for the miseries of the land, and prevent its otherwise inevitable ruin.[792] At length came back the royal answer to Margaret's reiterated appeals. It had at least one merit, that of being perfectly explicit.

Montigny, on reaching Madrid, as we have seen, had ready access to Philip. Both he and his companion, the marquis of Bergen, were allowed to witness, it would seem, the deliberations of the council of state, when the subject of their mission was discussed. Among the members of that body, at this time, may be noticed the duke of Alva; Ruy Gomez de Silva, prince of Eboli, who divided with Alva the royal favor; Figueroa, count of Feria, a man of an acute and penetrating intellect, formerly ambassador to England, in Queen Mary's time; and Luis de Quixada, the major-domo of Charles the fifth. Besides these there were two or three councillors from the Netherlands, among whose names we meet with that of Hopper, the near friend and associate of Viglius. There was great unanimity in the opinions of this loyal body, where none, it will be readily believed, was disposed to lift his voice in favour of reform. The course of events in the Netherlands, they agreed, plainly showed a deliberate and well-concerted scheme of the great nobles to secure to themselves the whole power of the country. The first step was the removal of Granvelle, a formidable obstacle in their path. Then came the attempt to concentrate the management of affairs in the hands of the council of state. This was followed by assaults on the Inquisition and the edicts, as the things most obnoxious to the people; by the cry in favor of the states-general; by the league, the Compromise, the petitions, the religious assemblies; and, finally, by the present mission to Spain. All was devised by the great nobles, as part of a regular system of hostility to the crown, the real object of which was to overturn existing institutions, and to build up their own authority on the ruins. While the council regarded these proceedings with the deepest indignation, they admitted the necessity of bending to the storm, and under present circumstances judged it prudent for the monarch to make certain specified concessions to the people of the Netherlands. Above all, they earnestly besought Philip, if he would still remain master of this portion of his empire, to defer no longer his visit to the country.[793]

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.

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.

Pius, as may be imagined, beheld with deep anxiety the spread of the new religion in the Low Countries. He wrote to the duchess of Parma, exhorting her to resist to the utmost, and professing his readiness to supply her, if need were, with both men and money. To Philip he also wrote, conjuring him not to falter in the good cause, and to allow no harm to the Catholic faith, but to march against his rebellious vassals at the head of his army, and wash out the stain of heresy in the blood of the heretic.[802]{272}

The king now felt it incumbent on him to explain to the holy father his late proceedings. This he did through Requesens, his ambassador at the papal court. The minister was to inform his holiness that Philip would not have moved in this matter without his advice, had there been time for it. But perhaps it was better as it was; for the abolition of the Inquisition in the Low Countries could not take effect, after all, unless sanctioned by the pope, by whose authority it had been established. This, however, was to be said in confidence.[803] As to the edicts, Pius might be assured that his majesty would never approve of any scheme which favored the guilty by diminishing in any degree the penalties of their crimes. This also was to be considered as secret.[804] Lastly, his holiness need not be scandalized by the grant of a general pardon, since it referred only to what concerned the king personally, where he had a right to grant it. In fine, the pope might rest assured that the king would consent to nothing that could prejudice the service of God or the interests of religion. He deprecated force, as that would involve the ruin of the country. Still, he would march in person, without regard to his own peril, and employ force, though it should cost the ruin of the provinces, but he would bring his vassals to submission. For he would sooner lose a hundred lives, and every rood of empire, than reign a lord over heretics.[805]{273}

Thus all the concessions of Philip, not merely his promises of grace, but those of abolishing the Inquisition and mitigating the edicts, were to go for nothing,—mere words, to amuse the people until some effectual means could be decided on. The king must be allowed, for once at least, to have spoken with candor. There are few persons who would not have shrunk from acknowledging to their own hearts that they were acting on so deliberate a system of perfidy as Philip thus confided in his correspondence with another. Indeed, he seems to have regarded the pope in the light of his confessor, to whom he was to unburden his bosom as frankly as if he had been in the confessional. The shrift was not likely to bring down a heavy penance from one who doubtless held to the orthodox maxim of "No faith to be kept with heretics."

The result of these royal concessions was what might have been expected. Crippled as they were by conditions, they were regarded in the Low Countries with distrust, not to say contempt. In fact, the point at which Philip had so slowly and painfully arrived had been long since passed in the onward march of the revolution. The men of the Netherlands now talked much more of recompense than of pardon. By a curious coincidence, the thirty-first of July, the day on which the king wrote his last despatches from Segovia, was precisely the date of those which Margaret sent to him from Brussels, giving the particulars of the recent troubles, of the meeting at St. Trond, the demand for a guaranty, and for an immediate summons of the legislature.

But the fountain of royal grace had been completely drained by the late efforts. Philip's reply at this time was prompt and to the point. As to the guaranty, he said, that was superfluous when he had granted a general pardon. For the states-general, there was no need to alter his decision now, since he was so soon to be present in the country.[806]

This visit of the king to the Low Countries, respecting which so much was said and so little was done, seems to have furnished some amusement to the wits of the court. The prince of Asturias, Don Carlos, scribbled one day on the cover of a blank book, as its title, "The Great and Admirable Voyages of King Philip;" and within, for the contents, he wrote, "From Madrid to the Pardo, from the Pardo to the Escorial, from the Escorial to Aranjuez," &c., &c.[807] This jest of the graceless son had an edge to it. We are not told how far it was relished by his royal father.

CHAPTER XII.

While Philip was thus tardily coming to concessions which even then were not sincere, an important crisis had arrived in the affairs of the Netherlands. In the earlier stages of the troubles, all orders, the nobles, the commons, even{274} the regent, had united in the desire to obtain the removal of certain abuses, especially the Inquisition and the edicts. But this movement, in which the Catholic joined with the Protestant, had far less reference to the interests of religion than to the personal rights of the individual. Under the protection thus afforded, however, the Reformation struck deep root in the soil. It nourished still more under the favor shown to it by the confederates, who, as we have seen, did not scruple to guaranty security of religions worship to some of the sectaries who demanded it.

But the element which contributed most to the success of the new religion was the public preachings. These in the Netherlands were what the Jacobin clubs were in France, or the secret societies in Germany and Italy,—an obvious means for bringing together such as were pledged to a common hostility to existing institutions, and thus affording them an opportunity for consulting on their grievances, and for concerting the best means of redress. The direct object of these meetings, it is true, was to listen to the teachings of the minister. But that functionary, far from confining himself to spiritual exercises, usually wandered to more exciting themes, as the corruptions of the Church and the condition of the land. He rarely failed to descant on the forlorn circumstances of himself and his flock, condemned thus stealthily to herd together like a band of outlaws, with ropes, as it were, about their necks, and to seek out some solitary spot in which to glorify the Lord, while their enemies, in all the pride of a dominant religion, could offer up their devotions openly and without fear, in magnificent temples. The preacher inveighed bitterly against the richly benefited clergy of the rival Church, whose lives of pampered ease too often furnished an indifferent commentary on the doctrines they inculcated. His wrath was kindled by the pompous ceremonial of the Church of Rome, so dazzling and attractive to its votaries, but which the Reformer sourly contrasted with the naked simplicity of the Protestant service. Of all abominations, however, the greatest in his eyes was the worship of images, which he compared to the idolatry that in ancient times had so often brought down the vengeance of Jehovah on the nations of Palestine; and he called on his hearers, not merely to remove idolatry from their hearts, but the idols from their sight.[808] It was not wonderful that, thus stimulated by their spiritual leaders, the people should be prepared for scenes similar to those enacted by the Reformers in France and in Scotland; or that Margaret, aware of the popular feeling, should have predicted such an outbreak. At length it came, and on a scale and with a degree of violence not surpassed either by the Huguenots or the disciples of Knox.

On the fourteenth of August, the day before the festival of the Assumption of the Virgin, a mob, some three hundred in number, armed with clubs, axes, and other implements of destruction, broke into the churches around St. Omer, in the province of Flanders, overturned the images, defaced the ornaments, and in a short time demolished whatever had any value or beauty in the buildings. Growing bolder from the impunity which attended their movements, they next proceeded to Ypres, and had the audacity to break into the cathedral, and deal with it in the same ruthless manner. Strengthened by the accession of other miscreants from the various towns, they proceeded along the banks of the Lys, and fell upon the churches of Menin, Comines, and other places on its borders. The excitement now spread over the country. Everywhere the populace was in arms. Churches, chapels, and convents were involved in indiscriminate ruin. The storm, after sweeping over Flanders, and desolating the flourishing cities of Valenciennes and{275} Tournay, descended on Brabant. Antwerp, the great commercial capital of the country, was its first mark.[809]

The usual population of the town happened to be swelled at this time by an influx of strangers from the neighboring country, who had come up to celebrate the great festival of the Assumption of the Virgin. Fortunately the prince of Orange was in the place, and by his presence prevented any molestation to the procession, except what arose from the occasional groans and hisses of the more zealous spectators among the Protestants. The priests, however, on their return, had the discretion to deposit the image in the chapel, instead of the conspicuous station usually assigned to it in the cathedral, to receive there during the coming week the adoration of the faithful.

On the following day, unluckily, the prince was recalled to Brussels. In the evening some boys, who had found their way into the church, called out to the Virgin, demanding "why little Mary had gone so early to her nest, and whether she were afraid to show her face in public."[810] This was followed by one of the party mounting into the pulpit, and there mimicking the tones and gestures of the Catholic preacher. An honest waterman who was present, a zealous son of the Church, scandalized by this insult to his religion, sprang into the pulpit, and endeavored to dislodge the usurper. The lad resisted. His comrades came to his rescue; and a struggle ensued, which ended in both the parties being expelled from the building by the officers.[811] This scandalous proceeding, it may be thought, should have put the magistrates of the city on their guard, and warned them to take some measures of defence for the cathedral. But the admonition was not heeded.

On the following day a considerable number of the reformed party entered the building, and were allowed to continue there after vespers, when the rest of the congregation had withdrawn. Left in possession, their first act was to break forth into one of the Psalms of David. The sound of their own voices seemed to rouse them to fury. Before the chant had died away, they rushed forward as by a common impulse, broke open the doors of the chapel, and dragged forth the image of the Virgin. Some called on her to cry, "Vivent les Gueux!" while others tore off her embroidered robes, and rolled the dumb idol in the dust, amidst the shouts of the spectators.

This was the signal for havoc. The rioters dispersed in all directions on the work of destruction. Nothing escaped their rage. High above the great altar was an image of the Saviour, curiously carved in wood, and placed between the effigies of the two thieves crucified with him. The mob contrived to get a rope round the neck of the statue of Christ, and dragged it to the ground. They then fell upon it with hatchets and hammers, and it was soon broken into a hundred fragments. The two thieves, it was remarked, were spared, as if to preside over the work of rapine below.

Their fury now turned against the other statues, which were quickly overthrown from their pedestals. The paintings that lined the walls of the cathedral were cut into shreds. Many of these were the choicest specimens of Flemish art, even then, in its dawn, giving promise of the glorious day which was to shed a lustre over the land.

But the pride of the cathedral, and of Antwerp, was the great organ, renowned throughout the Netherlands, not more for its dimensions than its perfect workmanship. With their ladders the rioters scaled the lofty fabric,{276} and with their implements soon converted it, like all else they laid their hands on, into a heap of rubbish.

The ruin was now universal. Nothing beautiful, nothing holy, was spared. The altars—and there were no less than seventy in the vast edifice—were overthrown one after another; their richly embroidered coverings rudely rent away; their gold and silver vessels appropriated by the plunderers. The sacramental bread was trodden under foot; the wine was quaffed by the miscreants, in golden chalices, to the health of one another, or of the Gueux; and the holy oil was profanely used to anoint their shoes and sandals. The sculptured tracery on the walls, the costly offerings that enriched the shrines, the screens of gilded bronze, the delicately carved wood-work of the pulpit, the marble and alabaster ornaments, all went down under the fierce blows of the iconoclasts. The pavement was strewed with the ruined splendors of a church, which in size and magnificence was perhaps second only to St. Peter's among the churches of Christendom.

As the light of day faded, the assailants supplied its place with such light as they could obtain from the candles which they snatched from the altars. It was midnight before the work of destruction was completed. Thus toiling in darkness, feebly dispelled by tapers the rays of which could scarcely penetrate the vaulted distances of the cathedral, it is a curious circumstance—if true—than no one was injured by the heavy masses of timber, stone, and metal that were everywhere falling around them.[812] The whole number engaged in this work is said not to have exceeded a hundred men, women, and boys,—women of the lowest description, dressed in men's attire.

When their task was completed, they sallied forth in a body from the doors of the cathedral, some singing the Psalms of David, others roaring out the fanatical war-cry of "Vivent les Gueux!" Flushed with success, and joined on the way by stragglers like themselves, they burst open the doors of one church after another; and by the time morning broke, the principal temples in the city had been dealt with in the same ruthless manner as the cathedral.[813]

No attempt all this time was made to stop these proceedings on the part of magistrates or citizens. As they beheld from their windows the bodies of armed men hurrying to and fro by the gleam of their torches, and listened to the sounds of violence in the distance, they seem to have been struck with a panic. The Catholics remained within doors, fearing a general rising of the Protestants. The Protestants feared to move abroad, lest they should be confounded with the rioters. Some imagined their own turn might come next, and appeared in arms at the entrances of their houses, prepared to defend them against the enemy.

When gorged with the plunder of the city, the insurgents poured out at the gates, and fell with the same violence on the churches, convents, and other religious edifices in the suburbs. For three days these dismal scenes continued, without resistance on the part of the inhabitants. Amidst the ruin in the cathedral, the mob had alone spared the royal arms and the escutcheons of the knights of the Golden Fleece, emblazoned on the walls. Calling this to mind, they now returned into the city to complete the work. But some of the knights,{277} who were at Antwerp, collected a handful of their followers, and, with a few of the citizens, forced their way into the cathedral, arrested ten or twelve of the rioters, and easily dispersed the remainder; while a gallows erected on an eminence admonished the offenders of the fate that awaited them. The facility with which the disorders were repressed by a few resolute men naturally suggests the inference, that many of the citizens had too much sympathy with the authors of the outrages to care to check them, still less to bring the culprits to punishment. An orthodox chronicler of the time vents his indignation against a people who were so much more ready to stand by their hearths than by their altars.[814]

The fate of Antwerp had its effect on the country. The flames of fanaticism, burning fiercer than ever, quickly spread over the northern, as they had done over the western provinces. In Holland, Utrecht, Friesland,—everywhere, in short, with a few exceptions on the southern borders,—mobs rose against the churches. In some places, as Rotterdam, Dort, Haarlem, the magistrates were wary enough to avert the storm by delivering up the images, or at least by removing them from the buildings.[815] It was rare that any attempt was made at resistance. Yet on one or two occasions this so far succeeded that a handful of troops sufficed to rout the iconoclasts. At Anchyn, four hundred of the rabble were left dead on the field. But the soldiers had no relish for their duty, and on other occasions, when called on to perform it, refused to bear arms against their countrymen.[816] The leaven of heresy was too widely spread among the people.

Thus the work of plunder and devastation went on vigorously throughout the land. Cathedral and chapel, monastery and nunnery, religious houses of every description, even hospitals, were delivered up to the tender mercies of the Reformers. The monks fled, leaving behind them treasures of manuscripts and well-stored cellars, which latter the invaders soon emptied of their contents, while they consigned the former to the flames. The terrified nuns, escaping half naked, at dead of night, from their convents, were too happy to find a retreat among their friends and kinsmen in the city.[817] Neither monk nor nun ventured to go abroad in the conventual garb. Priests might be sometimes seen hurrying away with some relic or sacred treasure under their robes, which they were eager to save from the spoilers. In the general sack not even the abode of the dead was respected; and the sepulchres of the counts of Flanders were violated, and laid open to the public gaze![818]

The deeds of violence perpetrated by the iconoclasts were accompanied by such indignities as might express their contempt for the ancient faith. They snatched the wafer, says an eye-witness, from the altar, and put it into{278} the mouth of a parrot. Some huddled the images of the saints together, and set them on fire, or covered them with bits of armor, and, shouting "Vivent les Gueux!" tilted rudely against them. Some put on the vestments stolen from the churches, and ran about the streets with them in mockery. Some basted the books with butter, that they might burn the more briskly.[819] By the scholar, this last enormity will not be held light among their transgressions. It answered their purpose, to judge by the number of volumes that were consumed. Among the rest, the great library of Vicogne, one of the noblest collections in the Netherlands, perished in the flames kindled by these fanatics.[820]

The amount of injury inflicted during this dismal period it is not possible to estimate. Four hundred churches were sacked by the insurgents in Flanders alone.[821] The damage to the cathedral of Antwerp, including its precious contents, was said to amount to not less than four hundred thousand ducats![822] The loss occasioned by the plunder of gold and silver plate might be computed. The structures so cruelly defaced might be repaired by the skill of the architect. But who can estimate the irreparable loss occasioned by the destruction of manuscripts, statuary, and paintings? It is a melancholy fact, that the earliest efforts of the Reformers were everywhere directed against those monuments of genius which had been created and cherished by the generous patronage of Catholicism. But if the first step of the Reformation was on the ruins of art, it cannot be denied that a compensation has been found in the good which it has done by breaking the fetters of the intellect, and opening a free range in those domains of science to which all access had been hitherto denied.

The wide extent of the devastation was not more remarkable than the time in which it was accomplished. The whole work occupied less than a fortnight. It seemed as if the destroying angel had passed over the land, and at a blow had consigned its noblest edifices to ruin! The method and discipline, if I may so say, in the movements of the iconoclasts, were as extraordinary as their celerity. They would seem to have been directed by some other hands than those which met the vulgar eye. The quantity of gold and silver plate purloined from the churches and convents was immense. Though doubtless sometimes appropriated by individuals, it seems not unfrequently to have been gathered in a heap, and delivered to the minister, who, either of himself, or by direction of the consistory, caused it to be melted down, and distributed among the most needy of the sectaries.[823] We may sympathize with the indignation of a Catholic writer of the time, who exclaims, that in this way the poor churchmen were made to pay for the scourges with which they had been beaten.[824]