Part 24

Such was the immense power now placed in the hands of this young prince not yet thirty years of age. Philip II. established his court at Madrid, and from his palace there sent forth his edicts over his wide domains. In 1558 Queen Mary of England died, being succeeded by her half-sister Elizabeth.

Philip’s only regret for his wife was, no doubt, the loss of his hold upon the English crown. Before a year had elapsed he was married to the daughter of the king of France. This young princess, Elizabeth,—called in Spain, Isabella,—was only fourteen years of age, and had been previously betrothed to the son of Philip, Don Carlos, who was of the same age.

The death of this young prince a few years afterwards, under very suspicious circumstances, caused many to think that he had been poisoned by the command of his father, who had imprisoned the prince at the time. Don Carlos and his father had frequent quarrels, and at last Carlos was said to have confessed to a priest that he desired to kill his father, and he asked absolution, which the priest refused to grant. The king was informed of all this. The young prince was thereupon imprisoned, with a strong guard to watch him, and he was reported to be mad. In the course of a few months Don Carlos died.

Two stories regarding that event were told. Some historians consider Philip innocent of any attempt upon the life of his son, but others state that the physician of the prince was informed that it was very desirable that the death of Carlos should appear to result from natural causes; and that medicine was administered to the unsuspecting patient in such doses as slowly to accomplish the desired end. Philip II. was a fanatic in religion, and the terrible persecution of the Protestants during his reign has filled the world with horror, as the shocking stories have been told.

Philip had not forgotten his father’s command to punish heretics with the utmost rigor. The Reformation had been silently and rapidly advancing in Spain. Now the terrible persecutions of the Inquisition were turned against this heroic little band of fearless Christians by those professing to worship the same merciful God, and to be followers of the same loving and sinless Christ. How such awful crimes could have been perpetrated in the sacred name of religion seems at the present day incomprehensible, and we shudder at the recital of such savage barbarity, more especially when committed by the enlightened and civilized nations of the world less than four centuries ago.

The bigoted Philip issued an edict “that all who bought, sold, or read prohibited works were to be burned alive.” Every person suspected of heresy was arrested and thrown into prison. In Seville alone, eight hundred were arrested in one day. The accused were then dragged from their dungeons and subjected to the horrors of the most merciless tortures to induce them to give up their Protestant faith; and these shocking deeds were performed in the name of religion. The awful details of those barbarous crimes are too horrible to relate. What must the reality have been to the poor victims of this inhuman persecution!

The first act of burning, under the decrees of the Pope, Philip II., and the Spanish inquisitor-general, Valdés, took place in May, 1559, at Valladolid. This terrible ceremony was called _auto de fé_, or act of faith; and so common did they at length become, that Catholics would engage to meet each other at the _“auto de fé,”_ as in modern times appointments are made to meet at the theatre, opera, or other place of public gathering. One of the historians thus describes the second _auto de fé_ in Valladolid, in October, 1559: “The Pope wished to invest the scene with all the terrors of the Day of Judgment. That he might draw an immense crowd, an indulgence of forty days was granted to all who should be present at the spectacle.

“The tragedy was enacted in the great square of the city. At one end of the square a large platform was erected, richly carpeted and decorated, where seats were arranged for the inquisitors. A royal gallery was constructed for the king and his court. Two hundred thousand spectators surrounded the arena. At six o’clock in the morning all the bells of the city began to toll the funeral knell. A solemn procession emerged from the dismal fortress of the Inquisition. A body of troops led the van. Then came the condemned. There were two classes: the first consisting of those who were to be punished with confiscation and imprisonment; and the second, of those who were to suffer death. The latter were covered with a loose gown of yellow cloth, and wore upon the head a paper cap of conical form. Both the gown and cap were covered with pictures of flames fanned and fed by demons. Two priests were by the side of each one of the victims, urging him to abjure his errors. Those who were merely to endure loss of property and to be thrown into the dungeons of the Inquisition were clothed in garments of black. A vast concourse of dignitaries of state, and of the common people, closed the procession. The fanaticism of the times was such, that probably but few of the people had any sympathy with the sufferers. The ceremonies were opened with a sermon by the bishop of Zamora. Then the whole assembled multitude took an oath, upon their knees, to defend the Inquisition and the purity of the Catholic faith, and to inform against any one who should swerve from the faith. Then those who, to escape the flames, had expressed penitence for their errors, after a very solemn recantation, were absolved from death. But heresy was too serious a crime to be _forgiven_, even upon penitence. All were doomed to the confiscation of property, and to imprisonment—some for life—in the dungeons of the Inquisition. Their names were branded with infamy, and in many cases their immediate descendants were rendered ineligible to any public office. These first received their doom, and under a strong guard were conveyed back to prison.

“And now all eyes were turned to the little band of thirty, who, in the garb of ignominy, and with ropes around their necks, were waiting their sentence. Many of these were men illustrious for rank, and still more renowned for talents and virtues. Their countenances were wan and wasted, their frames emaciated, and many of them were distorted by the cruel ministry of the rack. Those who were willing to make confession were allowed the privilege of being strangled before their bodies were exposed to the torture of the fire. After being strangled by the _garrote_, their bodies were thrown into the flames. Enfeebled by suffering, all but two of them thus purchased exemption from being burned alive.

“One of these, Don Carlos de Seso, was a Florentine noble. He had married a Spanish lady of high rank, and had taken up his residence in Spain, where he had adopted the principles of the Reformation. For fifteen months, with unshaken constancy, he had suffered in the dungeons of the Inquisition. When sentence of death at the stake was pronounced upon him, he called for pen and paper in his cell. His judges supposed that he intended to make confession. Instead of that he wrote a very eloquent document, avowing his unshaken trust in the great truths of the Reformation. De Seso had stood very high in the regards of Philip’s father, Charles V. As he was passing before the royal gallery to be chained to the stake, he looked up to Philip, and said, ‘Is it thus that you allow your innocent subjects to be persecuted?’ The king replied, ‘If it were my own son, I would fetch the wood to burn him, were he such a wretch as thou art.’

“He was chained to the stake. As the flames slowly enveloped him in their fiery wreaths, he called upon the soldiers to heap up the fagots, that his agonies might sooner terminate. Soon life was extinct, and the soul of the noble martyr was borne on angel wings to heaven. The fellow-sufferer of De Seso was Domingo de Rexas, son of the marquis of Posa. Five of this noble family, including the eldest son, had been victims of the Inquisition. De Rexas had been a Dominican monk. In accordance with usage, he retained his sacerdotal habit until he stood before the stake. Then in the midst of the jeers of the populace his garments were one by one removed, and the vestments of the condemned, with their hideous picturings, were placed upon him. He attempted to address the spectators. Philip angrily ordered him to be gagged. A piece of cleft wood was thrust into his mouth, causing great pain. He was thus led to the stake and burned alive. The cruel exhibition occupied from six o’clock in the morning until two o’clock in the afternoon.”

Such were some of the shocking and barbarous scenes connected with the notorious Spanish Inquisition. This persecution raged year after year. So fiercely did these fires of persecution burn throughout all Spain, that nearly all traces of the Protestant religion were eradicated from the kingdom. The Spaniards degenerated into semi-barbarism. Education was discouraged, all human rights were trampled upon, and Spain became one of the most debased, impoverished, and miserable nations in Europe. Thus had religious fanaticism turned this fair province of Philip’s into a desert. In regard to the blame which rests upon Philip II., for this deplorable state of things, his own words will answer. He wrote to his sister, whom he had appointed his regent in the Netherlands, thus:—

“I have never had any object in view than the good of my subjects! In all that I have done I have trod in the footsteps of my father, under whom the people of the Netherlands must admit that they lived contented and happy. As to the Inquisition, whatever people may say of it, I have never attempted anything new. With regard to the edicts, I have been always resolved to live and die in the Catholic faith. I could not be content to have my subjects do otherwise. Yet I see not how this can be compassed without punishing the transgressors. God knows how willingly I would avoid shedding a drop of Christian blood; but I would rather lose a hundred thousand lives, if I had so many, than allow a single change in matters of religion.”

In the Netherlands persecutions and rebellions caused constant strife. Scarcely forty years had elapsed since Luther had publicly burned the papal bull at Wittenburg. Since that time his doctrines had been received in Denmark and Sweden. In England, under Queen Elizabeth, Protestantism had become the established religion of the state. The Reformation had reached the hills and valleys of Scotland, and tens of thousands had gathered to hear the preaching of Knox. The Low Countries, or Netherlands, which now constitute Holland and Belgium, were the “debatable land,” on which the various sects of reformers, the Lutherans, the Calvinists, and the English Protestants, contended for mastery over the Roman Catholic Church. Calvinism was embraced by some of the cantons of Switzerland, and had also spread widely through France, where the adherents to the Protestant faith were known as the Huguenots. The cry of the Reformation had passed the Alps, and was heard even under the walls of the Vatican, and had crossed the Pyrenees.

The king of Navarre declared himself a Protestant, and the spirit of the Reformation, as we have related, had also secretly spread into Spain. But there already the terrible Inquisition, with Philip II. at its head, had crushed out Protestantism from Spain. It was not to be expected that Philip, having exterminated heresy in one part of his dominions, would tolerate its existence in any other, least of all in so important a country as the Netherlands. So the persecutions commenced there. During the latter part of the fifteenth century, and the beginning of the sixteenth, the pontifical throne had been filled by a succession of popes, notorious for their religious indifference, and the carelessness and profligacy of their lives. This was one of the prominent causes of the Reformation. But before the close of the sixteenth century, a line of popes had arisen, of stern and austere natures, without a touch of sympathy for the joys and sorrows of mankind, and entirely devoted to the work of regaining the lost powers of the Roman Catholic Church. Pope Pius the Fifth was such a pontiff. He wrote to Philip, urging 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. To him Philip replied: that 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.”

With such a pope, and such a king, no wonder that the Inquisition flourished.

The situation of the Netherlands was such that the various opinions of the surrounding nations were easily transferred to their shores. On the south were the Lutherans of Germany; on the west, the French Huguenots; while by the ocean, they held communication with England and the nations of the Baltic. The soldier quartered on their territory, the seaman who visited their shores, the trader who trafficked in their towns, brought with them different forms of the “_New Religion_.” As most of the people were able to read, books from France and Germany were circulated amongst them. Philip II. understood the importance of his position. His whole life proves that he felt it to be his especial mission to restore the tottering fortunes of Catholicism, and stay the torrent which was sweeping away the Roman Catholic faith. Philip had made his half-sister, Margaret, regent in the Netherlands.

In order to a clearer understanding of the revolt in the Netherlands, a brief sketch of William, prince of Orange, will be necessary. He was descended from ancestors who had given an emperor to Germany; William’s parents were both Lutherans, and he was educated in that faith. But Charles V. obtained the consent of his parents to remove him to Brussels, when in his twelfth year, and he was brought up in the family of the Emperor’s sister. In this household, the young prince was instructed in the Catholic faith. When fifteen years of age, William became the page of Charles V. On the abdication of that monarch, he commended William to Philip II., who at first received the prince of Orange with much favor. William married for his second wife, Anne, the daughter of Maurice, the great Lutheran champion; and though he did not openly espouse the cause, but continued in the service of Philip, a writer of the times says of him: “The prince of Orange passed for a Catholic among Catholics, and a Lutheran among Lutherans.” But this portrait of him was by an unfriendly hand, and a truer declaration is that of Prescott, “that he possessed a spirit of toleration, the more honorable that in that day it was so rare. He condemned the Calvinists as restless and seditious, and the Catholics for their bigoted attachment to a dogma. Persecution, in matters of faith, he totally condemned, for freedom of judgment in such matters he regarded as the inalienable right of man. These conclusions, at which the world, after an incalculable amount of human suffering, has been three centuries in arriving, must be allowed to reflect great credit on the character of William, prince of Orange.”

There was now formed in the Netherlands a league called “The Gueux.” Some of this party of confederates demanded entire liberty of conscience; others would not have stopped short of a revolution, that would enable the country to shake off the Spanish yoke. Though this party was a political rather than a religious organization, they joined hands with the Lutherans and Calvinists, and became, for a time, a great aid to the Reformation. The origin of their name, which became the fanatical war-cry of the insurgents, happened thus: Two or three hundred of these confederates went to Brussels, to petition Margaret, the regent, to mediate with Philip in their behalf, that they should have more political liberty, and be freed from the edicts and the Inquisition. During the week spent by the league in Brussels, a banquet was given, where three hundred of the confederates were present. During the repast, Brederode, one of their number, described the manner in which their petition had been received by the regent. “She seemed at first disconcerted,” he said, “by the number of the confederates, but was reassured by Barlaimont, who told her that ‘they were nothing but a crowd of beggars.’”

Some of the company were much incensed at this treatment, but Brederode, taking it good-humoredly, said, “that he and his friends had no objection to the name, since they were ready at any time to become beggars for the service of their king and country.” This witty sally was received by the company with great applause, who shouted, “_Vivent les Gueux!_”—“long live the beggars!” Brederode, finding the jest took so well, left the room, and soon returned with a beggar’s wallet and a wooden bowl, such as were used by the mendicant fraternity in the Netherlands. Then pledging the company in a bumper, he swore to devote his life and fortune to the cause. The wallet and the bowl went round the table, and as each of the merry guests drank, the shout arose, “_Vivent les Gueux!_” In every language in which the history of these acts has been recorded, the French term, Gueux, is employed to designate this party of malcontents in the Netherlands.

The league now adopted the dress and symbols of mendicants. They affected their garments as a substitute for their family liveries, dressing their retainers in the ash-gray habiliments of the begging friars. Wooden bowls, spoons, and knives became in great request, though they were richly inlaid with silver, according to the wealth of the possessor. Pilgrims’ staffs were carried, elaborately carved. Medals resembling those stuck by the beggars in their bonnets were worn as a badge. The “Gueux penny,” as it was called, a gold or silver coin, was hung from the neck, bearing on one side the effigy of Philip, with the inscription, “_Fideles au roi_,” and on the other, two hands grasping a beggar’s wallet, and the words, “_jusques a porter la besace_,”—“Faithful to the king, even to carrying the wallet.” The war-cry of “_Vivent les Gueux_” soon resounded through the Netherlands.

[Illustration: DESTROYING STATUES, ETC., IN THE CATHEDRAL AT ANTWERP.]

Philip paid little or no attention to the frequent appeals of Margaret, his regent, that he should come to some concessions which should satisfy the people and bring the rebellion to an end. But while Philip was procrastinating, the Iconoclasts rose in fury, and inspired by a false zeal, committed many terrible, sacrilegious outrages, which cast dishonor upon the upholders of the Reformation. These Iconoclasts, or image-breakers, were simply armed mobs of ignorant people, who imagined they were doing a service to God by breaking into the Catholic churches, and ruthlessly destroying everything they could lay their hands on. Prescott thus describes the destruction caused by this band of rioters in Antwerp:—

“When the rest of the congregation had withdrawn, after vespers, the mob 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. 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, 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 woodwork 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. The whole number engaged in this work is said not to have exceeded a hundred, men, women, and boys.

“When their task was completed, they sallied forth in a body from the doors of the cathedral, 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.