The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1555 | Page 6

softened by the
impressive character of the whole display. Sobs were heard throughout
every portion of the hall, and tears poured profusely from every eye.
The Fleece Knights on the platform and the burghers in the background
were all melted with the same emotion. As for the Emperor himself, he
sank almost fainting upon his chair as he concluded his address. An
ashy paleness overspread his countenance, and he wept like a child.
Even the icy Philip was almost softened, as he rose to perform his part
in the ceremony. Dropping upon his knees before his father's feet, he
reverently kissed his hand. Charles placed his hands solemnly upon his

son's head, made the sign of the cross, and blessed him in the name of
the Holy Trinity. Then raising him in his arms he tenderly embraced
him. saying, as he did so, to the great potentates around him, that he felt
a sincere compassion for the son on whose shoulders so heavy a weight
had just devolved, and which only a life-long labor would enable him
to support. Philip now uttered a few words expressive of his duty to his
father and his affection for his people. Turning to the orders, he
signified his regret that he was unable to address them either in the
French or Flemish language, and was therefore obliged to ask their
attention to the Bishop of Arras, who would act as his interpreter.
Antony Perrenot accordingly arose, and in smooth, fluent, and
well-turned commonplaces, expressed at great length the gratitude of
Philip towards his father, with his firm determination to walk in the
path of duty, and to obey his father's counsels and example in the future
administration of the provinces. This long address of the prelate was
responded to at equal length by Jacob Maas, member of the Council of
Brabant, a man of great learning, eloquence and prolixity, who had
been selected to reply on behalf of the states-general, and who now, in
the name of these; bodies, accepted the abdication in an elegant and
complimentary harangue. Queen Mary of Hungary, the "Christian
widow" of Erasmus, and Regent of the Netherlands during the past
twenty-five years, then rose to resign her office, making a brief address
expressive of her affection for the people, her regrets at leaving them,
and her hopes that all errors which she might have committed during
her long administration would be forgiven her. Again the redundant
Maas responded, asserting in terms of fresh compliment and elegance
the uniform satisfaction of the provinces with her conduct during her
whole career.
The orations and replies having now been brought to a close, the
ceremony was terminated. The Emperor, leaning on the shoulders of
the Prince of Orange and of the Count de Buren, slowly left the hall,
followed by Philip, the Queen of Hungary, and the whole court; all in
the same order in which they had entered, and by the same passage into
the chapel.
It is obvious that the drama had been completely successful. It had been
a scene where heroic self-sacrifice, touching confidence, ingenuous
love of duty, patriotism, and paternal affection upon one side; filial

reverence, with a solemn regard for public duty and the highest
interests of the people on the other, were supposed to be the
predominant sentiments. The happiness of the Netherlands was
apparently the only object contemplated in the great transaction. All
had played well their parts in the past, all hoped the best in the times
which were to follow. The abdicating Emperor was looked upon as a
hero and a prophet. The stage was drowned in tears. There is not the
least doubt as to the genuine and universal emotion which was excited
throughout the assembly. "Caesar's oration," says Secretary Godelaevus,
who was present at the ceremony, "deeply moved the nobility and
gentry, many of whom burst into tears; even the illustrious Knights of
the Fleece were melted." The historian, Pontus Heuterus, who, then
twenty years of age, was likewise among the audience, attests that
"most of the assembly were dissolved in tears; uttering the while such
sonorous sobs that they compelled his Caesarean Majesty and the
Queen to cry with them. My own face," he adds, "was certainly quite
wet." The English envoy, Sir John Mason, describing in a despatch to
his government the scene which he had just witnessed, paints the same
picture. "The Emperor," he said, "begged the forgiveness of his
subjects if he had ever unwittingly omitted the performance of any of
his duties towards them. And here," continues the envoy, "he broke into
a weeping, whereunto, besides the dolefulness of the matter, I think, he
was moche provoked by seeing the whole company to do the lyke
before; there beyng in myne opinion not one man in the