The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1564-65 | Page 8

Philip know it now. Let him be unequivocally informed
that this whole machinery of placards and scaffolds, of new bishops
and old hangmen, of decrees, inquisitors, and informers, must once and
forever be abolished. Their day was over. The Netherlands were free
provinces, they were surrounded by free countries, they were
determined to vindicate their ancient privileges. Moreover, his Majesty
was to be plainly informed of the frightful corruption which made the
whole judicial and administrative system loathsome. The venality
which notoriously existed every where, on the bench, in the council
chamber, in all public offices, where purity was most essential, was
denounced by the Prince in scathing terms. He tore the mask from
individual faces, and openly charged the Chancellor of Brabant,
Engelbert Maas, with knavery and corruption. He insisted that the King
should be informed of the necessity of abolishing the two inferior
councils, and of enlarging the council of state by the admission of ten

or twelve new members selected for their patriotism, purity, and
capacity. Above all, it was necessary plainly to inform his Majesty that
the canons of Trent, spurned by the whole world, even by the Catholic
princes of Germany, could never be enforced in the Netherlands, and
that it would be ruinous to make the attempt. He proposed and insisted
that the Count of Egmont should be instructed accordingly. He avowed
in conclusion that he was a Catholic himself and intended to remain in
the Faith, but that he could not look on with pleasure when princes
strove to govern the souls of men, and to take away their liberty in
matters of conscience and religion.
Here certainly was no daintiness of phraseology, and upon these
leading points, thus slightly indicated, William of Orange poured out
his eloquence, bearing conviction upon the tide of his rapid invective.
His speech lasted till seven in the evening, when the Duchess adjourned
the meeting. The council broke up, the Regent went to supper, but the
effect of the discourse upon nearly all the members was not to be
mistaken. Viglius was in a state of consternation, perplexity, and
despair. He felt satisfied that, with perhaps the exception of Berlaymont,
all who had listened or should afterwards listen to the powerful
arguments of Orange, would be inevitably seduced or bewildered. The
President lay awake, tossing and tumbling in his bed, recalling the
Prince's oration, point by point, and endeavoring, to answer it in order.
It was important, he felt, to obliterate the impression produced.
Moreover, as we have often seen, the learned Doctor valued himself
upon his logic.
It was absolutely necessary, therefore, that in his reply, next day, his
eloquence should outshine that of his antagonist. The President thus
passed a feverish and uncomfortable night, pronouncing and listening
to imaginary harangues. With the dawn of day he arose and proceeded
to dress himself. The excitement of the previous evening and the
subsequent sleeplessness of his night had, however, been too much for
his feeble and slightly superannuated frame. Before he had finished his
toilet, a stroke of apoplexy stretched him senseless upon the floor. His
servants, when they soon afterwards entered the apartment, found him
rigid, and to all appearance dead. After a few days, however, he
recovered his physical senses in part, but his reason remained for a
longer time shattered, and was never perhaps fully restored to its

original vigor.
This event made it necessary that his place in the council should be
supplied. Viglius had frequently expressed intentions of retiring, a
measure to which he could yet never fully make up his mind. His place
was now temporarily supplied by his friend and countryman, Joachim
Hopper, like himself a, Frisian doctor of ancient blood and extensive
acquirements, well versed in philosophy and jurisprudence; a professor
of Louvain and a member of the Mechlin council. He was likewise the
original founder and projector of Douay University, an institution
which at Philip's desire he had successfully organized in 1556, in order
that a French university might be furnished for Walloon youths, as a
substitute for the seductive and poisonous Paris. For the rest, Hopper
was a mere man of routine. He was often employed in private affairs by
Philip, without being entrusted with the secret at the bottom of them.
His mind was a confused one, and his style inexpressibly involved and
tedious. "Poor master Hopper," said Granvelle, "did not write the best
French in the world; may the Lord forgive him. He was learned in
letters, but knew very little of great affairs." His manners were as
cringing as his intellect was narrow. He never opposed the Duchess, so
that his colleagues always called him Councillor "Yes, Madam," and he
did his best to be friends with all the world.
In deference to the arguments of