The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1579-80 | Page 6

of Egmont's adherents--if he indeed had
adherents among the townsmen --dared to show his face. The young
traitor and his whole regiment, drawn up on the Grande Place, were
completely entrapped. He had not taken Brussels, but assuredly

Brussels had taken him. All day long he was kept in his self-elected
prison and pillory, bursting with rage and shame. His soldiers, who
were without meat or drink, became insolent and uproarious, and he
was doomed also to hear the bitter and well-merited taunts of the
towns-people. A thousand stinging gibes, suggested by his name and
the locality, were mercilessly launched upon him. He was asked if he
came thither to seek his father's head. He was reminded that the
morrow was the anniversary of that father's murder upon that very
spot-- by those with whom the son would now make his treasonable
peace. He was bidden to tear up but a few stones from the pavement
beneath his feet, that the hero's blood might cry out against him from
the very ground.
Tears of shame and fury sprang from the young man's eyes as he
listened to these biting sarcasms, but the night closed upon that
memorable square, and still the Count was a prisoner. Eleven years
before, the summer stars had looked down upon a more dense array of
armed men within that place. The preparations for the pompous and
dramatic execution, which on the morrow was to startle all Europe, had
been carried out in the midst of a hushed and overawed population; and
now, on the very anniversary of the midnight in which that scaffold had
risen, should not the grand spectre of the victim have started from the
grave to chide his traitorous son?
Thus for a whole day and night was the baffled conspirator compelled
to remain in the ignominious position which he had selected for himself.
On the morning of the 5th of June he was permitted to depart, by a
somewhat inexplicable indulgence, together with all his followers. He
rode out of the gate at early dawn, contemptible and crest-fallen, at the
head of his regiment of traitors, and shortly afterwards--pillaging and
levying black mail as he went--made his way to Montigny's quarters.
It might have seemed natural, after such an exhibition, that Philip
Egmont should accept his character of renegade, and confess his
intention of reconciling himself with the murderers of his father. On the
contrary, he addressed a letter to the magistracy of Brussels, denying
with vehemence "any intention of joining the party of the pernicious
Spaniards," warmly protesting his zeal and affection for the states, and
denouncing the "perverse inventors of these calumnies against him as
the worst enemies of the poor afflicted country." The magistrates

replied by expressing their inability to comprehend how the Count,
who had suffered villainous wrongs from the Spaniards, such as he
could never sufficiently deplore or avenge, should ever be willing to
enslave himself, to those tyrants. Nevertheless, exactly at the moment
of this correspondence, Egmont was in close negotiation with Spain,
having fifteen days before the date of his letter to the Brussels senate,
conveyed to Parma his resolution to "embrace the cause of his Majesty
and the ancient religion"--an intention which he vaunted himself to
have proved "by cutting the throats of three companies of states'
soldiers at Nivelle, Grandmont, and Ninove." Parma had already
written to communicate the intelligence to the King, and to beg
encouragement for the Count. In September, the monarch wrote a letter
to Egmont, full of gratitude and promises, to which the Count replied
by expressing lively gratification that his Majesty was pleased with his
little services, by avowing profound attachment to Church and King,
and by asking eagerly for money, together with the government of
Alost. He soon became singularly importunate for rewards and
promotion, demanding, among other posts, the command of the "band
of ordnance," which had been his father's. Parma, in reply, was prodigal
of promises, reminding the young noble "that he was serving a
sovereign who well knew how to reward the distinguished exploits of
his subjects." Such was the language of Philip the Second and his
Governor to the son of the headless hero of Saint Quentin; such was the
fawning obsequiousness with which Egmont could kiss that royal hand
reeking with his father's blood.
Meanwhile the siege of Maestricht had been advancing with steady
precision. To military minds of that epoch--perhaps of later ages--this
achievement of Parma seemed a masterpiece of art. The city
commanded the Upper Meuse, and was the gate into Germany. It
contained thirty-four thousand inhabitants. An army, numbering almost
as many Souls, was brought against it; and the number of deaths by
which its capture was at last effected, was probably equal to that of a
moiety of the