The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1580-82 | Page 5

must do one's best," said he, "and believe that
when such misfortunes happen, God desires to prove us. If He sees that
we do not lose our courage, He will assuredly help us. Had we thought
otherwise, we should never have pierced the dykes on a memorable
occasion, for it was an uncertain thing and a great sorrow for the poor
people; yet did God bless the undertaking. He will bless us still, for his
arm hath not been shortened."
On the 22nd of July, 1580, the Archduke Matthias, being fully aware of
the general tendency of affairs, summoned a meeting of the generality
in Antwerp. He did not make his appearance before the assembly, but
requested that a deputation might wait upon him at his lodgings, and to

this committee he unfolded his griefs. He expressed his hope that the
states were not--in violation of the laws of God and man--about to
throw themselves into the arms of a foreign prince. He reminded them
of their duty to the holy Catholic religion to the illustrious house of
Austria, while he also pathetically called their attention to the
necessities of his own household, and hoped that they would, at least,
provide for the arrears due to his domestics.
The states-general replied with courtesy as to the personal claims of the
Archduke. For the rest, they took higher grounds, and the coming
declaration of independence already pierced through the studied
decorum of their language. They defended their negotiation with Anjou
on the ground of necessity, averring that the King of Spain had proved
inexorable to all intercession, while, through the intrigues of their
bitterest enemies, they had been entirely forsaken by the Empire.
Soon afterwards, a special legation, with Saint Aldegonde at its head,
was despatched to France to consult with the Duke of Anjou, and
settled terms of agreement with him by the treaty of Plessis les Tours
(on the 29th of September, 1580), afterwards definitely ratified by the
convention of Bordeaux, signed on the 23rd of the following January.
The states of Holland and Zealand, however, kept entirely aloof from
this transaction, being from the beginning opposed to the choice of
Anjou. From the first to the last, they would have no master but Orange,
and to him, therefore, this year they formally offered the sovereignty of
their provinces; but they offered it in vain.
The conquest of Portugal had effected a diversion in the affairs of the
Netherlands. It was but a transitory one. The provinces found the hopes
which they had built upon the necessity of Spain for large supplies in
the peninsula--to their own consequent relief--soon changed into fears,
for the rapid success of Alva in Portugal gave his master additional
power to oppress the heretics of the north. Henry, the Cardinal King,
had died in 1580, after succeeding to the youthful adventurer, Don
Sebastian, slain during his chivalrous African campaign (4th of August,
1578). The contest for the succession which opened upon the death of
the aged monarch was brief, and in fifty-eight days, the bastard Antonio,
Philip's only formidable competitor, had been utterly defeated and
driven forth to lurk, like 'a hunted wild beast, among rugged mountain
caverns, with a price of a hundred thousand crowns upon his head. In

the course of the succeeding year, Philip received homage at Lisbon as
King of Portugal. From the moment of this conquest, he was more
disposed, and more at leisure than ever, to vent his wrath against the
Netherlands, and against the man whom he considered the incarnation
of their revolt.
Cardinal Granvelle had ever whispered in the King's ear the expediency
of taking off the Prince by assassination. It has been seen how subtly
distilled, and how patiently hoarded, was this priest's venom against
individuals, until the time arrived when he could administer the poison
with effect. His hatred of Orange was intense and of ancient date. He
was of opinion, too, that the Prince might be scared from the post of
duty, even if the assassin's hand were not able to reach his heart. He
was in favor of publicly setting a price upon his head-thinking that if
the attention of all the murderers in the world were thus directed
towards the illustrious victim, the Prince would tremble at the dangers
which surrounded him. "A sum of money would be well employed in
this way," said the Cardinal, "and, as the Prince of Orange is a vile
coward, fear alone will throw him into confusion." Again, a few
months later, renewing the subject, he observed, "'twould be well to
offer a reward of thirty or forty thousand crowns to any one who will
deliver the Prince, dead or alive; since from very fear of it--as he is
pusillanimous--it would not be unlikely that he should