Читать книгу William, by the Grace of God - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 9

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That spring of 1572 was a time of great hope for the hitherto apparently lost cause of the Protestants and their leaders, the Nassau Princes and Admiral Coligny.

The bold capture of the Brill, though accompanied by many outrages and cruelties on the part of De la Marck, had undoubtedly been a turning-point in the long struggle between Philip and his Dutch subjects.

The rebels now possessed a town, had proclaimed their leader Stadtholder of three provinces and held a stronghold is the Netherlands, as the Huguenots held La Rochelle in France. Never had the country been more favourably inclined to throw off the dominion of Philip, never had Alva been so unpopular nor his agents so hated.

The tax of the tenth penny, proclaimed some time ago, but not so far enforced, had done more to rouse the people even than persecution and the Inquisition; even those who were prepared to abjure their faith were not prepared to submit to a tax that struck at the roots of their livelihood, and the menace of revolt was again heard threatening Philip from Zeeland to Brabant. But Alva was desperate as well as pitiless; he could get no money from Spain and did not hesitate in the ruthless expedient of wringing the last drops of blood from the country crushed by his tyranny.

The tax was enforced with great vigour, men now suffered for their property as they had formerly suffered for their religion, tradesmen who had proved obdurate were hanged outside their shops, merchants who protested were denounced to the Inquisition and hurried away to a secret death.

None the less the money came in slowly and the mutterings of revolt grew louder, and Alva, though he believed the Netherlanders crushed and the Prince of Orange broken, was angry enough to increase his cruelties and thereby the hatred felt against him.

The capture of the Brill had been a rude blow to Spanish pride and now Louis of Nassau was advancing on Mons with an army of French Huguenots, and a high tide of enthusiasm was rising for the Protestant cause and the Prince of Orange.

William himself was not idle; he did not wholly approve of the capture of the Brill, nor was his brother's impetuous march into Flanders entirely to his mind, but he knew how to take advantage of the reckless actions of other men.

His pamphlets, inciting citizens to protest and towns to revolt, were distributed, despite Alva's precautions, in the length and breadth of the Netherlands, and many a lampoon and pointed pasquinade found its way into the palace at Brussels and into the Viceroy's own hand.

Abroad also, politics now favoured the Reformed Faith. Elizabeth of England, despite the recent closing of her ports to the Sea Beggars, was not on friendly terms with Philip, whose dismissal of her ambassador to. Madrid she chose to regard as an affront, and she held out more than one tentative hope that she might help the Netherlanders when they had a little further helped themselves; William did not place much reliance on these half-promises, knowing that the Queen of England cared for neither rebels nor Calvinists and was certainly not ever likely to espouse a losing cause; at the same time she had good reason to both hate and fear Philip and might easily ally herself with any rising power which should threaten his dominion; the daughter of the Englishwoman who had displaced a Spanish Princess, the Protestant who was regarded by Catholics as illegitimate could not have anything but expediency in common with Philip of Spain, who had burnt alive and tortured to death many a less ardent Protestant than was Elizabeth of England herself.

But the Prince of Orange's greatest hopes were fixed on France.

It seemed that finally the shifting, dubious policies of the Italian Queen-Mother had decided on a pacific course with regard to the powerful party of the Protestants within her kingdom.

The marriage of her daughter Margaret, with Henry, son of Antony de Bourbon and the heroic Jeanne D'Albret, Queen of Navarre, was finally arranged and to take place that autumn, Coligny and his faction were more or less in favour and William's representations on behalf of the provinces listened to at least graciously.

It appeared not to be ungrateful to the Queen-Mother to put forward one of her younger sons as competitor for the sovereignty of the Netherlands when they should be wrested from Spain, nor was she at all averse to dealing underhand mischief to Philip. William of Orange cared for none of these intrigues, despised all these motives, but he believed that he could not free the Province without powerful foreign aid, and to obtain this he was prepared to make any sacrifice. He was willing to himself step into the background and offer the crown of the Netherlands to any Prince who would take them under his protection; he knew, in his heart, that while he lived, any such king would be only a puppet, and he had long since taken the measure of the degenerate princes of the House of Valois, yet he was prepared to use any of these who might come forward, to outwardly defer to them, to invest them with all show of authority as long as he could obtain the alliance of France to set against the might of Spain.

Not all his advisers agreed with him in this, but William did not see how he could succeed alone in the task he had undertaken. If when first he threw down the gage to Philip he had ever cherished such dreams, he had now long since dismissed them with other illusions of his youth.

Too clearly did he see the difficulties, to be dazzled by the dreams that still kept Louis on fire with enthusiasm and spurned him on to his reckless glorious deeds.

Yet he was not half-hearted in the cause in which he had staked and lost all—the spring had not blossomed into summer before he had once more taken the field and was marching towards Mons to effect a juncture with Louis who had now forced Mondvagon, the commander of the garrison, to surrender, and himself occupied the town.

William's troops were partly German mercenaries and partly levies supplied by the rebellious states of Holland and Zeeland, who had accepted him again as their Stadtholder, ignoring Philip's nominee, Count van Bossu.

Money began to come in, some provided by the State, some offered by private individuals, and William was encouraged.

He was still, by a ludicrous adhesion to formula, acting as Philip's lieutenant, as such he had been received by the estates "without prejudice to any of the customs and rights of the land," so, bound by judicial convention and the laws of the states he was defending, William defied Philip in Philip's name and carried on a revolution in the outward symbol of the power he was rebelling against.

Delay followed delay, before sufficient supplies were guaranteed to enable William to proceed in his campaign.

Louis was beleaguered in Mons, and as yet his brother was not strong enough to attempt to relieve him.

When at last the supplies came William crossed the Meuse and occupied Diest, Piulemont, Louvain, and Mechlin, which last town opened its gates and accepted his authority.

William had now every hope of being able to raise the siege of Mons, join his brother and march through the Netherlands, delivering the towns and calling the people to his standard as he proceeded.

He sat in his little tent this still August night and read letters from Admiral Coligny, promising him three thousand foot and twelve thousand arquebusiers which he was levying to help Louis in Mons.

William read the news and allowed his hopes to paint a glorious future...

Why not? he asked himself.

He and Coligny, the two of them together, could they not do something?

Freedom—liberty of conscience, the end of persecution, the return of prosperity, thriving cities with their busy market towns, a flourishing country-side, becoming powerful, respected, while such tyrannies as those of Philip decayed from their own inward rottenness and sank into oblivion.

A mad dream, yet such things had been?

So he mused; for all his astuteness and caution there was something mystic in his nature that responded to the unseen forces about him; to-night he felt them strongly. This sense of being withdrawn from himself soon became unbearable; he roused himself, made an abrupt movement and lifted his eyes. The tent flap was raised and a strange face was looking in on him, a face illumined by the lamp, yellow, haggard and lit by a melancholy smile.

"The Prince of Orange dreams?" said this stranger and advanced into the tent.

William regarded him steadily; the new-comer was a tall man wrapped in a large shabby black cloak.

William put his hand round to his dagger; he thought this was one of Philip's assassins; with his senses all alert he waited.

The stranger spread out his arms, which had been folded in his mantle, and thus showed that he was weaponless. "I am harmless," he said.

He was indeed such a thin and miserable creature that William's curiosity was mingled with pity.

"What errand have you come upon?" he asked. The other folded his arms again and gazed at him searchingly. "You do not remember me?"

"No."

"Yet we have many memories in common," replied the stranger. "I am a wise man, an astrologer."

"Now I recall you—the alchemist's assistant—Dubois."

"The man who foretold the death of your brother Adolphus."

"And mine," smiled William.

"And yours, Highness," said the astrologer sadly. The Prince was interested.

"Sit down and talk to me," he said.

Dubois obeyed and chose the little stool directly opposite the Prince.

There was between them only the bare table with the plain lamp.

"Tell me my fortunes," smiled the Prince. "To-night I am in a mounting mood and full of good augury."

The spirit raiser shook his head gloomily and fixed his eyes on the figure of the man before him.

William was seated on a folding camp chair of leather; behind him was a little desk covered with papers.

He had put aside his mantle, for the night was oppressively hot, and his slight figure was clad in the brown cloth beneath armour, high soft boots and a collar of white lawn.

His face was thin, the dark powerful eyes shadowed, the hair was mingled with grey on the temples, while he bore his forty years heavily, a man whose youth was utterly gone.

There was little trace now of the splendid young Prince who had come to Leipsic to marry Anne of Saxony, nor of the magnificent Grandee who had held his state in Brussels during the rule of Margaret of Parma.

"We have come to much the same level, Prince," said Dubois.

"You are a strange fellow," answered William. "Why are you in my camp?"

"I am like a dog, I follow where there is meat and drink."

"What did you come to tell me?"

"Your fortune, if you will."

"I make my own fortune."

"Let your Princely Grace tell me, then, what will your to-morrow be?"

"A short day," said William, "and one with a red sunset—do I not prophesy well?"

"Your Highness has much courage," said the astrologer. "Do you truly foresee this future before you?"

"I see," replied William, "that I shall no more escape Philip than my friends have escaped him, whom you have seen fall one by one."

"And Louis?"

"Louis and Henry and John," said the Prince. "I think the whole House of Nassau is dedicate to sacrifice."

Dubois did not answer and William too was silent, staring at the fantastic figure of the man; no prophecies could frighten the Prince, his own mind prophesied his own violent end, but he was confident that he might accomplish much before that, he cherished also a secret hope that the young Louis and the boyish Henry might be spared his fate and survive to see the triumphs he would not enjoy.

Dubois looked at him and sighed.

"And Coligny?" he said. "What does your Highness foresee for Coligny?"

William was startled.

"I had no dark thoughts for Coligny," he answered quickly.

"You hope much from France?"

"That is common knowledge."

Dubois looked at him long and earnestly as he replied.

"It were wise for your Highness to rely on none but yourself—so you will best escape disappointment." William smiled, but the old chill of disillusion touched his heart; he thought the fellow half mad, a trickster, yet his words had their effect, for William knew that he did rely on Coligny and the promised aid from France. His mood of tolerance for the charlatan vanished.

"You must learn less melancholy if you would be successful," he said, "and to-night—I listen to no forebodings—my star is in the ascendant," he added with a little smile. Dubois bowed, and without waiting for the piece of money William was about to give him in memory of Leipsic and Brussels days, left the tent as silently as he had entered. The Prince turned again to the Admiral's letter; his mood was still one of elation—he seemed to hear the cries of victory and all the ill-lit gloom of his tent was filled with the light of the dawn of another and triumphant day.