Chapter XIII: The Departure of the Cardinal

Cardinal Granvelle had asked and obtained leave to go to Burgundy to see his mother, whom he had not beheld for nineteen years.

That was now common knowledge, and a tumult of rejoicing broke forth which frightened the Regent almost more than the tumult of rage and hate which had preceded it.

For it seemed as if the people believed that with the departure of the Cardinal all their wrongs and miseries would end and the golden age begin; pamphlets, lampoons, caricatures, issued in hundreds from the secret printing presses, were scattered in the streets, pasted on the walls of the churches, and found their way even to Granvelle's cabinet and Margaret's antechamber; the rhetoric players became daily bolder and performed their satirical plays before huge audiences who forcibly protected the actors; heretic preachers addressed their followers even from the pulpits of churches from which the priests had been driven, and two of them, condemned to the flames by the Inquisition at Antwerp, were rescued, even after they had been chained to the stake, by the furious people, who carried them back in triumph to their lodgings.

And it was not only the people who thus recklessly displayed their joy at the departure of the hated minister. The victorious nobles, particularly Egmont and Brederode, openly exulted in the downfall of their enemy, for none of them believed that the object of his visit was more than an excuse, and it was generally thought that his journey to Burgundy was a mere pretext for retiring with dignity from a position he could no longer maintain.

Various rumours were abroad: some said the Cardinal had asked to be removed from the Netherlands, others that he was obeying secret orders from Philip and was furious at leaving the contest with the grandees, but whichever of their surmises might be correct it was certain that he was leaving and almost as sure that he would not return. Already a wit had pasted a notice "to be sold" over his villa "La Fontaine," and much laughter was provoked by the famous statue with "_Durate_" on the pedestal, which word had a mocking sound now.

But through all this hearty, intense, noisy rejoicing of the Netherlanders the Cardinal remained serene. Perhaps what gave him his calm was his knowledge of the other side of the picture; he knew Madrid, he knew Philip; he knew too how all this present rejoicing would be paid for some day, how Philip had marked and noted the names of these gay nobles who had driven out his minister, how all the reckless jests, pasquinades and speeches, the famous insolence of Egmont's livery, the disloyalty of Berghen and Montigny, were all known to Philip, and by him patiently and painstakingly noted down. Philip knew how to wait, but he had a memory no detail escaped.

Granvelle was not vindictive, and he was too politic to be inclement; he had no desire to be avenged on the men who had caused his downfall, and his last words to the Regent were to advise her to overlook the present disorders.

Indeed he disdained all his opponents save one only, the Prince of Orange.

He saw that without him the other nobles would be nothing; he was the guiding spirit of Egmont and Hoorne, neither of whom could have stood alone, and the first of whom, at least, would easily have been won by the Cardinal but for Orange.

"He is a dangerous man," said Granvelle with admiration, and loyally warned his master; then, with an unruffled spirit and a smile for all, set out on his journey to Burgundy.

Brussels seethed with excitement and joy; the members of the great trade guilds, the armourers, the cloth makers, the glovers, the gardeners, turned out in bands and paraded the streets; many of the shops closed while the servers and apprentices went out to see the Cardinal pass; parties of Protestants went about singing the hymns of Marot, and defying the law. It was a general holiday, and the only people angry and discomfited were the Cardinalists, Barlaymont, Aerschot, and Vigilius, who saw their power at an end; even the Regent was glad to see Granvelle go, for she hoped and imagined that the seigneurs would be easier to manage than the astute and able priest.

"Poor Madame Parma," remarked the Cardinal to his brother, the Seigneur de Chantonnay, who accompanied him in his carriage, "she cannot manage her charge at all. His Majesty should send a man to the Netherlands."

"The Duke of Alva for example," replied Chantonnay, who hated the Netherlanders.

"Alva is too severe," returned Granvelle; "these are people who will not bear too light a curb, too heavy a yoke. Alva has already recommended the taking off of the heads of Egmont and Hoorne."

"Why not?" said the other, who was vexed at his brother's fall and extremely irritated by the joyous and insolent farewells being given to the cavalcade as it passed towards the gates. "They are little better than rebels."

"Egmont is more useful to His Majesty alive than dead—better buy him than behead him."

"Is he to be bought?"

"Easily—poor, extravagant, vain——"

"But he is under the influence of Orange," said Chantonnay.

Granvelle smiled.

"There you have the crux of the situation, my friend," he replied. "The Prince of Orange. That is the man to strike, the others are boys and roysterers—but he knows how to use them. If it had not been for him I should not be leaving the Netherlands now."

"Why is he so disloyal?" asked Chantonnay peevishly.

"Ah, who knows what game he plays!" replied the Cardinal rather wearily. "He is serving neither King nor Church, so he must be serving himself—ambition!"

They had now nearly reached the gates of Caudenberg, and the Cardinal's escort, princely train and numerous equipages, were blocked for a moment by the narrowness of the streets and the pressure of the exulting crowds. Chantonnay was afraid of violence, even of assassination; there had been rumours of hired murderers lying in wait for the Cardinal, ready to take the first opportunity of attack; but Granvelle, who had driven alone and unarmed at night out to his country residence, was not to be frightened now, though the crowd might very well be dangerous.

He looked steadily and keenly out of the coach window at the faces of his enemies.

"They are sturdy people," he remarked, "who will give the King much trouble. And what truly grieves me is to see what little respect there is for holy things, one might say that there is no religion left in the land."

"Yet the great nobles have taken the Cardinal's Hat from the livery, I observe," said Chantonnay, "and put instead a bunch of arrows."

"The Duchess requested it," returned the Cardinal, who was still intently observing the crowd. "But what helps that? The Hat but meant insult to me and God's poor priests, whereas the arrows mean that they are banded together against the King, which is a declaration of rebellion no monarch should endure."

The carriage now moved on, and the Cardinal leant back in his seat; he had been looking to see if any of the nobles were among the crowd, for he wished to report very exactly the behaviour of these seigneurs to Philip. So far he had noticed none above the baser sort, but presently, as they neared the gate, he looked out again and up at the house near by where he knew Brederode had his lodgings.

And there at one of the windows was the Count together with the Count Hoogstraaten, the two of them laughing and throwing up their caps and clapping their hands in undisguised triumph and delight. This boyish exultation brought to Granvelle's cheek the angry flush the stately victory of William of Orange had failed to evoke; the brilliant minister, the skilful politician, the haughty priest tasted humiliation when he saw himself the butt of the malicious wits of these two young cavaliers.

He drew into the farthest corner of the carriage, but they had seen him, and, leaning out of the window, shouted their farewells with redoubled pleasure as the procession finally passed through the gates.

Then, with the common impulse not to let their defeated enemy escape too cheaply, they rushed down to the courtyard.

"I must see the last of the old fox!" cried Hoogstraaten, and he flung himself on his horse which stood waiting for him.

"I too!" laughed Brederode, "and as I am not booted I will come with you."

So saying he leapt on the Count's croup, and they dashed through street and gates in pursuit of the Cardinal's stately cortége, which was attended by a number of sumpter-mules, lent him by the Duchess.

The two knights on the one horse, Hoogstraaten in his buff and gold riding suit, his black velvet cap with the long heron's feather fastened by an emerald, his violet mantle; Brederode in the tawny damask satin, Flanders lace, scarlet points, and silk hose, in which he had danced nearly all through the night, were at once recognized by the crowd and cheered and applauded as heartily as the Cardinal had been hissed and execrated.

Brederode gaily waved the mantle he had snatched up as a pretence at a disguise, and laughed over the edge of his triple ruff which was something broken and something stained, and the couple plunged through the gates and out on to the road where the Cardinal was commencing his stately, if tedious, progress towards Namur, the first stage of the journey.

There were several others following the cavalcade, notably one of Egmont's gentlemen, and one who was in the employ of the Marquis Berghen, that nobleman whom the Cardinal disliked and feared next to the Prince of Orange.

But there was no representative of the House of Nassau dogging the retreat of His Eminence, and William would have been far from pleased had he known of the exploit of Hoogstraaten and Brederode.

For a while these two cavaliers kept a discreet distance from the Cardinal, and remained at the side of the road in the rear and near to the baggage mules.

But this did not long satisfy Brederode; he wished to ride by Granvelle's actual carriage, and to let him see who was escorting him on his journey.

And so, when the road fell into a little ravine, the two cavaliers rode along the edge of the height until they were beside the carriage and could look down on it, and when the way was level again they reappeared at the edge of the autumn forest, near enough to His Eminence's coach to look in at the window.

Granvelle's attention was attracted by Chantonnay to this spectacle of two men on one horse, and he looked out of the carriage.

Hoogstraaten had thrown his mantle over the lower part of his face, but Brederode's reckless face was uncovered save for the brown curls the March wind blew across his brow and cheeks (for he was hatless).

The Cardinal knew both instantly.

"They are buffoons," he remarked, but though he tried thus to dismiss the incident, it vexed him; however, the annoyance passed when he reflected how dearly the jesters were likely to pay for their jest.

The two cavaliers, regardless of the fact that the Cardinal had seen them and that therefore a full account of their exploit was certain to reach Philip, continued to follow the cavalcade in its slow progress over the rough, muddy winter roads until they reached a high piece of rising ground that commanded a full view of the surrounding country—bare woods, fields, hedges, disappearing into the cold blue mist of the distance.

Here they waited, and looking scornfully down on the Cardinal's coach as it passed, watched it lumbering along the road to Namur until a turn hid it from their eyes.

"At the first stage Granvelle will write of this to the Duchess," remarked Hoogstraaten, in a grave voice; his high spirits had left him, his prudence, though not his courage, was alarmed at what he had done.

But Brederode laughed; prudence was as unknown to him as fear; he had a far better claim than Philip to the Countship of all Holland, for his ancestry went unbrokenly back five hundred years to the ancient sovereigns of that province. In his heart he regarded the King as a usurper, and he had no respect either for him or his ministers; indeed, his furious loathing of Granvelle and his policies was based on his hatred of seeing his native land, where his forebears had ruled, in the hands of foreigners.

"Well, we have seen the last flick of the fox's tail," he said joyously, "and now we may go home to dinner, this keen air has given me an appetite."

Hoogstraaten turned the horse's head towards Brussels.

"Yes, the Cardinal has gone, but his disciples remain," he answered thoughtfully.

"The seigneurs will see to them," said Brederode confidently.

"Ah, I know not," remarked Hoogstraaten; "I believe Armenteros, the Regent's secretary, has more influence with her than Orange himself. But we shall see."

"Ay, we shall see, my Anthony," returned Brederode, "for my part I do not think so gloomily; if Armenteros behave as Granvelle has, then he may follow the same road—we have cast down a Cardinal, do you think we are to be baffled by a clerk?"

And he began to sing a cheerful song in a merry bass voice which rose very pleasantly over the still winter woodlands.

When they reached the Caudenberg gate they found the city still full of joyous emotion, and received as noisy a greeting as they had done on their departure.

Hoogstraaten would have dismounted at Brederode's lodgings, but that nobleman would by no means permit it, and they continued their progress through the city, exchanging joyful congratulations and greetings with those who were making a festival of Granvelle's departure.

As they made their way up the high streets which led to the ancient Brabant palace which was the Regent's residence, they were hailed by a half-laughing voice, and the Prince of Orange galloped alongside them.

"We have escorted His Eminence on the road to Namur!" cried Brederode.

"And though hungry and thirsty and cold," added Hoogstraaten, "we are now joining in the rejoicings of the good citizens."

"Ah, seigneurs," said William, with a little smile, "one day your pleasantries will end in a mischief, I fear."

"To our enemies, yes," replied Brederode. "Where is Your Highness going?"

"To wait on the Regent."

"So soon?"

"Ay, Margaret having flung away one prop must seize another; she is a weak woman and cannot stand alone," remarked Hoogstraaten.

"Shall we see you at supper to-night?" asked Brederode, as the Prince touched up his horse.

"Nay," smiled the Prince, "a wise man avoids your suppers, my Brederode, at least when he has business to perform."

"I have an excellent cook," pleaded the Count.

William, still smiling, shook his head and rode on towards the Brabant palace.

He went slowly, without parade or a single attendant, greeted affectionately and loyally by most of the people, for though some were doubtful of his attitude, the bulk believed that he would defend their liberties, and a great number even of the heretics had their hope in the great Catholic Prince who had already spoken against the Inquisition.

To-day, too, he was regarded by the people with added respect and interest, for it was clear that now the Cardinal had fallen, the Prince, as the principal member of the league that had brought about Granvelle's downfall, would be the greatest man in the Netherlands. Many wistful eyes were turned towards him as he rode, for many felt their fate was in his hands.

His deportment was not that of a man either triumphant or joyous; he was pale beneath the clear brown of his proper complexion, his eyes were guarded and thoughtful, and though he smiled with his usual pleasantness at those of his acquaintances he met, his manner was absent, and he seemed neither so gay nor so careless as he had done even a few days before.

When he reached the Brabant palace he met Egmont leaving the gates; the Count was flushed with pleasure at the reception the Regent had given him, and loud in his protestations of loyalty to Church and King; he was disposed to be frank and generous in his triumphs, and to heartily forgive all his enemies now the chief of them had been removed.

William regarded him affectionately, but said very little, and his air was still grave as he entered the palace.