9: IX.
<< 8: VIII. || 10: X. >>
Two prudent marriages, made by Austrian archdukes within twenty years,
have altered the face of the earth. The stream, which we have been
tracing from its source, empties itself at last into the ocean of a
world-empire. Count Dirk the First, lord of a half-submerged corner of
Europe, is succeeded by Count Charles the Second of Holland, better known
as Charles the Fifth, King of Spain, Sicily, and Jerusalem, Duke of
Milan, Emperor of Germany, Dominator in Asia and Africa, autocrat of half
the world. The leading events of his brilliant reign are familiar to
every child. The Netherlands now share the fate of so large a group of
nations, a fate, to these provinces, most miserable. The weddings of
Austria Felix were not so prolific of happiness to her subjects as to
herself. It can never seem just or reasonable that the destiny of many
millions of human beings should depend upon the marriage-settlements of
one man with one woman, and a permanent, prosperous empire can never be
reared upon so frail a foundation. The leading thought of the first
Charlemagne was a noble and a useful one, nor did his imperial scheme
seem chimerical, even although time, wiser than monarchs or lawgivers,
was to prove it impracticable. To weld into one great whole the various
tribes of Franks, Frisians, Saxons, Lombards, Burgundians, and others,
still in their turbulent youth, and still composing one great Teutonic
family; to enforce the mutual adhesion of naturally coherent masses, all
of one lineage, one language, one history, and which were only beginning
to exhibit their tendencies to insulation, to acquiesce in a variety of
local laws and customs, while an iron will was to concentrate a vast, but
homogeneous, people into a single nation; to raise up from the grave of
corrupt and buried Rome a fresh, vigorous, German, Christian empire; this
was a reasonable and manly thought. Far different the conception of the
second Charlemagne. To force into discordant union, tribes which, for
seven centuries, had developed themselves into hostile nations, separated
by geography and history, customs and laws, to combine many millions
under one sceptre, not because of natural identity, but for the sake of
composing one splendid family property, to establish unity by
annihilating local institutions, to supersede popular and liberal
charters by the edicts of a central despotism, to do battle with the
whole spirit of an age, to regard the souls as well as the bodies of vast
multitudes as the personal property of one individual, to strive for the
perpetuation in a single house of many crowns, which accident had
blended, and to imagine the consecration of the whole system by placing
the pope's triple diadem forever upon the imperial head of the
Habsburgs;—all this was not the effort of a great, constructive genius,
but the selfish scheme of an autocrat.
The union of no two countries could be less likely to prove advantageous
or agreeable than that of the Netherlands and Spain. They were widely
separated geographically, while in history, manners, and politics, they
were utterly opposed to each other. Spain, which had but just assumed
the form of a single state by the combination of all its kingdoms, with
its haughty nobles descended from petty kings, and arrogating almost
sovereign power within their domains, with its fierce enthusiasm for the
Catholic religion, which, in the course of long warfare with the
Saracens, had become the absorbing characteristic of a whole nation,
with its sparse population scattered over a wide and stern country,
with a military spirit which led nearly all classes to prefer poverty
to the wealth attendant upon degrading pursuits of trade;—Spain, with
her gloomy, martial, and exaggerated character, was the absolute contrast
of the Netherlands.
These provinces had been rarely combined into a whole, but there was
natural affinity in their character, history, and position. There was
life, movement, bustling activity every where. An energetic population
swarmed in all the flourishing cities which dotted the surface of a
contracted and highly cultivated country. Their ships were the carriers
for the world;—their merchants, if invaded in their rights, engaged in
vigorous warfare with their own funds and their own frigates; their
fabrics were prized over the whole earth; their burghers possessed the
wealth of princes, lived with royal luxury, and exercised vast political
influence; their love of liberty was their predominant passion. Their
religious ardor had not been fully awakened; but the events of the next
generation were to prove that in no respect more than in the religious
sentiment, were the two races opposed to each other. It was as certain
that the Netherlanders would be fierce reformers as that the Spaniards
would be uncompromising persecutors. Unhallowed was the union between
nations thus utterly contrasted.
Philip the Fair and Ferdinand had detested and quarrelled with each other
from the beginning. The Spaniards and Flemings participated in the
mutual antipathy, and hated each other cordially at first sight. The
unscrupulous avarice of the Netherland nobles in Spain, their grasping
and venal ambition, enraged and disgusted the haughty Spaniards. This
international malignity furnishes one of the keys to a proper
understanding of the great revolt in the next reign.
The provinces, now all united again under an emperor, were treated,
opulent and powerful as they were, as obscure dependencies. The regency
over them was entrusted by Charles to his near relatives, who governed in
the interest of his house, not of the country. His course towards them
upon the religious question will be hereafter indicated. The political
character of his administration was typified, and, as it were,
dramatized, on the occasion of the memorable insurrection at Ghent.
For this reason, a few interior details concerning that remarkable event,
seem requisite.
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