which the arms of the rebels might gain over the duke, or even the report of a defeat, would cause a revolution in Brussels, which would immediately set the two counts at liberty. Moreover, the petitions and intercessions which came to the viceroy, as well as to the King of Spain, from the German princes, increased daily; nay, the Emperor Maximilian II. himself caused the countess to be assured" that she had nothing to fear for the life of her spouse. These powerful applications might at last turn the king's heart in favour of the prisoners. The king might, perhaps, in reliance on his viceroy's usual dispatch, put on the appearance of yielding to the representations of so many sovereigns, and rescind the sentence of death, under the conviction that his mercy would come too late. These considerations moved the duke not to delay the execution of the sentence, as soon as it was pronounced. On the day after the sentence was passed, the two counts were brought, under an escort of 3,000 Spaniards, from Ghent to Brussels, and placed in confinement in the Brodhause, in the great market place. The next morning the Council of Twelve were assembled; the duke, contrary to his custom, attended in person, and both the sentences, in sealed enve'opes, were opened, and publicly read by Secretary Pranz. The two counts were declared guilty of treason, as having favoured and promoted the abominable conspiracy of the Prince of Orange, protected the confederated nobles, and been convicted of various misdemeanors against their king, and the church, in their governments and other appointments. Both were sentenced to be publicly beheaded, and their heads were to be fixed upon pikes, and not taken down without the duke's express command. All their possessions, fiefs, and rights escheated to the royal treasury. The sentence was signed only by the Duke and the Secretary Pranz, without asking or caring for the consent of the other members of the council. During the night between the 4th and 5th of June, the sentences were brought to the prisoners, after they had already gone to rest. The duke gave them to the Bishop of Ypres, Martin Rithov, whom he had expressly summoned to Brussels to prepare the prisoners for death. When the bishop received this commission, he threw himself at the feet of the duke, and supplicated him with tears in his eyes for mercy—at least for respite for the prisoners; but he was answered in a rough and angry voice, that he had been sent for from Ypres, not to oppose the sentence, but by his spiritual consolation to reconcile the unhappy noblemen to it. Egmont was the first to whom the bishop communicated the sentence of death. "That is, indeed, a severe sentence !' exclaimed the count, turning pale, and with a faltering voice. "I did not think that I had offended his majesty so deeply as to deserve such treatment. If, however, it must be so, I submit to my fate with resignation. May this death atone for my offence, and save my wife and children from suffering! This, at least, I think I may claim for my past services. As for death, I will meet it with composure, since it so pleases God and my king." He then pressed the bishop to tell him seriously and candidly if there was no hope of pardon. Being answered in the negative, he confessed and received the sacrament from the priest, repeating after him the mass with great devoutness. He asked what prayer was the best and most effective to recommend him to God in his last hour. On being told that no prayer coula be more effectual than the one which Christ himself had taught, he prepared immediately to repeat the Lord's prayer. The thoughts of his family interrupted him; he called for pen and ink, and wrote two letters, one to his wife, the other to the king; the latter was as follows: 66 Sire, This morning I have heard the sentence which your majesty has been pleased to pass upon me. Far as I have ever been from attempting any thing against the person or the service of your majesty, or against the only true, old, and Catholic religion; I yet submit myself with patience to the fate which it has pleased God to ordain I should suffer. If, during the past disturbances, I have omitted, advised, or done any thing that seems at variance with my duty, it was most assuredly performed with the best intentions, or was forced upon me by the pressure of circumstances. I therefore pray your majesty to forgive me, and in consideration of my past services, show mercy to my unhappy wife, my poor children, and servants. In a firm hope of this, I commend myself t the infinite mercy of God. 66 "Your Majesty's most faithful vassal and servant, Brussels, June 5th, 1568, uear my last moments.” This letter he placed in the hands of the bishop, with the strongest injunctions for its safe delivery; and for greater security, he sent a duplicate in his own handwriting to State Counsellor Viglius, the most upright man in the senate. by whom, there is no doubt, it was actually delivered to the king. The family of the count were subsequently reinstated in all his property, fiefs, and rights, which, by virtue of the sentence, had escheated to the royal treasury. Two Meanwhile, a scaffold had been erected in the market place, before the town hall, on which two poles were fixed with iron spikes, and the whole covered with black cloth. and-twenty companies of the Spanish garrison surrounded the scaffold, a precaution which was by no means superfluous. Between ten and eleven o'clock, the Spanish guard appeared in the apartment of the count; they were provided with cords to tie his hands according to custom. He begged that this might be spared him, and declared that he was willing and ready to die. He himself cut off the collar from his doublet to facilitate the executioner's duty. He wore a robe of red damask, and over that a black Spanish cloak trimmed with gold lace. In this dress he appeared on the scaffold, and was attended by Don Julian Romero, Maitre de Camp; Salinas, Spanish captain; and the Bishop of Ypres. The Grand Pro vost of the court, with a red wand in his hand, sat on horse back at the foot of the scaffold; the executioner was concealed beneath. Egmont had at first shown a desire to address the people from the scaffold. He desisted, however, on the bishop's re presenting to him that, either he would not be heard, or that if he were, he might, such at present was the dangerous disposition of the people, excite them to acts of violence, which would only plunge his friends into destruction. For a few moments he paced the scaffold with noble dignity, and lamented that it had not been permitted him to die a more honourable death for his king and his country. Up to the last he seemed unable to persuade himself that the king was in earnest, and that his severity would be carried any further than the mere terror of execution. When the decisive period approached, and he was to receive the Extreme Unction, he looked wistfully round, and when there still appeared no prospect of a reprieve, he turned to Julian Romero, and asked him once more if there was no hope of pardon for him Julian Romero shrugged his shoulders. looked on the ground, and was silent. He then closely clenched his teeth, threw off his mantle and robe, knelt upon the cushion, and prepared himself for the last prayer. The bishop presented him the crucifix to kiss, and administered to him Extreme Unction, upon which the count made him a sign to leave him. He drew a silk cap over his eyes, and awaited the stroke. Over the corpse and the streaming blood, a black cloth was immediately thrown. All Brussels thronged around the scaffold, and the fatal blow seemed to fall on every heart. Loud sobs alone broke the appalling silence. The duke himself, who watched the execution from a window of the town house, wiped his eyes as his victim died. Shortly afterwards, Count Horn advanced on the scaffold. Of a more violent temperament than his friend, and stimulated by stronger reasons for hatred against the king, he had received the sentence with less composure, although in his case, perhaps, it was less unjust. He burst forth in bitter reproaches against the king, and the bishop with difficulty prevailed upon him to make a better use of his last moments, than to abuse them in imprecations on his enemies. At last, however, he became more collected, and made his confession to the bishop, which at first he was disposed to refuse. He mounted the scaffold with the same attendants as his friend. In passing, he saluted many of his acquaintances; his hands were, like Egmont's, free, and he was dressed in a black doublet and cloak, with a Milan cap of the same colour upon his head. When he had ascended, he cast his eyes upon the corpse, which lay under the cloth, and asked one of the bystanders if it was the body of his friend. On being answered in the affirmative, he said some words in Spanish, threw his cloak from him, and knelt upon the cushion. All shrieked aloud as he received the fatal blow. The heads of both were fixed upon the poles which were set up on the scaffold, where they remained until past three in the afternoon, when they were taken down, and, with the two bodies, placed in leaden coffins and deposited in a vault. In spite of the number of spies and executioners who surroun led the scaffold, the citizens of Brussels would not be prevented from dipping their handkerchiefs in the streaming blood, and carrying home with them these precious memorials SIEGE OF ANTWERP BY THE PRINCE OF PARMA, IN THE YEARS 1584 AND 1585. It is an interesting spectacle to observe the struggle of man's inventive genius in conflict with powerful opposing elements, and to see the difficulties, which are insurmountable to ordinary capacities, overcome by prudence, resolution, and a determined will. Less attractive, but only the more instructive, perhaps, is the contrary spectacle, where the absence of those qualities renders all efforts of genius vain, throws away all the favours of fortune, and where inability to improve such advantages renders hopeless a success which otherwise seemed sure and inevitable. Examples of both kinds are afforded by the celebrated siege of Antwerp, by the Spaniards, towards the close of the sixteenth century, by which that flourishing city was for ever deprived of its commercial prosperity, but which, on the other hand, conferred immortal fame on the general who undertook and accomplished it. Twelve years had the war continued, which the northern provinces of Belgium had commenced at first in vindication simply of their religious freedom, and the privileges of their states, from the encroachments of the Spanish viceroy, but maintained latterly in the hope of establishing their inde pendence of the Spanish crown. Never completely victors, but never entirely vanquished, they wearied out the Spanish valour by tedious operations on an unfavourable soil, and ex hausted the wealth of the sovereign of both the Indies, while they themselves were called beggars, and in a degree actually |