CHAPTER XVI.
THE RIOT.
It was a stormy evening. The moisture, which had been rising all day from the river, was now falling in copious showers of rain. The wind howled dismally through the trees, and ever and anon came sounds above the roar of the tempest, which filled the heart with misgiving.
“I wish the Prince could have remained in Antwerp until after the festival of the Assumption,” said Dr. Chenoweth to his wife.
“Do you fear a riot?”
“Yes, Agatha.”
The sounds increased, and hurrying feet sped past the house. The doctor arose, and putting on his cape prepared to go out.
“I must learn the cause of this agitation,” he said. “I will not be gone long.”
The doctor returned in about an hour looking anxious and tired. “If the Catholics persist in holding their festival to-morrow, wife, there will surely be trouble. The air is full of mutterings, which bode no good. It is earthquake weather, and the moral atmosphere is rapidly lowering. Count Brederode's visit to Antwerp has sown the seeds of recklessness and mob law.”
The morning of the eighteenth of June, 1566, dawned clear and bright. Although the Catholics were in the minority in Antwerp, they were in nowise daunted by this fact. The time-honored festival of the Ommegang proceeded as usual.
It consisted in the conveying from one end of the city to the other of a colossal image of the Virgin. This image was borne aloft on the shoulders of priests and followed by the religious sodalities, guilds and military organizations. The sounds of drum and fife heralded the approach of the “Queen of Heaven.” This wooden image, to the Protestants meant the Inquisition and the stake. The sight of this solemn pageant filled their hearts with indignation. The procession was followed by the usual crowd of scoffers, who confined themselves to insulting words and gestures. One or two of the bolder ones threw mud upon the image as it passed, crying, “Mayken, Mayken, your hour is come! Antwerp is tired of you! This is your last promenade!”
The festivities incident to this occasion were shortened; the procession halted in safety before the cathedral doors, and the mud-bespattered representative of Our Lady was carried within. Instead of remaining in the centre of the church, as was customary after this festival, the image was conveyed to a place of safety behind the iron screen of the choir.
That night Antwerp slept in peace.
The next morning a disorderly crowd assembled before the doors of the great cathedral, turbulent but purposeless. Antwerp possessed a large number of foreigners. This city was then the commercial metropolis of the world. Thither had gathered the scum of various nationalities. All that these foreigners had contributed to this city was the vice of their own country.
The multitude which had congregated before the cathedral represented poverty, greed and revenge: elements which under favoring conditions could easily become lawless and inflammable.
The riot began with a trivial circumstance. The door of the cathedral being unlocked, one by one the outsiders entered. Some ragged urchins peeped through the wire network of the screen, and began to utter coarse gibes at the inoffensive image. “Mayken, Mayken, art thou terrified so soon? Hast thou flown to thy nest so early? Dost thou think thyself beyond the reach of harm? Have a care, Mayken, thine hour is coming fast!”
One of the boys took a stone from his pocket and threw it against the screen. This act gave form to the idea of revenge, which was uppermost in the minds of all.
“Let us destroy these emblems of popery,” said one man to his neighbor, pointing to the walls crowded with shrines and images of saints, the elaborate sculptures, and the repository of the Host.
The words flew from lip to lip. “Destroy! Destroy! Vivent les gueulx!” And forthwith the work of destruction began.
A ragged mechanic mounted the pulpit and began a parody on a priest's sermon. Some laughed and applauded, while others cried “Shame! Shame!” A sailor of the old faith rushed after the impious offender and dragged him from the sacred desk. A pistol-shot wounded the sailor in the arm. It was apparent that elements of a more dangerous kind were close at hand. A taper vender's wares were upset and destroyed, the holy water was polluted, while missiles of various kinds were levelled at the images. As yet no check had been placed upon the movements of the mob.
As soon as Dr. Chenoweth realized the state of affairs, he hurried to the house of Burgomaster Van Straalen and begged him to interfere. “A hundred resolute men can easily disperse yonder image-breakers,” said the doctor.
The frightened magistrate consented to accompany the doctor to the cathedral. In the crowd were many intoxicated roughs, who, inflamed with liquor and excitement, urged on their fellows with cries like these:
“Down with the priests! Liberty forever! Long live the Beggars!”
“I believe, Dr. Chenoweth, that these are your allies,” said the Burgomaster, with cutting irony.
“This lawless mob does not represent Protestantism,” replied the doctor, a flush of shame rising to his cheeks at the taunt. “Where there is wheat growing, there is always chaff. You surely would not condemn all Protestants because of the defection of a few!”
“The Burgomaster replied coldly: “These fellows call themselves Protestants. See what they are doing? They are destroying the work of centuries. You cannot blame me for being suspicious of a cause which allows such excesses to be permitted in its name. Good day!”
A furious tumult was now in progress. The Margrave of Antwerp, John Van Immerzeel, the highest executive in Antwerp, accompanied by the Senators and the Burgomaster, now marched in a body to the cathedral expecting to awe the iconoclasts by their august presence. But their expectations were not realized. The crowd declared that they would not leave the church until after vespers. When informed that there would be no vespers that evening, missiles began to fly in dangerous proximity to these officers of justice.
“Look at these brave heresy hunters!” jeered the mob as the thoroughly frightened magistrates beat a hasty retreat, leaving the image-breakers in possession of the field.
The work of destruction now began in earnest. Costly paintings were cut in pieces; the golden vessels on the altar were thrown down and battered; the elegantly embroidered altar-robe was rent asunder and wound about the shoulders of a low wanton, who wreathed the diamond necklace of the Virgin in her dishevelled hair. The exquisitely toned organ was hewn in pieces, while the sacramental wine was passed in golden goblets from lip to lip.
The civil authorities were paralyzed with fear. They either could not or would not interfere. Before the morning sun shone again thirty churches within the city limits had been sacked, while every image of the Virgin, every crucifix, and every sculptured saint were hewn in pieces. Many monasteries and nunneries were entered, their valuable libraries, altars and pictures destroyed, and the occupants of these retreats were driven out into the summer night.
For two more days and nights the fury of the mob was unappeased, and the churches, chapels, and convents in the immediate vicinity of Antwerp were despoiled: not for plunder, for no one carried away any of the treasures, but for revenge, which is one of the bitter fruits of tyranny. The reformed preachers were as powerless to check the tumult as the Catholics. The mob recognized no authority but its own, and they gave the rein to their ungoverned passions.
Unfortunately for the cause of Protestantism, these turbulent and destructive elements of the city were for a time partisans of the “New Gospel.” The cause of the Reformation received a blow which retarded its progress for years, and which gave the enemies of the Reformed faith just cause for indignation. The record of this riot at Antwerp was the one dark stain on the banner of Protestantism in the Netherlands. Yet not a drop of blood was shed, not a human being seriously injured, not an article of treasure stolen, not a single church razed to the ground. It was simply a frenzy against images which symbolized to the Protestants inquisitorial tortures.
But the day of retribution was near. A Nemesis swift and relentless was approaching. These seven days and nights of image-breaking were the prelude of years of horror and bloodshed.