op Motley
1855

CHAPTER III.

The city of Namur--Margaret of Valois--Her intrigues in Hainault in
favour of Alencon--Her reception by Don John at Namur--Festivities
in her, honor--Seizure of Namur citadel by Don John--Plan for
seizing that of Antwerp--Letter of the estates to Philip, sent by
Escovedo--Fortunes and fate of Escovedo in Madrid--Repairing of
dykes--The Prince's visit to Holland--His letter to the estates--
general on the subject of Namur citadel--His visit to Utrecht--
Correspondence and commissioners between Don John and the estates--
Acrimonious and passionate character of these colloquies--Attempt of
Treslong upon Antwerp citadel frustrated by De Bourse--Fortunate
panic of the German mercenaries--Antwerp evacuated by the foreign
troops--Renewed correspondence--Audacity of the Governor's demands--
Letters of Escovedo and others intercepted--Private schemes of Don
John not understood by the estates--His letter to the Empress
Dowager--More correspondence with the estates--Painful and false
position of the Governor--Demolition, in part, of Antwerp citadel,
and of other fortresses by the patriots Statue of Alva--Letter of
estates-general to the King.

There were few cities of the Netherlands more picturesque in situation,
more trimly built, and more opulent of aspect than the little city of
Namur. Seated at the confluence of the Sombre with the Meuse, and
throwing over each river a bridge of solid but graceful structure, it lay
in the lap of a most fruitful valley. Abroad crescent-shaped plain,
fringed by the rapid Meuse, and enclosed by gently rolling hills
cultivated to their crests, or by abrupt precipices of limestone crowned
with verdure, was divided by numerous hedgerows, and dotted all over with
corn-fields, vineyards, and flower gardens. Many eyes have gazed with
delight upon that well-known and most lovely valley, and many torrents of
blood have mingled with those glancing waters since that long buried and
most sanguinary age which forms our theme; and still placid as ever is
the valley, brightly as ever flows the stream. Even now, as in that
vanished, but never-forgotten time, nestles the little city in the angle
of the two rivers; still directly over its head seems to hang in mid-air
the massive and frowning fortress, like the gigantic helmet-in the
fiction, as if ready to crush the pigmy town below.

It was this famous citadel, crown