Public Offices, Personal Demands: Capability in Governance in the Seventeenth-Century Dutch Republic 1443810126, 9781443810128

Table of contents :
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CONTRIBUTORS
INTRODUCTION
LONG TERM TRENDS
URBAN RIOTS AND THE PERSPECTIVE OF “QUALIFICATION FOR OFFICE”
CAPABILITY, PATRIMONIALISM AND BUREAUCRACY IN THE URBAN ADMINISTRATIONS OF THE LOW COUNTRIES
SCIENCE AND OFFICE
FIT TO MEASURE
THE IDEAL OF THE STATESMAN-HISTORIAN
CAPABILITY IN POLITICAL THOUGHT
WHY THE WEALTHY SHOULD RULE
MERCURY’S TWO FACES
CAPABILITY IN PRACTICE
CAPABILITY AND THE TRANSFORMATION OF DUTCH CITIZENSHIP
SUBSERVIENT TO THE STADHOLDER
ENGLISH COMPARISON
OFFICE-HOLDING, PARTICIPATION AND ENGLAND’S ‘MONARCHICAL REPUBLIC’
BEYOND THE REPUBLIC

Citation preview

Public Offices, Personal Demands

Public Offices, Personal Demands: Capability in Governance in the SeventeenthCentury Dutch Republic Edited by

Jan Hartman, Jaap Nieuwstraten and Michel Reinders

Public Offices, Personal Demands: Capability in Governance in the Seventeenth-Century Dutch Republic, Edited by Jan Hartman, Jaap Nieuwstraten and Michel Reinders This book first published 2009 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2009 by Jan Hartman, Jaap Nieuwstraten and Michel Reinders and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-1012-6, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-1012-8

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgments ..................................................................................... vii Contributors................................................................................................ ix 1. Introduction Jan Hartman, Jaap Nieuwstraten and Michel Reinders.............................. 1 LONG TERM TRENDS 2. Urban Riots and the Perspective of “Qualification for Office”: The Peculiarities of Urban Government and the Case of the 1672 Disturbances in the Netherlands Robert von Friedeburg .............................................................................. 22 3. Capability, Patrimonialism and Bureaucracy in the Urban Administrations of the Low Countries (c.1300-1780) Griet Vermeesch ........................................................................................ 53 SCIENCE AND OFFICE 4. Fit to Measure: ‘Bequamheit’ in Mathematics in the Dutch Republic Fokko Jan Dijksterhuis.............................................................................. 80 5. The Ideal of the Statesman-Historian: The Case of Hugo Grotius Jan Waszink............................................................................................. 101 CAPABILITY IN POLITICAL THOUGHT 6. Why the Wealthy should rule: Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn’s Defence of Holland’s Aristocratic Mercantile Regime Jaap Nieuwstraten ................................................................................... 126 7. Mercury’s Two Faces: Commercial Candour as the Key to Capability in the Dutch Golden Age Arthur Weststeijn ..................................................................................... 150

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CAPABILITY IN PRACTICE 8. Capability and the Transformation of Dutch Citizenship Michel Reinders....................................................................................... 176 9. Subservient to the Stadholder: How William III’s Interpretation of Capability determined Politics in the Province of Utrecht, 1674-1688 Coen Wilders ........................................................................................... 199 ENGLISH COMPARISON 10. Office-Holding, Participation and England’s ‘Monarchical Republic’ Glenn Burgess ......................................................................................... 222 11. Beyond the Republic: Capability and the Ethics of Office Conal Condren ........................................................................................ 237

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost, we would like to thank all participants of the two-day conference Public Offices, Personal Demands: Capability in Governance in the Seventeenth-Century Dutch Republic held in Rotterdam in June 2007. This collection of essays is for a large part the result of the intense debates that were held during this meeting. Of course, gratitude is due to the Nederlandse Organisatie voor Wetenschappelijk Onderzoek (NWO) for funding the research programme Conquest, Competition and Ideology: Inventing Governance in the Dutch Golden Age. We also thank the Vereniging Trustfonds Erasmus Universiteit Rotterdam for their generous contribution. The Erasmus Center for Early Modern Studies provided a pleasant and productive scholarly community. Adrie van der Laan and the Rotterdam Library were great hosts. Lastly, we would also like to thank Cambridge Scholars Publishing for giving three young scholars the chance to make their ideas publicly known.

Rotterdam, May 2009 Jan Hartman Jaap Nieuwstraten Michel Reinders

CONTRIBUTORS

Glenn Burgess is Professor of Early Modern History and Head of the History Department at the University of Hull. He is a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society. His research and teaching interests lie in the history of Tudor and Stuart England, the history of political thought, and philosophy and theory of history. Author of: The Politics of the Ancient Constitution: An Introduction to English Poltical Thought, 1603-1642 (1992); Absolute Monarchy and the Stuart Constitution (1996); British Political Thought, 1500-1660: The Politics of the Post-Reformation (2009); and, as editor, The New British History: Founding a Modern State, 1603-1715 (1999); English Radicalism, 1550-1850 (2007); European Political Thought, 1450-1700 (2007). Conal Condren is Honorary Professor at the Centre for the History of European Discourses, University of Queensland and Emeritus Scientia Professor at the University of New South Wales. He is a Fellow of both the Australian Academy of the Humanities and the Academy of the Social Sciences in Australia. He is also a member of Churchill College and Clare Hall, Cambridge. Among his many publications are The Language of Politics in Seventeenth-Century England (1994); Satire, Lies and Politics: The Case of Dr. Arbuthnot (1997); Thomas Hobbes (2000); Argument and Authority in Early Modern England: The Presupposition of Oaths and Offices (2006). Fokko Jan Dijksterhuis is Associate Professor of History of Science at the Centre for Studies of Science and Technology at the University of Twente. He has published a book on the history of optics in the seventeenth century, entitled Lenses and Waves: Christiaan Huygens and the Mathematical Science of Optics in the Seventeenth Century (2004). Dijksterhuis is currently working on the cultural history of mathematics in the Dutch Republic and the ways mathematical thinking have become dominant in western society. Robert von Friedeburg is Professor of Early Modern History at the Erasmus University Rotterdam. His main fields of research are the Reformation, early modern statebuilding and religious conflict and political thought in Germany, England and the Netherlands in the sixteenth

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and seventeenth centuries. His published books include Widerstandsrecht und Konfessionskonflikt: Gemeiner Mann und Notwehr in deutschbritischen Vergleich, 1530-1669 (1999); Self-Defence and Religious Strife in Early Modern Europe (2002); and, as editor, Murder and Monarchy: Regicide in European History, 1300-1800 (2004); “Patria” und “Patrioten” vor dem Patriotismus: Plichten, Rechte, Glauben und die Rekonfigurierung europäischer Gemeinwesen im 17. Jahrhundert (2005). Griet Vermeesch is a researcher at the History Department of the Vrije Universiteit Brussel. She does research on networks of state officials and entrepreneurs for facilitating warfare, and on urban aspects of the process of early modern state building. In 2006 she completed a PhD at the University of Amsterdam on ‘Oorlog, steden en staatsvorming: de grenssteden Gorinchem en Doesburg tijdens de geboorte-eeuw van de Republiek (1572-1680)’ for which she has received the Professor van Winter Award for best book on local history of the Netherlands of the years 2005-2006. Jan Waszink is researcher of early modern political thought and literature, and editor of 'Bibliotheca Latinitatis Novae' at the University of Utrecht. He translated and edited Hugo Grotius’s De Antiquitate Reipublicae Batavicae (2000) and Justus Lipsius’s Politica: Six Books of Politics or Political Instruction (2004). He has published extensively on Grotius’s Annales et historiae de rebus Belgicis. His current chief research interests are sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Tacitism and Reason of State, and the reception of humanist thought and writings in the eighteenth century. Arthur Weststeijn studied at the University of Amsterdam where he received an MA in history (2004) and philosophy (2005). He is currently writing a PhD thesis on the political thought of the seventeenth-century Dutch merchant brothers Johan and Pieter de la Court at the European University Institute, Florence. Coen Wilders studied history at the University of Utrecht, where he graduated Cum Laude in 2005. At the moment he is writing a PhD thesis on the brokerage system of stadholder William III in the province of Utrecht in the period 1674-1702 at the University of Amsterdam

INTRODUCTION JAN HARTMAN, JAAP NIEUWSTRATEN AND MICHEL REINDERS

The main fruit of True Freedom and untainted liberty consist therein, … that the highest offices are open to virtue and that never so much is deferred to wealth, ancestry, qualities of ancestors, or other chances of fortune, but to the piety, capability and merit of the Persons themselves.1

Grand pensionary Johan de Witt (1625-1672) defended Holland’s resolution in the States-General to exclude the prince of Orange from the office of stadholder in his Deduction of 1654. He used a frame of reference that his audience understood – the language of capability. Armed with an arsenal of arguments and examples found in the Bible, ancient history and a variety of contemporary literature, De Witt set out to prove that young William III (1650-1702) was not fit to govern. In particular, he attacked the idea that William, because of his noble lineage, had the right to hold the offices his forefathers had held. De Witt wrote: ‘In a free Republic, nobody by birth has any right to high offices.’2 The exclusion of the prince from his political and military office met with widespread criticism and outrage, as the prince of Orange had played a pivotal role in the Dutch Republic as figurehead ‘Father of the Fatherland’, as commander-in-chief of the army and the navy, as guardian of the Union, as arbiter in cases of internal strife, as ‘special member’

 1

Johan de Witt, Deductie ofte Declaratie Van de Staten van Hollandt ende WestVrieslandt (Knuttel 7545, The Hague, 1654), II.6,70. ‘… ende voornaemste vruchten van een rechte vryheyt, ende onbevleckte liberteyt, daer inne bestaende, naer het oordeel van haer Ed. Groot Mo. conform ’t eenparich gevoelen van alle Politijcque Schrijvers, dat de hoochste digniteyten voor de deucht open staen, ende dat noyt aen Rijckdommen, Gheslachten, qualiteyten van Voor-Ouderen, ofte andere bywerpselen vande fortune soo veel werde ghedefereert, als eende vromicheyt, capaciteyt, ende meriten vande Persoonen selfs.’ 2 Ibidem, II.1, 46. ‘Dat in een vrye Republijcque niemant door geboorte eenigh recht heeft tot hooghe Digniteyten, &c. ende dat de Seclusie vanden Heere Prince d’Oraigne niet is strijdigh tegens de Vryheyt.’

2

Introduction

(praecipuum membrum) of the Reformed public church and nobility, and – especially during the reign of Frederik Hendrik (1584-1647) – as a dynastic figure in international affairs.3 Of course, De Witt’s arguments were of a rhetorical nature. After excluding the prince of Orange from office, the regenten (as the leading Dutch office-holders were called) did not practice what they preached. The distribution of political offices was based on an intricate system of patronage based on family ties, adherence to ‘proper maxims’ and local factions. In fact, much of the outrage of 1672 targeted the excesses of this system, including blatant nepotism. During the fierce debates of 1672, capability was again the central argument of a widespread political dispute. ‘Capability’ was highly contested, as illustrated by a response to the Deduction in a contemporary pamphlet that demonstrates that the view of capability preached by De Witt was all but commonly accepted. The pamphleteer wrote: ‘It is certain that not birth alone, but also virtues render someone capable to rule. But the question is always where those virtues are more apparent, in princes or in the children of menial labourers? For as the children of princes descend from their father’s body and soul, so it is beyond doubt that in the soul of these princely children many of their father’s virtues are instilled. In the case of the children of menial labourers, this is not likely to happen, just as one does not see monkeys giving birth to lions or pigeons bearing hawks. And since the young prince [i.e. William III] descends from such eminent parents, who have always shown their virtues, is it not apparent that he will have more of those virtues – being born and raised into them – than the children of common and poor folk who never receive these virtues either by birth or education?’4

 3

Heinz Schilling, “Dutch Republicanism in Its Historical Context”, in ibidem, Religion, Political Culture and the Emergence of Early Modern Society: Essays in German and Dutch History (Leiden/New York/Cologne, 1992), 415. 4 Anonymous, Bedenckingen op de Deductie (Knuttel 7551, 1654), 99-100. ‘‘t Is seker dat niet alleen de geboorte maer de deughden yemandt maken bequaem om te Regeren/ maer de questie is altijdt, waret apparenter is dat die deughden sullen zijn in Princen ofte Ambachts-lieden kinderen? want alsoo de Princen kinderen zijn af komstigh van haer Vaders Lichaem ende Ziele, so isset niet te twijffelen, of in de Ziele der Princen kinderen werden vele vande Vaders deughden geboren, dat inde Ambachts-luyden kinderen soo licht niet geschiedt, even gelijckmen niet en siet dat van Apen, Leeuwen, ofte van Duyven Arenden komen; ende alsoo den Jongen Prins, van soo treffelijcke ouders afgekomen is, die altijts hare deughden hebben laten blijcken, isset niet apparenter dat in hem die deugden sullen zijn, daer toe geboren en opgebracht zijnde, als in gemeene ende slechte luyden kinderen? daer noch de geboorte noch de educatie tot die deugden wert gestreckt.’

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The central question underlying this collection of articles is: What made a person capable of performing a public office in early modern Europe, particularly in the Dutch Republic? 5 As the example from De Witt’s Deduction signifies, this issue stood at the heart of seventeenth-century European political life. In general, the answer to the question ‘who is fit to govern?’ seemed remarkably simple: Europe’s ruling elite, the monarchs, princes and noblemen, were capable to govern because of their lineage, their socialisation in an elite culture and their cardinal Christian virtues, prudence, fortitude, justice and temperance. These features gave them the appropriate ethics. They therefore had a natural right to rule. Most of the common people, accordingly, were deemed unsuitable for lack of resources and appropriate ethics. 6 In the seventeenth-century Dutch Republic, however, the ruling elite consisted to a large degree of urban magistrates. There was no monarch, while the influence of noblemen, although they were highly esteemed, varied from province to province and was least prominent in the province that counted the most – Holland. Since there was no monarch, Dutch urban magistrates lacked royal authority that could sanctify and support their rule. 7 More importantly, Dutch urban magistrates also lacked a military monopoly by which obedience could be enforced, a problem that was further complicated by the fact that there was no strict legal demarcation between magistrates and citizens (i.e. between those who ruled and those who obeyed or who were at least supposed to

 5

This publication is the result of a two-day conference called Public Offices, Personal Demands: Capability in Governance in the Seventeenth-Century Dutch Republic held in Rotterdam in June 2007. 6 The list of commonplaces Lipsius could present to his readers about the common people was anything out of the ordinary. ‘The many are diverse and changeable, and their changes of opinion are as frequent as the changes of the weather.’ The populace ‘is devoid of judgement’ and ‘decides many things on the basis of opinion, few on the basis of truth’. Most importantly, ‘it is unruly’ because ‘the crowd is eager for every new disturbance’. Justus Lipsius, Politica: Six Books of Politics or Political Instruction. Edited, with translation and introduction by Jan Waszink (Assen, 2004), IV.5, 403-9. 7 A possible exception was the prince of Orange, who has been described as a semi-monarch in modern historiography, although there has also been a tendency to stress his subordinate political role towards the provincial States. Compare, for example, Herbert H. Rowen, “Neither Fish nor Fowl: The Stadholderate in the Dutch Republic”, in Herbert H. Rowen and Andrew Lossky, Political Ideas & Institutions in the Dutch Republic (Los Angels, 1985), 3-31 with Olaf Mörke, “Stadtholder”oder “Staetholder”?: die Funktion des Hauses Oranien und seines Hofes in der politischen Kultur der Republik der Vereinigten Niederlande im 17. Jahrhundert (Munster, 1997).

4

Introduction

obey).8 Consequently, the capability of magistrates to rule – whether real or propagated – was the single most important quality to justify their policy. This volume of articles hopes to contribute to an understanding of how seventeenth-century contemporaries perceived capability and public office. The different explanations offered to account for the rule of Dutch urban magistrates reflect the different historiographical and methodological approaches used to explain early modern government and its relation to society. Since the 1960s and 1970s, socio-economic theories of modernisation and state-building have played a crucial role in understanding the workings of Dutch politics, the Republic's military and financial success, and the role played by the cities and their ruling elites.9 Alongside these socio-economic theories, a structure-of-politics approach became fashionable that downplayed the role of ideas and ideology and instead stressed the importance of factionalism and patronage amongst the ruling elites.10 Although this approach has been influential for a long time, the

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For example, while every magistrate had to be a citizen, not every citizen could be a magistrate. If we concentrate on the city council (vroedschap), we see that several Dutch cities (e.g. Delft) possessed ancient charters that clearly defined that only the most wise and wealthy citizens could hold a seat in the city council and that from among those only the wealthiest and most honourable could be an alderman (schepen) or a burgomaster (burgemeester). In other cities, the charters were less clear. Generally, new members of the city council were elected through a system of patronage and co-optation, while the city council also elected the alderman or burgomaster, as was the case in Haarlem. In Dordrecht, however, the Achten (Eights), representatives of the guilds, had a say in the nomination and election of the burgomasters. See Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn, Theatrum sive Hollandiae comitatus et urbium nova descriptio (Amsterdam, 1632), 91ff. For Dordrecht, see Willem Frijhoff, Hubert Nusteling and Marijke Spies (eds.), Geschiedenis van Dordrecht van 1572 tot 1813 (Hilversum, 1998), 15-23, 211-16. For Haarlem, see Gabrielle Dorren, Eenheid en verscheidenheid: de burgers van Haarlem in de Gouden Eeuw (Amsterdam, 2001), 26-29. 9 See, for example, the influential works of Wim Blockmans, Marjolein ’t Hart, Charles Tilly and James Tracy. 10 In the Dutch context, the most influential work has been Daan J. Roorda, Partij en factie: de oproeren van 1672 in de steden van Holland en Zeeland, een krachtmeting tussen partijen en facties (Groningen, 1961); Martinus A.M. Franken, Coenraad van Beuningen’s politieke en diplomatieke aktiviteiten in de jaren 1667-1684 (Groningen, 1966); Guido de Bruin, “De geschiedschrijving over de Gouden Eeuw”, in Wijnand W. Mijnhardt Kantelend geschiedbeeld: Nederlandse historiografie sinds 1945 (Utrecht, 1983); Joop de Jong, Met goed fatsoen: de elite in een Hollandse stad, Gouda 1700-1780 (The Hague, 1985); A.J.C.M. Gabriels, “Het onderzoek naar het stedelijk regentenpatriciaat tijdens de

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last two decades have seen the rise of different approaches. A heavier emphasis on legal and cultural history has caused scholars to broaden their view by not only looking at the elites, but also at citizens and lower segments of society, as well as the interaction between these sometimes different strata of society. For the Dutch Republic, the outcomes have brought to the fore the important role Dutch citizens played in culture, economics and politics during the seventeenth century and the relatively open and egalitarian character of Dutch society.11 This has brought some scholars to speak of the Dutch Republic as a ‘discussion culture’, in which citizens communicated with their magistrates through pamphlets and petitions and consequently exercised or at least tried to exercise influence on the decision making process.12 Others have combined socio-economic theories of modernisation and state-forming with instruments borrowed from anthropological studies, while another line of research has stressed the importance of looking at the roles people fulfilled in early modern society as offices that came paired with certain rights and duties.13 As will become clear from the articles in this volume, offices and their associated rights and duties are indeed important to understand the functioning of government in early modern Europe and the Dutch Republic, but they do not tell the entire story. How did a person obtain an office? When was someone considered qualified? How was a person’s capability for office

 republiek: een historiografische schets”, in Leidschrift, Vol. 3, No. 9 (1987), 7198; Simon Groenveld, Evidente factiën in den staet: sociaal-politieke verhoudingen in de 17e-eeuwse Republiek der Verenigde Nederlanden (Hilversum, 1990); Wout Troost, Stadhouder-koning Willem III: een politieke biografie (Hilversum, 2001); Gijs Rommelse, The Second Anglo-Dutch War (1665-1667): Raison d´État, Mercantilism and Maritime Strife (Hilversum, 2006). 11 Rudolf Dekker, Holland in beroering: oproeren in de 17de en 18de eeuw (Baarn, 1982); Paul Knevel, Schutters in het geweer: de schutterijen in Holland, 15501700 (Hilversum, 1994); Henk van Nierop, “Popular Participation in Politics in the Dutch Republic”, in Peter Blickle (ed.), Resistance, Representation, and Community (Oxford, 1997), 272-90; Maarten Prak, The Dutch Republic in the Seventeenth Century: The Golden Age (Cambridge, 2005), 153-98. 12 Willem Frijhoff and Marijke Spies, Dutch Culture in a European Perspective, Vol. 1. 1650: Hard-Won Unity (Basingstoke, 2004), passim. 13 Conal Condren, “Liberty of Office and Its Defence in Seventeenth Century Political Argument”, in History of Political Thought, Vol. 18 (1997), 460-82; Ibidem, Argument and Authority in Early Modern England: The Presupposition of Oaths and Offices (Cambridge, 2006), passim. For an alternative approach to office-holding, see Mark Goldie, “The Unacknowledged Republic: Officeholding in Early Modern England”, in Tim Harris (ed.), The Politics of the Excluded, c. 1500-1850 (New York/Basingstoke, 2001), 153-94.

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Introduction

measured? These are questions that need to be incorporated into our research for understanding early modern politics. The highly fragmented political infrastructure of the Dutch Republic and the rather unique feature that power rested in the hands of relatively small groups of magistrates who lived in the cities among their fellow citizens without any protection is a fact that bedazzled and amazed contemporaries as much as modern observers. During times of vigorous political debate, the distinction between magistrates and citizens seemed to virtually disappear. An amazed E.W. Seymour, for example, reported to Lord Conway (1623-1683) about his visit to the Dutch Republic in July 1672 that ‘the lowest mechannick thinkes himselve an egall for the best stadholder’.14 Although we should bear in mind that (foreign) commentators had and still have a tendency to exaggerate their claims, the Dutch Republic was an anomaly in many ways. It was a republic in a time of monarchies, and it was a quilt of cities in a world of peasants. While its ratio status was commercial gain, that of France in particular was territorial expansion. Within the Republic’s borders, news and print travelled with an unparalleled speed and in staggeringly high numbers. 15 Did all these characteristics, however, also lead to a unique take on the matter of capability? The explanations given by modern scholars on this issue are as diverse as they are lucid. Many historians have recognised the fact that the regenten embodied the dominance of the propertied class of Dutch urban society.16 In Holland, some ancient city charters explicitly singled out the

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H.T. Colenbrander, Bescheiden uit vreemde archieven omtrent de groote Nederlandsche zeeoorlogen, 1652-1676 (The Hague, 1919), 150. Modern scholars have described the Dutch Republic in terms of a ‘miracle’, a ‘mystery’ or an ‘enigma’. See, for example, Karel Davids and Jan Lucassen (eds.), A Miracle Mirrored: The Dutch Republic in European Perspective (Cambridge, 1995); Maarten Prak, Gouden Eeuw: het raadsel van de Republiek (Nijmegen/Amsterdam, 2002); Julia Adams, The Familial State: Ruling Families and Merchant Capitalism in Early Modern Europe (Ithaca/London, 2005), 3. 15 Craig E. Harline, Pamphlets, Printing and Political Culture in the Early Dutch Republic (Dordrecht/Boston/Lancaster, 1987); Marjolein ’t Hart, “Town and Country in the Dutch Republic, 1550-1800”, in Stephan R. Epstein (ed.), Town and Country in Europe, 1300-1800 (Cambridge, 2001); Maarten Prak, The Dutch Republic in the Seventeenth Century. 16 Most clearly in J.L. Price, Holland and the Dutch Republic in the Seventeenth Century: The Politics of Particularism (Oxford, 1994), 35-49; Jonathan I. Israel,

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‘best’ and the ‘wealthiest’ members of the community to serve on the city council and to hold the key public offices. 17 Hence, Dutch magistrates could count on history to legitimise their rule as they had been doing ever since the beginning of their revolt against the Spanish king.18 In addition to the fact that wealth provided the necessary ‘freedom, time, and means if one was to devote oneself seriously to public affairs’,19 some scholars have also emphasised that wealth and good lineage formed part of one’s ‘social capital’ and that these two aspects contributed to the creation amongst the elite of an ‘ethos’ of responsibility to take care of one’s family and the community. 20 Recently, scholars have combined these socio-economic elements with a more anthropological approach. They stress the importance of patronage, family networks, gender and the paternal rule of family heads, which made the Dutch Republic, according to some, a ‘patriarchal patrimonial formation’ or a ‘familial state’. 21 Finally, it has also been pointed out that contemporaries saw wealth and high birth as safeguards against corruption in a Godly ordained world where some were predestined to rule and others to obey.22

Capable for office or capable in office? The most capable person should rule. While this statement may sound like a truism, the moment we start to define what makes a person capable we land in a quagmire. Capability (bequamheit) was and still is the yardstick used for determining whether someone is eligible for political office. The term ‘office’ comes from the Latin word officium, which is a contraction of opificium. Officium denotes work (opus) one does (facio) either for



The Dutch Republic: Its Rise, Greatness, and Fall, 1477-1806 (Oxford, 1st ed. 1995, 1998), 125-28. 17 See, for example, the contribution by Jaap Nieuwstraten about Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn in this volume. 18 Martin van Gelderen, The Political Thought of the Dutch Revolt, 1555-1590 (Cambridge, 1992), passim; Ivo Schöffer, “The Batavian Myth during the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries”, in Britain and the Netherlands, Vol. 5 (1975), 78-101. 19 Israel, The Dutch Republic, 125. 20 See, for example, Arie Th. van Deursen, Last van veel geluk: de geschiedenis van Nederland, 1555-1702 (Amsterdam, 2004), 145-46. 21 Luuc Kooijmans, Vriendschap en de kunst van het overleven in de zeventiende en achttiende eeuw (Amsterdam, 1997); Adams, The Familial State, 1-105. 22 Price, Holland and the Dutch Republic, 49; Paul Knevel, “Een kwestie van overleven: de kunst van het samenleven”, in Thimo A.H. de Nijs and Eelco Beukers (eds.), Geschiedenis van Holland, Vol. 2 (Hilversum, 2002), 224-25.

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someone else or for society at large, voluntarily or out of necessity and obligation, as a magistrate or even in a non-governmental profession.23 A word used commonly for political office in the Dutch Republic was dignity (digniteyt). This word comes close to the modern Dutch terms ereambt or honorarium. In order to receive such a dignity, a person needed to be perceived by his peers as dignified. The Dutch term for ‘dignified’ in the seventeenth century was aensienlijck. Someone could have aensien (respectability, prestige) by virtue of a noble title, trustworthiness, eloquence or natural leadership. However, the question was not always as straightforward as the issue of whether a person could be trusted with an office. The events in the Dutch Republic also led to a thorough redefinition and ongoing contestation of what it meant to be capable to be elected to public office, hold public office and perform one's office. It was one thing to be deemed capable for office based on a set of qualities, such as virtue or family ties, but it was another thing to be capable in office – to perform well in the opinion of the general public. Moreover, the preferred qualities for capability for and in office changed over time and differed from place to place. The answer to the question ‘who is fit to govern and why?’ came to be redefined significantly in the Dutch Republic. First, in the aftermath of the abjuration of the Spanish king in 1581. During the first half of the seventeenth century, the Republic’s semi-aristocratic, semi-democratic nature came to be seen as a lasting reality. The death of prince William II of Orange (1626-1650) brought a temporary end to the stadholderate in several Dutch provinces and offered the opportunity to conceive new ways of organising the Republic’s political infrastructure and of determining who were capable enough to govern it. In 1672, when the carefully constructed stadholderless government came to a bloody fall and prince William III of Orange was reinstituted to the position held by his ancestors, capability was once again re-evaluated. This process was constantly repeated during the many upheavals in the eighteenth century. Where does this leave the historian? As this collection of essays shows, the concept of capability can offer a new perspective in various fields. Take for example the field of state-making and social history. In a comparison between Flanders, Brabant and Holland from the fifteenth to the eighteenth centuries, Griet Vermeesch weighs the increase or decrease in the importance of capability in urban administrations in accordance with the growth of cities, the increasing activities and responsibilities of urban

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Condren, Argument and Authority in Early Modern England, passim.

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governments and the processes of oligarchisation. She uses Max Weber’s concepts of patrimonialisation and bureaucratisation as a yardstick to measure capability and comes to the conclusion that modern notions of capability (rational and legal principles such as education) were already apparent in the fourteenth-century Low Countries, while patrimonial notions of capability (personal bonds and tradition) increased even during the eighteenth century. We should not, argues Vermeesch, see the two ideal types as consecutive stages in history. Governance did not move in a linear fashion from patrimonialism to bureaucracy. Vermeesch subsequently looks at six characteristics of government that tell us something about capability: how administrators were selected, monitoring capacity, remuneration, specialisation, hierarchy and controlling the functioning of officials, distinction between public and private, and the formalisation of administrative deeds. Her conclusions offer a thoroughly historical explanation of the development of capability in the early modern Low Countries. Processes of patrimonialisation and processes of bureaucratisation differed from time to time and from place to place. Specific political and historical contexts determined these developments. Consequently, it cannot be said that ‘capability’ became more important for office-holders or their appointment in this period. On the contrary, as Vermeesch reminds us, claims for capability could develop in a direction that had nothing to do with the path to modern notions of governance. Patrimonial practices, for example, ‘did not necessarily have a negative connotation in specific historical contexts. In Flanders and probably in Brabant as well, the argument arose among some groups that those who were not able to pay high sums for an office could not be honest officeholders’. The contributions by Jan Waszink and Fokko Jan Dijksterhuis make clear that there existed some close connections between the world of science and the world of politics in the Dutch Republic and that the concept of capability plays a crucial role in understanding these connections. Waszink demonstrates that Leiden University functioned ‘culturally speaking, as a kind of court near the centre of government in The Hague’, which had as its specific goal to educate servants for the public church and the state. He points out the intense and intimate contacts between a host of scholars and politicians, a ‘network, which indeed reminds one of a miniature court’. An exceptional product of and later a key participant in this network was the great scholar and politician Hugo Grotius (1583-1645). With his concept of the ‘statesman-historian’ as the ideal politician, Grotius gave expression to the close connection between science and politics. According to Grotius, a public office-holder had to be

10

Introduction

a good scholar. Through a close analysis of Grotius’s history of the Dutch Revolt, the Annales et historiae, Waszink shows how Grotius, inspired by the Roman historian Tacitus, tried to express this ideal in practice. During the turbulent Twelve Years’ Truce, however, Grotius, who had rallied to the cause of Johan van Oldenbarnevelt (1547-1619) and had written several works in defence of his patron and his patron’s masters, the States of Holland, failed to convince his audience of the righteousness of the position of the States of Holland and ended up sentenced to lifelong imprisonment. Measured against the merits of his own ideal of the statesman-historian, this was not only a political, but also a scholarly failure. Grotius thus proved himself incapable on two accounts. Furthermore, his case also illustrates the consequences of what happens if one deviates too much from what is acceptable to one’s peers and the majority of the public in a country with a fragmented political structure and no clear locus of power. The same observation is made by Fokko Jan Dijksterhuis in his article about surveyors and mathematicians in the Dutch Republic during the seventeenth century. A surveyor was a mathematician whose tasks consisted of measuring and demarcating land. Fulfilling a public office, a surveyor was officially appointed by the local public authorities who, after a candidate was appointed, paid the surveyor for his services. Since his decisions influenced the ownership of property, the office of a surveyor sometimes involved great judicial and political responsibilities. Accordingly, it was essential that a candidate for the office of surveyor be a good mathematician, capable of measuring and calculating accurately. This, however, is where the matter becomes problematic. Although some academiae offered formal maths education and although Dutch public authorities, who employed the surveyors, laid down the surveyor’s rights and duties in the oath a surveyor had to swear on admission, mathematicians had to define their capability themselves ‘because of the lack of institutional structures to establish mathematical capability’. This sometimes led to bitter disputes between mathematicians who questioned each others expertise and, consequently, each others capability of fulfilling their respective public offices. However, as Dijksterhuis convincingly argues, ‘mathematical “bequamheit” was measured in terms of expertise as well as civility’. A surveyor not only had to be a good mathematician, but also, as all other men who held or aspired to hold a public office, ‘a respectable citizen and an honourable man’. If he transgressed the boundaries of civility, his peers were supposed to bring him into line. If that did not help, a wider public was sought to pass judgement. In this

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sense, the world of science and the world of politics resembled each other to a large degree. While Grotius defended and tried to embody the renaissance ideal of the ‘statesman-historian’, other Dutch scholars came up with the ideal of the mercator sapiens (wise merchant), who combined the mercantile virtues of the tradesman, such as diligence, honesty and persuasive, but truthful speech with scientific knowledge and philosophical insight. The contribution by Arthur Weststeijn draws our attention to these rhetorical devices used by seventeenth-century Dutch scholars and thinkers and the role these devices played in determining who was capable of holding a public office. Two Dutch thinkers who ‘cherished this matrimony between speech and trade’ were the brothers Johan (1622-1660) and Pieter de la Court (1618-1685). Their work reveals a frequent and conscious employment of a full range of rhetorical devices (metaphors, sententiae, exempla, fables and rhetorical questions) to discredit their opponents’ ideas and to increase the credibility of their own. Of particular importance is that the De la Courts declared ‘the need for bold and straightforward rhetoric, comparable to the ancient Greek parrhesia, the candid telling of the truth in an unveiled, outspoken way, even in the face of danger’, a manner of speech that they believed only to be possible in what they called ‘free republics’. Free republics, however, can only exist where people, unhindered by the bridle of monarchical masters or by their own ignorance, are free and capable to speak their mind and thus able to participate in politics. Rhetoric and politics, then, are closely intertwined in the works of the De la Court brothers and in more than one way. For just as only the wise merchant who possessed the virtue of truthful, persuasive speech should have the right to participate in politics in a free republic (as the De la Court brothers believed Holland to be after the death of stadholder William II), so the form of their work and the rhetorical devices employed in them proved to their audience that the De la Court brothers were such wise merchants and hence that their political message was true. With this insight Weststeijn points out a key aspect of the work of the De la Court brothers that until thus far has hardly received any attention. Jaap Nieuwstraten focuses on the political thought of the teacher of the De la Court brothers in Leiden, Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn (1612-1653). In his contribution, Nieuwstraten explicates how Boxhorn’s work was symptomatic of a break with the past in the 1640s, further developed by his students Johan and Pieter de la Court a decade later. Boxhorn, according to Nieuwstraten, ‘came up with a defence of Holland’s “aristocratic” mercantile regime that shows a close resemblance to the

12

Introduction

ideas later put forward by the De la Court brothers. The issue of capability played a central role in this defence’. Boxhorn’s argument begins with a claim that ancestry was of less importance in the consideration for political capability than virtue. The far-reaching consequence of this claim was that in theory everyone should have access to office. Boxhorn, however, did not claim that all were equally fit to govern. On the contrary, he excluded foreigners and ‘the infamous’ from any realistic attempt to be endowed with an office. Furthermore, he preferred the rich over the poor, since the rich had more to lose if the ‘commonwealth’ (res publica) were harmed. With the incorporation of this interest theory, Boxhorn differed from predecessors, such as Grotius and Justus Lipsius (1547-1606), who had argued that some men, ‘because of their noble birth or through good education, were able to rise above the depravities of human nature; to these virtuous men, they held, the rudder of the state could be entrusted safely’. Boxhorn had a more negative view of mankind. Man, Boxhorn believed, is inherently bad and will always be inclined to see to his own personal interests. As a consequence, the interests of the ruler should be in accordance with the shared interests of the commonwealth. Boxhorn saw it as a central problem in the capability debate how to recognise these shared interests. His answer was a thorough knowledge of history. As it turned out, the shared interests of the Dutch Republic were closely linked to its economic growth, which meant that it should be ruled by merchants. As several contributions in this volume make clear, the importance of the calamitous events of the year 1672 for the Dutch Republic and the course of its history cannot be underestimated (Von Friedeburg, Reinders, Wilders). In the spring of that year, the Republic was attacked and partially run over by the armies of France, Cologne and Munster, while a combined Anglo-French naval force was on its way to destroy the Dutch at sea. The desperate situation of the country caused great and widespread political upheaval in the provinces Holland, Zeeland and Friesland, which, although not yet occupied themselves, feared total destruction. These feelings led to a massive flood of pamphlets and petitions that debated the dire current state of affairs and possible solutions that could save the Republic. Central themes in these debates were the question of what to do with those regenten, who had proven themselves incapable of leading and protecting the country and the search for men capable enough to replace them. Robert von Friedeburg takes the pamphlets that appeared in the Dutch Republic in 1672 as a test case to demonstrate that the capability claims of

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Dutch citizens had a foundation in late medieval European legal and political thought. ‘The “more wise and weightier part” (sanior, valentior pars) of society, the elite, endowed with the right passions and thus relatively resistant to dangerous vices, had to remain in leadership’, argues Von Friedeburg, while ‘legitimacy for any action did not so much hinge on subjective rights, but on holding an office with certain duties, and among those duties, the duty to defend, for instance, the true religion and its only true church, the fatherland and its laws, the prince’. Von Friedeburg links the arguments of Dutch pro-Orangist pamphlet propaganda with the nature of urban rule in contemporary European political thought. He argues that there is a need to examine the role of the citizen as subject (cives subiecti). As it turns out, capability played a central role in this concept. ‘Citizens were meant to fulfil an office, no matter how humble and limited, within a hierarchical order of offices manned by persons with adequate skills and, most important, proper motives.’ The two most important ideas that functioned as the foundation of urban government, argues Von Friedeburg, were competency and accountability: the previously mentioned capability for and in office. Even citizens in the Dutch Republic, which differed from its surrounding states in such a profound manner, were not out to rule themselves. With his argument, Von Friedeburg challenges the two current historiographical traditions that explain the nature of urban disorders: those of ritualistic aspects of crowd behaviour and republican citizenship. Using the example of Mas Aniello (1620-1647), Von Friedeburg shows how ritual and symbolism played a much smaller role than contemporaries suggested. Mas Aniello, for example, appeared to have played his most important role in propaganda, not so much in the actual events. Emphasising civic participation in government by placing urban disturbances in the context of ‘political republicanism’, however, implies an incorrect story of self-rule. Even in Dutch and Italian early modern cities, civic participation had been severely curtailed ever since the later Middle Ages. The casuistry on degrees of citizenship that came from commentaries on Aristotle prevented unbridled civic participation. ‘Not the exercise of the power of rule by citizens, but the integration of a socially diverse body of men under laws, the protection of property against arbitrary government and the maintenance of order were the focus of late medieval thought on citizens.’ As such, all offices – even minor ones – were important. When there was some sort of participation present, there was not the slightest doubt about the difference between sapientes, maiores, and prudentes citizens on the one hand and the mediocre citizens

14

Introduction

on the other, while both groups of citizens were firmly separated from the people. Capability thus held a central place in the debate about the citizen as subject. Citizens were well aware that they had the burden of ‘subjectship’ and it was clear that some were more qualified than others. Even at times when democratic tendencies seem apparent, as was the case in 1672 when citizens had to act to replace failing magistrates, ‘the conflict was not primarily about participation as a right, but about the necessary qualification to hold office and the subsequent choice of office-holders. It was about good governance, not about self-rule’. Pamphleteers were demanding greater functionality of government, in particular in reestablishing trust. In his article, Michel Reinders goes a step further, arguing that the debates of 1672 had a profound changing effect on Dutch notions of citizenship and capability. Concentrating on the massive amount of pamphlets and petitions that appeared in 1672, many of which were produced by ordinary Dutch citizens, Reinders holds that ‘it appeared that capability, or “bequaemheyt” as contemporaries called it, stood at the heart of the citizens’ political agenda’. As mentioned above, the goal of these citizens was not to rule themselves, but to remove from office magistrates who had failed to deliver good governance and to replace them with men who they deemed more capable of leading the country. This of course implied that citizens believed that they could determine who was or was not capable of holding a public office. The possible dangerous consequences of this implication were quickly spotted by pamphleteers who severely attacked the possibility of ordinary citizens assessing the capability of magistrates, objecting that this would lead to chaos and civil war. Citizens, these pamphleteers held, simply had to remain obedient to the laws and to their magistrates, for ‘it is not allowed to do evil, even when its product is good’. It was during these debates that the notion of citizenship broadened ‘from local membership of a city into membership of a state-wide community in 1672 under influence of claims for capability’. Instrumental in this change was the ‘fast and widespread dissemination of print in the Dutch Republic’, which enabled citizens to learn very quickly what had happened and had been argued in other cities. This in turn enabled citizens from different cities and provinces to copy each others arguments. Equally important was that the pamphleteers who attacked the possibility of ordinary citizens assessing the capability of magistrates began to describe citizenship in general terms and ‘as one movement’. According to Reinders,

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15

this ‘had a tremendous impact on Dutch politics: it paved the way for one “national” citizenship’. The consequences of the return of the prince of Orange to the political scene after 1672 for the concept of capability and its formal and practical applications in daily politics are clearly illustrated by Coen Wilders. Via Wilders’s article, we witness the intricate workings of the appointment of new office-holders in the province of Utrecht from 1672 onwards. Wilders argues that there were several formal stipulations for capability for office, such as age, religion and experience, but in practice these were at times ignored for the benefit of certain families or the family of Orange. This tendency was exacerbated by the fact that in Utrecht ‘loyalty’ was considered the most important quality a potential office-holder should have. Since the focus of a person’s or body’s loyalty changed over time, we learn from Wilders’s account that capability for office should be viewed in the context of an ongoing loyalty debate. His case study from Utrecht supports this claim. Here, the prince of Orange tried to expand his influence by appointing his favourites, mostly through two brokers: Godard Adriaan van Reede, Lord of Amerongen (1621-1691) and Everard van Weede, Lord of Dijkveld (1626-1702). Office-holders in Utrecht, however, were not only expected to be loyal to the prince of Orange, but also to the province, the locality and – in time – the brokers, whose interests apparently differed from those of their patron. Provided the interests of the prince of Orange fell in line with the interests of the province and the locality, it seemed that ‘Orangism’ determined capability. This perception changed, however, after 1678, when the prince of Orange came to oppose the province of Utrecht. In 1684, feelings of misplaced loyalty even caused civil uprisings in Utrecht. This is not to say, however, that the formal qualities that determined a candidate’s capability taken from documents such as the Governmental Regulation of 1674 were dead. At times, the prince of Orange or powerful politicians and their entourage met with varying success in their attempts to force ‘loyal’ clients into government. The formal regulations, however, could never thoughtlessly be swept aside. Wilders gives a beautiful example of the lengths that people were willing to go to meet the formal requirements for office. A member of the Equestrian Order in Utrecht, for example, had to be at least 24 years old, be an active member of the Dutch Reformed Church and own a manor with a tower and a drawbridge. When the Orangist favourite Hendrik van Nassau-Ouwerkerk (1640-1708) gained membership to the Equestrian Order in 1674, he did not possess a manor in the province. After a year, Nassau-Ouwerkerk succeeded in buying a former castle in Woudenberg (with the financial support of his family), which had been

16

Introduction

uninhabited for decades and was probably a ruin. He boldly requested that the States give these remains the status of manor so that he would meet the eligibility requirements. Comparative studies are essential in order to unearth the specifics or non-specifics of the debates about capability in the Dutch Republic. Both Vermeesch and Von Friedeburg draw our attention to areas outside the Republic (i.e. the southern Dutch provinces and Germany, respectively). England, often one of the Republic’s closest allies, but also its most bitter commercial rival, offers a unique case for comparison. With the exception of a brief period in the middle of the seventeenth century, England was a monarchy throughout the early modern period. The specific nature of the English polity, however, is a matter of debate among modern historians. In his contribution, Glenn Burgess critically re-evaluates the popular idea of England as a ‘monarchical republic’. By closely examining the way how contemporaries understood the terms ‘monarchy’ and ‘republic’ (or any of their English or Latin equivalents), Burgess demonstrates that the term ‘monarchical republic’ is misleading. Contemporaries actually understood England to be a republic – or rather a ‘commonwealth’, but in the generic sense ‘as any government, of whatever form, over free men for their own good’, not as a commonwealth in the specific sense as a non-monarchical form of government. It was only by the later 1640s, amidst the Civil Wars, that the term ‘commonwealth’ really came to be used to describe a non-monarchical form of government – sometimes even the antithesis of monarchy. The fact that most contemporaries saw England as both a ‘commonwealth’ and a ‘monarchy’ had several implications for officeholding and the demands English office-holders had to meet. The key implication is that English office-holders had to serve both the king and the commonwealth. The latter implied a set of virtues (piety, justice and wisdom) and qualities (adhering to the right faith, knowledge of the laws and skill in negotiation and mediation) not unlike those found in the Dutch Republic. The former implied obedience and loyalty to the king, who was the head of the Church, the fountain of justice and in whose name and authority English office-holders worked. Thus, while it is true that ‘officeholding was indeed integral to the governance and society of early modern England’, Burgess rightly claims that there ‘is no reason to suppose that this made the realm of England into any sort of republic, not even a quasirepublic’. The interesting thing is that, at least with respect to officeholding, the situation in England did not differ very much from that in the Dutch Republic where, despite the many people involved, the capabilities required of office-holders were often the same.

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Conal Condren takes the English context to discuss what he calls ‘the Dutch emphasis on governmental capability’ in a broader European perspective. Condren shows that underlying any claim to office was ‘an ethical and practical set of assertions’, shared by all early modern Christians, including the Dutch. These assertions were not only used to legitimise claims on holding an office, but they also provided the standards ‘by which one could be critically judged’. Thus, for an English monarch, a claim to an inherited right was never enough to legitimise his rule as this opened the door to a comparative test against the abilities and competences his predecessors had emphasised to legitimise their rule, and, if he failed the test, to the erosion of his authority. Therefore, in England, as much as in the Dutch Republic, ‘the legitimating functions of lineage were never taken for granted’. Instead, special care was taken that the future monarch was properly educated. But what were the ingredients of a proper education? Surely, a future ruler should be taught the cardinal Christian virtues of honesty, piety and temperance. But he also needed to know practical and military skills, and he at least had to be acquainted with the dark side of man, if only to recognise and combat evildoers. The moral difficulties possibly involved in such an education are reflected in the ‘Janus-like character’ of reason of state. ‘A positive reason of state exhibited the necessary skills and judgement to good ends, the exercise of capacities within and justified by an ethical frame. A bad reason of state, bereft of ethical legitimation was skill reduced to mere Machiavellian cunning, judgement in the service of evil or self-interest, where one could be a variation on the other.’ It was primarily in its negative form ‘as a series of accusatory and dire warnings’ that the English described the Dutch as sly, cunning and manipulative merchants who were only interested in financial gain. In their portraits, the English did not deny that the Dutch were competent, diligent and efficient, but they also accused the Dutch of irresponsibility and a lack of moral integrity. The Dutch may possess the technical skills to hold a public office, but they lacked its virtues. Thus, in the eyes of the English, Dutch capability was ‘narrow, efficiently pursued self-interest, dangerous because effective’. As all contributions make clear, capability was of crucial importance to the legitimacy of rulers. Since claims for capability were never thoughtlessly accepted, debates were intricate, subtle and interesting. Simply pointing out one’s lineage would not do. Kings needed an education and proof of their quality. Conversely, it was not enough to point out the negative impact of one’s lineage. Accordingly, Johan de Witt had to come up with

18

Introduction

more than a story of the wicked family of Orange in his Deduction, which he did. For instance, he presented the reader a seven-page calculation wherein he ‘revealed’ that the stadholders had cost the inhabitants of the Dutch Republic over 19 million guilders. The fact that this argument worked shows not only that the Dutch reason of state was indeed closely connected to commercial gain, but also how claims for capability could lead a nation to define itself. Overall, the Dutch defined themselves as good Christians and lawabiding citizens who knew their rights and duties. One of their prime duties was to protect their commonwealth or patria, however defined. In emergencies, citizens thought it their duty to stress the accountability of magistrates who in their eyes had failed to deliver good governance. They did not want to rule themselves, but they wanted to replace magistrates who had proven themselves incapable of fulfilling their tasks with more capable persons. Even political commentators like Boxhorn and the De la Court brothers did not deem every citizen fit to hold public office, although they had ideas about capability that differed from the seventeenth-century mainstream. The ideas the Dutch had about the tasks that office-holders had to fulfil and the criteria that candidates for and office-holders in office had to meet were widely shared by their European neighbours. In a world of conflict and threat, the primary task of office-holders was to create and keep order. That goes as much for a Dutch burgomaster or surveyor, as for a German city regent, an English Justice of the Peace or a clerk from Antwerp. Since these office-holders had to share power and stood in direct contact with the people they were supposed to serve, there was – apart from an emphasis on knowledge of practical skills – tremendous weight put on virtues such as honesty, temperance and loyalty, be it to a king, a prince or patria. As regards the Dutch Republic, it is striking that the Dutch made a constant appeal to the ‘market’ (the public at large) in their debates about capability. The extent to which the Dutch were unique in this aspect should be investigated further. Unlike England or France, the Dutch lacked a sovereign lord who could function as an independent arbiter. The Union of Utrecht designated the stadholder as a mediator or arbiter in the event of internal conflict, but not as a sovereign lord. Opinions about the role of stadholder in the Dutch body politic and the range of his privileges may have varied, but William III's failed attempt to be elevated to duke of Gelre shows that there were limits to what even the staunchest supporters of the prince of Orange would allow. The fragmented political infrastructure of the Dutch Republic, the concentration of power on the local city level, the fact that Dutch regenten lived among their fellow

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citizens over whom they did not hold a hereditary right to rule, let alone the fact that Dutch regenten did not have a monopoly on military force and were in most cases dependent on the willingness of the burghers who filled the ranks of the city militias to support their rule, forced Dutch regenten, willingly or not, to engage citizens in discussion and convince them of their viewpoints. We not only see this pattern occur during the great crises of the seventeenth century (1618-1619, 1650, 1672), but also during crises on a smaller scale, for example, in Dordrecht in the late 1640s.24 As the articles in this volume show, the close ties between politics, science, rhetoric, political philosophy and popular politics (pamphleteering) in the Dutch Republic ensured that the approval of the public was sought by all who tried to defend their (supposed) capability and by those who tried to prove the incapability claimed of the other side. This was done by citizens, political theorists, and at times even by men who just wanted to measure a piece of land.

 24

Frijhoff, Nusteling and Spies (eds.), Geschiedenis van Dordrecht van 1572 tot 1813, 19-21, 211-16.

LONG TERM TRENDS

URBAN RIOTS AND THE PERSPECTIVE OF “QUALIFICATION FOR OFFICE”: THE PECULIARITIES OF URBAN GOVERNMENT AND THE CASE OF THE 1672 DISTURBANCES IN THE NETHERLANDS ROBERT VON FRIEDEBURG

The fascination of historians in the 1960s and 1970s with revolt, crisis and rebellion has lapsed. Surely, the decreasing plausibility of sociological theories of modernisation and their link to early modern revolts is one reason for this decline. However, urban disturbances were a subject of seventeenthcentury comment in their own right. The spectacular role of the population of Paris in supporting the Catholic League and its threat to monarchical authority during the 1580s, the ominous role of London during the 1642-49 confrontation between parliament and king and last but not least the revolt of Naples in 1647 provided incidents that persuaded contemporaries about the potential threat of urban disorder.1 The explanatory framework of a general ‘Seventeenth Century European Crisis’ was not least devised to explain these disturbances against a European socio-economic or demographic crisis, but has remained inconclusive.2 Recent research has also abandoned the assessment of these disturbances as apolitical factionalism, manipulated by networks of influential opponents that were able to mobilise local crowds almost at will and according to their own day-to-day strategies.3



1 See for instance Anthony Ascham, On the Confusions and Revolutions in Government (London, 1649). 2 Geoffrey Parker and Lesley Smith (eds.), The General Crisis of the Seventeenth Century (London, 1st 1978, 1997). 3 Daan J. Roorda, PartƋ en factie: de oproeren van 1672 in de steden van Holland en Zeeland, een krachtmeting tussen partƋen en facties (Groningen, 1961); Murk van der Bijl, Idee en interest: voorgeschiedenis, verloop en achtergronden van de politieke twisten in Zeeland en vooral in Middelburg tussen 1702 en 1715 (Groningen, 1981); Rudolf Dekker, Holland in beroering: oproeren in de 17de en 18de eeuw (Baarn, 1982); Simon Groenveld, Evidente factiën in den staet: sociaal-

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23

Indeed, it was already clear to seventeenth-century contemporaries that local populations, much to the dismay of elites and commentators alike, could shed the bonds of obedience to some extent and turn into the manyheaded monster that everyone feared.4 Against this background, the strong impact of contemporary pamphlet material on the popular mind has recently been stressed with respect to the British Civil Wars. 5 The framework of argument of seventeenth-century pamphlet material on the legitimacy and utility of organised collective violence against legally instituted magistrates was not, however, a modern argument for revolution. Apart from the heat of religious arguments in particular of the French Wars of Religion, Europe’s analytical reflection asked to what extent which section of a population was capable of challenging the bonds of authority, to what extent human society could do with a weakening of its governing institutions, and to what extent we need to endure even a tyrannical government simply because it might prove better then anything revolt and civil war might produce. 6 The pamphlets agreeing with collective and organised violence against legally instituted magistrates argued that such action was feasible because it would not lead into anarchy and was led and conducted by men with sufficient qualities, and thus with particular legal and social standing. To early modern thought, the ‘more wise and weightier part’ (sanior, valentior pars) of society, the elites, endowed with the right passions and thus relatively resistant to dangerous vices had to remain in leadership.7 Legitimacy for any action did not so much hinge on subjective rights, but on possessing an office with certain duties, and among those duties the duty to defend, for instance, the true religion and its only true church, the fatherland and its laws, the prince.8 What its opponents labelled as ‘rebellions’ were thus regularly fought in defence of these higher goods and in defiance of tyrants threatening them. In particular when challenging legally instituted magistrates, those who

 politieke verhoudingen in de 17e-eeuwse Republiek der Verenigde Nederlanden (Hilversum, 1990), 10-12. 4 See below on contemporary reactions to the Naples uprising. 5 John Walter, Understanding Popular Violence in the English Revolution: The Colchester Plunderers (Cambridge, 1999). 6 For a more general introduction to these themes, see Robert von Friedeburg, “Introduction”, in ibidem (ed.), Murder and Monarchy: Regicide in European History, 1300-1800 (Basingstoke, 2004), 3-47. 7 See, for instance, Paul A. Rahe, “The Classical Republicanism of Milton”, in History of Political Thought, Vol. 25, No. 2 (2004), 243-75. 8 Conal Condren, “Liberty of Office and its Defence in Seventeenth Century Political Argument”, in History of Political Thought, Vol. 18, No. 3 (1997), 460-82.



24

Urban Riots and the Perspective of “Qualification for Office”

attempted this challenge had to prove that they obeyed higher laws and had the ability to do so according to their social position and their possession of virtue and experience.9 The Dutch Republic, no matter how specific its constitution compared to the surrounding principalities, was no exception. The slaughter of the De Witt brothers on 20 August 1672 epitomised in many ways the fall of the regenten regime at the hand of angry crowds, one of the most momentous examples of the impact common people could have on Dutch politics during the early modern period. At first sight, specifically the murder of the De Witt brothers, the mutilation of their corpses, the cutting away of fingers, and above all the roasting and eating of some parts seems to suggest viable grounds for an inquiry into early modern violent ritual along the lines of Natalie Zemon Davis's work on religious violence in sixteenth-century Lyon.10 However, this most spectacular incident remained curiously isolated among the general pattern of the 1672 disturbances. Their spectacular nature must not obscure the fact that the Netherlands did not, in any of its internal disturbances, see the kind of bloodshed as France did during its wars of religion. In fact, Henk van Nierop has admirably shown how, even when the war with Spain was raging, accused Catholic traitors could seek justice at Dutch courts. 11 It is the relative civility of Dutch internal disturbances, compared to any other European county, certainly Ireland, Scotland, England, France and Germany, that is striking. Most of the popular disturbances did not lead to the killing of individuals. The 1672 disturbances led to the exchange of one set of magistrates for allegedly more competent successors, not mass slaughter. A good deal of the pamphlets accompanying the disturbances argued precisely for this course and explained and defended the legitimacy of the uprisings with the need to bring more competent men to power.

 9

For the application of this insight to the development of theories of resistance in England and Germany, see Robert von Friedeburg, Self-Defence and Religious Strife in Early Modern Europe: England and Germany, 1530-1680 (Aldershot, 2002). For a survey on the importance of equipment with the right passions, as opposed to the wrong ones, see Robert von Friedeburg (ed.), Passions and the Legitimacy of Rule from Antiquity to the Early Enlightenment. Special Issue Cultural and Social History, Vol. 2, No. 2 (2005). 10 Natalie Zemon Davis, Society and Culture in Early Modern France: Eight Essays (Stanford, 1975). 11 Henk van Nierop, Het verraad van het Noorderkwartier: oorlog, terreur en recht in de Nederlandse Opstand (Amsterdam, 1999).

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25

To be sure, neither petitions nor pamphlets directly reflect the mind of all the individuals in a crowd. Indeed, the publication of pamphlets and even instigating petitions can be understood to be part of a sophisticated process of manipulation of the population by supporters of the Orange faction hostile to the regenten regime. There is little doubt, though not much evidence in detail, that adherents to the Orange faction saw to it that appropriate pamphlets were published. We do know, however, that these pamphlets had an impact because they were accepted by printers for publication and then duly sold and read.12 In 1672, its readers were told that the De Witt brothers were traitors, that they were like other regenten, that they were responsible for the catastrophic series of defeats at the hand of the French, that they and other regenten had to be replaced in order to save the country from French tyranny, and that concerned patriots had the duty to ensure that this happened. What is more, citizens began to have their petitions for the replacement of magistrates printed and distributed to other cities in the Dutch Republic. The uprising gained, by exchange of information between one uprising in one city with those in others and by the conscious acting on this information, a supra-local character.13 The perspective this paper takes to the nature of participation in Dutch urban riots and in particular the 1672 disturbances involves linking the arguments made in pro-Orangist Dutch pamphlet-propaganda with the nature of urban rule in contemporary political thought. Henk van Nierop, Maarten Prak and Marjolein ’t Hart, for example, have argued that urban disturbances in the Netherlands must be seen in connection with the relative importance of cities within the Republic, the relative weakness of central government, the lingering importance of the late medieval urban privileges of citizens and the late medieval tradition of urban revolt against the Burgundian princes.14 These insights, however, have not been systematically applied to the 1672 disturbances, nor do they actually address the problem of

 12

For an earlier period, see Craig E. Harline, Pamphlets, Printing and Political Culture in the Early Dutch Republic (Dordrecht, 1987). 13 See now Michel H.P. Reinders, Printed Pandemonium: The Power of the Public and the Market for Popular Printed Publications in the Early Modern Dutch Republic (PhD dissertation, Rotterdam, 2008). 14 See for instance Marjolein ’t Hart, “Cities and Statemaking in the Dutch Republic, 1580-1680”, in Theory and Society, Vol. 18, No. 5 (1989), 663-87; Henk van Nierop, “Popular Participation in Politics in the Dutch Republic”, in Peter Blickle (ed.), Resistance, Representation and Community (Oxford, 1998), 272-90; Jan Luiten van Zanden and Maarten Prak, “Towards an Economic Interpretation of Citizenship: The Dutch Republic between Medieval Communes and Modern Nation-States”, in European Review of Economic History, Vol. 10, No. 2 (2006), 111-45.



26

Urban Riots and the Perspective of “Qualification for Office”

organised collective violence directed against legally instituted magistrates at the local level and against city-governments themselves. Although there were cases of the removal of city-governments during the conflict with Spain and although citizens had specific privileges distinguishing them from peasants or mere inhabitants, they were also subjects and supposed to obey. Indeed, the terms ‘citizen’ and ‘subject’ were by no means used by contemporaries with only mutually exclusive meanings in mind. We need to scrutinise the nature of participation of citizens as subjects (cives subiecti) in political and legal thought. They were meant to fulfil an office, no matter how humble and limited, within a hierarchical order of offices manned by persons with adequate skills and, most importantly, proper motives.15 Urban government in particular rested on ideas of competency in office and on the potential accountability of those in office. As the regenten regime proved to be incompetent to run the Republic's foreign policy or to defend the country in 1672, subjects were entitled to claim and then act according to the office of ‘liefhebber des Vaderlands’ (Lover of the Fatherland) in order to bring magistrates to power who had the legitimacy and skill do govern well – the prince of Orange. In what follows, this argument will be pursued by more closely reviewing possible approaches to urban discontent in current research (I), analysing German cases of urban disorder and their relation to competency in office (II), reviewing the crisis of 1672 (III), and finally looking at the arguments of a number of pamphlets (IV).

I In contrast to the kingdoms of England and France, where towns had been left with relatively little room for autonomous rule, citizens in Spain, the German lands or in the Netherlands still claimed some control over urban government by virtue of their citizenship, in particular once their guardianmagistrates seemed to have misgoverned. 16 Likewise, urban magistrates

 15

See on the reception of Aristotle and its specific late medieval shape of establishing not a dualism of citizens versus subjects, but of delineating a continuum of grades of privilege and duties, Christoph Flüerer, Rezeption und Interpretation der Aristotelischen Politica im späten Mittelalter (Amsterdam, 1992), 32-35. On the sixteenth-century reception, Günter Frank, “The Reason of Acting: Melanchthon’s Concept of Practical Philosophy and the Question of the Unity and Consistency of his Philosophy”, in Jill Kraye and Risto Saarinen (eds.), Moral Philosophy on the Threshold of Modernity (Dordrecht, 2005), 217-33, 218, on the ‘second reception of the Corpus Aristotelicum’. 16 Heinz Schilling, Die Stadt in der frühen Neuzeit (Munich, 1993), 51; Maarten Prak (ed.), Stedelijke schutterijen en sociale identiteit en Europa in de vroeg-

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27

seemed to be particularly vulnerable to civil disorder, not least because more often than not urban militias proved to be a very basis for disorder rather then defending the regime. This is particularly true of the fall of the regenten regime in the Netherlands in 1672, brought down by the revolt of citizens organised in guilds and militias. Reflecting on these events in 1675, Petrus Valckenier (1638-1712), a Dutchman residing in Switzerland, described the disorder with a dismay characteristic of the period in general and interesting for its implications. He wrote: ‘Thus everything turned topsy-turvy, so that both the lowest [person] and the highest [person] play the boss; [so] that the regenten lost her Authority, and feared more harm from inside than from outside; [so] that the government lapsed into an Ochlocracy and that in the most important Cities all was right, except a disintegrating Mas Aniello, to bring about a miserable massacre, and to plunder the houses of suspected Gentlemen, that had started in some Cities.’17 Indeed, while one of the two major historiographical attempts to account for the nature of urban disorders addresses traditions of republican citizenship, the other focuses on ritualistic aspects of crowd behaviour. The Neapolitan Revolt of 1647 and its alleged young leader, Mas Aniello (16201647), has indeed been one main object of study for the ritualistic approach.18 Valckenier, however, also expressed the contemporary sense of urban disorder as incensed by passionate instincts and void of rational aims. Mas Aniello has become a major example of research on the ritualistic aspects of crowd action.

 moderne tijd. Special edition Tijdschrift voor sociale geschiedenis, Vol. 23, No. 1 (1997); James Hankins (ed.), Renaissance Civic Humanism: Reappraisals and Reflections (Cambridge, 2000); Julius Kirshner, “Women married elsewhere. Gender and Citizenship in Italy”, in Anne Jacobsen Schutte, Thomas Kuehn and Silvana Seidel Menchi (eds.), Time, Space and Women's Lives in Early Modern Europe (Kirksville, 2001), 117-49; Tamar Herzog, “Citizenship and Empire: Communal Definition in Eighteenth Century Spain and Spanish America”, in Julius Kirshner (ed.), Privileges and Rights of Citizenship: Law and the Juridical Construction of Civil Society (Berkeley, 2002), 147-67. 17 Petrus Valckenier, 't Verwerd Europa (Amsterdam, 1675), 675. ‘Dus raakte alles in confusie, so dat de minste so wel de Baas speelde, als de meeste; dat de regenten raakten buyten haare Autoritait, en van binnen meer quaats vreesden als van buyten; dat de regeringe verviel tot een Ochlocratie en dat in de voornaamste Steeden niets manqueerden, als een gerelsolveerden Mas Anniello, om een ellendig bloed-bad an te rechten, en de huysen der gesuspecteerde Heeren te plonderen, daarvan sommige Steden een begin gemaakt weird.’ 18 Peter Burke, “The Virgin of the Carmine and the Revolt of Masaniello”, in Past and Present, Vol. 99 (1983), 3-21.



28

Urban Riots and the Perspective of “Qualification for Office”

As Europe reflected on the revolt of Naples in 1647, Mas Aniello became a symbol for the problems of popular disorder in large towns such as Naples.19 However, during the actual revolt in Naples, as Rosari Villari has shown, issues such as ritual or symbolism played a much smaller role than contemporary descriptions seemed to suggest. It was in seventeenth-century propaganda that the young alleged leader of the Neapolitan revolt gained a prime role, although he only participated in the revolt for ten days, while the entire process of confrontation with Spain took at least nine months. The story of the Naples revolt was also represented in Dutch pamphlets and comments as it unfolded during 1647 and against the background of Dutch urban conflicts. For example, in Dordrecht the conflict between Cornelis van Beveren (1624-1672) and Jacob de Witt (1589-1674) on the one side, and the lawyer Johan Walen († after 1648) on the other, over the allegedly corrupt nature of the administration of Dordrecht was accompanied by pamphlets attacking the former for their ‘Spanish malice’ (Spaensche moedtwil) and their breaches of law. Core issues for this indictment was the recruitment to office via family networks, an issue that re-appeared in 1672. Walen was evicted from Dordrecht.20 The conflict endured until 1651, when following the sudden death of William II (1626-1650), the old regent oligarchy prevailed. At its beginning in 1647, however, this confrontation was also accompanied by a booklet describing the Naples Revolt during the summer of 1647.21 That booklet attempted to trace the beginnings of the revolt in Naples in quite legitimate courses against Spanish tyranny, but also attempted to trace the further development of the revolt into popular anarchy and indiscriminate plunder of the well-to-do by the mob as an unfortunate, but possible danger of all public disorder. The booklet did not take sides, but attempted to offer a detailed narrative of events as the dynamics of a popular revolt lost direction during the course of conflict. In this narrative, the passions of the common people, easily inflamed by rumours and then difficult to control, play a major role. In this description, which is based on day-to-day accounts, by day four (10 July 1647), the people had – in the course of fighting – gone completely out of control. Mas Aniello had emerged as a charismatic leader of their passions. They were longing to kill

 19

See for what follows mainly Rosario Villari, The Revolt of Naples (Cambridge, 1993), 153-70. 20 Peter Schotel, “Strijd om de macht”, in Willem Frijhoff, Hubert Nusteling and Marijke Spies (eds.), Geschiedenis van Dordrecht van 1572 tot 1813 (Hilversum, 1998), 15-37. 21 Anonymous, Missive, In forme van verhaal van de Onenigheden ende revolte, gepleegt tegens de Spanhjaerts (Knuttel 5410, The Hague, 1647).

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29

all alleged traitors within the city walls.22 Still in 1652, another booklet was published on the Wonderlycke op ende ondergang van Tomaso Aniello (Amazing Rise and Fall of Thomas Aniello). This also concentrated during the final phase of the popular riot on the alleged events responsible for the sorry fact that ‘then the people of Naples were stirred up even more’ and the core role of Mas Aniello.23 Of course, Naples also figured in other pieces of contemporary argument. For instance, in Confusions and Revolutions in Government, published by Anthony Ascham (c.1614-1650) in 1649 in order to persuade his English readers to obey the new commonwealth, Spain is congratulated for non-intervention in Naples at a certain point in time when the revolt had reduced Spanish military power over Naples for this period.24 The Naples revolt thus figured as an example in entirely different contemporary contexts. However, in our examples from the Netherlands, Mas Aniello had become an icon of the danger of popular passions for the maintenance of order. The latter perspective was clearly argued by Petrus Valckenier in the quote above. It is important to note that Valckenier was himself a member of the ‘secular republican toleration tradition’, as compared to Voetian Calvinism, but also to be distinguished from the out right republicanism of the De la Courts.25 The position of the Dutchman who lived in Switzerland in ‘t Verwerd Europa (Corrupt Europe) was that a monarchical element was necessary in the Republic to lend social cohesion, a point reinforced in his description of the regrettable plundering of the houses of the wealthy by the crowds in 1672, reminding him of the sorry chaos in Naples described in Dutch pamphlets twenty years earlier.26 Indeed, the office for William to restore order on 26 August is seen not least as a response to the killing of the De Witt brothers on 20 August and a rallying of the regenten behind the long embattled stadholder as the people seemed to get out of hand. During the last fifteen years, explanations of urban disorder have shifted from an emphasis on ritual and crowd anthropology to a consideration of

 22

Ibidem, 18-27. Alessandro Giraffi, Wonderlycke op ende ondergang van Tomaso Aniello, met de beroerten tot Neapolis. Translated by Johannes Casteleyn (Haarlem, 1652), 12, 34. ‘… dan wiert het Neapolisch volck dies te meer opgeweckt …’ 24 Ascham, On the Confusions and Revolutions in Government, 99-101. 25 See Jonathan I. Israel, The Dutch Republic: Its Rise, Greatness, and Fall, 14771806 (Oxford, 1st ed. 1995, 1998), 674, 786. See on Valckenier also, E.O.G. Haitsma Mulier, “Die politisch-historischen Ideen von Petrus Valckenier”, in Albert de Lange and Gerhard Schwinge (eds.), Pieter Valkenier und das Schicksal der Waldenser um 1700 (Heidelberg, 2004), 108-22. 26 Valckenier, ’t Verwerd Europa, 675. 23



30

Urban Riots and the Perspective of “Qualification for Office”

traditions of civic participation, reflected in conflicts between urban magistrates and their citizens. For example, Italian historians have criticised dismissing this ‘republican’ aspect of the Neapolitan revolt and have moved the episode into the history of political republicanism.27 None of the 1672 pamphlets suggesting the possibility of holding magistrates failing to perform in their office responsible and to oust traitors and incompetent magistrates suggested the mutilation of corpses or promoted anarchy. As the Copie Van een Brief, geschreven uyt Rotterdam (Copy of a Letter, written from Rotterdam) put it when criticising the alleged failure of urban magistrates to steer the crisis of 1672: ‘the magistrate, who represents the Sovereignty like a Governor, is bound by law, and because he has no power of himself … the people must be consulted, … especially in such extremity and decay of matters.’ 28 Based on such examples of the emphasis on the role of the people, urban disturbances have indeed been understood as part of a tradition of active civic self-rule in conflict with the oligarchic tendencies among urban magistrates. This approach alleged a contradiction between civic claims for participation in government, conceived as self-rule, and the way early modern magistrates wished to rule over their urban subjects.29 Urban disorders were not least understood as a consequence of the resulting tensions. However, as in the case of Dutch or Italian towns, urban civic participation remained severely curtailed, already since the later Middle Ages. 30 From their very inception, medieval commentaries on Aristotle and on the role and meaning of citizens, such as those of Petrus of

 27

Villari, The Revolt of Naples, 158-59. See also the response of Peter Burke on these points in an earlier edition of Villari’s argument in Past and Present, Vol. 108 (1985), 117-31. See also Vitor Ivo Comparato, “From the Crisis of Civil Culture to the Neapolitan Republic of 1647: Republicanism in Italy between the Sixteenth and the Seventeenth Centuries”, in Quentin Skinner and Martin van Gelderen (eds.), Republicanism: A Shared European Heritage, Vol. 1 (Cambridge, 2002), 169-94. 28 Anonymous, Copie Van een Brief, geschreven uyt Rotterdam (Knuttel 10479, 1672). ‘… de Magistraten, door dewelcke als Prince van de Landen de Souveraenitaet wordt gerepresenteert, is gebonden aen de wetten, ende daer deselfe geen maght van sijn selven heft … moet populi worden geconsidereert … voornamentlijck in soodanige extremiteit en verval van saecken …’ 29 Heinz Schilling, “Civic Republicanism in Late Medieval and Early Modern German Cities”, in ibidem, Religion, Political Culture and the Emergence of Early Modern Society: Essays in German and Dutch History (Brill, 1992), 3-59. 30 With respect to the Netherlands, see James Paul Ward, The Cities and States of Holland: A Participatory System of Government under Strain (1506-1515) (PhD dissertation, Leiden, 2001).

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Alvernia (†1304), developed a complicated casuistry on degrees of citizenship. Not the exercise of the power to rule by citizens, but the integration of a socially diverse body of men under laws, the protection of property against arbitrary government and the maintenance of order were the focus of late medieval thought on citizens. Under these auspices, even service in minor offices was seen as a potentially important part of civic activity. Participating in elections and court juries without any pretence or intention to actually rule or hold government office thus characterised even the activity of the better part of the citizens, while the citizen-subject (cives subiecti) might not even be allowed to do this. In any case, among the inhabitants, the wise and able (sapientes, maiores, prudentes) remained clearly distinguished from the mediocres and both of them from the people. The ‘well-ordered multitude’ (multitudo bene ordinata) remained clearly distinguished from the rabble (multitudo bestialis), only the former being able to advise or even to control the magistrate.31 This core emphasis of the medieval adaptation of Aristotle to the empirical political needs of running cities and their government was never entirely lost on the actual performance of participation and government. Florence prior to the Medici ascendancy not only exemplifies Republican civic participation and self-rule, but also cautious protection of citizens by constraining magistrates from arbitrary government. Even in cases where the term ‘liberty’ (libertas) was used not only to address the corporate liberty against outside princes, but to describe the nature of civic participation, as in the famous Laudatio Florentinae Urbis (1403/4) of Leonardo Bruni (c.13701444), securing rights for Florentine citizens against arbitrary rule by due legal process remained at the core of the argument.32 During the last decade, our knowledge of the erstwhile prime example on ideas of participatory urban republicanism, Renaissance Florence, has been transformed. 33



31 Ulrich Meier, “Burgerlich vereynung. Herrschende, beherrschte und ‘mittlere’ Bürger in Politiktheorie, chronikalischer Überlieferung und städtischen Quellen des Spätmittelalters”, in Reinhart Koselleck and Klaus Schreiner (eds.), Bürgerschaft: Rezeption und Innovation der Begrifflichkeit vom Hohen Mittelalter bis ins 19. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart, 1994), 43-89. 32 Ulrich Meier, “Der falsche und der richtige Name der Freiheit. Zur Neuinterpretation eines Grundwertes der Florentiner Stadtgesellschaft (13.-16. Jahrhundert)”, in Klaus Schreiner and Ulrich Meier (eds.), Stadtregiment und Bürgerfreiheit: Handlungsspielräume in deutschen und italienischen Städten des Späten Mittelalters und der Frühen Neuzeit (Göttingen, 1994), 37-84. 33 Hankins, Renaissance Civic Humanism; Julius Kirshner, “Baldo degli Ubaldi's Contribution to the Rule of Law in Florence”, in Carla Frova, Maria Grazia Nico Ottaviani and Stefania Zucchini (eds.), VI Centenario della morte di Baldo degli Ubaldi, 1400-2000 (Perugia, 2005), 313-65.



32

Urban Riots and the Perspective of “Qualification for Office”

Niccolo Machiavelli (1469-1527) aptly commented in his reading of Livy’s history of Rome. ‘If men are governed well, they do not look for any other liberty.’34 When in 1537, a decade after his death, Florentine exiles demanded the recovery of their liberties from duke Alessandro de Medici (c.1510-1537), they where told by the duke’s advisor, Francesco Guicciardini (1483-1540), that liberty did not exist where the people suppressed the nobility or government had given way to licence.35 Surely emphasis had shifted, but it had shifted within a continuum of possibilities of gradual participation within a hierarchical order, not from one political ideology to another. The fact that liberties must be protected while no room for licence must be given remained a standard truism until the dawn of the early Enlightenment. What conceptually entailed no contradiction at all, remained an empirical source of friction in most actual circumstances, and contemporaries knew it all along. The liberties of able citizens, including their participation in certain parts of government, and the government’s need to protect property and privilege against the jealousy of the poor, remained a standard truism of political pamphlet propaganda to the 1642 parliamentarian propaganda defending itself against all Royalist allegations of plunging the country into anarchy and to Valckenier deploring the plundering of the houses of the wealthy in 1672.36 Recent research on ideas of ‘republicanism’ in early modern Europe thus includes examples from authors addressing mixed and legally bound monarchies.37 Since even monarchies based on the claim to reign as well as rule by divine right more often than not were bound by positive legal constraints, the contrast between monarchical and republican regimes is still valid, but must be drawn more carefully.38 Indeed, Blair Worden has reminded us that English republicans such as James Harrington (1611-1677) were



34 Nicholo Machiavelli, “Discorsi supra la prima deca di Tito Livio”, in ibidem, Opere, Vol. 1. Edited by S. Bertelli (Milan, 1968), 334. ‘Perche la liberta non consiste che la plebe conculchi la nobilita … ne che sotto falso nome di liberta le cose si governino con una dissolute licenza.’ 35 Quoted after Meier, “Der falsche und der richtige Name der Freiheit”, 75. 36 Von Friedeburg, Self-Defence and Religious Strife in Early Modern Europe, 214-15, in particular with respect to the wording of the protestation. 37 Skinner and Van Gelderen (eds.), Republicanism: A Shared European Heritage, 2 vols., in particular the contributions by Robert von Friedeburg, Martin van Gelderen and Hans Erich Bödeker. 38 See for instance Helen Nader, Liberty in Absolutist Spain: The Habsburg Sale of Towns, 1516-1700 (Baltimore, 1990); Tamar Herzog, Defining Nations: Immigrants and Citizens in Early Modern Spain and Spanish America (New Haven, 2003).

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dismayed with the rule of the Rump Parliament after 1649, that they understood the Rump to be an oligarchy and that they deplored the lack of constitutional safeguards for liberties. He also reminds us that the members of this very Rump Parliament understood their own rule as government of England by its own representatives – not by its citizen. Even the Great Seal ‘advertises the rule not of a republic, but of a parliament’.39 Janet Coleman has attempted to allow for such findings by emphasising the role of participatory idioms, such as those provided by ‘Civic Humanism’, in a manner more cautious and less straightforward then interpreting it as a clear cut recipe for civic self-rule. ‘Once we recognise this civic humanism as ideology, a normative discourse rather then historical description, we can observe something that is more interesting about it. An aristocratic elite seems to have accepted a republican language with its normative notions of consent and representation as the foundation of legitimate republican government, of the supremacy of law, of the delegated quality of formal power, and this is what survives in the chancery language of Bruni. Fictions to be sure, but it has been argued that they affected the political style of the elite. The normative language of civic humanism actually limited, by modifying, their exercise of power.’40 While they did not prima facie claim a say in supreme government for citizens, who had still to obey their magistrates, citizens could claim accountability of these magistrates and protection by the law against incompetent or arbitrary government. These insights can be brought to bear on our understanding of the Dutch popular disturbances during the seventeenth century and of the pamphlets informing them. Already in 1616-18 and in 1650, but also in 1672, pamphlets and crowds were in overwhelming support of the monarchical component of the Dutch Republic, the House of Orange, not in favour of continuing civic participation in supreme government. In order to do this, we need to assess the legal nature of urban government.

II Already around 1500, the term ‘cives’ addressed at once a legal privilege and a fundamental precept of early modern society – that social order rests

 39

Blair Worden, “Republicanism, Regicide and Republic: The English Experience”, in Skinner and Van Gelderen (eds.), Republicanism: A Shared European Heritage, Vol. 1, 307-27. Quote on 327. 40 Janet Coleman, A History of Political Thought, Vol. 2 (Oxford, 2000), 239-40.



34

Urban Riots and the Perspective of “Qualification for Office”

on the rule of masters over servants, that rule had to be all-pervasive and that only those who could rule themselves could be free from the rule of others. The precept of rule was most clearly spelled out in the influential translation of Aristotle by Petrus Victorius (1499-1585), referred to by Henning Arnisaeus (c.1575-1636) in his very influential publication on politics. 41 Sixteenth-century arguments from an urban background explaining the nature of rule in a town could not base their account of this rule on hereditary lordship, as could accounts of princely rule, nor did they integrate the precept of rule by addressing citizens as persons participating in a constant exchange of the roles of rulers and of being ruled. Rather, in legal discourse, citizenship dispensed in degrees from certain burdens of subjectship. It could involve participation in minor offices, but did not have to encompass high office. For the right to rule possessed by the town as a corporate citizenry (i.e. populus) was exercised by way of representation only. Philosophical discourse supplemented the criteria that explained why some citizens should have access to the councils that ruled by way of representation and others should not. These criteria emphasised the particular ability of some citizens to rule themselves and rule others and the respective lack of this ability among the majority of the other citizens. Thus, citizenship rarely ever included self-rule or a regular exchange of ruling and being ruled, but was accommodated with either oligarchic patterns or outright aristocratic privileges of a few to rule over the majority of citizens. In the representation of urban rule, the leading families tended to emphasise their aristocratic virtues and ideals rather then the equality of citizens. In most cases and as opposed to a hereditary aristocracy, urban magistrates exercised power not by dominium or by hereditary title, but by virtue of representing the community. That representation itself was held by virtue of holding office. Office, in turn, was meant to be held by virtue of competency (auctoritas), the specific moral and technical skills, of the office-holders. Doubts about the capability of urban magistrates and their performance in office could thus prove particularly lethal for the legitimacy of urban magistrates. Subjects not only could, but had to re-invigorate their

 41

Petrus Victorius, Commentarii in VIII libro Aristotelis de optimo statu civitatis (Florence, 1576), 209. ‘Est autem res publica ordo civitatis, ceterorumque magistratuum, et maxime illius, qui summam potestatem habet.’ On the underlying notion of the civitas being the materia, being given form by the res publica, see Horst Dreitzel, Protestantischer Aristotelismus und absoluter Staat: die “Politica” des Henning Arnisaeus (ca. 1575-1636) (Wiesbaden, 1970), 119; Wolfgang Mager, “Republik”, in Joachim Ritterm and Karlfried Gründer (eds.), Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, Vol. 8 (Bazel, 1984), 858-78, esp. 867.

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claims for participation in government as citizens. Accordingly, the core issues of urban conflicts was not continuing participation in supreme government, but the accountability of magistrates and their constraint by law, at times enforceable by citizens. Most urban magistrates wished to be considered unaccountable to their subjects. Urban oligarchies celebrated kings and emperors and sought to portray themselves along aristocratic lines. Nuremberg erected an Arch of Triumph in honour of Charles V (15001558) prior to his visit to the Imperial Diet at Regensburg, celebrating the Emperor as defender against the Turks and as a model of Christian rule, exercising justice, prudence, moderation and power. Venice, the model-city for Nuremberg's patricians, celebrated Henry king of Poland (1551-1589) by erecting an arch at the Lido. However, despite the social and cultural self-fashioning and the legal claims of urban elite's as aristocracies, urban rule remained much less secure and independent from their subjects then the rule of hereditary princes. The magistrates of the Imperial cities in Germany, for instance, despite their own claims for aristocratic status, were not able to secure the right to reform the church (ius reformandi) in 1555 (i.e. to choose either the Augsburg Confession or adherence to the church of Rome for their subjects). Legitimacy by representation only was based on the concept of the persona ficta as developed by Bartolus de Saxoferrato (c.1313-1357) and Baldus de Ubaldis (1327-1400). This concept permitted groups of natural persons to be understood, under certain conditions, to act like a single legal – notional – person, making binding contracts. Such a persona ficta was meant to be constituted by the association of a number of natural persons who could then be represented by chosen magistrates. But the corporation, in most cases the city, still had to be allowed to act. For that, it needed natural persons. These then represented the actual corporation. Contemporaries understood this representation in two different alternative ways. The first was the representatio identitatis. Once a reasonable, but ill-defined number of natural persons were present, the corporation itself could be assumed to be present. Therefore, a number of individuals gathering in an assembly might claim to represent the corporation in question just as the leading magistrate. But the other sense of representation of the persona ficta is more relevant to us here. It understood the relation of magistrates to citizen-subjects in terms of the relation of a lawyer to a minor. The lawyer, the magistrates, possessed an office to guard the interests of the actual owner of a property. The minor, by lack of abilities, had hardly any say in the administration of his affairs. This kind of representation was addressed as representatio potestatis. In this way, urban magistrates ruled over their fellow citizens. They did not own their power, but the citizens, at least in normal situations,



36

Urban Riots and the Perspective of “Qualification for Office”

were not meant to interfere either. It is clear that this latter sense could lead into problems once citizens, in normal times satisfied with the running of affairs by the magistrates, sense that something went very seriously wrong – such as in the ‘Year of Disaster’ 1672. Specifically for representatio potestatis, the representatives-magistrates had to have specific qualifications, distinguishing them from the minor – the citizens. This legal reasoning acquired political significance when it was transferred into the sphere of the church and the secular body politic in the fourteenth century.42 There was nothing anti-monarchical as such in these ideas. Representatio potestatis did imply the actual inability of those represented to look after their own affairs, since the model was based on the relation between a guardian and a minor. Still, the representative remained accountable for his actions, for he was not administering his own dominium. Corporate rule by representatio potestatis did potentially imply the accountability of those representing the corporate body in a way that government by inherited dominium did not. In any case, more often than not, it remained entirely unclear to whom such accountability was owed and when, particularly in cases of urban unrest. Leading urban families in Germany who had managed to re-define themselves as full-scale nobility, as the Nuremberg patres, did indeed represent Nuremberg not only by holding office, but by being Nuremberg. They successfully forbid all other citizens from incorporating themselves into rival corporations within the city walls. In many other cities, however, members of the oligarchy continued to govern by virtue of their representatio potestatis, by possessing an office to guard the interests of the actual citizens, although they could be treated, in most circumstances, as incompetent minors. However, the magistrates still had to be competent. In the extraordinary situation of the apparent failure of the guardian to actually fulfil the demands of his office, subjects could try and claim to be citizens by virtue of specific abilities and thus to be competent in rule, too, if only for some time. In the case of Nuremberg, the leading citizens had the arch-humanist Conrad Celtis (1459-1508) describe them as ‘patricians’ (patres) and as being capable of ruling themselves, whereas other citizens needed reprimanding by the law.43 He also described them as ‘senators’ (senatores)

 42

Brian Tierney, Religion, Law and the Growth of Constitutional Thought, 11501650 (Cambridge, 1982). Mager, “Republik”; Ibidem,“Res Publica und Bürger”, in Gerhard Dilcher (ed.), Res Publica: Bürgerschaft in Stadt und Staat (Berlin, 1988), 67-94. 43 Albert Werminghoff, Conrad Celtis und sein Buch über Nürnberg (Freiburg, 1921).

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and ‘judges’ (praetores). In the first edition of his praise of Nuremberg, Celtis distinguished between the artisans and the honourable citizens of Nuremberg. In the second edition, he wrote about the artisans, the honourable citizens and the patricians. Among the latter, the patres of Nuremberg, Celtis still distinguished between members of different degrees and legal status, among them the particularly privileged old families (honestores familiae), the elite council of the patricians (senatores) and the larger council of members selected by the former elite council. Celtis is explicit about the danger emanating from the seditious common people within the town. Artisans were thus addressed as ‘plebeians’ (plebes) and not deemed part of the citizenry. Nuremberg patricians made every effort to portray themselves as an aristocracy of sorts. In 1488, they even acquired a large clock similar to a Venetian one in order to portray themselves in terms similar to the Venetian aristocracy. As Christoph Scheurl (1481-1542) stressed in an epistle on Nuremberg in 1516, ‘our common wealth is in the hand of the patricians … newly arrived and plebeian inhabitants do not rule … no one is thus accepted for the senate, unless a member of the families wearing the toga’.44 The families from which members were recruited for the ruling council of Nuremberg thus understood themselves to be an aristocracy and alleged to rule similar to aristocracies in the countryside, that is, by dominium, unaccountable to the plebes within the city walls. In most towns, however, oligarchies never achieved full aristocratic status, as in Nuremberg, and had thus to make an argument about their functional ability to govern well, about their competency. But in Augsburg, for example, the leading families had not been able to redefine themselves as an hereditary aristocracy. Indeed, they had to accept new families into the ranks of the office-holding elite during the 1520s. When they urged the Emperor in 1548, after the military triumph of Charles V over the Smalcaldic League, to oust these new families from office, they could not claim to have had a hereditary dominium that had been violated. Rather, they had to argue that the members of the new families had not been fit to rule, that they had been incompetent.45 Among

 44

Ibidem, 217-18. For what follows, see Friedrich Roth (ed.), Die Chroniken der deutschen Stadte, Vol. 32. Die Chroniken der schwaebischen Staedte (Leipzig, 1917). There, Paul Hektor Mair’s “Chronik von 1547-1565”, 21-396, V. ‘Wannund wie Kaiser Carl der fuenft ainen clainen undt grossen rat sambt den gehaimen, auch das statgericht sambt allen der stat dienern abgesetzt, geurlaubt und wider von nehme, doch anderst dann vor, besetzt, geordnet und die zuenften gar abgethan, darbei auch etlicher massen angezaigt wirt, aus was ursachen sonderlich auf ainen uebergebnen ratschhlag, solches alles beschehen, volgt sein underschidlich hernach. Anno 1548,

45



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Urban Riots and the Perspective of “Qualification for Office”

the arguments used to discredit these ‘new men’ (homines novi) was their lack of experience (unerfaren) and of moral ability (untauglich) in the exercise of ‘government and pursuit of the common weal’ (regierung und fursehung des gemeinen nutz). For these members of the new families had only been trained in craftsmanship and in the everyday pursuit of their business (handwerk und taeglich gewerb).46 This argument understood government (i.e. the rule of men over men) as one specific kind of labour that remained in need of certain skills, as any other kind of labour. The majority of citizens, however, where allegedly only skilled with respect to their ‘personal affairs’ (res privatae). Only the leading families were skilled with respect to the ‘commonwealth’ (res publica). The recommendations of the leading families thus reminded the Emperor of these skills and their background, ancient lineage (altes Herkommen) and respectable property (statlichem Vermoegen). 47 The advice to Charles explicitly denounced the fellow-citizens as ‘common rabble’ (grober poevel). More importantly, however, the members of the leading families claimed to be specifically fit to govern by virtue of their education and upbringing (guten kuensten und weltgeschicklichkeit) rooted in a quasi-inherited trait of merit acquired over centuries and thus only accessible to individuals from ancient stock. 48 The advice referred to aristocratic city-government in Nuremberg, ‘where the honourable lineages carry government’ (wo die erbern geschlecht der oberkait verwaltung tragen).49 A mainly functional argument thus emerged. First, poor people would be likely to accept bribery and thus undermine the res publica.50 Second, maintaining the peace and order made it necessary for any body politic to have magistrates that would decide in issues of civil strife, namely religious issues. During the 1560s, as the Lutheran faith was ravaged by doctrinal controversies dating from the 1540s and only closed during the 1570s, competing factions of ministers had begun to attack each other from the pulpit in Magdeburg, a territorial town with pretensions to imperial privilege. Its magistrates, however, had not the slightest basis to claim aristocratic right to office in the city. When, however, internal strife

 74-93; IX: Ratschlag, warumb und aus was ursachen die kay. Met bewegt worden ist, die zuenften zu Augspurg abzuthun und ain anders regiment zu setzen anno 1548.’ 46 Ibidem, 79. 47 Ibidem, 115. 48 Ibidem, 118. 49 Ibidem, 124. 50 Ibidem, 126. On their claim to aristocratic status, see 143.

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among Lutheran ministers erupted in 1560 and 1561, they not only evicted one faction from the city, but explained in a pamphlet to the subjectcitizen why they could have done so and ordered the church. Their ‘secular town government within the divine hierarchy of order’ (weltliches Stadtregiment nach goettlicher Ordnung) made it their office and duty to maintain peace and tranquillity among citizens, enabling magistrates to enforce order if need be, accountable to no one but God alone, but surely not to the fellow-citizens. Of course, no prince would have found it necessary to explain to its subjects why he had evicted a minister, and the very production of the pamphlet proved the mayor and the council wrong – theirs remained a polyarchic government exercised by representation of the corporate city, not possessed by hereditary right. But while this distinction remained fundamentally relevant, leading families tried to avoid the issue as much as they could. 51 In actual conflicts about performance in office, however, citizens tried to hold their magistrates accountable and then related themselves, as the older elite in Augsburg had done. During the seventeenth century, participants in German urban disturbances regularly questioned the moral and professional ability of the magistrates in office and claimed participation primarily in order to hold these incompetent magistrates accountable or even in order to replace them.52 Since both the actual size and composition of the small minority of families possessing access to high-level city offices was more often than not a matter of controversy and strife, not of clear-cut constitutional arrangement, and since both the issue of accountability and the detail of how and to whom such accountability might be owed remained highly controversial, urban disturbances more often than not took the form of riots and were condemned by magistrates as seditious and undermining all order. It remained a fact, however, that the performance of urban magistrates could potentially be closely scrutinised and found wanting. In the cases above, leading families made familiar claims about their own competence to rule and the incompetence of other men in town. In principle, such claims could also be made against urban magistrates,

 51

See ‘Nothwehr des Rats und Syndici auch etliche Pastoren und Prediger der Alten Stadt Magdeburg …’ (Magdeburg, 1562), in Robert von Friedeburg, Widerstandsrecht und Konfessionskonflikt: Notwehr und Gemeiner Mann im deutsch-britischen Vergleich, 1530-1669 (Berlin, 1999), 66-67. 52 Heinz Schilling, “Bürgerkämpfe in Aachen zu Beginn des 17. Jahrhunderts: Konflikte im Rahmen der alteuropäischen Stadtgesellschaft oder im Umkreis der frühbürgerlichen Revolution?”, in Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung, Vol. 1 (1974), 175-231.



40

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particularly once their politics, as in the case of the regenten, and the circumstances of the Dutch Republic had proved disastrous by May 1672.

III The ‘Year of Disaster’ (Rampjaar) saw urban disturbances, mainly directed against sitting magistrates, in towns all over the Netherlands, particularly in Amsterdam, Dordrecht, The Hague, Hoorn, Gouda, Haarlem, Middelburg, Rotterdam, Schiedam and Zierikzee. William III of Orange (1650-1702) had been made captain-general in February 24 in the face of an imminent French attack, but the popular movement wanted considerably more power for the prince and eventually a purge of city councils. It succeeded in getting both. Following the Orangist disturbances of the early 1650s, Orangism enjoyed a revival starting about 1667.53 With William approaching majority, improved relations with Stuart England and difficult relations with France, a number of factors contributed to this revival. Pro-Orange sentiment appeared in both a confessional-Calvinist mode, such as articulated by Gijsbrecht Voetius (1589-1676), but also in less religious, functional tone as demonstrated, for example, by Petrus Valckenier. Valckenier insisted on the need of a stadholder position for functional reasons to lend cohesion to the body politic. In that period, the philosophers in favour of tolerance as propagated by Baruch de Spinoza (1632-1677), Dutch Cartesians like Lambertus van Velthuysen (1622-1685) or by the brothers Johan (16221660) and Pieter de la Court (1618-1685) had again become committed to defending the regenten, because the course of the Calvinist church remained with the supporters of the House of Orange.54 Against the background of intense and hostile public debates De Witt's strategy was eventually to assign a seat to William in the Raad van State and even allow his appointment as captain-general, but separate the captaincy from the stadholderate in every province and even permanently abolish the office of stadholder in Holland. The ‘Perpetual Edict … for the Preservation of Freedom’ enshrining these ideas in law was only opposed by Leiden, which argued that the states were not fully sovereign, but had to take account both of the ridders (knights and nobles) and towns they represented and of the States General. Throughout 1668, William, approaching his eighteenth birthday, began to campaign against this notion, for instance, during his travel to Zeeland in September. Moreover, a number of issues remained disputed, for instance at what age the prince exactly was reaching

 53 54

Israel, The Dutch Republic, 785. Ibidem, 785-800.

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his majority and what the nature and impact of his vote should be in the Raad van State, advisory or conclusive. However, it was the threat from France that by late 1671 stirred a movement to make William both captaingeneral and admiral-general. De Witt opposed a term of life and tried to compromise on a limited tenure, but in February 1672 Holland yielded, under the pressure of the other provinces, to agree to life tenure, though still restricted by the supervision of the Generality's deputies in the field. Yet despite the fact that the threat from France was known and had indeed overshadowed a good deal of the internal debate in the Dutch Republic during the winter of 1671 and the spring of 1672, once that attack actually did come the might of the enemy coalition and the devastating success of the French onslaught did still overwhelm the political nation. After English naval attacks since March 23, Louis XIV (1638-1715) attacked in May. Most Dutch eastern fortresses fell within a week. After a number of significant defeats at the hands of numerical vastly superior French forces, the citizenry in Utrecht and other cities rioted and refused to defend their towns, some of them fell during June. At this moment, internal disorder began to threaten the Republic from inside, while French troops threatened it from outside. Dutch forces were able to protect an inner defence line (from Muiden on the Zuider Zee, via Bodegraven and Schoonhoven, to Gorcum on the Waal), but the towns of Holland and Zeeland behind that line were now gripped, in the words of Jonathan Israel, ‘by a mixture of fear, pandemonium and popular fury’.55 In particular the militias, given the desperate state of affairs still an important potential military ingredient, proved to be the very basis for this threat. The climax of popular disorder coincided with purges of the vroedschappen (the city councils) in favour of Orange’s rule and was mainly supported by nonviolent insurrections.56 At the same time, in particular in Holland, even the guilds had no formal say whatsoever in the choice of magistrates. In particular during the ascendancy of the regenten during the 1650s and 1660s urban magistrates had described themselves even as fathers over their subjects, a notion common also in German towns. 57 The turmoil of the French onslaught left citizens and magistrates in the legal grey area of accountability of magistrates to citizens. Historians agree on the helplessness



55 Ibidem. See also Roorda, Partij en factie, 70-75. Quotation taken from Paul Knevel, Burgers in het geweer: de schuterijen in Holland, 1550-1700 (Hilversum, 1994), 327-29. 56 Ibidem, 804. 57 Knevel, Burgers in het geweer, 330.



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of the urban magistrates in the face of massive local unrest.58 The impact of both pamphlets blaming the regenten for treason and the unrest supporting such claims was momentous. The magistrates of Schiedam, for instance, had to publicly destroy the Perpetual Edict. In July, the population of Zierikzee, led by Calvinist ministers, organised in guilds and militias, even enforced a public assembly.59 Further plundering of regent houses and the murder of the De Witt brothers led in August 26 to the declaration of a state of emergency and the appointment of William of Orange to restore order.60 Given this constellation it appears to be difficult to describe this conflict within Dutch towns as between authority or freedom, obedience or rebellion.61 By the same token, the pamphlet-criticism against the politics of the regenten or the actual actions of disorder carrying out the pamphlets’ demands were hardly a principled stand for more participation of citizens in general or against an organisation of society based on a firm hierarchy of order and obedience. Indeed, the riots of 1672 were directed in favour of Orange supreme rule. To what extent pro-Orange faction leaders were successful in steering or even manipulating riots or whether these occurred spontaneously is not our issue here.62 Suffice to remember that popular local protest was mainly directed against the regenten and the local magistracy, that is, against the aristocratic ingredient of the Republic's government, and went hand in hand with pro-Orangist sentiments in favour of a stronger monarchical element in the Republic's government, and were thus executing a number of demands in the pamphlets. Most pamphlets were primarily directed against De Witt, against the alleged incompetence of the regenten in preparing the Republic for its defence, and against alleged issues of corruption in choosing the wrong military leaders as in the case of the surrender of Schenckenschans under the command of the son of a Nijmegen burgomaster.63 The thrust of these arguments was brought about by crowds who were at least rudimentary organised in formal organisations – militias

 58

See, for instance, Marjolein ’t Hart, “Autonoom maar kwetsbaar: de Middelburgse regenten en de opstand van 1651”, in De zeventiende eeuw, Vol. 9, No. 1 (1993), 51-62. 59 Roorda, Partij en factie, 116, 122-23. 60 Ibidem, 151-53. See also Frijhoff, Nusteling and Spies, Geschiedenis van Dordrecht van 1572 tot 1813 (Hilversum, 1998) on the occurrences in this town. 61 Pace Knevel, Burgers in het geweer, 330, his footnote 32. 62 See recently on an earlier period Janita van Nes, Voorzichtig als een slang en onbevangen als een duif?: de speelruimte van een predikant uit de beweging van de Nadere Reformatie: Jacobus Borstius in Dordrecht (1644-1654) (MA thesis, Rotterdam, 1997). 63 Israel, The Dutch Republic, 799.

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and guilds. The appointment of William was, ultimately, precisely what first the pamphlets and then these crowds had more often than not articulated as their main goal. The people had been presented by an argument within the pamphlets. They had then supported a change in power that was explained in the pamphlets not in terms of the need for more or less participation but in terms of more or less professional governance, in particular in the face of an imminent crisis. Citizens were thus moved by arguments along issues of professional and moral competency as observed in the cause of the French onslaught. Pamphlets stirring and articulating criticism of the regenten did neither exhibit any favour for democratic government nor general participation, but many did argue that in specific circumstances, even humble citizens, given their specific motivation, could and must act, carefully distinguishing such citizens from the dangerous rabble. In its pamphlet outlook, the conflict was thus not primarily about participation as a right, but about the necessary qualification to hold office and the subsequent choice of office-holders. It was about good governance, not about self-rule.

IV In order to enforce good governance and to replace failing magistrates, citizens had to act. We thus do find ‘democratic tendencies’ in the pamphlets supporting William's ascendency. 64 But this ‘democracy’ has to be understood to have a functionally limited place within an ordered hierarchy. A few examples must suffice. Obviously, pamphlets were conscious tokens of propaganda, printed for clear-cut purposes of persuading an uneasy public in the face of an unfolding catastrophe. Thus, from the beginning pamphlets did address technical issues of foreign policy in order to test, defend or indict the legitimacy of the politics pursued so far and to conclude from there on specific issues of the internal order, in particular with respect to the relative power and influence of the regenten and the prince of Orange. The Aentekeninge over de Engelsche Negotiate en Declaratie van Oorlog (Note on the English Trade and Declaration of War), prepared by pamphlets such as the translation of ‘His majesties declaration of War’ against the Netherlands (March 1672, Rotterdam), accounting for the technical argument behind the war with England, is an example to what extent specific technical issues of foreign politics and strategy became an issue of public debate and scrutiny from early on. Besides such considerations, the Aentekeninge considered also more general issues, as the



64 Ibidem, 804. Israel describes these ‘democratic tendencies’ as ‘an integral feature of Dutch Orangism’ in 1672.



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interest of state of England, and the possibility to come to a peaceful agreement. In this case, the Aentekeninge concluded that ‘there can never be Peace between the King of Great Britain and this State’.65 It moved on to a discussion about the relative merit of monarchy and republican government, concluding that republican governments were less prone to disintegrate into tyranny (6). In defending the diplomatic stand of the Netherlands against the exclusive claims of England on the North Sea, the pamphlet insists on the unreformable English quest for control, referring to various learned works on the issue (e.g. Selden's Mare Clausum of 1635) and thus attempts to defend the course of action of the regenten from being responsible for the war against both England and France.66 But a pro-republican course of argument remained the exception among the 1672 publications. Den Bedrogen Engelsman Med de Handen in't hair (The Deceived Englishman Who is at his Wits’ End) alleged Cornelis and Jan de Witt’s direct contacts to French noblemen and condemned them effectively for treason.67 Also, the Trits van verstanden, Pen en inkt (Trinity of Wits, Pen and Ink) alleged the treason of De Witt and compared him with Henri de Turenne (1611-1675), as servant of the French king.68 De Gout Myn van Vranckryck … Geopent en gestopt (The Goldmine of France ... Opened and Closed) explained the quest of France for universal monarchy and tyranny over all other European peoples. 69 While a complete quantitative survey stands out, the large majority of the pamphlets deplored the war with England, condemned France for its tyrannical intentions, and thus condemned the foreign policy of the republican regime for having failed to keep peace with England, having failed to secure the Dutch independence against France, having thus not delivered good governance, and concluded about necessary changes of government, not necessarily about civic participation, to redress these wrongs. The Wachtpraetje tusschen een Sarjant, Adelborst en Schutter (Militiatalk between a Sergeant, Nobleman and Militiaman) addressed the Liefhebbers des BurgerRechts (Lovers of Civil Law), a formulation paralleling the ‘Liefhebbers van het Vaderland’, the designation of the Orange party. Indeed, the pamphlet is an example how Orangism and the

 65

Aentekeninge over de Engelsche Negotiate en Declaratie van Oorlog (1672), 4. ‘… tussen den Koningh van Groot Britannien en desen Staat noyt ende Vredee kan zijn.’ 66 Ibidem, 8-9. 67 Anonymous, Den Bedrogen Engelsman Med de Handen in't hair (Knuttel 10480, 1672), 10. 68 Anonymous, Trits van verstanden: Pen en inkt (Knuttel 10373, 1672), 5. 69 Anonymous, De Gout Myn van Vranckryck … Geopent en gestopt (Knuttel 10028, 1672), ix.

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protection of civic rights had become amalgamated. There is no paradox here in the role of the House of Orange in protecting civic rights against the regenten, for these rights were primarily rights of legal protection against local magisterial incompetence, shared by those qualified to be citizens by their engagement – moral and active – for those rights. The pamphlet addresses the duties of upright citizens in defending the city; the presence of individuals ‘who mean the City itself and the good Citizenry harm’ (die het niet wel me deselv Stadt en de goede Burgerey meenen); the impoverishment of Amsterdam citizens; the suppression of the ‘the old Privileges of the Citizens of Amsterdam’ (oude Privilegien der Amsterdamse Burgers) in recent times; specific issues of urban self-regulation, such as the seizure of core-keys from the militias; an historical account of various now diminished privileges, dating back mainly to the later sixteenth century; the diminished trust between subjects and authority within the city as a result of these failed approaches toward the citizens.70 Significantly, the diminution of privileges is not treated as a diminution of possibilities of participation, but as a breach of good governance and trust in the relation between subjects and authorities. Indeed, thinkers competent in political thought, ‘the Politiques’, ‘regard it little love of the Subjects for the Governments, that they do not entrust them with it’.71 Since ‘the True Highest Law is the Peace and Wellbeing of the Community’ (Ware hoghste Wet is de Rueste en Welstant der Gemeente), the Amsterdam regenten had, in allowing impoverishment, enforcing the diminution of privileges and alienating older symbols of civic pride, such as the keys, violated their office. A benevolent behaviour of magistrates was indeed strongly recommended by ‘Politiques’ in order to invoke a corresponding benevolent behaviour by subjects. In this conversation, the character of urban rule - not dominium, but only representation of the city – and the claims that could be made against the magistrates in the proper pursuit of their office are clearly reflected. The origin of the failure of government in performing according to such a proper pursuit are found in the wheelings and dealings of the ‘Lords of Loevenstein’ (Louvesteynsche Heeren), the Loevenstein faction identified as Oldenbarneveldt and De Witt. We knew about the frequent attacks on the Loevenstein faction in Orangist pamphlet propaganda all along. The point is that not just religion or claims for participation were at issue, but failures in the performance of government as specified against benchmarks of good

 70

Anonymous, Wacht-praetje, tusschen een sarjant, adelborst, en schutter. Gehouden over de oude voor-rechten der Amsterdamse burgers (Knuttel 10564, 1672), 2. 71 Ibidem, 4. ‘… achten het een kleyne liefde der Onderdanen aen de Overheden/dat sy dit niet aen hun zullen vertrowen.’



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government, not of civic participation or religion. The argument about the diminished trust between governors and subjects was by no means a vague piece of rhetoric, but indeed a part of the standard political literature of the time of how to govern subjects well. The participants of the Wachtpraetje did not claim participation, but proper governance and an exchange of governors that had, by failing to deliver, endangered the whole commonwealth. The second part of the Wachtpraetje was even more explicit in its addressing failures of good governance. Specific rights and privileges are mentioned of Amsterdam citizens in cases of legal procedures of the town against these citizens.72 In particular the legal protection of within their own houses and the legal requirements to arrest them are discussed. Since the death of prince William II of Orange in 1650, these violations had increased, and thus hope is expressed that the current prince was going to address these grievances. About a fortnight after the declaration of a state of emergency (September 10 to August 27) and during the main purges of city government of States-faction adherents, these pamphlets did undoubtedly help to evict persons from office also identified with the issue of toleration, but did mainly address the issue of good governance. The Positie van de Gerechtigheyd en het Recht van Oorloge (Place of Justice and the Right of War) figured as a strategy paper of Louis XIV, presenting his true intentions. Among these were the complete submission of most European peoples under his sway and a manner of government as exercised by Emperor Vespasian and described by Machiavelli. In particular, subjects of other princes can and should be raised against them, in order to gain control over the respective land, such as in Barcelona, Catalania and Portugal.73 Likewise, jealousy against a prince, as against the Orange family, was a major means to allow the conquest of these other countries and the subsequent destruction of their laws and privileges. The Missive Aen zijn Hoogheyt den Heere Prince van Orange (Report to his Highness, the Lord Prince of Orange,) underlined again the protection of the citizens-subjects by princely government and encouraged the prince to purge the Amsterdam city government from ‘Arminians’.74 They had, allegedly,

 72

Anonymous, Tweede Deel van 't wacht-Praetje, over de oude priviligien en voor-rechten der Amsterdamse burgers, gehouden in der selver wachthuys aen de Weesper-poort den 10. september 1672, tusschen een sarjant, adelborst, en schutter (Knuttel 10565, 1672), 7. 73 Anonymous, Positie van de Gerechtigheyd en het Recht van Oorloge (Knuttel 10002, 1672), 4. 74 Anonymous, Missive Aen zijn Hoogheyt den Heere Prince van Orange (Knuttel 10549, 1672), 2.

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usurped total power in the city, had pursued their private factional goals, and had in particular destroyed the democratic elements of city government.75 prince William is now asked to use his authority to re-establish the democratic elements of choice of magistrates in the city, abandoned by the Arminian faction. In particular, such undermining of these elements under De Witt had allegedly produced discord (tweedracht) and thus helped ‘to bring the land under the enemy’ (dat land onder den vyandt te bringen). The pamphlet is not asking for full-scale civic participation in the state’s government, but for participation of guilds and militias in the choice of urban magistrates, and that not for reasons of participation as such, but for reasons for greater functionality of government, in particular in reestablishing trust. Thus, the Missive is signed by ‘the most loyal subjects to his princely grace’ in Amsterdam. Likewise, the Request van de Borgerye der Stadt Rotterdam (Request of the Citizenry of the City of Rotterdam) of 27 September 1672 did not claim participation as such, but necessary (noodtsaeckelijck) changes in government. In particular, the vroedschappen and other offices should not be filled with kin of sitting members; the officers of the militia should be from out the citizenry; meetings of the citizenry should not be supervised by ‘Political Commissions’ (Politiecke Commissarien); the older privileges should be re-established and the true religion defended. In establishing who could carry the office to participate in such a limited way, the Rechte Fondament van het nieuwe Herstele Oudt-Hollands Regt., ofte de wettige vryheid der Borgeren (Correct Foundation of the Newly Restored Old Right of Holland, or the Lawful Liberty of the Citizens), written by a Liefhebber des Vaderlands Fryhydt (Lover of the Liberty of the Fatherland) distinguished explicitly the multitude from the citizens, acknowledged the evil-mindedness of man due to the fall and the need for government to steer the human passions. To defend the good against the evil, ‘the peoples have chosen above her [Lords] since antiquity’ with diverse titles. Government could thus expect obedience from subjects, as those could expect the delivery of those services for which government had been instituted.76 These services, however, had not been delivered under the current government, neither with respect to the maintenance of religion nor with respect to ancient privileges.77

 75

Ibidem, 3. Anonymous, Rechte Fondament van het nieuwe Herstele Oudt-Hollands Regt, ofte de wettige vryheid der Borgeren (Knuttel 10309, 1672), 3. ‘… de Volckeren hebben van oude tijden af over hearen verkozen.’ 77 Ibidem. 76



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Significantly, the pamphlet distinguished this request from the wanton unruliness of those that ‘we call the Canaille’ (wy Canaille noemen) and who, for their selfish reasons, want to undermine government, and that the actual ‘Citizens and Subjects have kept her promises’ (Burgers ende Onderdanen hare beloften hebben gehouden), namely to obey and to carry the ‘Tributes and Burdens’ (Schattingen en Lasten) imposed by their government.78 But specifically, the last years of foreign policy had ‘sold the liberty of the People and the Fatherland’ (des Volcks en des Vaderlandts freuheydt verkocht) by a foolish foreign policy, instigated by the Loevenstein faction, including the Edict of Seclusion against the prince of Orange and the alleged need to be in peace with Republican England.79 By their machinations, the Loevenstein faction had indeed undermined the state by its ‘rages’ (driften) against William. The productions of the ‘Perpetual Edict’ is described in considerable detail, in particular with respect to alleged illegal parts of its enactment, in particular the coincidence of the end of war with Stuart England and the passing of the Edict, and the aim of the Edict being to go to war with Stuart England again. Also, the members of the Loevenstein faction allegedly had only via corruption, sale of office and illicit kin-networks secured their offices. 80 Against this incompetent and corrupt leadership the writer alleges his own competence in criticising them by his love to the liberties of the country, love to the fatherland and to the true religion, in that order.81 No claim for participation is made, but specific incompetence of government, in particular in foreign policy, are contrasted with illicit ways to secure office and the ability of a minority of the population, by virtue of their moral competency, to point out these deficiencies. Likewise, the Dam-Praetje tussen vier Amsterdamsche Burgers (Talk on the Dam between Four Citizens from Amsterdam) insists on the need for obedience in the commonwealth. Rebellion is declared illegal and disqualifies the good citizen.82 The annexed Versoeck aen Sijn Hooheyt den Heere Prince van Oranje (Request to his Highness, the Lord Prince of Orange) calls for the purge of magistrates devoid of the true religion, the reestablishment of ancient privileges, the separation of magistrates and council

 78

Ibidem, 5. Ibidem, 6. 80 Ibidem, 13. 81 Ibidem, 15. 82 Anonymous, Dam-Praetje tussen vier Amsterdamsche Burgers (Knuttel 10567, Amsterdam, 1672), 3, 11-12. ‘Getrouwe Burgers konnen se niet genoemt worden; want sy rebelleren tegens haer Overheyt, …’ 79

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of war, and the separation of militia and urban magistracy.83 The Adhortatie oft Vermaan aan all goede Patriotten van't Vaderlant (Admonition of All Good Patriots of the Fatherland) finally reminded its readers on the true meaning of citizenship in contemporary political discourse. Put under the Latin maxim that it was sweet to die in the service of the fatherland (pulchrumque mori succurrit in armis), and ending with the reminder that only those who via duty and honour and virtue act did truly serve the legitimate powers, it identifies those doing so as the true ‘the Lovers of our dear fatherland’ (Liefhebbers van ons lieve vaderlandt). Occasional Latin quotations from Horace and frequent mentioning of classical Roman heroes such as Publius Scipio underline the message that true love to the fatherland, liberty and religion inform the patriot and give him office to defy the traitors in their midst, the ‘malicious regenten’ (malitieuse regenten).84 Thus, there is no point in denying the democratic elements of the Orangist upsurge of spring and summer 1672. Some of the pamphlets explicitly explained what ‘democracy’ did actually mean in this context. The Missive aen zijn Hoogheiyt den Heere Prince van Orange, published in Amsterdam on September 7, 1672 actually reflected on ‘the condition of the government of these Lands, and in what consideration the Community are; being two partite, or an Aristocracy, being a certain number in the States, or a Democracy, being the government of the Community, namely by Persons whom they chose. The first Aristocratic, is the government of a certain number of Persons, being perpetual Rulers. The second Democratic, being the Rulers chosen by the Community … From this follows that these Lands are for the most part governed in the manner of a Democracy, by Commissioned Rulers, who belong to the good Community’. 85 The pamphlet acknowledged that the States were run by an aristocracy, but insisted on the democratic character of urban government, and the subsequent impact that this fact should have on government in general. This

 83

Anonymous, Versoeck aen Sijn Hooheyt den Heere Prince van Oranje (Amsterdam, 1672), xiii. 84 Anonymous, Adhortatie oft Vermaan aan all goede Patriotten van't Vaderlant, (Knuttel 10471, 1672), 5. 85 Anonymous, Missive aen zijn Hoogheiyt den Heere Prince van Orange, 3. ‘… den staet der regeringe deser Landen, end in wat consideratie de Gemeynte zijn; zijnde tweesins, oft Aristocratie, zijnde seecker getal in de Staten, ofte Democratie, zijnde de regering der Gemeynte, te weten door Personen by hen te verkiesen: de eerste Aristocratique, is de rhegeringh van sekere ghetal van Personen, zijnde perpetuelle Regeerders: De tweede Democratique, zijnde Regeerders door de Gemeynte verkoren … Blijckende daer uyt dat dese Landen meest nae de maniere van Democratie geregeert woordt, door Ge-committeerde Regeerders behoorde de goede Ghemeynte.’



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Urban Riots and the Perspective of “Qualification for Office”

position did not see any contradiction, principled or otherwise, between different forms of government on different levels of authority, because no matter how magistrates – ‘Rulers’ (Regeerders) – were chosen, they were all meant to be serving a common goal – good governance – rather then being expressions of mutually exclusive and principled ideas on participation for its own sake, and they could in any case expect obedience from the citizensubjects. In a final example of a pamphlet, this position was made even more explicit. In the Copie van een Brief geschreven uyt Rotterdam aen NN, Licentiat in de Rechten tot Danzig (Copy of a Letter written from Rotterdam to NN, Licentiate in Law at Danzig), the anonymous author holds: ‘However, he, who somewhat understands the nature of the Government, can reconcile all this, namely that the Magistrate, who, like a Prince of the Land, represents de Sovereignty, is also bound to the laws and obligated to observe the same, and because he has no power of himself, but nothing else than that the People grant him his power to command and their power … From this follows that the power to command and power itself is rooted, and fundamentally embed, in the people, and subsequently that the people have the power to … curtail and restrain the same, especially in such extremity and decline of matters …’ 86 In Holland, the regenten did not rule by inherited power, but as representatives of the citizens – by representatio potestatis. They are the executive officers of government, not its owners. The citizen-body, the populus, owns imperium. That did not mean any regular consultations of citizens, or any other process to integrate citizens into the process of government. But in the case of disaster, as in 1672, the actual owners of imperium have a right to see to it that failing magistrates are thrown out of office and are replaced by better magistrates. This is what the popular uprising in 1672 is mainly about. Its understanding rests, as the pamphlet writer claims, in an adequate understanding of the legal role of citizens as subjects under urban governments.

 86

Anonymous, Copie van een Brief geschreven uyt Rotterdam aen NN, Licentiat in de Rechten tot Danzig (Knuttel 10479, Rotterdam, 1672), 19. ‘Doch dit alles is wel over een te brengen by die geene die de natuur der Regeringe eenighsints verstaet, te weeten dat de Magistraeten door dewelcke als Prince van den Lande de Souverainiteyt wordt gepresenteert, oock is gebonden aen de wetten ende gehouden na deselve te leeven, ende daer deselve geen maght van sijn selfen heeft, maer niet anders als Populus ei & eum imperium suum & postetatem concedat … waer uyt blijckt dat het imperium en potestas selfs is geradiceert, ende fundamentelijck gevestight in populo, ende vervolgens het selve maght heeft om dat … te besnoejen ende te beteugelen, voornamentlijck in soodanige extremiteyt en verval van saecken, …’

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V As Jonathan Israel has put it, in the Netherlands the ‘populace and militia had often played a part in the past, notably in 1566, 1572, 1576-7, the 1580s, and 1617-18. But 1672 was different. This was the first time that widespread unrest, encouraged by political agitators, shaped events in a sustained fashion, over a period of months’. While confronted with this mobilisation, the States faction remained identified with the absolute authority of the States and regenten. ‘Orangist publicists styled the populace “true patriots” … For it was the people who made the Prince Stadholder in July 1672, transforming the structure of power.’87 In interpreting the above pamphlets, an attempt has been made to understand ‘Orange democracy’ as embedded in quite accepted ideas about the nature and subsequent responsibilities and accountability of urban government. It did not address the sovereignty of the people in the modern sense, but the accountability of magistrates to citizenssubjects. As a principled difference in the assessment of democracy between Orangists and States-faction has rightly been ruled out, this background of contemporary thought on government allows us to understand better then hitherto the specific items on the list of grievances of the citizen-subjects.88 Urban disorder did more often than not attempt to rectify apparent deficiencies of governance, not to take part in actually governing. The superiority of good governors, better trained and able to lead the state, was quite accepted as such. Whether the specific persons in office, however, fulfilled these qualifications, was quite another matter. Wherever the printing press allowed a public to share opinions on this issue, and in particular whenever major and obvious disasters struck the common weal, a critical discussion of the performance of government allowed – against the background of urban government – to qualify the performance of magistrates and actually call for new ones, with hardly any intention to change government as such to more democratic forms. The 1672 crisis was clearly an event that brought forward such arguments on good governance. Even the claims for the election of military officers by the militias and the urge to restore ancient privileges did not directly lead to claims for a more democratic, or more aristocratic, government. Rather, Orangist propaganda was united in the appeal to have someone doing the job who knew how to do it. The 1672 disturbances might better be understood not as a full grown confrontation between mutually excluding visions on government, but as an outgrowth of the structural problems of governance in

 87 88



Israel, The Dutch Republic, 801-2. Ibidem, 801.

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an age of religious division and war, in which government modelled along urban lines remained accountable to citizens and in which citizens, even if not claiming rule for themselves, could claim an office to defend, and to scrutinise, the performance of their own governors.

CAPABILITY, PATRIMONIALISM AND BUREAUCRACY IN THE URBAN ADMINISTRATIONS OF THE LOW COUNTRIES (C.1300-1780)1 GRIET VERMEESCH

In assessing the weight of ‘capability’ in early modern politics, it is not enough to only perform an analysis of the members of the upper echelon of local and supra-local political bodies. The role of capability in the hiring and performance of the staff of administrations or escritoires deserves an examination in its own right. In the case of the Low Countries – with its autonomous and forceful cities – the urban administrations merit particular consideration. There are several reasons to suspect that the workings of urban administrations or escritoires experienced changes during the course of the late Middle Ages and early modern times. These changes may also have comprised changing weight of capability. First, urban growth and decline must have influenced the size and, consequently, functioning of urban administrations. As did, secondly, the growth in the allocation of civil services to urban populations. When the activities of urban governments expanded to organising urban communities, so did – most likely – their administrations. Third, the growing political dominance of urban oligarchies in many regions probably left traces in the working of administrations. 2 The city councils’ increased authority is, for instance,

 1

The author wishes to thank the participants of the conference on ‘Public Offices, Personal Demands: Capability in Governance in the Seventeenth-Century Dutch Republic’, her colleagues from the University Leiden, and her colleagues from the Centre for Urban History at the University Antwerp for their valuable comments on earlier drafts of this article. 2 Joel Hurstfield, Freedom, Corruption and Government in Elizabethan England (London, 1973), 153-62; Christopher R. Friedrichs, The Early Modern City, 14501750. A History of Urban Society in Europe, Vol. 1. (London, 1995), 68; Charles H. Parker, The Reformation of Community: Social Welfare and Calvinist Charity in Holland, 1572-1620 (Cambridge, 1998), passim; Robert Tittler, The

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echoed in the construction of municipal buildings from the fifteenth to the seventeenth century.3 In this article, I will assess the changing weight of capability in urban administrations in three core regions of the Low Countries, Flanders, Brabant and Holland, while taking into account the above-mentioned dynamics. The central question of this article is simple: did the weight of capability increase or decrease in urban administrations in accordance with the growth of cities, increase in activities and responsibilities of urban governments and the processes of oligarchisation? In order to assess capability, I will use two familiar concepts of the political history of the Ancien Régime: ‘patrimonialism’ and ‘bureaucracy’. These concepts are derived from the seminal work of Max Weber and comprise ‘ideal types’ of legal dominance. Evidently, the supposition is that ‘capability’ bore more substantial weight in administrations that showed bureaucratic features as opposed to ones that were more patrimonial in nature. Furthermore, the hypothesis may be put forward that the increase in activities and workload incited processes of bureaucratisation.4 On the other hand, oligarchisation may have furthered patrimonial arrangements, as familial relations became increasingly important in politics and – as I will investigate – in administration.5 Weber certainly did not envision a universal dynamic from ‘patrimonial’ to ‘bureaucratic’ power structures, at least not in his later

 Reformation in the Towns in England: Politics and Political Culture, ca. 15401640 (Oxford, 1998), passim; Paul Slack, From Reformation to Improvement: Public Welfare in Early Modern England. The Ford lectures delivered at University of Oxford 1994-1995 (Oxford, 1999), passim; Elizabeth C. Tingle, Authority and Society in Nantes during the French Wars of Religion, 1559-1598 (Manchester, 2006), 43. 3 Robert Tittler, Architecture and Power: The Town Hall and the English Urban Community, c. 1500-1640 (Oxford, 1991); J.J. de Jong, “Visible Power? Town Halls and Political Values”, in Wayne P. te Brake and Willem W. Klooster (eds.), Power and the City in the Netherlandic World (Leiden, 2006), 149-75. 4 Walter Prevenier, “Officials in Town and Countryside in the Low Countries: Social and Professional Developments from the Fourteenth to the Sixteenth Century”, in Acta historicae Neerlandicae: Studies on the History of the Netherlands, Vol. 7 (1974), 1-17; Manon P.C. van der Heijden, “Introduction: New Perspectives on Public Services in Early Modern Europe”, in Journal of Urban History (forthcoming, 2010). 5 Julia Adams, The Familial State: Ruling Families and Merchant Capitalism in Early Modern Europe (Ithaca/London, 2005), passim.

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work.6 His categories of legal domination were ‘ideal types’, not historical stages. There is therefore no linear historical process of increased weight of capability. This article will use this approach to the concepts of ‘patrimonialism’ and ‘bureaucracy’. I will focus on tendencies towards patrimonial or bureaucratic forms of administration and try to identify which political and societal conditions brought about these specific forms. In other words, I will not argue for the superiority of a ‘modern’ and ‘competent’ bureaucracy in comparison with ‘obsolete’ and ‘incompetent’ patrimonialism. I will focus on the local administrations of cities of the Low Countries, one of the most densely urbanised regions of Europe. This analysis necessarily concentrates on the longue durée in view of the fact that processes of urbanisation and de-urbanisation have to be taken into account. For this reason, I focus on the three ‘core regions of the Low Countries’, which fairly succeeded each other in political and economic pre-eminence: Flanders (with Ghent and Bruges as its capital cities), which enjoyed economic and political primacy in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries; Brabant, as part of which Antwerp rose to ascendancy in the sixteenth century; and Holland, where Amsterdam and many other towns gave rise to the Dutch Golden Age in the seventeenth century. To unravel the central problem of this paper, I have gleaned evidence from an extensive body of literature on urban administrations and civil servants in Holland, Brabant and Flanders and from archival resources of the cities of Antwerp and Rotterdam and the central state archives in Brussels and The Hague. In the first section of this chapter, I will elaborate on the features of patrimonialism and bureaucracy and weigh up which political and societal conditions may have caused tendencies towards patrimonialisation and bureaucratisation, respectively. In the second section, the emergence of the features of patrimonialism and bureaucracy identified will be considered in a number of towns for the period from 1300 to 1600. I will then consider processes of patrimonialisation and bureaucratisation in the latter part of the period. I will establish that there were important regional differences concerning processes of patrimonialisation and bureaucratisation in urban administrations. In the last section I will work to explain these conspicuous differences and consider the implications of the established changes for the weight of capability in the hiring and functioning of urban administrators.



6 Wolfgang J. Mommsen, The Age of Bureaucracy: Perspectives on the Political Sociology of Max Weber (Oxford, 1974), 73-75.



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Characteristics of patrimonialism and bureaucracy The distinction between patrimonialism and bureaucracy is a landmark in historiography and is derived from the work of Max Weber. In patrimonial power structures, tradition and personal bonds legitimise the exercise of authority. In the case of bureaucratic power structures, this is attributed to rational-legal principles. The patrimonial type of legal domination features some of the characteristics of (modern) bureaucracy – boasting an administrative staff – but is also part of Weber’s patriarchal or ‘charismatic’ type of domination. 7 Accordingly, in patrimonial power structures, the authority of the ruler is derived more from tradition than from individual charisma, but his personal goals do funnel the organisation’s performance. Other features of patrimonial administrations are that staff members are selected on a particularistic, often familial base – posts involve little specialisation and are characterised by diffuse responsibilities and various sections of the administration are mostly decentralised and lack a clear chain of command. 8 A legal-rational bureaucratic administrative organisation may conversely be compared with an efficient machine that rules out all individual initiative and is characterised by formal rules and procedures, by fixed and specialised offices staffed by competent officers who strictly distinguish their public and private lives, all administrative deeds are carried out on paper and there is a strict chain of command that imposes stringent rational discipline and control.9 The features described that will be traced in the urban administrations of the Low Countries are shown in Table 1. These features are inspired by Weber’s ideal types. The first feature is the way administrators were selected. Tradition, familial contacts and venality were at the fore in



7 John A. Armstrong, “Old Regime Governors: Bureaucratic and Patrimonial Attributes”, in Comparative Studies in Society and History, Vol. 14 (1972), 2-29; Mommsen, The Age of Bureaucracy, 72-94; Ibidem, The Political and Social Theory of Max Weber: Collected Essays (Chicago, 1989), 116; Julia Adams, “The Rule of the Father: Patriarchy and Patrimonialism in Early Modern Europe”, in Charles Camic, Philip S. Gorski and David M. Trubek (eds.), Max Weber’s Economy and Society: A Critical Companion (Stanford, 2005), 238. 8 William Delany, “The Development and Decline of Patrimonial and Bureaucratic Administrations”, in Administrative Science Quarterly, Vol. 7 (1963), 464, 466-68. 9 Aris van Braam, “Bureaucratiseringsgraad van de plaatselijke bestuursorganisatie van Westzaandam ten tijde van de Republiek”, in Tijdschrift voor geschiedenis, Vol. 90 (1977), 457-83; Pieter Wagenaar, “Dat de regeringe niet en bestaet by het corpus van de magistraet van Den Hage alleen”: de Sociëteit van ’s-Gravenhage (1587-1802) : een onderzoek naar bureaucratisering (Hilversum, 1999).

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patrimonial arrangements, while such ‘legal-rational’ elements as academic degrees and formal procedures informed employment in a bureaucracy. The second feature, monitoring-capacity, includes elements such as the potential to remove incompetent administrators and the use of substitutes. In patrimonial arrangements, the employment of substitutes – a practice that follows from the fact that officials considered their position property – potentially circumscribes the opportunities for city governments to monitor their administrative staff. The way of remuneration (i.e. the third feature) closely relates to these considerations: a fixed salary better ensures control over performance than payment through emoluments. Fourth, offices are highly specialised in bureaucratic administrative settings. In Weber’s ‘ideal type’, a bureaucracy functions as a machine that rules out all individual initiative. Conversely, the assignments are much more diverse and depend more on individual dynamism in patrimonial administrative settings. Closely related to this, are the last three features of bureaucratic and patrimonial administrations. Specialisation came paired with strict hierarchy, rigorous distinction between the private and public lives of officials and a high degree of formalisation of administrative deeds, notably by putting everything on paper. In patrimonial arrangements, diversified positions entailed little hierarchy, the private and public lives of officials are blurred, and oral, informal administrative deeds proliferated. In short, ‘legal-rational’ principals defined bureaucracy, while tradition and individual resourcefulness informed patrimonialism. I must emphasise again that the concepts of patrimonialism and bureaucracy described designate ‘ideal types’. No actual administrative body is exclusively patrimonial or bureaucratic. For instance, contemporary bureaucratic administrations prominently feature patrimonial elements as well. The bureaucratic features must not be read as ‘more efficient’ than patrimonial features. Bureaucratic and patrimonial administrative arrangements both had strengths and flaws. As I will claim below, the efficiency of administrative organisations depends to a significant extent on the societal conditions and context.



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Table 1. Characteristics of patrimonialism and bureaucracy Characteristics Selection of officials

Patrimonialism Particularistic and familial; venality

Monitoring capacity (e.g. ability to remove poorly performing office-holders, use of substitutes, …) Way of remuneration Degree of specialisation of offices Hierarchy and control of the performance of officials Distinction between the ‘public’ and ‘private’ spheres of officials Formalisation of administrative deeds

Low

Bureaucracy Importance of education and formal procedures High

Emoluments Low

Fixed salary High

Low

High

Lenient

Strict

Low

High

Why does capability have greater weight in bureaucracies compared to patrimonial organisations? In fact, that depends on our notion of capability. We can assume that ‘capability’ in the modern sense of the word was more prominent in bureaucratic organisations. This assumption is corroborated by the role of formal hiring procedures in which training (academic or otherwise) was vital and because higher monitoring capacity eased the dismissal of incompetent staff members. However, patrimonial arrangements comprised a certain notion of ‘capability’, too. For instance, patrimonial organisations habitually relied on the personal assets of their members. As a result, personal wealth and family connections may have been a key element of ‘capability’ in patrimonial organisations. In order to solve the central question of this chapter, I will primarily pay attention to the more ‘modern’ concept of capability. While Weber is not a good guide for assessing the societal conditions of patrimonial power structures, he did suggest – albeit in passing – a few conditions for the emergence of bureaucratic organisation, namely an increase of territory; the development of transportation and communication technology; the emergence of monetarist economic transactions; the growth in wealth, notably among the upper class of society; the growing levels of literacy and the displacement of an aristocratic class by a

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‘performance-oriented’ elite. 10 The reading of these preconditions for bureaucratisation is evident. For a growing state, a bureaucratic organisation is better equipped to handle growing state functions, provided that the ruler has the means to recruit, pay and supervise a competent administrative workforce at his disposal. Weber’s analysis hints that tendencies towards bureaucratisation may have surfaced in urban contexts relatively early in history. It is striking that apart from the ‘increase of territory’, which presumably motivates growing state functions, all the named preconditions were fulfilled in the cities of the late Middle Ages and early modern times. As mentioned above, the functions of urban governmental bodies grew as well, not as a result of an increase in territory, but due to demographic growth and oligarchic rule. Consequently, there are good reasons to assume that processes of bureaucratisation may be found in urban administrations from early on. Urban governments could relatively easily recruit an educated administrative workforce and could raise taxes to pay salaries, while in many cities, non-aristocratic ‘performance-oriented’ elites came at the fore of urban politics starting in the thirteenth century. Indeed, the Italian late medieval city-state has been marked as ‘an efficient articulated bureaucratic system’. In that analysis ‘bureaucratic specialisation occurred in commercial cities relatively early and was already underway in the thirteenth century’.11 Then again, we can likewise assume that processes of urbanisation and increased responsibilities of urban governments led to administrative changes in the direction of patrimonialism. It is feasible that oligarchies, which assumed prime responsibility, used the growing administrations to appoint familial contacts. Moreover, local elites may have sold offices in order to generate additional income and extend the administrative apparatus, rather than instigate the discontent of co-citizens about everincreasing tax demands. ‘Performance-oriented’ elites that came to the fore in the late Middle Ages were transformed into aristocrats.12 They may have been increasingly interested in preserving traditional arrangements in administrations, thereby furthering patrimonialism. Finally, the increasing complexity of urban governance and administration may have remained

 10

Delany, “The Development and Decline”, 463. Hilde de Ridder-Symoens, “Training and Professionalisation”, in Wolfgang Reinhard (ed.), Power Elites and State Building (Oxford, 1996), 153-54. 12 Cf. H. Soly, “Het ‘verraad’ der 16de –eeuwse burgerij: een mythe? Enkele beschouwingen betreffende het gedragspatroon der 16de-eeuwse Antwerpse ondernemers”, in Tijdschrift voor geschiedenis, Vol. 86 (1973), 262-80; Adams, The Familial State, passim. 11



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below a certain threshold, rendering a bureaucratic organisation of administration unnecessary. The issue at hand, however, is whether the changing nature of urban politics did indeed bring about bureaucratisation of local administrations or led conversely to patrimonialism. Did this mean that ‘capability’ was increasingly taken into account when hiring extra staff? Did ‘appropriateness’ for the specific assignments figure more prominently when hiring someone in those administrations? Or did patrimonial elements in the administrative organisation deepen as city governments increasingly relied on the personal assets of their administrators and hired employees with familial ties and resources instead of people with an aptitude to fulfil the appointed chores?13 Were personal ties or the price a potential employee was prepared to pay to obtain a position more critical than his aptitude to the job? To what extent were urban governments equipped to check the performance of their administrative workforce?

Bureaucratic and patrimonial features of urban administrations in the Low Countries (1300-1600) Bureaucratic ideals of office-holding were already formulated in the late Middle Ages, particularly at the supra-local administrative level. A.C.F. Koch highlights the institution of the bailiff in late twelfth-century Flanders who could be dismissed and who was to some extent specialised. Their counterparts in Brabant (i.e. hoofdschouten and hoofdmeiers) received a fixed salary, rather than a percentage of collected fines starting in the fourteenth century.14 In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the dukes and counts of Flanders, Brabant and Holland organised enquiries into the performance of their bailiffs, sheriffs and other officials on a regular basis, following the example of French and English rulers and required by urban governments.15

 13

Cf. Hurstfield, Freedom, 153-60. A.C.F. Koch, “De ambtenaren. 1. In de middeleeuwen”, in Jan L. Broeckx, Carlo de Clercq and Jan Dhondt (eds.), Flandria nostra: ons land en ons volk zijn standen en beroepen door de tijden heen, Vol. 5 (1960), 336-37, 340-41; L.T. Maes, “Ambtenarij en bureaucratisering in regering en gewesten van de Zuidelijke Nederlanden in de 13de-15de eeuw”, in Tijdschrift voor geschiedenis, Vol. 90 (1977), 355. 15 Oscar van den Arend, Zeven lokale baljuwschappen in Holland (Hilversum, 1993), 234-43; J. De Meester, De generale enquêtes in Brabant in de 14de eeuw. Casus: de enquête van 1389 (unpublished MA thesis, University of Antwerp, 2005). 14

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To be sure, these enquiries essentially point towards the many patrimonial practices of the time. What is known as the Grand Privilege – an imperative constitutional text agreed upon by Mary of Burgundy (14571482) and the representatives of Netherlandish towns after the death of Charles the Bold (1433-1477) in 1477 – expressed strong disapproval of the sale of offices and nepotism. No less than one fifth of its stipulations related to those patrimonial hallmarks of administrative organisation. Wim Blockmans has pointed out that the fifteenth-century state had not penetrated society as much as was necessary to apply the rational, bureaucratic administrative methods. The purchase of loyalty through nepotism and the obtaining of funds through venality were essential in maintaining a large-scale administrative apparatus. 16 His reading of Burgundian state formation does, however, acknowledge that rational bureaucratic ideals were in place in the late Middle Ages. In the sixteenth century, critical voices to nepotism and venality resounded as well. A firm prohibition was included in the duke of Alva’s Criminal Sentences of 1570 and the sale of offices (public or otherwise) was forbidden starting in the early days of the Dutch Republic.17 Were these bureaucratic ideals also manifest in local administrations? There are quite a few cases in point of ‘modern’ approaches to the capacity and performance of local administrators that date from the earlier part of the period under scrutiny. First, a clear process of increased use of written documents in administration can be discerned, indicating a formalisation of administrative deeds. 18 In sixteenth-century Rotterdam, secretaries were furthermore initially appointed temporarily to verify their performance. Secretary Dirk Pel was replaced in the summer of 1541, as he did not pass the test.19 In the fourteenth to sixteenth centuries, urban governments installed the office of pensionary (pensionaris), which bore many bureaucratic

 16

Wim Blockmans, “Corruptie, patronage, makelaardij en venaliteit als symptonen van een ontluikende staatsvorming in de Bourgondisch-Habsburgse Nederlanden”, in Tijdschrift voor sociale geschiedenis, Vol. 11 (1985), 231-47. 17 Koenraad W. Swart, Sale of Offices in the Seventeenth Century (The Hague, 1949), 68-70. 18 Leo van Buyten, “Bureaucratie en bureaucratisering in de lokale besturen der Zuidelijke Nederlanden, 16e tot 18e eeuw”, in Tijdschrift voor geschiedenis, Vol. 90 (1977), 503-23; Jeroen F. Benders, Bestuurscultuur en schriftcultuur: een analyse van de bestuurlijke verschriftelijking in Deventer aan het einde van de 15de eeuw (Kampen, 2004). 19 Gemeentearchief, Rotterdam, Oud Stadsarchief (hereafter: GAR-OSA) 712, f. 125; 713, ff. 162, 224, 662.



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characteristics. This official advised the city government in legal matters and represented the town for its external contacts. City councils carefully selected candidates of intellectual eminence and with wide experience in the practice of law.20 Between roughly 1450 and 1570, no less than 80% of the pensionaries of the town of Leiden were outsiders. In Haarlem, that ratio admittedly was only 25%. Pensionaries always had an academic degree and were appointed on a temporary basis. 21 If there were insufficient academic candidates, city councils made an effort to provide them. In the fifteenth century, the city council of Ghent covered the costs of young burghers to graduate at the Sorbonne in Paris to engage them a few years later as secretaries and pensionaries.22 The Rotterdam city council recruited its secretaries among local notaries. From 1602, when more academics were available, an academic degree was required.23 These concerns on the capability of office-holders were not limited to the top of urban administration. In the sixteenthcentury Antwerp secretary, potential clerks were checked whether they had firm handwriting and were fully available during office hours before being employed. Clerks were not allowed to employ ‘under clerks’ or expectanten before one of the four secretaries had assessed these qualities.24 Notwithstanding these ‘legal-rational’ elements in local administrations, there were plenty of patrimonial characteristics as well. In fifteenthcentury Leiden and Rotterdam, the honours and proceeds of the office of secretary were repeatedly bestowed on someone by way of endowment, with the explicit authorisation to appoint a substitute.25 As I mentioned



20 Paul Rogghé, “De Gentse klerken in de XIVe en XVe eeuw: trouw en verraad”, in Appeltjes van het Meetjesland. Jaarboek van het heemkundig genootschap van het Meetjesland, Vol. 11 (1960), 13, 24-27; Johannes Melles, Ministers aan de Maas: geschiedenis van de Rotterdamse pensionarissen met een inleiding over het stedelƋk pensionariaat, 1508-1795 (Rotterdam, 1962); Arie van Steensel, “De middeleeuwse stadspensionarissen van Haarlem en Leiden, ca. 1477-1572”, in Holland, Vol. 38, No. 2 (2006), 76-96. 21 Van Steensel, “De middeleeuwse”, 8-9. 22 Prevenier, “Officials in Town and Countryside”, 8. 23 Hendrik ten Boom, “De eerste secretarissen van Rotterdam: gegevens over ambt, werkzaamheden en personen tot circa 1530”, in Rotterdams Jaarboekje, 8, Vol. 7 (1979), 158. 24 Felixarchief Antwerpen, Privilegekamer (hereafter: FA-Pk), 1373, ff. 10-15. 25 Frederik W.N. Hugenholtz, “Clerc (secretaris) en pensionaris van de stad Leiden: bijdrage tot de kennis van de stedelijke ambtenaren in de late Middeleeuwen”, in Tijdschrift voor geschiedenis, Vol. 66 (1953), 223; Ten Boom, “De eerste secretarissen”, 160, 162.

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above, the use of substitutes potentially harmed the local government’s monitoring capacity and abilities to check performance. The fourteenthcentury secretaries and pensionaries of Ghent – which were not yet denominated as such – often belonged to the city’s political elite as well.26 Furthermore, the proportion of academics in the ranks of secretaries in Bois le Duc, Antwerp and Leuven did not augment at a pace, as the general increase of academics in urban society would suggest, in the late fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The need for secretaries to have an academic degree appeared to diminish once the office of pensionary was installed.27

Processes of patrimonialisation (1600-1780) Starting in the seventeenth century, patrimonial features of hiring procedures deepened in the three core regions of the Low Countries. In Holland, the oligarchic ‘familial state’ increasingly qualified those with the proper connections (familial or otherwise) for office, as the bestowal of offices became the closely safeguarded privilege of the heads of families with political influence. In Amsterdam, widows and children of what were known as regenten even inherited this right to some extent. There was no official sale of offices, but many regenten are said to have earned a handsome income by nominating individuals who were willing to pay for an office. The sale of offices was accordingly private business. 28 The Rotterdam burgomaster Jean Beyer (1634-1713) – who bestowed 67 offices to members or friends of his family and household during the years 1687-1709 – claimed that he had never taken money in exchange for an office, but he now and then did ask his ‘clients’ to pay an annual sum to needy members of his family and entourage.29 Rotterdam reported in 1749 that the regenten had a total of 1,393 offices to bestow, of which 12% was burdened with allowances that ranged from 30 guilders to several hundred

 26

Rogghe, “De Gentse klerken”, 21-22, 116-18. Geertrui van Synghel, “Actum in camera scriptorum oppidi de Buscoducis”: de stedelijke secretarie van ’s-Hertogenbosch tot ca. 1450 (Hilversum, 2007), 336-38. 28 Guido de Bruin, “Het politieke bestel van de Republiek: een anomalie in vroegmodern Europa?”, in Bijdragen en mededelingen betreffende de geschiedenis der Nederlanden, Vol. 114 (1999), 35. On the sale of offices by Amsterdam regenten: Jacob Bicker Raije, “Het dagboek van Jacob Bicker Raye, 1732-1772”, in Jaarboek van het genootschap Amstelodamum, Vol. 26 (1939), 236-42. 29 H.C. Hazewinkel, “Vergeving van ambten”, in Rotterdams jaarboekje, 6, Vol. 6 (1958), 122-28. 27



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guilders. 30 Nepotism deepened when oligarchic trends intensified: regenten bestowed offices on children starting in the late seventeenth century. In the eighteenth century, even unborn babies are mentioned to have become office-holders, as their prominent families secured an income for them.31 There is no need to emphasise that capability was no issue in those appointments. However, the actually or potentially flawed performance of officials who had obtained their position through purchase has never really been a reason for anybody to oppose venality. During revolutionary events in the mid-eighteenth century, the populations of the Holland towns did ferociously oppose the nepotism and private venality inherent to the familial state, but they envisioned the public sale of offices as the suitable alternative. 32 Indeed, the late medieval and sixteenth-century top-down and bottom-up provisions against the sale of offices described above largely disappeared in the early modern era. This was not only the case in Holland. In Antwerp, it was likewise the body of representatives of the Antwerp population that initially proposed the public sale of offices, following the example of Ghent. This is a strong reminder that patrimonial practices did not necessarily have a negative connotation in specific historical contexts. In Flanders – and probably in Brabant as well – a persuasion emerged among some groups that those who were not able to pay high sums for an office could not be honest office-holders. Admittedly, other, more ‘Enlightened’ groups contested these views.33 In Brabantine and Flemish towns, patrimonial arrangements extended just as in Holland. In the case of political functions and top administrative positions, familial contacts were of utmost importance. As for mid-range and lower administrative positions, venality, not familial contacts, greatly informed employment from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century. 34 Ghent started with the public sale of offices to the highest bidder. Its sale of offices was sanctioned by the central government in 1734, and was

 30

National Archives, The Hague, Gecommitteerde Staten van Holland (hereafter: NA-GSvH), 4048. 31 Raije, “Het dagboek”, 220; E. Wiersum, “Ergerlijk-komisch nepotisme”, in Rotterdams jaarboekje, 5, Vol. 4 (1947), 43-61; Adams, The Familial State, 82. 32 GAR-OSA, 850; Raije, “Het dagboek”, 242. 33 Piet Lenders, “De ambtenaar en zijn statuut op het einde van het ancien régime: toestanden en ontwikkelingen in Vlaanderen en bijzonder te Gent, deel 2”, Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis, Vol. 67 (1984), 145. 34 René Boumans, Het Antwerpse stadsbestuur voor en tijdens de Franse overheersing: bijdrage tot de ontwikkelingsgeschiedenis van de stedelijke bestuursinstellingen in de Zuidelijke Nederlanden (Bruges, 1965), 246.

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emulated by Antwerp in 1738. 35 Although the city councils maintained ownership of the offices – the entitlement to a position was not hereditary after purchase – the public sale severely limited their control of hiring procedures. In Ghent, what was known as the right of resignation, drawn from sixteenth-century canonical law, restricted control even more. When an office-holder resigned, he was entitled to designate a successor. The city council insisted that they only approved competent successors, but in fact the right of resignation was only rarely declined.36 In the three regions studied, assessing performance was highly limited by the ubiquitously honoured principle of the unremovability of officeholders. Although the States of Holland instructed in 1660 that all offices were to be conferred on probation, it was never able to implement this ‘legal-rational’ aim.37 Thus, offices were perceived as the tenure of officeholders obtained either by purchase (in Flanders and Brabant) or through familial contacts (in Holland), albeit with a few notable exceptions at the top of urban administration. In Antwerp, 98% of the 714 jobs that became vacant after 1738 was due to the decease of its owner, while it occurred only once that an office-holder was forced to leave.38 We should not have too many illusions about the motives of those who obtained an office: the proceeds from it were their first and perhaps only concern. The fourth secretary of Antwerp, Ridder Gaspar Joseph Van Horne (1688-1748), for instance resold his expensive position in 1723 because he was not satisfied with its rewards.39 City governments did not assume full responsibility for the earnings of their servants as a substantial part of it typically consisted of emoluments. Inhabitants that made use of services were expected to pay for it. The

 35

René Boumans, “Het verhandelen der stedelijke officiën te Antwerpen in de XVIIIde eeuw”, in Bijdragen voor de geschiedenis der Nederlanden, Vol. 3:1-2 (1948), 47, 50. 36 Piet Lenders, “De ambtenaar en zijn statuut op het einde van het ancien régime: toestanden en ontwikkelingen in Vlaanderen en bijzonder te Gent, deel 1”, in Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis, Vol. 67 (1984), 63-107; Johan Decavele, “Bestuursinstellingen van de stad Gent (einde 11de eeuw – 1795)”, in Walter Prevenier and Beatrijs Augustijn (eds.), De gewestelijke en lokale overheidsinstellingen in Vlaanderen tot 1795 (Brussels, 1997), 296. 37 Oebele Vries, “Geschapen tot ieders nut: een verkennend onderzoek naar de Noordnederlandse ambtenaar in de tijd van het Ancien Régime”, in Tijdschrift voor geschiedenis, Vol. 90 (1977), 345. 38 Boumans, Het Antwerps stadsbestuur, 331. 39 K. Degrijse, “Ridder Gaspar Joseph van Horne (1688-1748), Antwerps stadssecretaris, schepen en rentenier: een socio-economische benadering van een loopbaan in stadsdienst”, in Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis, Vol. 65 (1982), 117-18.



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administrators who worked at the escritoire of the secretary were, for instance, principally paid according to the number of documents written. As we shall see below, this resulted in many tensions among the staff at the Antwerp secretary. Of 227 offices in Rotterdam in 1747, 127 were endowed with a salary, of which 27 had to be supplemented with emoluments of more than 50%.40 Piet Lenders asserts that in Ghent the portion of emoluments in revenues of office-holders was much bigger than in Antwerp. 41 This points towards a restricted control of urban governments over the performance of civil servants as urban governments typically passed the expenses of the administrative staff on to the population. Restricted control over performance signified limited assessment of capability. Pre-modern monitoring capacity was furthermore curbed by the ubiquitous practice of appointing substitutes. In Ghent, although the pensionary, the head of public infrastructure and the head of finances had to perform their duties themselves, officials that had bought their positions were free to engage substitutes.42 In Rotterdam, the various stipulations of the instructions of administrative positions (e.g. obligatory presence at office) suggest that they were less open to appointing substitutes. 43 Nepotism, however, probably precluded this. In eighteenth-century Haarlem, the office of secretary was twice bestowed on children (i.e. a thirteen year old and a seventeen year old), necessitating the appointment of substitutes.44 In Antwerp, however, there are not many indications of the pervasive appointment of substitutes. In the event of illness or old age, office-holders had to ask for permission to appoint an assistant or a substitute.45 All in all, the engagement of substitutes was most pervasive in Flanders and in Holland. That points towards limited monitoring capacity of urban governments. Hence, urban governments were able to verify the capability of office-holders only to a limited extent.

Processes of bureaucratisation (1600-1800) Notwithstanding the proliferation of patrimonial arrangements, a few trends towards bureaucratisation emerged in a number of urban

 40

Calculations based on NA-GSvH, inv. no. 4048, Lijst. Lenders, “De ambtenaar”, 65, 91-93. 42 Ibidem, 73-74. 43 GAR-OSA, 858; 869; 3492. 44 Jan A.F. de Jongste, Onrust aan het Spaarne: Haarlem in de jaren 1747-1751 (Dieren, 1984), 85. 45 Boumans, Het Antwerps stadsbestuur, 331. 41

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administrations in Holland after 1600. Starting in the early seventeenth century, newly appointed officials had to swear an oath on an instruction, which meticulously described their rights and duties. Starting in the late seventeenth century, similar instructions were issued for lower staff members as well, indicating increasing monitoring capacity. One of the stipulations of these instructions concerned the exact hours officials were to be present at the escritoire in the town hall. The city councils of The Hague and Rotterdam accordingly provided writing desks and office equipment during the course of the seventeenth century.46 Furthermore, superiors had to keep a close watch on clerks’ attendance. Officials were explicitly prohibited from taking home important documents. In Rotterdam, office-holders with financial responsibilities were additionally not allowed to mingle their personal resources with the funds they received in their capacity as official. Those funds had to be kept in a bank account at the exchange bank (wisselbank).47 Local financial officers in The Hague were not required to do so, but the city government set up what was known as a ‘contraaccounting system’ (contraboeksysteem) in which two officials who had no access to each other’s administration registered the urban fiscal income.48 Although patrimonial arrangements figured prominently in Antwerp, it was not entirely unfamiliar with bureaucratic features either. The upperlevel administrations bore all responsibility for lower staff members, as is shown by the conflict between the head clerk (griffier) Jean François van Can and his colleagues in 1726 when he opposed the appointment of an underage clerk. He believed this young boy was unqualified and refused to assume responsibility for the mistakes that the inexperienced youngster was to make.49 This confirms a certain hierarchy in the escritoire and the control function of the upper-level administrators who were to assume responsibility for the functioning of their employees.50 Similar stipulations

 46

Pieter Wagenaar, “Delegatie onder toezicht: financiële relaties tussen gewestelijk en lokaal bestuur tijdens de Republiek: de casus Den Haag”, in Tom J.E.M. Pfeil et al. (eds.), Steden en dorpen in last: historische aspecten van locale belastingen en financiën (Amsterdam, 1999), 69. 47 GAR-OSA, 858, fo. 26; 869. 48 Wagenaar, “Dat de regering”, 207. 49 FA-Pk, 1388, f. 96. 50 FA-Pk, 1373, ff. 190-93.



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on personal responsibility can be found in the instructions of upper-level administrators in Holland towns.51 Until the mid-eighteenth century, Ghent’s administration showed little bureaucratic features. Indeed, Ghent was a forerunner of patrimonialisation setting the example of the sale of offices and upholding the aforementioned ‘right of resignation’. Yet the need for drastic bureaucratic reform was sensed during the course of the eighteenth century. The Brussels ‘national’ government instigated a number of reforms, alarmed by the high cost of the proliferation of superfluous offices in Ghent, which jeopardised the opportunities to send funds to the central treasury. Redundant offices were created over the centuries due to nepotism and the need for cash. Hence the central directives of 1672, 1715 and 1734 prescribed a drastic cutback of the number of offices. These directives, however, did not provoke many changes in the Ghent administration, as the Habsburg government did not check its implementation. Central initiatives to rearrange administration only started to accomplish something after 1750. According to Piet Lenders, three elements supported the central efforts from then on. First, newly introduced central commissions facilitated repeated inspection of the implementation of central instructions. The ‘Commission for the Inspection of Accounts’ (Junta voor de Auditie van de Rekeningen) was set up in 1749 and replaced by the ‘Commission for Administrations and Aides’ (Junta voor Besturen en Beden) in 1764.52 Second, there were local reform-minded administrators, notably the illustrious Ghent first alderman (voorschepen) and president of the States of Flanders Jean Jacques Philippe Vilain XIIII (1712-1777), who supported central initiatives as did, third, public opinion.53 The reforms the central government and Vilain XIIII brought to fruition were relevant to, for instance, hiring procedures and capacity monitoring. The public sale of offices was slowly, but surely brought to an end. In the directive of 1734, key stipulations that limited this practice were already included, induced by the inclination to take competent candidates into service. The directive did not prescribe an abrupt end to venality: vacancies were no longer sold, but rather bestowed upon the most competent candidate, while several aspirants were invited to the selection procedure. This unambiguous trend towards bureaucratisation



51 ‘… de clercquen dat die wel tot haeren debvoir gehouden werden.’ GAR-OSA, 3492, ff. 28-35. 52 Alphonse Bousse, Inventaire des archives de la Jointe des Administrations des des Affaires des Subsides (Brussels, 1937). 53 Lenders, “De ambtenaar”, 114-17, 120.

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was inspired and encouraged by the States of Flanders, who also applied new selective appointing procedures. The Ghent city government simultaneously put an end to the right to resignation and thus secured additional control over appointment procedures.54 The right to appoint substitute office-holders was gradually abolished in Ghent as well. Before 1750, it was already deemed inappropriate to appoint a substitute in case of offices that had been conferred for free. In the late 1760s, this practice also lost legitimacy with respect to offices as – according to the enlightened aldermen in power – surrogate servants could impossibly devote themselves with the desirable diligence and energy to their assignments, as they were not properly paid for it.55 Office-holders were furthermore checked whether they obediently performed their duties by way of a stricter control of their attendance at the escritoires at the town hall. Starting in 1774, the commission of aldermen stipulated the hours office-holders were to be present at the town hall. In the event of repeated absence, they were to be dismissed. The commission paid regular visits to the various offices to ensure compliance with the new directive. This increased monitoring capacity was further strengthened by detailed instructions on how the work of various office-holders was to be brought into line. The most unambiguous reinforcement of monitoring capacity consisted of what were known as fonds de caisse: regular and unannounced inspections of the accounts and resources of financial officers. This prevented corruption and informed the commission on feasible improvements of administrative practices. Soon the commission demanded transparent and periodic accounts of various financial officers.56 Finally, the city council made much less use of farmers and mediators and started to replace emoluments with fixed salaries. As in the case of many other elements of reform, fixed salaries were first introduced in the administration of the central government and of the States of Flanders, and then extended to local administrations after a profound reorganisation of urban finances. The above-mentioned Commission for Administrations and Aides typically prepared the technical aspects of the reorganisation. In Ghent, the introduction of fixed salaries proceeded arduously as the heavily burdened urban treasury needed close supervision and restructuring. As in case of the abolition of the sale of offices, the fixed remunerations were introduced not brusquely, but step-by-step with each new appointment.57

 54

Ibidem, 143-55. Ibidem, 128-32. 56 Ibidem, 169-75. 57 Ibidem, 158-62. 55



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These reforms or ideas were conspicuously absent in Holland and in Brabantine towns. There was no ‘national’ government that stimulated reforms in urban administrative organisation in Holland. The Enlightened grand pensionary Simon van Slingelandt (1664-1736) did propose a range of reforms, but his influence did not extend to urban administrations.58 As a result, nearly none of the bureaucratic reforms that were pursued in Flanders and Ghent were emulated in Holland. It is exceedingly emblematic that the few initiatives to improve administrative performance often stemmed from the factional struggles that were inherent to the familial state. The initiatives remained without implementation or only members of the elite had restricted access to the sources of power that criticised the salient patrimonial characteristics of office-holding.59 The Commission for Administrations and Aides did pay attention to Brabantine urban administrations. Brabantine administrations bore many patrimonial features, yet there were fewer flaws in the performance of those administrations. When in 1766 the delegates of the Commission for Administrations and Aides assessed administrative costs and performance in Antwerp, they found that there were no superfluous offices and that both the upper and lower administrators earned modest salaries. 60 Accordingly, they devoted much less time and effort to pursuing alterations. Whereas the commission issued no fewer than 70 protocols on the administration of Ghent during the years 1766-1778, it issued only three protocols concerning Antwerp’s administration. 61 Brussels repeatedly proposed the abolition of venality to the Antwerp governors, but was not adamant when they refused.62 If we can grasp the reasons for these intriguing regional differences, we will gain insight in the political and societal conditions for urban processes of patrimonialisation and bureaucratisation.

 58

Adams, The Familial State, 155-56. Raije, “Het dagboek”, 221. It may be indicating that the office of postmaster was exempt from this prohibition as it was one of the most coveted offices for families who often acquired it for their underage children, see Adams, The Familial State, 145-46. 60 National Archives, Brussels, Jointe pour les Administrations et les affaires des subsides (hereafter: ARAB-JAS), 274. 61 ARAB-JAS, 272. 62 Boumans, Het Antwerps stadsbestuur, 261. 59

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Explaining processes of patrimonialisation and bureaucratisation To explicate the perceptible processes of patrimonialisation and bureaucratisation in late medieval and early modern urban administrations, it is sensible to go back to the causal mechanisms hypothesised at the beginning of this article. To what extent and in what ways did processes of urbanisation and de-urbanisation affect the administrative organisation of towns? What was the effect of increased activities of city governments? What was the relation between oligarchisation and administrative performance? The two first potential triggers of change can be considered together, the impact of oligarchisation will be considered separately. Urban administrations in expanding cities in seventeenth-century Holland showed emerging patrimonial features just like administrations in the contracting Flemish and Brabantine towns, considering the ubiquity of nepotism and private venality in Holland. Bureaucratic features surfaced in the three regions considered as well. For instance, there was an apparent process of increased use of written documents and thus the formalisation of administrative deeds, irrespective of urban growth or decline. On the other hand, a number of bureaucratic features only emerged in expanding administrations. For instance, the seventeenth-century administrations of Holland towns imposed detailed instructions upon both upper and lower officials and a relatively close supervision of financial officers. In booming sixteenth-century Antwerp, the officials of the secretary were not allowed to take home important documents either, which points towards a more strict division between the private and public lives of officials. It is telling that this prohibition fairly disappeared in the seventeenth century, once urban decline had set in.63 Urban growth did not lead directly to bureaucratisation, but urban decline from the late sixteenth century was indeed an essential reason for patrimonialisation. This was very much the case in the Antwerp administration. After the capture of rebelling Antwerp by Alexander Farnese (1545-1592) in 1585, the population dropped from 80,000 to only 42,000 inhabitants in 1589. The smooth progress of venality must at least partly be explained by this demographic decline, as the city government was compelled to sell offices out of financial necessity. The functioning of administration increasingly showed patrimonial characteristics due to demographic regression as well. In the sixteenth century, a vast escritoire was set up providing work for many clerks. These officials were not

 63



FA-Pk, 1373, ff. 10-15, 71-74.

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discharged in the seventeenth century, considering the aforementioned unremovability of office-holders. Tensions among staff about access to assignments mounted, as most servants were paid according to the amount of work they had done.64 Staff members consequently closed ranks for their own families, an unambiguous patrimonial feature. Thus the seventeenth- and eighteenthcentury escritoire consisted of four secretaries, twelve clerks (stoelklerken) and a varying number of potential future clerks (expectanten) who were employed on probation. According to the secretaries and stoelklerken in the early seventeenth century, expectanten could only join the fixed staff if they had lived and worked for a while at the house of one of the secretaries or stoelklerken.65 This ‘apprenticeship’ could last for more than a decade and was in reality reserved for the children of staff members who received training from their fathers. In 1731, Jacobus Diercx, for instance, solicited to become a stoelklerk after working twenty years for the secretary, first at the dwelling of his stepfather and then as expectant in the escritoire of the secretary.66 Ghent’s administration bore many patrimonial features until the drastic bureaucratic reforms of the latter part of the eighteenth century. Venality proliferated, the aforementioned ‘right of resignation’ limited monitoring capacity, there was a proliferation of redundant offices due to nepotism or need of funds, widespread employment of substitutes, an extensive use of farmers and mediators and a high ratio of emoluments in the revenues of office-holders. 67 Ghent showed more features of patrimonialism than Antwerp. Moreover, its administrative performance was more hampered by it as well. Although, for instance, the redundant offices originally brought ready cash to the town treasury, they in the long term became a heavy burden that was only addressed once the reforming initiatives of the central government gained momentum. While the booming sixteenth-century Antwerp administration increasingly showed bureaucratic features, it underwent processes of patrimonialisation when demographic decline set in at the end of the sixteenth century. Expanding seventeenth-century administrations of Holland towns developed both bureaucratic and patrimonial features. Venality and nepotism even deepened when decline set in at the end of the seventeenth century. Ghent’s administration was characterised by patrimonialisation up until the mid-eighteenth century, when drastic

 64

See for example FA-Pk, 1373, ff. 10-15, 29, 32, 64-100, 114. FA-Pk, 1373, ff. 71-74. 66 FA-Pk, 1373, f. 136. 67 Lenders, “De ambtenaar”, 65, 91-93. 65

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bureaucratic reforms were introduced. Ghent’s administrative apparatus was not expanding in the eighteenth century. Hence, urban growth and decline clearly do not fully explain processes of patrimonialisation and bureaucratisation. Let us then turn to another potential agent of change: the process of oligarchisation. Varying levels of oligarchy may be helpful in explaining differences between the administrations of Ghent and Antwerp. One hypothesis that remains to be explored is that the structure of decision making in Ghent offered more opportunities for patrimonialism than that of Antwerp. Whereas in Antwerp various sections of the population were represented in what as known as the Brede Raad (Broad Council), which advised the Magistrate, these ‘democratic’ features of decision making were absent in Ghent since the days of Charles V (1500-1558). Additional research should clarify whether representatives of guilds and burghers did indeed forestall nepotism and the more pernicious effects of venality in Antwerp. This proposition is in fact supported by the clear trend towards patrimonialisation in the towns of Holland as well, where powerful oligarchies controlled the bestowal of offices on their friends and relations. Furthermore, the prominent position of the Brede Raad might also explain why the Commission for Administrations and Aides did not press for changes in the Antwerp administration. For instance, the Commission repeatedly and ineffectively proposed to abolish the sale of offices.68 The fact that the Commission did not insist was possibly informed by the many other conflicts between the ‘national’ government and the Antwerp’s Brede Raad, which repeatedly opposed an increase in central taxes in the eighteenth century, causing much irritation at the central government in Brussels and Vienna. The central government therefore pursued rather drastic reforms of these local political bodies, critically circumscribing the local opportunities to oppose taxation. These reforms led to many protests and revolts among the burghers of Brabantine towns.69 It is conceivable that the central government refrained from other initiatives to restructure local administrations. As mentioned above, these political tensions were largely absent in eighteenth-century Ghent, as ‘democratic’ participation in decision making had been circumscribed in the sixteenth century. There,

 68

Boumans, Het Antwerps stadsbestuur, 261. Leo van Buyten, “De achttiende-eeuwse inmengingspolitiek van de centrale besturen in de Brabantse steden”, in Mededelingen van de Geschied- en Oudheidkundige Kring voor Leuven en omgeving. De Brabantse stad. Lustrumuitgave (1965), 49-80; Karin van Honacker, Lokaal verzet en oproer in de 17de en 18de eeuw: collectieve acties tegen het centraal gezag in Brussel, Antwerpen en Leuven (Kortrijk-Heule, 1994), 113-31, 142-62. 69



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the administrative organisation, not the decision-making structure, jeopardised tax flows to the central treasury. Bureaucratic reforms were not only more urgent in Ghent than in Antwerp or in Holland towns. Several members of Ghent’s local elite also deemed them more urgent, as they embraced the Enlightened ideas on office-holding, highly supported by Vilain XIIII. Antwerp and Rotterdam lacked such a personality as Vilain XIIII, who was politically active both at the level of the States of Flanders and at the local level. As mentioned above, the grand pensionary of Holland, Van Slingelandt, did propose reforms, but he had virtually no weight in the internal political affairs of the towns. Enlightened ideas on administrative organisation hardly found their way to urban administrations of eighteenth-century Holland – at least, not among the urban political elites who had too many familial interests at stake in the state structure as it existed. Notably, the bestowal of offices along lines of patronage was a key source of power and wealth in this ‘familial state’. Apart from the harmful side effects of nepotism – notably the repeated appointment of children on responsible positions – the local administrations in Holland probably boasted good performance. As mentioned above, it is striking that during the revolutionary events of the late 1740s urban populations only disputed the private character of the sale of offices. Complaints about the performance of administrators never featured prominently in their protests. The general population called for the public, rather than private sale of offices to fill the urban coffers as an alternative for increased taxation, so that families outside the circle of regenten could buy offices for their children too. Stadholder Willem IV (1711-1751) and the States of Holland neglected the revolutionary demands to introduce the public sale of offices. They tried to counter the radical movement using three measures. First, the employment of substitutes was to be banned entirely. Second, regenten were no longer allowed to privately receive ‘recognitions’ (i.e. payments for the purchase of offices). Third, local governments had to provide an overview of the salaries and emoluments earned by officials at all administrative levels.70 These measures largely had no effect. During the revolutionary occurrences of the 1780s, the resentment against the patrimonial bestowal of offices surfaced again. It is feasible that Holland’s urban administrations were less in need of bureaucratic reform than Ghent’s administration was. I recall that a number of bureaucratic features had indeed been introduced in the urban

 70

GAR-OSA, 850.

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administrations of seventeenth-century Holland. Unlike Ghent, the Rotterdam council could and did make alterations to instructions at every new appointment. Lower-level officials were appointed on instructions from the late seventeenth century onward. In those instructions, their duties were prescribed in detail. As described above, escritoires were provided and officials were expected to attend office at fixed hours. These characteristics, introduced in Ghent during the last quarter of the eighteenth century, were already in place in the Holland towns in the late seventeenth century. The administration of Antwerp bore many patrimonial characteristics, but was not necessarily unfit for its responsibilities. The functioning of the escritoire of the secretary much resembled the working of a guild where apprentices were allowed time to acquaint themselves with administrative tools and procedures. In the sixteenth century, clerks were not allowed to take work home, they had to allow ‘the boys at the escritoire’ (de jongers vande comptoire) to become familiar with various documents and administrative practices. The young ‘apprentices’ were forbidden to validate a contract before they were properly evaluated and deemed to have the necessary know-how.71 In the seventeenth century, the fact that one had to live and work for a while at the dwelling of one of the staff members ensured a proper training as well. It is true that city governors assumed that office-holders were to gain aptitude once they were employed and allowed to devote time to their duties, but they were never supposed to learn everything on their own. Patrimonial arrangements could indeed provide for proper training. Moreover, the unremovability of office-holders did not necessarily leave the city government defenceless against incompetent administrators. If an official was indeed incapable of performing his assignments, he could not be dismissed, apart from unambiguous cases of corruption. City governments were, however, cautious about possible mismanagement of their staff by demanding a warranty at the moment of appointment. In Holland, it could consist of a certain amount of money or the surety of someone who was bona fide.72 Starting in the late seventeenth century, the three secretaries of Rotterdam had to pay a surety of 20,000 guilders. In the Antwerp escritoire of the secretary, even the temporary clerks (expectanten) had to pay a surety of a thousand guilders, a substantial amount of money at the time. The financial guarantees were utterly necessary in instances of officials with financial responsibilities as the

 71 72



FA-Pk, 1373, ff. 10-15. Vries, “Geschapen”, 344; Wagenaar, “Delegatie onder toezicht”, 67.

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state of affairs in Ghent shows – on average, two officials went bankrupt per decade, causing serious nuisance for the town treasury.73 Although the payment of sureties is far from a bureaucratic characteristic, blurring the boundaries between the private and public aspects of civil servants’ lives, it does show that city governments were not completely susceptible to incompetent officials. The point is that the small-scale, patrimonial setting of urban administrations, regardless of urban growth and increasing workload, still guaranteed sufficient monitoring capacity for urban governments. The increased tasks due to urban growth and oligarchic rule do explain rising bureaucratic reforms. Yet, the same processes led to increasing patrimonial arrangements. Thus, bureaucratic standards to some extent emerged in the growing seventeenth-century administrations of Holland towns, but oligarchic rule there also entailed enforcement of patrimonial characteristics such as nepotism and – private – venality. Capability was of less importance due to these patrimonial practices, yet the poor performance of officials and of administrations was not the reason for contemporaries – not even the ones outside small oligarchies – to contest patrimonialism.

Conclusion The central question of this article is whether the weight of capability changed in urban administrations between 1300 and 1780, concomitant with the growth of cities, the expanding responsibilities of urban governments and administrations, and the increasingly oligarchic character of urban politics. I have assessed the weight of capability by examining features of patrimonialism and bureaucracy, respectively, in those administrations. Bureaucratic features and hence ‘modern’ notions of capability were already in place by the late Middle Ages. For instance, the Grand Privilege (1477) comprised many stipulations critical of patrimonial practices. Moreover, certain offices at the upper-end of urban administrations bore clear bureaucratic characteristics. However, there were patrimonial elements in medieval urban administrations, too. Offices were bestowed on members of the elite who subsequently appointed a substitute. The number of academics in the ranks of administrators did not augment, as the general increase of academics in society would suggest.

 73

Lenders, “De ambtenaar”, 88-89.

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After 1600, the patrimonial practices in urban administrations grew even more. In Holland, processes of oligarchisation furthered private venality. Capability became less essential in appointments, as offices were even bestowed on little children. In Brabant and Flanders, the eighteenth century saw the formal institution of the sale of mid-range and lower administrative positions. Familial networks primarily informed political functions and appointments at the top of administrations. In the three regions, there was widespread use of substitutes, officials were paid with emoluments to a large extent and office-holders were generally hard to dismiss when they failed to perform. In short, capability was of limited significance in hiring officials, the performance of officials could scarcely be verified, and officials who failed to perform could not be dismissed. However, there were also trends of bureaucratisation after 1600. In Holland, instructions stipulating the duties of administrators were introduced, increasing monitoring capacity. These stipulations included, for instance, the hours officials had to be present at the escritoire. The city governments consequently provided offices and office equipment. Administrators were not allowed to take home important documents, strengthening the distinction between the private and public lives of officials. The same goes for financial officials in Rotterdam who were not to mingle their personal assets with ‘public’ money. The local government of The Hague put financial officials through checks on their financial administration. We see fewer bureaucratic features in Flanders and Brabant. Nevertheless, a certain hierarchy in the escritoire could be discerned for the administration of Antwerp. It is striking that the Antwerp administration bore more bureaucratic features in the sixteenth century than in the seventeenth century. Moreover, patrimonial arrangements contained a few safeguards against malfunctioning administrators. In seventeenth- and eighteenthcentury Antwerp – and probably elsewhere as well – the capability of officials was indeed scarcely tested on appointment. However, the escritoire resembled guild organisations, where new members of staff received proper training. In the case of financial officers, city governments protected themselves against mismanagement by demanding surety. While payment of surety blurred the distinction between private and public assets of officials, it protected city governments against mismanagement of its funds. Finally, despite the patrimonial nature of early modern administrations, monitoring capacity was probably sufficient considering the small-scale setting of the early modern urban administrations of the Low Countries.



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Only one of the three regions, Flanders, embarked on drastic bureaucratic reforms, and then only in the second half of the eighteenth century, owing to the efforts of the central government and a local Enlightened elite. The importance of the bond between local and central elites for the success of these reforms is suggested by the fact that an Enlightened official such as Van Slingelandt in Holland only met deaf ears when proposing bureaucratic reforms in Holland towns. The central government did not accomplish much in Brabantine towns either. An additional explanation for dynamism in Flanders and inertia in Brabant and Holland is that patrimonial administration in the former had more flaws than in the latter two. The conspicuous differences between the processes of patrimonialisation and bureaucratisation in the three regions reviewed help to elucidate the effect of growing tasks and responsibilities of urban governments and administrations and of increasing oligarchisation. The administration of sixteenth-century Antwerp and the administrations of seventeenth-century Holland indicate that urban growth did indeed lead to bureaucratisation. The administrations of Ghent and Holland point towards the patrimonialising effects of oligarchisation and lack of bottom-up input in decision making. Moreover, the administration of seventeenth-century Antwerp shows how urban decline furthered patrimonial arrangements as well. To sum up, urban growth brought capability in hiring procedures and in performance at the fore only to a certain extent. Due to subsequent urban decline and oligarchisation, the weight of capability decreased throughout the early modern period.

SCIENCE AND OFFICE

FIT TO MEASURE: ‘BEQUAMHEIT’ IN MATHEMATICS IN THE DUTCH REPUBLIC1 FOKKO JAN DIJKSTERHUIS

Surveying shows how far one’s own property, in building or in suit, after the worldly acquisition, in having and holding, extends; Thus goes the guideline of God’s laws to stake out to the coveting heart. And shows how far its own extends.2

In this pious doggerel Hendrik Graauwhart (1661-1732) aptly characterises the practice of surveying in both its professional and moral sense. A surveyor was a mathematician appointed by a local government to measure and demarcate land for legal purposes. He was generally supposed to be an impartial measurer. He should combine skill, honesty and objectivity; he should know how to measure and calculate, be accurate and not act out of self-interest. However, competence did not suffice; the surveyor should also be of blameless conduct and devoutly observe the bounds staked out by the divine surveyor. How did administrators assess the capability of a surveyor they intended to hire? Skills in measuring and calculating seem straightforward to judge: a standard training and an examination will prove if one is fit to measure. Yet, who could judge mathematical expertise in a largely innumerate society? How should a practical skill be trained and examined? In the seventeenth century no formal training for surveying existed. Neither did institutional structures like guilds exist where mathematical capability was established. To acquire the official status of surveyor one had to be admitted by an administration at some level. Anybody could

 1

I would like to thank the participants of the conference ‘Public Offices, Personal Demands’ for their stimulating questions and remarks. I would also like to thank my colleagues at the University of Twente for their comments, in particular Arjen Dijkstra for his ideas about the cultural and political meaning of mathematics and Tim Nicolaije for his knowledge on disputes and surveyors. The research for this article is part of the NWO-funded research project ‘The Uses of Mathematics in the Dutch Republic’ (016.074.330). 2 Hendrik Graauwhart, Voorbeeldelyke Zedelessen (Amsterdam, 1709).

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apply for admission, irrespective of one’s preliminary training. The proper authorities had themselves advised in some way or another over the applicant’s capability. To this end examiners were appointed, but this only shifted the problem: who was capable of assessing the capability of an aspirant surveyor? One of the leading questions in this volume is whether the lack of a leading nobility in the Dutch Republic made any difference with respect to the assessment of the ‘bequamheit’ or capability of civil servants. In the case of surveyors, capability was derivative through their admission to the office. However, administration in the Dutch Republic was fragmented. No single governing body supervised the infrastructural and legislative structures in which mathematicians worked. Besides the relative autonomy of the provinces, various administration levels existed – provinces, towns, polder boards – and all of these offered entrances for mathematicians to establish positions. In addition, two stadholderly courts oversaw their own, primarily military, echelon in which mathematicians could establish themselves. The office of surveyor was one of the positions a mathematician could obtain in the Dutch Republic. It was a special one, because it was an official position. Still, capability for the office of surveyor was closely connected to mathematical capability in general. The surveyor was part of a larger field of mathematicians and within this context issues of capability were discussed. The question who was to be counted a competent mathematician was subject to public, sometimes heated, debates in the Dutch Republic in the seventeenth century. In such debates criteria of mathematical competence were made explicit and they thus shed light on the way capability was judged. Processes like these allowed mathematicians to arrange their field amongst themselves and serve the authorities in identifying competent mathematicians. This chapter sketches the work, the regulations, the training, examination and admission of surveyors in the Dutch Republic. It discusses in particular current ideas about the value of mathematics instruction in the training of practitioners and the relationship between professional competence and citizenship. I will argue that because of the lack of institutional structures to establish mathematical capability, mathematicians had to sort that out amongst themselves. To see how they did, I discuss the dispute between the Utrecht surveyor Jacob van Wassenaer and Jan Jansz. Stampioen (1610-after 1689), a teacher from The Hague. The dispute shows how mathematical ‘bequamheit’ was measured in terms of expertise as well as civility. To be capable as a surveyor one had to be a competent mathematician, a respectable citizen



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and an honourable man. The relationship between expertise and citizenship was, however, reciprocal; the surveyor’s trade shaped his civility and citizenship. In other words, Graauwhart’s doggerel painted a true picture by linking professional and moral qualifications.

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Profession and admission The oath a surveyor had to swear on admission stipulated his duties and rights. A representative example is the sixteenth-century oath of the Schieland polder board: I swear to be surveyor of Schieland and give everyone what is his to the best of my ability, measure in Schieland with no other measure than the Schieland rod twelve feet long, furnish nobody, but to be satisfied only with my allocated pay, and thus be as willing to go measure one acre as forty acres, and further to do everything a good faithful surveyor owes and needs to do. So must help me God and his Holy Scripture.3

Besides pointing out the specific measure to be used – necessary in a time when measures were still local and specific to the object measured – the oath mainly emphasises the fairness and unselfishness required of a surveyor. Notice that the oath does not explain a method of measurement. Admitted surveyors were a specific group of mathematical practitioners. They were in service of provinces, cities, and – in particular in Holland – ‘heemraadschappen’ (polder boards). To that end they were admitted on the basis of an official document stipulating their rights and duties and they swore an oath. In return for their dutiful work they obtained a monopoly on surveying in the jurisdiction. Specific ordinances regulated particular tasks and pays. An admitted surveyor was important in the determination and registration of (land)property. Compared to other European states, civil and land registry was highly organised in the Dutch Republic. Surveyors contributed by staking out lands, measuring, dividing and allotting property, registering owners and tenants, all for the benefit of acquisition, sale, lease, taxation, and duties regarding dike management. An admitted surveyor thus played an important role in the legal affairs surrounding landownership. The position of the surveyor in the Dutch Republic is comparable to that of the notary. Such parallels were sometimes explicitly made. In a 1588 Groningen examination paper, Cornelis Adgiers (c.1520-c.1595) said

 3

Johannes Keuning, “Meting en kartering van Schieland”, in Zuid-Hollandsche studiën, Vol. 2 (1952), 128. ‘Ick zweer Landmeter van Schielandt te wesen ende een yegelicken nae myn uuyterste vermoeghen tzyne te geven, mit anders gheen mate in Schielandt te meten dan met een Schielantsche Roede twaelff voeten lanck, nyemandt te beschaffen, maer alleen met myn ordinaris loon te vreden te wesen, alsoo willich te gaen meten eene mergen als veertich mergens, ende voert al te doene dat een goet getrouwe lantmeter schuldig is ende behoert te doen. Soo waerlick moet my God helpen en zyn heilige woordt.’



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that the surveyor should master geometry like a notary the cutting of the quill. 4 The notary was a public office, for which candidates were recommended, examined and admitted, and required to swear an oath.5 After the Revolt, the creation of offices in the Dutch Republic had shifted from the monarch to the provincial states and this is reflected by the oaths sworn.6 By the late sixteenth century, notaries and surveyors were created by local authorities like the towns and provinces. In the case of surveyors the polder boards were an additional administrative level that established positions. The admission of notaries and surveyors was regulated in the 1590s.7 In both cases the office-holder served the public interest but was also a businessman, being dependent on obtaining requests for drawing deeds or measuring lands.8 That explains the stipulations in the Schieland oath to unselfishly measure small and large lands alike. The Schieland oath says that the surveyor ought to be satisfied with the formal pay, but this only applied to the measurements under the authority of the board. With the exception of ‘landschapsmeters’ (provincial surveyors), a surveyor was not employed by the board and the office did not suffice to make a living. 9 The surveyor ordinarily had his office alongside other work. We hear of surveyors who were schoolmasters, engineers, architects, brewers, clerks, gaugers, and also notaries. Mathematicians could pursue all kinds of activities, ranging from surveying, layout of construction projects to education and advice. Architecture, fortification, gauging, geography were all activities that included surveying. Legal surveying was just one kind of land measurement and surveying assignments could be carried out by anyone. To be admitted as a surveyor the candidate had to submit a request with a regional board to be either examined or directly admitted (on the basis of enclosed evidence). He often had to bring a workbook to show his skills. The candidate was examined by distinguished mathematicians, like professors and established surveyors. Having passed the exam the candidate was admitted by judicature, in the case of the provinces the

 4

E. Muller and C.J. Zandvliet, Admissies als landmeter in Nederland voor 1811 (Alphen aan den Rijn, 1987), 74. 5 Adriaan Pitlo, De zeventiende en achttiende eeuwse notarisboeken (Deventer, 1st ed. 1948, 2004), 118-20. 6 Pitlo, Notarisboeken, 132-33. 7 Muller and Zandvliet, Admissies, 11-13. 8 Pitlo, Notarisboeken, 112-14. 9 Muller and Zandvliet, Admissies, 61, 235.

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respective provincial Courts.10 Finally the oath had to be sworn – and the clerk paid. The thus admitted and sworn surveyor was then authorised to do surveying work in the territory. 11 The procedure for admittance was initiated at one’s own initiative and the examination was in principle open for everybody, and no requirements regarding training, apprenticeship or experience existed.

Education and examination On the face of it, the competence required of a surveyor was straightforward. He had to be able to calculate the area of a property. He ought to know arithmetic and geometry and how to use accurate instruments. When the said Adgiers criticized a colleague in 1588, he said that a surveyor ought to be expected to know at least Euclid and how to repair his own instruments.12 As most parcels did not have a neat rectangular shape, this called for sophisticated methods of measurement. In the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries an interesting development took place. Originally, calculating an area literally meant: calculating. 13 Sketches accompanying measurements only indicated the method of measurement, not the exact shapes of the parcels. A hundred years later it had become customary for a surveyor to provide some kind of map of the measured lands. The first time – documented at least – a map was demanded in a surveying commission was in 1600. 14 The increasing demand for maps was the result of changing activities of surveyors. In addition to determining properties of individuals, surveyors were increasingly engaged in issues involving larger areas: demarcating regional territories, diking and infrastructural projects. 15 The increasing demand for geographic skills is evident in ordinances and examination papers. 16 Surveying practices were becoming more sophisticated because their object was becoming more complex. A change in mathematics was taking place too, involving the change of the concept of ‘area’ from a numeric value to a geometric representation of the measured object. This change

 10

In Utrecht, however, the States commissioned themselves. H.C. Pouls, De Landmeter: inleiding in de geschiedenis van de Nederlandse Landmeetkunde (Alphen aan den Rijn, 1997), 146. 11 Muller and Zandvliet, Admissies, 15-16. 12 Ibidem, 76. 13 Pouls, Landmeter, 81-97. 14 Ibidem, 75-76. 15 Ibidem, 96, 102. 16 Muller and Zandvliet, Admissies, 63.



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called upon different mathematical skills of the surveyor. The question what kind of mathematics a practitioner had to know was subject to debates about training and education throughout the seventeenth century. Formal education did exist. Besides courses offered by individual mathematicians, several illustrious schools and universities offered training for surveyors. At Franeker University Adriaan Metius (15711635) taught and published on practical mathematics in Latin as well as Dutch. His courses paved the way for a formal surveyors course in 1641. In Leiden a formal training had been established in 1600 with the establishment by stadholder Maurits (1567-1625) of an engineering school at the town’s University. A mathematics course was taught in Dutch for practitioners, called the ‘Duytsche Mathematique’ (Dutch Mathematics). The engineering school was meant to train fortificationers for the benefit of the army. Surveying skills were requisite, but not the final goal. In both cases the stadholders had been instrumental in preparing such education and in both cases it is clear that they considered mathematical training as a means to fortify the new Republic in both material and intellectual sense. Willem Lodewijk (1560-1620), stadholder of Friesland, saw (Calvinist) theology and (practical) mathematics as the pillars of a strong Frisian state and accordingly founded Franeker University on them. 17 He recruited Metius explicitly for the task of elaborating his vision in mathematics. Maurits too saw mathematics as a means to reinforce the new state. He had Simon Stevin (1548-1620) draw up the curriculum of the ‘Duytsche Mathematique’ in which a specific dose of mathematics theory was combined with field practice.18 With these forms of formal education in practical mathematics, the Dutch Republic was a pioneer compared to other European countries. Still, such formal courses did not suffice to be admitted as a surveyor and did not even suffice as a proof of mathematical competence. Graduates still had to be examined independently. In 1645 the fact that graduates from the engineering school were examined additionally when applying for admission as a surveyor at the Court of Holland caused some

 17

Fokko Jan Dijksterhuis, “Duytsche Mathematique and the Building of a New Society: Pursuits of Mathematics in the Seventeenth-Century Dutch Republic”, in Lesley Cormack (ed.), Mathematical Practitioners and the Transformation of Natural Knowledge in Early Modern Europe (Chicago, forthcoming). 18 Ed Taverne, In ’t land van belofte: in die nieue stadt: ideaal en werkelijkheid van de stadsuitleg in de Republiek, 1580-1680 (Maarssen, 1978), 61-69; Pieter J. van Winter, Hoger beroepsonderwijs avant-la-lettre: bemoeiingen met de vorming van landmeters en ingenieurs bij de Nederlandse universiteiten van de 17de en 18de eeuw (Amsterdam, 1988), 14-17.

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irritation with the new professor of ‘Duytsche Mathematique’ Frans van Schooten the younger (1615-1660). 19 Soon after Van Schooten had obtained his father’s chair – who he had already been replacing from time to time – he found out that the States had decided that all surveyor candidates had to pass an examination with Jan Jansz. Stampioen. He did not only consider this superfluous, but also suspected that Stampioen tried to ridicule his lessons and brought him in disrepute. Complaining to the university curators, Van Schooten said: ‘[Stampioen] presents [the candidates] some hard things in mathematics, which they do not need to know, and nonetheless he sends them back as incapable, to the effect of bringing into disrepute said professor Schooten, as if he did not exercise his auditors enough.’ 20 The curators appealed with the States that graduates of the engineering school should not have to pass an additional exam, but to no effect. The complaints of Van Schooten went beyond personal envy. They point to debate that had not been settled over the question what and how much mathematical theory a practitioner should master. Van Schooten may have complained that Stampioen demanded knowledge far too theoretical from his candidates, his own teaching at the engineering school also included mathematics theory and this was neither undisputed. Teaching practical mathematics like surveying and construction from books was not generally regarded useful. Van Schooten himself was criticised for teaching a theory of fortification that had already been outdated for some time: the Old Dutch Fortification System codified by Simon Stevin. In 1654 Hendrik Ruse (1624-1679), an army officer, voiced such sentiments in a book on fortification. He turned in particular against ‘… servants of Mathematics, who believe that War and all matters in the world should invariably follow after her rules’.21 The debate about the relevance of theoretical knowledge went back to the establishment of the engineering school in 1600. Maurits, noted for his innovative warfare reformation, had an outspoken predilection for

 19

Winter, Hoger beroepsonderwijs, 23-25. P.C. Molhuysen, Bronnen tot de geschiedenis der Leidsche Universiteit, Vol. 2 (The Hague, 1916), 307. ‘… de welcke den voorn. personen voorhout eenige sware poincten in de mathese, die syl. niet en behouven te weten, en nochtans hen daerover als onbequame wederom sendt, streckende tot disreputatie van hem, Professor Schoten voorn., als of hy sijne toehoorders niet genouch en ouffende: …’ 21 Hendrick Ruse, Versterckte vesting (Amsterdam, 1654), 29. ‘… onderdanen van Mathesis, welcke meynen dat den Oorlogh en alle saken ter weereld sich na hare regels onveranderlijck moeten voegen.’ 20



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mathematics. 22 He was the principal patron of virtuoso Simon Stevin, whom he acquainted during his student years. The two of them discussed and developed matters mathematical throughout their careers, resulting in Stevin’s Wiskonstighe Ghedachtenissen (Mathematical Thoughts, 16051608). Stevin in his turn had an outspoken predilection for theorising upon his practical mathematics, resulting in numerous publications on topics as diverse as mill-construction, interest, balances, navigation and fortification. The outcome of their collaboration was the ‘Duytsche Mathematique’, taught in the vernacular but including a well-defined dose of mathematics theory. To this end one will teach arithmetic or counting and surveying but only so much of each as is required for practical, common engineering.23

Regarding the determination of areas, for example, Stevin stipulated: The measuring of circles with segments of that sort, further the area of spheres. The shapes named ellipsis, parabola, hyperbola and the like, that is not necessary here, because engineers are very seldom made to perform such measurements; but only they shall learn with straight planes, after that curvilinear in surveyor’s manner, measuring thus a plane by various division, like in triangles or other planes to see how this matches with that.24

Maurits succeeded in pressing the university curators to accept the teaching of ‘Duytsche Mathematique’ within their walls. The ‘Duytsche Mathematique’ can be seen as victory of theorists, represented first of all



22 Charles van den Heuvel, “Wisconstighe Ghedachtenissen: Maurits over de kunsten en wetenschappen in het werk van Stevin”, in Kees Zandvliet (ed.), Maurits, Prins van Oranje (Zwolle, 2000), 106-21. 23 P.C. Molhuysen, Bronnen tot de geschiedenis der Leidsche Universiteit, Vol. 1 (The Hague, 1913), 389*. ‘Hyer toe sal men leeren die arithmeticque oft het tellen ende het landtmeten maer alleenlyck van elck soe veel, als tottet dadelyck gemeene ingenieurscap nodich is.’ 24 Ibidem, 390*. ‘Het meten des rondts mette gedeelten van dien aengaende, voerts het vlack des cloots, de formen genaemt ellipsis, parabola, hyperbole ende diergelijcke, dat en is hyer nyet nodich, wantet den ingenieurs seer selden te voeren compt, sulcke metinge te moeten doen; maer alleenlyck sullense leeren met rechtlinige platten, daer na cromlinige landtmetersche wijse, metende alsoe een plat deur versceyde verdeelinge, als in dryehoucken of ander platten om te syen hoe t'een besluyt met het ander overcompt.’

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by Stevin, in the debate over training of mathematical practitioners. 25 Practically inclined engineers like the master-fortificationist of the Revolt, Adriaan Anthoniszoon (c.1543-1620), set far less store by bookish knowledge. A capable engineer should know how to lay out a stronghold in the first place. To know why did not essentially improved his ‘bequamheit’. The ‘Duytsche Mathematique’ was in the first place the avenue for fortificationers of Maurits’ army, but not an exclusive one.26 For aspirant surveyors, the school provided a valuable training. Between 1600 and 1640, one third of the admitted surveyors in Holland had been in the engineering school.27 Still, graduation was not a ticket to admission to the office of surveyor. Other routes, via private schooling, apprenticeship, practical experience could offer entrance to the profession just as well. Ultimately the assessment of the capability of candidate surveyors rested with the examiners appointed by government boards.

Expertise and citizenship Admission did not only depend on mathematical competence. Besides being qualified as a mathematician and capable for office, a surveyor should be capable in office. Surveyor’s oaths and notary’s oaths alike combined formulas regarding professional behaviour and civil conduct.28 As the Schieland oath shows, the surveyor should be trustworthy and independent. He should be honest – favour no-one and refuse slush money – and avoid self-interest. He should execute small assignments just as willingly as big ones. In this regard, the capability of a surveyor rested upon general requirements of civil conduct. 29 ‘Bequamheit’ first of all meant to be a respectable citizen.

 25

Compare with Jim Bennet, “The Challenge of Practical Mathematics”, in Stephen Pumfrey (ed.), Science, Culture and Popular Belief in Renaissance Europe (Manchester, 1991), 180-82. 26 Taverne, Land van belofte, 75-81. 27 Muller and Zandvliet, Admissies, 150. 28 Pitlo, Notarisboeken, 131. 29 Paul Knevel, Het Haags bureau: zeventiende-eeuwse ambtenaren tussen staatsbelang en eigenbelang (Amsterdam, 2001), 151, 162; Hans Blom, “Burger en belang: Pieter de la Court over de politieke betekenis van burgers”, in Joost J. Kloek and Karin Tilmans (eds.), Burger: een geschiedenis van het begrip ‘burger’ in de Nederlanden van de Middeleeuwen tot de 21ste eeuw (Amsterdam, 2002), 105-7.



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Besides obvious conditions like being of age and having a clean record, religious and political loyalty were required. The sixteenth-century shift of the creation of offices towards local government implied that office-holders were in service of the state rather than that they were subservient to a ruler. 30 Sometimes the candidate was required to be reformed and sometimes a second oath was taken for allegiance to the state.31 The oath that was used in Drenthe from 1634 to the end of the eighteenth century went farthest in terms of patriotism: I undersigned as admitted surveyor of the region Drenthe, acknowledge and declare with this, that the cause of this present war taken against the King of Spain and his allies to be truly Christian and Holy and I swear therefore without questioning to oppose and resist with all my powers this same King and all his following in full fervour and diligence to the protection of the true Christian reformed religion and the privileges free and the justice of the Unified Provinces in general and the region Drenthe in particular.32

Such forceful language was not customary in surveyors’ oaths, but political and religious loyalty were generally required. The Drenthe oath raises interesting questions regarding a geographical and political element in one’s citizenship. I will not go into any details regarding this point but patriotism did play a role in discussions about capability as we will see in the next section. The issue reveals a fascinating reciprocity in geography. The oath required surveyors to be part of their land while at the same time they played an important role in establishing what this land was. They determined property and borders and the features of the land. And, typically for the Dutch Republic, they played a crucial role in the non-bloody war that was fought simultaneously with the war against the Spanish: the conquest of land over water. On the more mundane level of citizenship too, the relationship with professionalism was reciprocal. To be capable as a surveyor required

 30

Pitlo, Notarisboeken, 133-34. Muller and Zandvliet, Admissies, 16, 154. 32 Ibidem, 83-84. ‘Ick ondergeschrevene als geadmitteerde lantmeter der Lantschap Drenthe, bekenne ende verclaere mits desen, dat d’oirsaecke van dit tegenwoordige oirloch tegens den Coninck van Hispagnien ende sijne adhaerenten, aengenoemen voor oprecht christelijck ende Godtlick houde ende sweer daeromme sonder achterdencken denselven Coninck met allen sijnen anhangh in allen ijver ende neerstichheijt tot bescherminge der waerer Christelijcken gereformeerde religie ende privilegien vrij ende gerechticheijden vande genunieerde provincien int generael ende der lantschap Drenthe int particulier, nae mijn uitersten vermogen te sullen resisteren ende wederstaen.’ 31

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citizenship and at the same time one’s trade was part of one’s call to be a respectable citizen. In Holland in particular, one’s trade was central to one’s honour. This involved to hold one’s own ground, to uphold one’s reputation, to show control, to support oneself. 33 The relationship was subtle though, for only with increasing professionalisation and specialisation in the seventeenth century, one’s profession became a means of personal identification.34 The fact that office-holders had to swear an oath is interesting because it gave a moral sense to the work done. A bad measurement meant breaking the oath, i.e. to dishonour oneself rather than just turn out bad work. The authorities were able to determine whether a candidate was a respectable citizen. The assessment of the mathematical competence of a candidate was a different matter. Mathematics was no part of the general education beyond the mere elements of geometry and arithmetic. Apart from some patricians with a predilection for mathematics, like Johan de Witt (1625-1672) and Johannes Hudde (1628-1704), most administrators lacked the expertise to make out who was fit to become a surveyor – or an examiner. This problem was further complicated by the fact that no formal structure of education, jobs, publishing existed to identify experts. Formal education in mathematics, insofar it existed, played only a limited role in acquiring positions. Even at the university, mathematical training was not decisive for appointments to mathematics chairs; academic skills in Latin were more important. With regard to the expert nature of their trade, mathematicians seem comparable to doctors. However, in the cases of both surgeons and doctores medicinae (medical doctores with an university degree) selection was institutionally organised. Surgeons had to be member of the guild – and be a citizen – and were examined by a board in which the guild was represented alongside the town. Doctores medicinae had freedom of establishment, but they had to submit their university degree.35 In the case of mathematics, administrators could not revert to such institutional structures to determine who was competent. I would argue that in practice mathematicians decided amongst themselves who was capable and who was not, and made this known to the

 33

Herman Roodenburg, “Eer en oneer ten tijde van de Republiek: een tussenbalans”, in Volkskundig Bulletin, No. 22 (1996), 129-48; Willem Frijhoff and Marijke Spies, Dutch Culture in a European Perspective, Vol. 1. 1650: HardWon Unity (Assen, 2004), 184-90. 34 Annette de Vries, Ingelijst Werk: de verbeelding van arbeid en beroep in de vroegmoderne Nederlanden (Zwolle, 2004), 53-55. 35 Frank Huisman, Stadsbelang en standsbesef: gezondheidszorg en medisch beroep in Groningen, 1500-1730 (Amsterdam, 1992), 137-77.



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world. Mathematicians in the Dutch Republic had all kinds of ways of organising their trade. Although still little is known about the early modern social and cultural meaning of mathematical books, it is evident that they were an important instrument of structuring the field of mathematics. Mathematics had a longer history of publishing than notaries. In the seventeenth century the latter gradually began publishing books as part of the specialisation of their trade, whereas mathematics had always been connected to literary traditions that also found expression in the trades.36 In 1600 the Frisian surveyor Johan Sems (1572-1635) and his Holland colleague Jan Pieterz. Dou (1573-1635) published the authoritative textbook on surveying, the Practijck des lantmetens (Practice of Surveying). Mathematics books served purposes of codifying the pursuit of mathematics, but this was closely linked to the self-fashioning of its practitioners. In this respect the Dutch Republic differed from other European countries. The social and political structure of the Republic was relatively flat and this affected the style and content of mathematical practice. It lacked the lustrous and wealthy courts of Italy and France where mathematicians could fashion themselves by glorifying products like instruments and books. One does not easily find a Dutch ‘Dialogo sopra i due massimi sistemi del mondo’. And a ‘Measure de la Terre’ in which surveying is transformed into an astronomical and imperial science could only be produced at an ‘observatoire royal’. Leaving aside their patronage functions, books were often used to advertise the trade of a mathematician. Be it trigonomical or logarithmic tables, manuals of elementary arithmetic, textbooks of surveying or fortification, or voluminous compendia, they told the reader where to go for mathematical advise, teaching and expertise. A means by which mathematicians sorted out their relative merits was by publicly challenging each other with mathematical problems. By showing their mastery of mathematics in solving problems creatively and elegantly, they showed who was a competent mathematician – and who not. Claims of mathematicians did not go undisputed of course, and challenges could turn into nasty disputes. Mathematics was a competitive market and in particular in times of scarcity feelings could run high. In the 1660s for example, a fierce dispute arose among the various keepers of mathematics schools in Amsterdam, challenging each other’s mathematical competence.37 In such disputes criteria for mathematicalness

 36

Vries, Ingelijst Werk, 58-59. Fred van der Blij, “Een School-Boeck der Wijnroeyeryen met aenhangh genaemt den bril, voor de Amsterdamse belachelijke geometristen”, in Euclides, Vol. 24 (1948), 65-78. 37

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became explicit and they thus give insight in the way capability of mathematicians was assessed. The reputation of a mathematician was at stake and as it turns out this was by no means determined by expertise alone.

Civility and honour I will now discuss in some detail the dispute between Jacob van Wassenaer and Jan Jansz. Stampioen to see how a mathematician’s measure was taken. The dispute was over Stampioen’s Algebra ofte nieuwe stel-regel (Algebra or a New Principle, 1639) but went back to public challenges Stampioen had issued earlier. Stampioen was a mathematician who ran a school for navigators in Rotterdam. Somewhere in the mid-1630s he transferred to The Hague, where he opened a press and became a prominent teacher. He taught mathematics to the sons of Constantijn Huygens (1596-1687), the daughters of Elizabeth of Bohemia (1596-1662), and the young Willem II (1626-1650). 38 Around 1645 he became the examiner of surveyors for the Holland Court, as we saw much to the chagrin of Frans van Schooten. Stampioen had already made his name a bit by advising over a navigation method proposed by Jarichs van der Ley (1565-1639) and in 1634 spoke out publicly by publishing the Solution to All Questions Publicly Posted by Ezechiel De Decker. In this booklet he not only solved the questions De Decker had challenged his mathematical peers with, but also two questions he had posted himself in 1632. Publishing the solution to questions posted by oneself was not exceptional. One can consider it an ultimate proof of one’s expertise, posing and solving questions that no-one else can solve. Stampioen, however, carried this figure still further a couple of years later when he posted a challenge under the inventive pen name of Johan Baptista Antverpiensis. The problem involved the attack of a hornwork whereby the besieger had to position a battery in such way that the fire power on the flank and the face would be equal. Of interest here is the way Stampioen presented his challenge:



38 Karel Davids, Zeewezen en Wetenschap: de wetenschap en de ontwikkeling van de navigatietechniek in Nederland tussen 1585 en 1815 (Amsterdam, 1986), 31516; Muller and Zandvliet, Admissies, 20-21; Marika Keblusek, Boeken in de hofstad: Haagse boekcultuur in de Gouden Eeuw (Hilversum, 1997), 89-93; Fokko Jan Dijksterhuis, “Jan Janszoon Stampioen Jr. (1610-after 1689)”, in Wiep van Bunge et al. (eds.), The Dictionary of Seventeenth and Eighteenth-Century Dutch Philosophers (Bristol, 2003), 938-40.



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‘Bequamheit’ in Mathematics in the Dutch Republic The rumor, Ingenious Batavians, of some of your wisdom has spread, I do not know to which parts; … Thus we have thought it good to state this question by me as a proof of your ingenuity.39

Stampioen presented his problem not just as a challenge to fellow mathematicians, but as a challenge to Dutch mathematicians and to Dutch ingenuity posed by the enemy in the person of a mathematician from the Spanish Netherlands. A sense of patriotism existed and Stampioen mobilised it in the interactions over mathematical competence. In his solution he posed himself as the master of mathematics who swiftly parried the challenge to Dutch ingenuity.40 Once again Stampioen gave the solution to a question he had posed himself, but this time he was challenged by Jacob Wassenaer. In a Solution to the Question to the Batavian Engineers, Wassenaer proposed a solution that he regarded better than Stampioen’s and he added a method to determine other lengths in the diagram. 41 Stampioen had used a ‘stelregel’, an algebraic principle, to solve the equations of the problem and this was now challenged by Wassenaer. Stampioen immediately responded by ‘revealing the false practices’ of Wassenaer. According to Stampioen, Wassenaer had failed to offer a true mathematical solution because he had secretly utilised the answer to the problem to construct a solution.42 He then challenged Wassenaer to come with a truly general rule before the end of the year, laying a wager of 100 ‘rijksdaalders’. The principle Stampioen had used in his solution concerned a method of finding cube



39 Jan Jansz. Stampioen, Quaestie Aen de Batavische Ingenieurs (The Hague, 1638?), A2v. ‘Het gherucht, Ingenieuse Bataviers, van eenige uwer betwetentheydt heeft sich verspreydt, ick en weet niet aen wat Contreyen; doch niet bysonders daer van noch ten thoone comende, ’t zy door des selfders impressie, ofte elders gheraepte suberbie. Soo hebben wy goet ghevonden dese Questie, door my, als een toetse uwer Ingenieusheydt voor te draghen: Ende de selfde naer de ware toetse ontbindende, ongetwijfelt de alderproffijtelijcxste Scientien Mathesi sullen by die te vinden zijn.’ The pamphlet and the solutions are found in Jan Jansz. Stampioen, Openbaeringe der valscher pracktycken ghepleeght door Jacobus A. Wassenaer (The Hague, 1638). 40 Stampioen, Openbaeringhe, A3r. 41 Solutie Op de Quaestie Aen de Batavische Ingenieurs. Voor-ghestelt Door Johan Baptista Antverpiensis ... ghesolveert door Jacobus A. Waessenaer geadmitteert Landt-meter ’s Hooffs Provinciael van Utrecht. Three unnumbered pages in Stampioen, Openbaeringhe. 42 Stampioen, Openbaeringhe, n.p. ‘Alhier soo wordt nu claerlyck bethoont, dat Waessenaer al soeckende voort gaet met het gheleende bekende, tot een schijn van ontbindinge; soo en can dan dese voor gheen solutie gherekent worden, want de Mathesis en draeght gheen Mom-aensicht.’

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roots of expression of the form a + ¥b and he had already announced a book in which he elaborated it. A little later he published the Algebra ofte Nieuwe Stel-Regel ‘by which everything is found in mathematics that can be found. Never before known’.43 Wassenaer replied with a Remarks upon the new principle in which he exposed the shortcomings of Stampioen’s principle, as well as exposed him to be Johan Baptista Antverpiensis. An exchange of nasty pamphlets ensued, in which Stampioen summoned Wassenaer to deliver the method he had pretended, raising the stakes to 600 guilders. Eventually a panel of wise men was consulted, consisting of both Leiden professors of mathematics Frans van Schooten sr. (1581/21646) and Jacob Golius (1596-1667). They decided against Stampioen, but he did not give in. He gave a new proof of his principle and published a statement on the verdict of the panel. In 1640 Wassenaer tried to put an end to the matter by a book in which he went through the whole state of affairs and once again explained the shortcomings of Stampioen’s principle: Den on-wissen Wis-konstenaer I.I. Stampioenius ontdeckt Door sijne ongegronde Weddinge ende mis-lucte Solutien van sijne eygene Questien. The title beautifully alliterates with the Dutch word for mathematics, ‘wiskunde’, that literally means ‘art of wit’. ‘The un-witted mathematician J.J. Stampioen unveiled by his groundless wager and un-successful solutions to his own questions’. Den on-wissen Wis-konstenaer offers valuable insight regarding the question how mathematicians mutually judged their mathematical capability. What made Stampioen unwitted according to Wassenaer? In the first place he had delivered unsound mathematics. Wassenaer only had to recapitulate the judgment of the professors. Stampioen’s ‘stelregel’ actually was no principle at all, they had said, for it did not meet the standards of a mathematical principle of ‘guiding reason infallibly to get to the desired result’.44 Stampioen’s defence of the rule had made clear that his principle had not spoken for itself – otherwise it would not have needed further explanation. If the reader does not comprehend a text, they admonished Stampioen, the author is responsible. 45 Moreover, in the course of the dispute, Stampioen had reinterpreted his claims and in fact reformulated them. In other words: Stampioen had not only offered



43 Jan Jansz. Stampioen, Algebra Ofte Nieuwe Stel-Regel, Waer door alles ghevonden wordt inde Wis-Konst, wat vindtbaer is. Noyt voor desen bekendt (The Hague, 1639). 44 Jacobus à Waessenaer, Den On-wissen Wis-konstenaer I.I. Stampioenius ontdeckt (Leiden, 1640), 84. 45 Ibidem, 83. ‘… die het ghemeen bekent ghebruyck der woorden, ende maniere ende ordre van schrijven in dese Consten ghebruyckelijck sijnde ghevolcht heeft.’



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unsound mathematics and failed to fulfil his promises, he had also misbehaved as a mathematician, with his faulty reasoning and use of words. Wassenaer reinforced these allegations of improper conduct as a mathematician by pointing out that Stampioen had been condescending towards fellow mathematicians and had pretended to know more than he could live up to.46 His books consisted of ‘… pieces he had taken from various authors without comprehending them and assembled with so little judgement …’. 47 Plagiarism was no direct offence in those days, but cutting and pasting without understanding the content was. Halfway through the thirty page recapitulation of the confrontation, the text changes in style. When Wassenaer relates how Stampioen turned down an offer to compromise before the panel passed its judgment and persisted in defending his claims after the verdict, the impartial tone turns towards a merciless condemnation of Stampioen’s conduct. Wassenaer not only reveals Stampioen’s failings as a mathematician but also his lack of civility. Although the professors had only judged the mathematical qualities of the writings of the disputants, he had attacked their decency and expertise. He had abused and scolded Wassenaer and tried to mislead his readers by tangled reasonings.48 Wassenaer makes an interesting point when he writes that Stampioen had misused his press for his questionable practices. Still, Wassenaer explained, all his efforts to maintain his reputation and name at the expense of his adversaries had been futile. Stampioen was an unwitted mathematician, that is: incompetent and uncivil. Wassenaer explicitly justified the publication of Den on-wissen Wiskonstenaer and this brings me to the core of my argument. The book was not addressed to Stampioen, but to a general readership. Wassenaer explained the customs among mathematicians and the false steps taken by Stampioen. For example: ‘… amongst lovers of mathematics it is considered outrageous to propose any questions that one would not know oneself, …’ 49 In a conspicuously legally couched exposition, he argued that in matters of mathematical expertise no legislation existed to charge a mathematical ‘counterfeiter’, but the public interest required protection

 46

Ibidem, 4-7. Ibidem, 6. ‘… lappen die hy uyt verscheyde Autheuren sonder deselve te verstaen, hadde genomen ende met soo weinich oordeel t’samen ghevoegt …’ 48 Ibidem, 15-18. 49 Ibidem, 7. ‘… soo wort het onder de Lief hebbers vande Wiskonsten soo schandelijck geacht eenige [Vragen] voor te stellen diemen self niet soude weten, …’ 47

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from charlatans.50 Wassenaer, then, sacrificed himself to expose the frauds of Stampioen.51 And this was not only to protect innocent citizens, but also the reputation of the country in the future. Heaven forbid, he wrote, that a foreigner or a future Dutchman would find Stampioen’s Algebra and find out how backward a country Holland had been in 1640!52

Mathematics and virtue The dispute between Stampioen and Wassenaer shows an intricate mix of arguments regarding the mathematical competence and arguments of civil conduct, to the extent of the two being indistinguishable. To proof that one is a capable mathematician one did not only have to be able to solve sophisticated mathematical problems, one also should do so in a proper way and exchange ones ideas properly. One ought to be disciplined in the most literally way: thoroughly exercised in the customs of the trade. This dispute is not unique. For example, in the dispute over the quadrature of the circle between Ludolf van Ceulen (1540-1610) and Simon vander Eycke in the 1580s, the same mix of competence and civility appears in the assessment of the capability of a mathematician. 53 Wittedness was equally a matter of proper counting and measuring as it was of honourable and civil conduct. In recent historiography of science civility and its relation to knowledge production and truth making has been extensively discussed.54 However, such studies tend to focus on the amateurs in the sciences and on courtly circles – and on a rather limited concept of virtue in the sense of courtesy. This case, on the other hand, is populated by men of ‘negotium’ rather than ‘otium’. I think it is important to bring the discussion of the relationship between science and civility from the court to the town. There is a somewhat complicating factor in the Stampioen-Wassenaer dispute. As it turns out, Wassenaer was the mouthpiece of no other than René Descartes (1596-1650), the master of the new geometry.55 Moreover,

 50

Ibidem, 22-25. Ibidem, 8. 52 Ibidem, 29. 53 David Bierens de Haan, Bouwstoffen voor de geschiedenis der wis- en natuurkundige wetenschappen in de Nederlanden (Amsterdam, 1878), 99-170. 54 See, for example, Steven Shapin, A Social History of Truth: Civility and Science in Seventeenth-Century England (Chicago, 1994); Matthew Jones, The Good Life in the Scientific Revolution: Descartes, Pascal, Leibniz, and the Cultivation of Virtue (Chicago, 2006). 55 C.L. Thijssen-Schoute, Nederlands Cartesianisme (Amsterdam, 1954), 74-77. 51



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Descartes was part of a powerful network that included the professors mentioned and Constantijn Huygens, secretary of the stadholder and probably the most influential Dutchman in the Republic of Letters. Stampioen and Descartes also had a history. In 1633 Stampioen had sent Descartes a mathematical challenge. In return he had gotten the solution, as well as a condescending letter and an insolvable problem. Stampioen knew that Descartes pulled the strings but he sought a direct confrontation and refused to give up when his position became untenable. One would say that Stampioen showed very little ‘virtú’. He played high: he had not simply challenged his fellow mathematicians but far greater powers. Descartes/Wassenaer’s disclosure did not really harm his career though. He did lose out in 1646 to Van Schooten jr. on the succession of Van Schooten sr.’s chair of ‘Duytsche Mathematique’, but he still attracted pupils from the Holland elite – including the Huygens’ sons – and he became the provincial examiner of surveyors. Descartes wrote at least part of the On-wissen Wis-konstenaar, having it translated to Dutch for publication.56 This may explain two fascinating elements in the account of the dispute. To begin with, the indictment opens with a comparison of mathematicians charging each other for malpractice to practices in ancient Rome of initiating young boys to adulthood by letting them charge some disorderly civilians. 57 Second, the report includes an extended consideration of the status and value of mathematics in which the arts of measuring and fortification are compared to the mathesis of providing rational proofs and exercising reason. Mathematics provided a discipline of both body and mind that could not be found in any other science.58 The involvement of the great ‘philosophe-géomètre’ does not, however, alter the fact that the arguments given to question Stampioen’s mathematical capability largely correspond to the ones in other disputes. If Descartes was the ghost-writer of the On-wissen Wiskonstenaar, he spoke the language of the Dutch ‘wiskonstenaars’ very well. Evidently Stampioen had considered him a fellow mathematician in 1633 who could be challenged like any other practitioner.

Conclusion The seventeenth century is notable for the rise of mathematics and mathematicians in social, cultural and intellectual spheres. The Dutch

 56

Ibidem, 77-79. Wassenaer, Onwissen, 3-4. 58 Ibidem, 20-22. 57

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Republic offers a rich source to study this. Surveying is one of the manifestations of mathematics and here too changes in practices and conceptualisations were taking place. The changing status of mathematics may well be illustrated by contrasting two authoritative texts on the trade: Sems and Dou’s Practijck des Lantmetens (1600) and Johannes Morgenster’s Werkdadige Meetkonst (Practical Geometry, 1703). Whereas the Practijck solely explained the practice of surveying without making any claims beyond its immediate utility, the Meetkonst explained that surveying was exemplary of geometry and thus of both practical and intellectual use for any learned men. In the preface to the second edition, surveying was even called the very origin of mathematics.59 By this time, mathematics was becoming the method of philosophy and the language of nature and even a humble surveyor knew so. Changes in the cultural status and function of mathematics took place in a society with particular features. The social and political structure of the Dutch Republic was relatively flat, lacking a leading nobility and dominant courts, and administratively fragmented. No single governing body supervised the infrastructural and legislative structures in which mathematicians could work. Besides the relative autonomy of the provinces, various levels of administration existed and all of these created entrances for mathematicians to establish their position. This fragmentation offered opportunities that mathematicians did not fail to grasp. When, for example, Lieuwe Willemszoon failed to acquire a patent for his method of longitude in Friesland he went to the States General in 1688 to try his luck anew.60 And, as we have seen, Stampioen successfully applied for the position of surveyors’ examiner at the Court of Holland after he failed to acquire the chair of ‘Duytsche Mathematique’. Within this heterogeneous mathematics market, mathematicians had to try and establish their wittedness. I have argued that no institutional structures existed by which a mathematician’s ‘bequamheit’ could be assessed. Mathematicians had to sort it out amongst themselves. As it turns out, a mathematician was an ordinary citizen. Mathematical competence was equally a matter of knowing how to calculate and measure as of civility and citizenship. Professional and moral aspects cannot be separated: civility and respectability were proved in the very pursuit of mathematics. It was therefore important to acquire and maintain

 59

Johannes Morgenster, Werkdadige Meetkonst. Second edition published by Johann Knoop (Leeuwarden, 1744). 60 Arjen Dijkstra, Het vinden van oost en west in het Friesland van de zeventiende eeuw (Leeuwarden, 2007), 72-74.



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a good reputation as a mathematician. The surveyor’s trade was part of his call to be a respectable citizen.

THE IDEAL OF THE STATESMAN-HISTORIAN: THE CASE OF HUGO GROTIUS1 JAN WASZINK

Introduction2 Both as a scholar and as a public administrator, Hugo Grotius (1583-1645) is an exceptional and fascinating case, and one particulary relevant to the theme of capability in governance. It provides an excellent demonstration of the close relations that existed – at least in the province of Holland – at the beginning of the seventeenth century between power and governance on the one hand and education, scholarship and science on the other. Hugo Grotius was educated at a university which, with respect to the cultural and intellectual domain, served as a kind of court near the centre of government. With respect to a public administrator’s capability, Grotius formulated, in the correspondence relating to his Annales et historiae de rebus Belgicis around 1610, an ideal of a ‘statesman–historian’ whose activities as an administrator and as an historian are closely linked and reinforce one another. These connections are the subject of this paper, and in turn tell us something about the culture of the Republic’s elite.

 1

I would like to thank Dr. Martine van Ittersum and Corinna Vermeulen for their constructive comments on this paper. 2 In this paper I shall refer to English literature wherever possible. On the Revolt and the Republic in general: Jonathan I. Israel, The Dutch Republic: Its Rise, Greatness, and Fall, 1477-1806 (Oxford, 1st ed. 1995, 1998). On the cultural history of the seventeenth century (emphasising the period some decades after the one relevant to this contribution) Willem Frijhoff and Marijke Spies, Dutch Culture in a European Perspective, Vol. 1. 1650: Hard-Won Unity (Assen, 2004), esp. chapter 2. On Leiden University, see Theodoor H. Lunsingh Scheurleer et al. (eds.), Leiden University in the Seventeenth Century (Leiden, 1975); Willem Otterspeer, Groepsportret met Dame, Vol. 1. Het bolwerk van de vrijheid: de Leidse universiteit, 1575-1672 (Amsterdam, 2000); English summary in the review History of Universities (Avebury, 2005). An example of comparative research into the elites of the Republic and Italy is Peter Burke, Venice and Amsterdam (London, 1974).

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This article begins with a brief introduction to the period of the Truce controversies, to Leiden University as a centre of knowledge near the government and to a product of this environment in which scholarship and governance intertwine: Hugo Grotius. Then we shall look at Grotius’s scholarly involvement in government and politics, and especially into the way he operates as the learned ‘spokesman’ for the States of Holland in his Annales et historiae de rebus Belgicis (Grotius’s history of the Dutch Revolt up to 1609). Here Grotius appears as a statesman and scholar (historian) combined, and thus gives us an unusual and intriguing response to the acute questions of his time with respect to the ways and means to keep the state together, and the preservation of state power.3

The Truce controversies After the crisis of the Revolt caused by the Spanish reconquest campaign in the 1580s, the 90s brought military success in the North and new zest under the leadership of the provincial States, the States General and members of the House of Orange such as prince Maurits (1567-1625) and Willem Lodewijk (1560-1620). Well before 1600, a real and solid new (federal) state existed in the North. The military command of this state was held by prince Maurits, whereas civil authority rested with the States assemblies: with the provincial States on the level of the provinces (who saw themselves as sovereign states), while on a supra-provincial level, all seven provinces worked together in an assembly called the States General, where foreign affairs and matters of war were decided; the whole of the seven provinces is also called the Dutch Republic. Within this republic, the province of Holland was clearly predominant: it brought in most of the



3 See (also for further references) Jan Waszink, “Tacitisme in Holland: de Annales et historiae de rebus Belgicis van Hugo de Groot”, in De zeventiende eeuw, Vol. 20, No. 2 (2004), 240-63, and ibidem, “Tacitism in Holland: Hugo Grotius’ Annales et historiae de rebus Belgicis”, in Acta Conventus Neolatini Bononiensis 2003 (Tempe, 2006), 881-92. For the text I refer to the old editions Hugonis Grotii Annales et historiae de rebus Belgicis, Amsterdam: Blaeu, 1657 (4o) and 1658 (8o and 12o) See Jacob ter Meulen and Pieter J.J. Diermanse, Bibliographie des écrits imprimés de Hugo Grotius (The Hague, 1950: TMD, No. 741-745). There is no modern edition, but the 1658 quarto edition is not rare and available in many libraries. An inaccurate English translation by 'T.M.' was published by Twyford in London in 1665: Hugo Grotius, De Rebus Belgicis: or, The Annals, and history of the Low-Countrey-Warrs (TMD 748, also availbe from University Microfilms International; Early English Books 868:8). Other translation were made into French (1662, TMD 746) and Dutch (1681, TMD 749).

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money by far and consequently secured itself of the largest political influence. Holland was governed by its provincial States, and the daily administration of this government was in the hands of Johan van Oldenbarnevelt (1547-1619) from 1586 to 1618. If the Republic was not a unity politically, it was even less so with respect to ecclesiastical matters. The Catholic church had disappeared as popular church, but no new common church had taken its place. The orthodox Calvinist (Reformed) church exercised a strict admission policy based on the religious ‘quality’ of those selected, and therefore decidedly was not (yet) a broad church. Many believers had divergent views, and for this reason regenten (often rather liberal-minded themselves) supported the idea of a new public church in which dogmas were not laid down too stringently. Such an institution, however, proved difficult to establish. 4 Moreover, Catholic parishes were still functioning in many places.5 Nor had the relation between state and church been well defined yet: the Reformed church was organized in a completely decentralized and presbyterial fashion and had no wish for state interference, whereas worldly administrators did aspire to a certain hold of the state over the church. In ecclesiastical matters, the Republic was thus characterised by a high degree of fragmentation and difference of opinion. Therefore, it is not surprising that the government already faced opposition from inside at a time when the Republic had barely been instituted. During the first two decades of the seventeenth century, the aforementioned differences of opinion on the relation between church and state and the flexibility of religious doctrine developed into a near civil war in the Republic. A quarrel at the Theology faculty of Leiden University played a pivotal role in this. The period during which this conflict boiled over (c.1611–1618/19) roughly coincides with that of the Twelve Years’ Truce with Spain (1609–1621), which is why this conflict is also called the Truce controversies. In 1618–19 a crisis ensued in which the government fell, Van Oldenbarnevelt was decapitated and Grotius (who as pensionary of Rotterdam had a prominent place in the ruling government) was sentenced to lifelong imprisonment at Loevestein castle.

 4

Benjamin Kaplan, Calvinists and Libertines: The Reformation in Utrecht (Ann Arbor, 1989); Edwin Rabbie, “Grotius’ denken over kerk en staat”, in Henk J.M. Nellen and Hans Trapman (eds.), De Hollandse jaren van Hugo de Groot (15831621) (Hilversum, 1995), 193-205; Judith S. Pollmann, Religious Choice in the Dutch Republic: The Reformation of Arnoldus Buchelius (1565-1641) (Manchester, 1999). 5 See Rogier, Geschiedenis van het Katholicisme in Noord-Nederland in de 16e en 17e eeuw, Vol. 1 (Amsterdam, 1945).



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Having escaped from his prison in 1621, Grotius mostly stayed in Paris afterwards. The fact that Grotius made his escape in a book chest is not merely an amusing, but also a significant detail in his case. The history and interpretation of these controversies and Grotius’s role in them have been discussed often and elaborately elsewhere, and need not be repeated here. 6 For this argument, we consider them as a conflict between two factions, although the ideological coherence of the factions should not be overestimated, nor the predominance of the ideological points of contention (there were many other, for instance local, conflicts and loyalties which often overshadowed the theological and/or political issues. In fact, the applicability of the image of two ideologically driven factions is under discussion itself7). However, the fact that Grotius saw the conflict in terms of these two factions is an argument in favour of applying this image for our purpose. To Grotius’s mind, the theological and the political quarrel were one and the same conflict, i.e. that between ‘Erasmian-minded regents on one side, and intolerant Calvinist ministers on the other’.8 If we maintain this division into two factions, the first group (also called the Remonstrants) in the theological debate opposed the idea that God has from the beginning of time preordained, or predestined, every individual human being for salvation or damnation by giving him or her an inner faith, or withholding it respectively – so that faith is not the cause, but the consequence of God’s election. Instead, this group holds that God merely knows from eternity which choice the individual will make – so that a person’s faith causes him or her to be elected. As to the relation between church and state, this group wanted to give secular authorities a certain influence on church policies (regarding the appointment of ministers, for instance). In practice this amounted to a subordination of religion to politics. Since in Holland and a number of other provinces this position was held by the States, Oldenbarnevelt cum suis, and the circles of citizens and regenten connected to them, this group is also known as the Staatsgezinde faction. Its position furthermore implied the view that the

 6

E.g. Rabbie, “Grotius’ denken over kerk en staat”; Ibidem, “Introduction”, in Grotius, Ordinum Pietas. Edited by Edwin Rabbie (Leiden, 1995); Israel, The Dutch Republic. 7 Simon Groenveld, Evidente factiën in den staet: sociaal-politieke verhoudingen in de 17e-eeuwse Republiek der Verenigde Nederlanden (Hilversum, 1990); Rabbie, “Grotius’ denken over kerk en staat.” The strife from 1607–8 on whether or not to agree to the Truce, for instance, had a continued effect as well. Jan den Tex, Oldenbarnevelt, Vol. 2 (Haarlem, 1962), 566. 8 Rabbie, “Introduction”, 13.

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Dutch Revolt against the former ruler had first and foremost been a political struggle, i.e., a struggle to preserve the (medieval) liberties and privileges of nobility, cities and provinces, and only in the second place a struggle for the true faith: Haec Libertatis ergo. For understandable reasons, in the period before and after 1610 the Staatsgezinde faction also emphasises the legitimacy of the government in power and the citizens’ duty to obey.9 The opposite side is that of the Counter-Remonstrants, who believe that faith is in all respectis a gift from God to man, and thus believe in predestination as outlined above. Moreover, the Counter Remonstrants strived for a much more independent position of the church from the worldly authorities. Because in the final stage of the conflict the CounterRemonstrants received the support of the stadholder, prince Maurits, this side is also called the Prinsgezinde faction. They saw the Revolt primarily as a battle for the true (Reformed) faith, and its murdered leader William of Orange (1533-1584) as a pater patriae and a Calvinist ‘martyr’, to whose sacrifice eternal gratitude was owed as well as acknowledgment of the Oranges’ central position. In the years around 1617 some adherents of this faction pronounced views on the Oranges’ leadership in which a monarchist tendency could be recognized.10 Grotius played a prominent political role in the Truce controversies, engaging in them directly and indirectly, both in speech and in print. Grotius’s reputation in the Republic of Letters, both as a scholar and an author of literature, qualified him pre-eminently for this spokesmanship.

Scholarship and politics Grotius owed his skills and renown in literary matters to his special talents as well as to his birth and education.11 He came from a family which had

 9

E.g. Simon Stevin’s Vita politica: het burgherlick leven (Leiden, 1590). Edited by Pim den Boer and Anneke C.G. Fleurkens (Utrecht, 2001). 10 See the pamphlets quoted in Yarko van Vugt and Jan Waszink, “Politiek in Hoofts ‘Baeto’: de middenweg als uitweg?”, in Tijdschrift voor Nederlandse taalen letterkunde, Vol. 116 (2000), 2-22. 11 Cornelia M. Ridderikhoff, “De universitaire studies van Hugo de Groot”, in Nellen and Trapman (eds.), De Hollandse Jaren van Hugo de Groot, 13-30; Florike Egmond, “Hugo de Groot en de Hoge Raad: over connecties tussen geleerden, kunstenaars, juristen en politici”, in ibidem, 31-44. Harm-Jan van Dam, “Filoloog en dichter in Leiden”, in ibidem, 67-86. Henk J.M. Nellen, “Een tweespan voor de Arminiaanse wagen: Grotius en Wtenbogaert”, in ibidem, 16178.



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held high offices in the city of Delft for some generations. His father, Jan de Groot (1554-1640), also combined scholarship and statesmanship (for instance as one of the Delft burgomasters), and has been described as a specimen of the Renaissance ideal of man. Having been one of the very first students at Leiden University in 1576, he held the office of curator there since 1594 onwards, rubbing shoulders with the University’s founders, professors and administrators for the entire period. Of De Groot’s circle of acquaintances, we also mention Hugo’s uncle Cornelis de Groot (c.1544/6-1610), professor of law, and Janus Dousa (1545-1604), the first curator and omnipresent pater familias of Leiden University. On the occasion of young Hugo’s arrival at the University at the age of eleven, Dousa honoured him with a special welcoming poem – a distinction Hugo thus owed not exclusively to his extraordinary talents, but also to his parents’ connections. Dousa, incidentally, was not only a member of the States of Holland, but also their official historian; Grotius was to hold this position as well. There were very close ties between Leiden University and the government centre at The Hague. The University, having been founded by the States of Holland in 1575, was under their authority. The city of Leiden too was represented directly in the University’s administration.12 On the other hand, connections between University and church had been deliberately restricted, to the effect that this university was freer from ecclesiastical authority than any other in Europe.13 It was seen as the place where the country’s future lawyers, ministers, doctors and scholars received their training. This is among the main reasons why disputes regarding the University, its professors or their teachings repeatedly developed into political conflicts with far-reaching consequences – during Leicester’s stay in the Netherlands around 1586, for instance, and again during the Truce controversies. The connections between power and government on the one hand and education, scholarschip and science on the other hand were so closely-knit in this case that it is not too far-fetched to regard the academy, culturally speaking, as a kind of court near the centre of government in The Hague. Prince Maurits was a student at Leiden from 1582 to 1584. Dousa, mentioned above, was a member of the States assembly and a curator of the University. While Hugo Grotius’s father in 1576 was the third student to enroll, Justinus van Nassau (1559-1631), one of William of Orange’s sons, later active in the Republic’s army and politics was the fourth. The

 12

Israel, The Dutch Republic, 569ff; Otterspeer, Het bolwerk van de vrijheid, passim. 13 Ibidem, 570.

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Leicester period (1585–1588) became a turbulent time for Leiden University. Robert Dudley, the earl of Leicester (c.1532-1588) came to the Low Countries as envoy of queen Elizabeth (1533-1603) to take control of the Dutch war effort and initially settled in The Hague with his staff.14 On the personal level, cultural contacts between Leiden and The Hague were intense, including the exchange of poems and presents, and many of these friendships and contacts dated from much earlier. The history of this network, which indeed reminds one of a miniature court, has been described in detail by Jan van Dorsten. 15 Members were, for instance, Janus Dousa, Leicester’s secretary Jean Hotman (1555-1636), the courtierpoet-soldier Philip Sidney (1554-1586), Elizabeth’s learned envoy Daniel Rogers (c.1538-1591) and the scholars Justus Lipsius (1547-1606) and Dominicus Baudius (1561-1613). These in turn were closely connected to people like Leicester himself, the States members, William of Orange’s widow Louise de Coligny (1555-1620), but also to Philip Marnix van St Aldegonde (1538-1598), Adrianus van der Myle (1538-1590), Adrianus Saravia (c.1532-1613), Jan de Groot, and so on. Lipsius’s Politica (published in 1589, written from 1586), which will turn up again below, can be seen as a product of this context: it must have been the interests of this environment, and the troubles dominating the Leicester period which led Lipsius to venture into questions of political theory and practice.16 The fact that Leiden University (even according to recently corrected views) was in many ways an exceptional ‘research university’, points to the special relationship existing between government and scholarship in the culture of the Republic. 17 Thus, it seems that at this time in Holland, intellectual status and authority could significantly raise a person’s authority as a politician and administrator. Furthermore, an engineering school, the ‘Duytsche Mathematique’ (Dutch Mathematics), was founded at Leiden, where men of applied science were trained to meet the needs of both the army and civil (water) works.18



14 Jan A. van Dorsten, Poets, Patrons, and Professors: Sir Philip Sidney, Daniel Rogers and the Leiden Humanists (Leiden, 1962), 108. 15 Ibidem. See also Chris L. Heesakkers and Wilma M.S. Reinders, Genoeglijk bovenal zijn mij de Muzen: de Neolatijnse dichter Janus Dousa (Leiden, 1993). 16 See Jan Waszink, “Introduction”, in Justus Lipsius, Politica: Six Books of Politics or Political Instruction. Edited by Jan Waszink (Assen, 2004), 22, 24–28. 17 See Anthony Grafton, Athenae Batavae: The Research Imperative at Leiden, 1575-1650 (Leiden, 2003) and further references there. 18 See Klaas van Berkel, “The Legacy of Stevin: A Chronological Narrative”, in Klaas van Berkel, Albert van Helden and LodewƋk Palm (eds.), A History of



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In January 1586 Leicester made his solemn entry into Leiden, an occasion at which the University of course played an important part. Before long, however, it turned out that the liberal politicians of Holland, and especially those of Leiden, and the Puritan Leicester did not get along at all. Leicester moved his headquarters to Utrecht. It was subsequently suspected that Leicester planned to replace the Leiden city council by one more favourable to him, and to move the University to Utrecht, where he would have much more control over it. The affair led to dismissals and even arrests in Leiden.19 During the Truce controversies, the fierce fight for control over the place where the future elite was educated was renewed. As early as 1603, two professors of Theology, Jacobus Arminius (c.1559-1609) and Franciscus Gomarus (1563-1641), had clashed over the subject of predestination. Arminius denied predestination in the sense as explained above and held himself – as a professor at the University – accountable to the States only, not to any church. He died, however, in 1609. The appointment of the controversial Conrad Vorstius (1569-1622) as his successor infuriated the Counter-Remonstrants. The matter turned into a ‘national’ bone of contention and the Counter-Remonstrants did not even shrink back from involving the British king James I (1566-1625), who, sharing their indignation, announced his dismay at Vorstius’s ideas and appointment to the States and the University. James I counted as one of the leading heads of the Protestant world, whose friendship was not to be forfeited. Under this pressure, Vorstius’s appiontment was cancelled.20

Hugo Grotius Josephus Scaliger (1540-1609), one of Grotius’s teachers and generally regarded as Lipsius’s successor, felt that scholars should keep out of politics, but this did not stop Grotius from cultivating his ties with The Hague. To him, studies and politics complemented each other: through his father, Grotius had a network at his disposal in which the circles of the University and government overlapped. In 1598, 15-year-old Grotius went along on a States embassy to France led by Oldenbarnevelt and Justinus van Nassau, which also paid its respects to the king of France. The embassy became an important event in Grotius’s life. Having returned to

 Science in the Netherlands: Survey, Themes and Reference (Leiden, 1999), 1-235, 617-30. See also the article by Fokko Jan Dijksterhuis in this volume. 19 Otterspeer, Het bolwerk van de vrijheid, 145–48. 20 Ibidem, 245-48.

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Holland showered with honours and a doctorate from the University of Orléans, he became a councillor at the provincial Court of Holland in The Hague. At the same time, he earned a name for himself with scholarly and literary work: two editions of classical texts, plays and poetry.21 In The Hague Grotius lived in with the liberal (later Remonstrant) court minister Johannes Wttenbogaert (1557-1644), who was practically Oldenbarnevelt’s neighbour and mentioned as a possible successor to Arminius at Leiden, for some time. In 1607 Grotius was appointed Advocaat-fiscaal (comparable to a modern prosecutor, for, amongst other, in fiscal cases brought before the court). In this first decade of the seventeenth century the country’s governors employed Grotius also as a scholar, besides his regular work as a lawyer. At first he remained in the background in this role. In 1604 he received a request through a former fellow lodger at The Hague, Jan ten Grotenhuys (1573-1646), to write a legal treatise to support the Amsterdam Admiralty College’s ruling that the capture of the valuable Portuguese freighter Santa Catharina in the Straits of Malacca in 1602 had been legitimate. The objectives and the intended audience of this text, De iure praedae (The Law of Prize and Booty), are not entirely clear, but it marked the beginning of Grotius’s long-lasting involvement with the VOC. 22 It is noteworthy that Grotius decided to write a wholly new and systematic synthesis of the existing views on natural rights. Another example is the Onuitgegeven nota (Unpublished Memorandum) of 1607 that was found among his papers in the nineteenth century.23 This is a legal text which according to Willem van Eysinga served as a basis for a pamphlet that Oldenbarnevelt (who was in favour of a truce himself) had ready in case the peace negotiations with the Habsburgers that started in that year would fail and he would need a public justification. It is assumed that the definitive pamphlet was never written since the talks did lead to a truce. In his paper Grotius argues that the archdukes of the Southern Netherlands

 21

Grotius’s first editions were those of Martianus Capella’s Satyricon and Aratus’ Syntagma Arateorum. For Grotius’s plays, see Hugo Grotius, Sacra in quibus Adamus Exul (The Hague, 1601); ibidem, Christus Patiens (Leiden, 1608). For Grotius’s poetry, see De dichtwerken van Hugo Grotius. Edited and Translated by Bernard L. Meulenbroek (Assen, 1970). 22 See Martine J. van Ittersum, Profit and Principle: Hugo Grotius, Natural Rights Theories and the Rise of Dutch Power in the East Indies, 1595-1615 (Leiden, 2006), esp. the introduction, 24-25 and 125-88. 23 See Willem J.M. van Eysinga, Eene onuitgegeven nota van De Groot, in Mededelingen van de K.N.A.W., afd. Letterkunde, Nieuwe Reeks, Vol. 18, No. 10 (1955).



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(who conducted the negotiations from the Habsburg side) had no legal powers to transfer sovereignty over the Northern Netherlands as the North demanded, since they themselves did not possess it. Any peace that might be agreed upon would therefore be worthless, and it would be preferable to continue the war. The paper, however, does not conclude with a clear recommendation and Grotius’s intentions with it are still under discussion. The text has a very limited force of proof regarding Grotius’s personal preference for war or peace – he wrote it on request and either for internal use, or for a situation that might very well never occur.24 In the years that followed, Grotius had an important part in the truce negotiations, although one behind the scenes, for example when a new scholarly memorandum by Grotius in 1608 constituted the basis of the States General’s position in dealing with the Habsburg negotiators. A discussion of this matter would exceed the scope of this article; the reader is referred to Martine van Ittersum’s recent and thorough study.25 In 1610 Grotius’s public role as the States’ learned spokesman became more prominent when he published his De antiquitate reipublicae Batavicae (The Antiquity of the Dutch Republic), in which he defended the legitimacy and maturity of the Republic, whose existence the Truce had formalized, to the European public. 26 This work – a brief historical discourse on Holland’s form of government since the Roman period – is a cleverly constructed plea for acknowledgment of Holland and the Republic as full-bodied actors on the stage of European politics. Internally, it appears as a call for unity and harmony within the Republic. Grotius had furthermore presented himself as the learned champion of Dutch interests with his Mare liberum (The Free Sea) in 1609.27 In 1612 he completed his Annales et historiae (Annals and Histories, hereafter AH), a large historical work commissioned by the States of Holland on the Dutch

 24

Van Eysinga thinks that the paper also reflects Grotius’s own opinion (because he saw the war against Spain as legitimate and necessary). Den Tex (Oldenbarnevelt, Vol. 2, 564) is at a loss about the document. Van Ittersum (Profit and Principle, 197ff.) points out that Grotius elsewhere expresses his concern about the unclear situation after the temporary ceasefire of 1607 as well, and considers the paper as having been written for Oldenbarnevelt (which could support Van Eysinga’s view), but suspects that it served Oldenbarnevelt more to familiarise himself with counterarguments, to be able to neutralise them better. Are the VOC’s interests perhaps involved here as well? 25 Van Ittersum, Profit and Principle, chapters 4-5. 26 Hugo Grotius, The Antiquity of the Batavian Republic. Edited by Jan Waszink et al. (Assen, 2000). 27 A separately published chapter from the longer, but unpublished treatise De iure praedae.

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Revolt from its origins up to the Truce of 1609, which we shall look at more closely below. That Grotius was perceived as a scholar even in his years as of legal and political service can be concluded, for instance, from the letter in which the Leiden mathematician Willebrord Snellius (1580–1626) dedicated his De re nummaria (On Ancient Numismatics) to Grotius in 1613. Dedicating books to people of political influence was common practice and such dedications are naturally full of hackneyed laudations, but Snellius’s remark that Grotius combined a knowledge of jurisprudence (the instrument of his activity as an administrator) with knowledge of other arts more than was usual for his time, seems so free of exaggeration that it seems safe to attribute at least some significance to the fact that combination is so explicitly noted.28 An important caesura in Grotius’s activity as scholarly spokesman lies in the year 1613, in which his Ordinum pietas (The Good Faith of the States, hereafter OP) appeared. In that year, he had obtained the office of pensionary (legal adivsor) of the city of Rotterdam (in which quality he also had a seat in the States’ assembly), thereby becoming a prominent member of the ruling administration. Until that moment, he had not overtly chosen sides and had presented himself as a neutral observer and possible mediator in the conflict. Although upon closer inspection his Staatsgezinde views in the AH are easy to locate and a reconstruction of Grotius’s intention with this work in the context of the Truce controversies is possible (as will be argued below), the AH does not too explicitly push Staatsgezinde views.29 The OP, on the other hand, is just as learned, but at the same time an explicit and undisguised defence of the States’ policy. This turnabout caused a lot of irritation among Counter-Remonstrants, and made Grotius suspect and untrustworthy in their eyes. Grotius further propounds and defends the States government’s position in his

 28

Hugo Grotius, Briefwisseling van Hugo Grotius. Edited by Philipp C. Molhuysen et al. (The Hague, 2001), Vol. 17, No. 250A, 101. ‘Ad te autem, vir consultissime, ȕȚȕȜ įȚȠȞ hoc, tanquam ad iudicem suum mittitur. Nam cum tu praeter huius aevi consuetudinem iuris scientiam cum reliquarum artium cognitione coniunxeris, in quibus doctrina et ingenio praeter reliquos excellis neque illarum sis expers quae inter has primum olim tenebant locum, quarum rudes a limine suae academiae arcebat Plato, quemnam alium fuerat aequius me huius rei capere arbitrum quam eum qui horum iudex aequissimus iuxta et peritissimus esse posset?’ The reference to Grotius’s mathematical knowledge aims at his edition of Aratus’s astronomical works, for instance, and his Latin translation of Stevin’s book on navigation. 29 These have been insufficiently noted in literature on the AH.



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correspondence, in a preserved political oration from 1616 and in a treatise on secular authorities’ rights in ecclesiastical matters (De imperio summarum potestatum circa sacra (1617)).30 One example from this period must suffice here. Grotius took part in the embassy to king James I in 1613, the main subject of which was British and Dutch trade in the East. His role as a scholar was obvious already insofar as his Mare liberum was an important starting point for Dutch-English discussions and negotiations regarding the rules of competition in trading with the East. Apart from that, Grotius tried to win the support of several English political and ecclesiastical leaders for the Remonstrant positions concerning predestination and the relation between church and state. In the process he incidentally exposed himself as a pedant and an actual ignoramus regarding the matter itself, at least if we are to believe the English opponents of the Remonstrants – and we cannot go back in time to form our own judgment of Grotius’s appearance on that stage. Behind the scenes he tried to induce the king to side with the Remonstrants, acting as the learned envoy by surveying the history of the predestination debate with the king, in an attempt to make him see the orthodox Calvinists’ error.31 Grotius initially thought that his mission had succeeded. However, the king’s own advisors soon made him change his mind, and the affair led the king to feel that Grotius had misled him.

Grotius as a statesman-historian. The Annales et historiae (1601-1612) In Grotius’s great historical work on the Revolt, his scholarly and political activities in the tense period of the Truce controversies intertwine in a striking and intense way – all the more striking because he radically seeks a path in this which is very much his own (and unfortunately turned out to be unsuccessful). We shall now take a closer look at this interconnection, focussing mainly on the period before he gave up his more neutral position (whether pretended or not). It turns out that he tried to use his knowledge of literature, especially that regarding the political author par excellence

 30

Oratie vanden hoogh-gheleerden voortreffelycken Meester Hugo de Groot, Raet ende pensionaris der Stadt Rotterdam ghedaen inde vergaderinghe der 36. Raden der Stadt Amsterdam (Knuttel 2250, Enkhuizen, 1622). See also Israel, The Dutch Republic, 430. 31 An account of this conversation (which took place on 15 May 1613 and lasted about two hours) has been preserved. See Rabbie, “Introduction”; Ibidem, “Grotius, James I and the Ius Circa Sacra”, in Grotiana, Vol. 24–26 (2003– 2004), 25–39.

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Tacitus, to exert a conciliatory influence on the quarrels in the Republic by demonstrating what he thought was the true character of the Dutch Revolt. We have already seen how important it is to read every one of Grotius’s writings in its own context, with an eye for its own objectives, and to avoid reading too much unity into Grotius’s oeuvre as a whole.32 The problem of consolidating the government’s power in a context of increasing opposition occupied Grotius’s thought intensely. The fact that Grotius’s attempt to contribute to the restoration of concord and unity was first and foremost of a scholarly nature, characterises the world of thought that had produced him. In the AH he presents himself as a statesman and an historian at the same time, who hopes to build bridges between the warring factions by showing the (neutral) truth.33 The relevance of this to Grotius’s conception of a governor’s capability will become clear below. It is remarkable that Grotius as a scholar and humanist (or, if one prefers, rhetorician), when applying his scholarly instruments to governmental and legal questions, repeatedly chose new and unconventional arguments and means of persuasion rather than tried and familiar ones. In this respect he deviated from the general practice of classical and humanist rhetoric, in which a preference for well-established patterns of argumentation and presentation can certainly be distinguished. This in fact reduced Grotius’s chances of realising his objectives and contributed no doubt to the outcome that the AH was not published in its own time.34 The remarks about the AH project that Grotius makes in his correspondence tell us some important things about his views of the historian’s role in politics.35 To him, this role is something very concrete. A remark on the selection of facts to be presented refers to an important

 32

This is also true within the early period. In De antiquitate reipublicae Batavicae, for instance, the Truce controversies are completely absent, likewise contributing little to the interpretation of the De iure pradae, Mare liberum and part of Grotius’s literary oeuvre – but for the AH they are essential. 33 The same has been said of Grotius’s theological oeuvre: see Israel, The Dutch Republic, 580, with reference to Henk J. de Jonge, “The Study of the New Testament”, in Scheurleer et al. (eds.), Leiden University in the Seventeenth Century, 65–110. 34 A comparable observation has been made of the argumentation in De iure praedae; see Mark Somos, “Secularization in De iure praedae: from Bible Criticism to International Law”, in Grotiana, Vol. 26–28 (2005–2007), 147–91. 35 For a more extensive account, see Waszink, “Tacitism in Holland.” For Grotius’s correspondence regarding the AH, see Waszink, “Hugo Grotius’ Annales et Historiae de rebus Belgicis from the Evidence in his Correspondence, 16041644”, in LIAS, Vol. 31-32 (2004), 249–68.



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dichotomy in historiography as seen by the humanists: that between the sources of facts, chronicles (the ‘lower’ form of historiography), on the one hand, and the ‘higher’ historiography that is based on it, on the other hand: i.e., the historiography that produces narratives with a literary and philosophical aspect, in which moral judgments are passed, praise and blame are meted out, and insight is given into the deeper truths of history. Thus, the selection and combination of the available material, the development of explanation and vision, and the phrasing of the Revolt’s story in Tacitus’s style (which, as we shall see, actually presupposes a certain judgment and ‘insight’) belong to the ‘higher’ historian’s task. This division of tasks in historiography stems from antiquity as well. (High) historiography was supposed to be useful to the individual and to society in various ways. In the first place, there was a general formative and intellectual use that could be ascribed to historiography as a part of the studia humanitatis (studies of humanity). Second came the exemplary use of great men and their deeds: this function of historiography drives the mechanism by which virtue receives its reward in the form of glory and, moreover, those living at present are inspired to imitate greatness past, to the benefit of all. Vice versa, the bad also receive their punishment in the form of dishonour, serving as negative examples. In the third place, history was seen as a useful record, as the memory of humankind from which one could, among other things, gain wisdom to act upon in the present.36 In the second and third forms of use, for instance in political deliberation and laudatory, vituperative or deliberative texts (published or not), references to the past may be more or less politically motivated and biased. Judging from Grotius’s statements, this political motivation is a significant factor in the case of the AH. It is important to keep in mind that humanist historiography is almost invariably politically driven. This is a consequence of one of the essential characteristics of the humanist movement: a strong engagement with practical ethics, life and society. The classical Roman view that a gentleman has a duty to make himself useful to the ‘commonwealth’ (res publica), especially as promoted by Cicero, exercised a great influence on all humanists from the fourteenth century onward. Grotius around 1600 also speaks of his duties in The Hague in similar Ciceronian terms.37 To Grotius, a politically motivated use of historiography as part of the fulfilment of his duty to society was not only legitimate, but was the most desirable use of history.

 36

For the ‘exemplary’ and ‘deliberative’ use of history, see e.g. Lipsius, Politica, § 1.9. 37 E.g. Briefwisseling, Vol. 1, ep. 49. ‘Ego quidem paene totus in foro sum.’

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When speaking about the usefulness (fructus) of the AH, Grotius makes a direct connection between the Leicester period and the Truce controversies. In a letter to one of his informers in 1614 he emphasises the use that material sent to him would have in the present circumstances through the AH. It appears that in his view he might serve the public peace and the Staatsgezinde cause by spreading his interpretation the Revolt.38 This idea of political usefulness must be connected with Grotius’s admiration for the French statesman-historian Jacques Auguste De Thou (1553-1617) on the one hand, and to the Tacitean form of the AH on the other. These links give us a closer look into Grotius’s thoughts about the social and political application of historical narratives, and the role of the historian in particular. They show that for him there is somewhat more to them than the applications commonly connected with historiography. It is especially the role of the (higher) historian that this refers to. When Grotius, a pensionary and a States member, writes to De Thou that he wants to help overcome the Truce controversies by means of his historical writings, the two figures from the classical topos that Achilles needs a Homer in order to gain fame with posterity merge: Achilles, the statesman, and Homer, the historian, become one person. His inside knowledge of the res, the actual events and their backgrounds, combined with his insight into the true motives and causations, inform and define not only his historical work, but also steer the events themself. For his own work on the Revolt and the birth of the Republic he chose Tacitus as a model: the political and psychological acumen of the Tacitean historian works on both the political stage and the historical work. Thus, in this ideal, the Tacitean statesman-historian occupies a pivotal figure in politics and society: through his person and work, the events and (contemporary) historiography influence each other. To Grotius, his older contemporary De Thou came close to this ideal. It is clear from their correspondence that at the time Grotius sought to be such a statesman-historian himself. He repeatedly compares himself to De Thou and complains about his own uneducated compatriots.39 Besides the AH, the OP can also be regarded as a product of an author with this ideal, which makes it only natural that Grotius sent a copy to De Thou. This bold ideal is characteristic of the high ambitions and expectations which the former child prodigy Grotius fostered in his ‘Holland years’. Tacitean acumen belongs to the core of his ambitions in the political as well as the historiographical area. The choice of Tacitus as the literary and

 38

Ibidem, ep. 389 (Dec. 1614, to Jean Hotman de Villiers). E.g. ibidem, ep. 128 (1608), 169 (1609), 409 (1615); the complaint in ep. 22 (1601).

39



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philosophical model for the AH makes it clear that it is indeed this author’s perceptiveness which is the issue here. Since these backgrounds in Tacitism are important to Grotius’s activities as a statesman-historian, we shall pay them closer attention before returning to the AH.

Tacitism, ragion di stato and Machiavellism The Annales and the Historiae by Publius Cornelius Tacitus (c.55-120) describe the desintegration of Roman society after the establishment of the Empire, that is to say, the downfall of the Republic and the subsequent civil wars that resulted in the establishment of princely rule. These works are characterised by a keen eye for ‘true’ causes and motivations of people (notably self-interest) and the paradoxes of power. Tacitus conveys moral judgement implicitly and looks at things as they really are (according to him), rather than the way they should be. This disenchanted, undisguising realism is complemented by a particulier literary style that is marked by brevity and intentional irregularity and assymmetry, as well as unusual (sometimes poetic) phrasing, and a fondness for sceptical, almost proverbial observations (sententiae). Modern and early modern critics alike mention Tacitus’s sharpness in both content and style: the Tacitean acumen referred to earlier. 40 In combination, these aspects result in a pessimistic, but highly appealing account of human greatness and weakness, and their respective roles in history. In Tacitus’s unique ‘style’, content cannot be separated from style (form) in the narrower sense of the word. In the politically turbulent period around 1600, in which civil and religious wars broke up the old political order in Europe, the Tacitean style – traditionally regarded as inferior to the Ciceronian – regained popularity, first among scholars writing on history and politics and subsequently with a broader audience. The sense of political danger connected with Tacitus’s style pre-eminently suited the dramatic impression left by contemporary events.41

 40

On the difference between early modern and modern readings of Tacitus, see Jan Waszink, “Shifting Tacitisms: Style and Compostion in Grotius’s Annales”, in Grotiana, Vol. 29 (2008), 85-132. 41 For the contemporary image of Tacitus see e.g. Lipsius’s influential phrasing in Lipsius, Politica, 94–95. For sixteenth- and seventeenth-centuries Tacitism we refer, for brevity’s sake, to M. van der Poel and Jan Waszink, “Tacitismus”, in Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik (Tübingen, 2009, forthcoming) and the bibliography there.

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The new interest in Tacitus, however, also reflected crucial changes in the conception of politics noticeable in the period, that is, a shift from politics as an activity centered on civil virtue and participation, towards one mainly determined by interest and the preservation of power. In this process the traditional, almost exclusively moral evaluation of political action was in part replaced by a realistic one (‘from res publica to ragion di stato’). Throughout Europe, Tacitism now became an influential approach to politics and to political and historical literature: in this approach the realistic assessment of the balance of power and political necessity (necessitas) prevailed over the moral preoccupations of traditional political and historical literature. Thus, the Tacitean style became the style of political life itself, an international style for the shrewd and cultured statesman whose education enabled him to describe the events he witnessed with the same disenchanted sharpness as the great Roman historian. Inseparable from this, however, is the disquieting face of Tacitism, or the generally shared aversion from the mechanisms of power and the grim truths to which the Tacitean acumen ultimately refers. Reason of state and ‘the mysteries of command’ (arcana imperii) were inevitably tainted with the ill repute of Machiavellism. Machiavellism here means the approach to politics which was read from Niccolo Machiavelli’s (1469-1527) short treatise The Prince ever since its first publication in 1532 (quite separately from the author’s actual intentions with the work, which are still under discussion). Machiavellism and Tacitism share their concern with reason of state: both take (state) power as their starting point of analysis, and qualify the predominance of moral considerations in politics (whether social, religious or legal in nature). In Tacitus's original works too, what was later called reason of state plays a prominent role, and it is often implied that moral virtue does not by itself contribute to a person's success or survival — although Tacitus lets his own, ethical, judgement to transpire in many places.42 Thus, the appreciation of reason of state-ideas was (and is) almost invariably ambiguous, in much the same way as a firearm can be seen as an instrument of good as well as of evil. Insight into the workings of politics, also in their evil and degenerate form, is indispensable for a good

 42

On Machiavellism and reason of state see e.g. Michael Stolleis, Arcana Imperii und Ratio Status (Göttingen, 1980); Eco O.G. Haitsma Mulier, Het Nederlandse gezicht van Machiavelli: twee en een halve eeuw interpretatie, 1550-1800 (Hilversum, 1989); Maurizio Viroli, From Politics to Reason of State: The Acquisition and Transformation of the Language of Politics, 1250-1600 (Cambridge, 1992).



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governor if he is not to remain powerless in the face of evil. In some cases, using such insights, the prince may even use ‘evil’ instruments, such as fraud and deception, to attain ‘good’ ends. Machiavellism and reason of state may be objectionable in themselves, but a world in which evil is ubiquitous, is best faced well-prepared. In this way, political Tacitism and reason of state can at least be justified on didactical grounds: they are valuable in a good prince’s education. It was exactly this didactical value that was the objective of probably the greatest author of political Tacitism, the Southern Netherlander Justus Lipsius (1547-1606). In his Politica (1589), he cautiously defended a less dismissive approach to Machiavelli. In order to express this (controversial) theory, Lipsius built a cento of quotations from classical Latin and Greek literature, above all Tacitus, who as we have seen provides many sententiae on reason of state. Lipsius's aim was to create a good reason of state which made Tacitus’s and Machiavelli’s (amoral, but to him not necessarily immoral) realism useful and acceptable to normal (ethical and good) politics and government. This should remove the unrealistic and therefore harmful moral preoccupations which, according to Lipsius, hampered the traditional political ethics.43 in Lipsius's view, the traditional doctrine of virtues was too optimistic and dangerously naïve with respect to human nature. The latter, to Lipsius, naturally tends toward chaos and violence: a safe and orderly society can only develop if these tendencies are corrected by the activity of a strong and when necessary, manipulative prince. Such a prince has much to learn from Tacitus and Machiavelli, although of course the Italian author’s moral relativism remains pernicious. This is why Lipsius places a strong emphasis on the unfailing dedication to the common good such a prince should possess in order to keep his rule from turning into tyranny. As regards religious policy, Lipsius states that the prince should be guided by the state’s interest, and should in principle enforce unity of religion, because this is conducive to harmony in the state; but if this enforcement only leads to more chaos, religious diversity must, at least temporarily, be accepted. In this view it depends on the circumstances whether the state should answer a call from the church (as representative of the true faith) to take action against heretics. Such opinions however, advocated by an educated minority in the period, could not change the ill repute of Machiavellism and reason of state. Machiavellism remained a synonym for tyranny in the eyes of the

 43

See Waszink, “Introduction”, § 4.2.1–2 in Lipsius, Politica.

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majority, and even moderate versions of the Tacitean political ‘ideology’ in which ethics were regarded as relative were unacceptable to many.44 Political thought such as Lipsius’s, however, aroused much interest among the Dutch cultural elite in Grotius’s time, so much even that the label of a ‘Dutch movement’ has been applied. This view has been severely criticised,45 but traces of a close study of Lipsius can be found in Grotius, and many others such as in the man-of-letters and historian Pieter Corneliszoon Hooft (1581-1647), although of course this does not necessarily mean that they also subscribed to his ideas.46 The importance of Tacitism to the ideal of the statesman-historian as modelled on De Thou is evident. Precisely with respect to the issue of religious policy in Lipsius’s fashion do we see Grotius taking varying points of view. In the OP he rejected Lipsius’s ideas on a forced unity of religion, but in a speech to the Amsterdam Senate in 1616 Grotius defends apparently quite Lipsian views on ecclesiastical unity enforced by secular authorities for the sake of the state’s unity and stability.47 In this speech he subordinates religious interests to political necessity, aiming to reach the desired unity by enforcing a ‘well-defined tolerance’ (wel ghelimiteerde Tolerantie) while leaving room for certain deviant ideas.48 Let us return to the AH. A striking example of a reason of state passage which would unavoidably have clashed with ethical sensitivities is found under the year 1579. Grotius writes that William of Orange during the peace talks at Cologne chose a hard line in defense of the Calvinist faith in order to ensure his own safety: in this way the negotiations were guaranteed to fail, and he would not have to return to the sphere of Philip’s power, which had become too dangerous for him.49

 44

See e.g. Harro Höpfl, “Orthodoxy and Reason of State”, in History of Political Thought, Vol. 23 (2002), 211–37. 45 Martin van Gelderen, “Holland und das Preussentum: Justus Lipsius zwischen niederländischem Aufstand und brandenburg-preussischem Absolutismus”, in Zeitschrift für historische Forschung, Vol. 23 (1996), 29–56. 46 Harm Wansink, Politieke wetenschappen aan de Leidse Universiteit, 1575-± 1650 (Utrecht, 1981); Waszink, “Introduction”, § 4.3.7 in Lipsius, Politica. 47 Grotius, Ordinum pietas, § 89. 48 Oratie vanden hoogh-gheleerden voortreffelycken Meester Hugo de Groot, Raet ende pensionaris der Stadt Rotterdam ghedaen inde vergaderinghe der 36. Raden der Stadt Amsterdam. See also Israel, The Dutch Republic, 430. 49 For a discussion of this matter with more examples, see Waszink, “Tacitisme in Holland.” On Grotius’s Tacitism see also Antonio Droetto, “Il Tacitismo nella storiografia Groziana”, in Studi Groziani di Antonio Droetto, Vol. 18 (1968), 101– 51.



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The Ideal of the Statesman-Historian: The Case of Hugo Grotius While the siege [of Maastricht] continued, the Emperor, to whom as we said the attempt to arrange a peace was entrusted, sent an embassy to Cologne; the Spanish sent the duke of Terranova to that place with mandates from the King and from the Low Countries’ side, the duke of Aarschot and others came. William of Orange, however, who had never doubted that any peace with the King would result in danger to him, since the Low Countries were then divided and he himself right in the middle between all these parties, and was therefore hated, feared not without reason that he would be surrendered to foreign and domestic enemies alike. On the other hand, to turn away from the negotiations and the German referees, was difficult and damaging to his reputation. More in the dark, to achieve the same, he took care that the religious issue would be insisted upon, and other things which no one expected the King to agree with. Otherwise it is credible that fairly reasonable peace conditions could have been obtained at that time, if some individuals had not with private agreements subverted the public peace.50

Further down in the Annales, Grotius ascribes a comparable Machiavellian ‘use’ of religion to queen Elizabeth.51 Probably in order to undermine the legitimacy of the opposition against the States government, Grotius shows that leaders like William of Orange and Elizabeth too followed reason of state, implying thereby that the Dutch Republic and its Protestant church would in all likelihood not have survived without these reason of statebased policies. His intention with such statements was presumably to make irrelevant any reproaches directed at the States that they insuffiecently furthered the cause of the true (Calvinist) religion: even to William of Orange, religion had been a mere political instrument, while the Revolt was primarily a battle for liberty, not for the true faith. Especially this last claim implies that opposition to the States government

 50

Grotius, Annales, III, 61-2. ‘Manente eius urbis [Trajecti ad Mosam] obsidio imperator, ad quem relegatam fuisse pacificationem diximus, Coloniam Agrippinensem legatos miserat: eodem Hispanus dux Terraenovae cum regiis mandatis, et a Belgis Arschotius aliique convenerant. At Arausionensis, qui nunquam dubitarat omnem cum Rege pacem in suum periculum fore, divulsa tunc Belgica, tot inter partes medius ipse, atque eo cunctis invisus, ne pariter hostibus et inimicis dederetur, haud temere metuebat. Sed aversari colloquia et iudices Germanos, durum atque infame. Occultius, quo eadem evenirent, curabat postulatis de religione insisti, quaeque alia Regem concessurum nemo sperabat. Caeterum potuisse eo tempore satis aequas conditiones obtineri, credibile est, nisi privatis pactionibus nonnulli pacem publicam corrupissent.’ 51 Ibidem, V, 94, 100. In the latter passage Grotius refers to the dispute about the Revolt’s objectives and in Tacitean phrases criticises both the States faction and the ministers on Leicester’s side, which could easily have caused irritation and incomprehension on both sides involved in 1612.

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on religious grounds is illegitimate. The learned Tacitean style of the AH thus has a pivotal function: it offers the only available possibility to discuss such political (and to some, Machiavellian) actions in a strictly realistic and observing way, without automatically professing moral judgements about them. The permanent link to the atmosphere of Tacitus’s works which the styles creates, qualifies all possible moral implications, because in that atmospere, there is almost no black and white, but only shades of grey. The States, however, did not publish the AH. We may suspect that the reason was that the committee in charge either objected to the less than laudatory view of the Revolt mentioned above, or feared that Grotius’s statements on e.g. William of Orange’s religious policy would be too controversial and might turn out counter-productive rather than justifying and appeasing. In the tense atmosphere of the period, there could easily arise difference of opinion on what was and was not acceptable or prudent to publish. Counter-Remonstrant readers, after all, would not have liked to see William of Orange associated with the political use of religion which Grotius attributes to him in the fragment quoted above. The ambiguous character of the text and the controversial aspects of Tacitism might easily give rise to misunderstandings: the sophisticated directions-for-use of the Tacitean style no doubt were not clear or even known to everybody. Proclaiming such a reason of state-based view of the Republic’s comingto-being could even burden the States’ administration with a Machiavellian aura: the publication of such views as justification of their own government would suggest that they approved of the methods in question. 52 The fact that Grotius in the meantime had made his own partiality by publishing the OP was a further complicating factor: a role as the learned, reconciling statesman had become impossible anyway. Grotius’s use of Tacitus was not a whim. After completion of the first version of the AH he kept using Tacitus as a mirror of contemporary politics. This becomes clear not only from the fact that he continued working on the AH intermittently until 1637, when he considered it ready to be published; it is also demonstrated by a remarkable document that was found among his papers.53 It consists of two small, related collections of

 52

The eighteenth-century biography on Grotius by Caspar Brandt and Adriaan van Cattenburg, Historie van het leven des heeren Huig de Groot (Dordrecht/Amsterdam ,1727-1732), Vol. 2, 422 claims ‘to have heard’ that the AH were not published ‘for reasons of State’ (‘… om redenen van Staat … der drukpers onthouden wierden’). 53 Waszink, “Grotius’ AH from the Evidence in his Correspondence”, 261.



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commonplaces from Tacitus’s Annales (and a few other works of history), collected with an explicit application to the Truce controversies in mind. Commonplace-books of this kind were very common, being assembled by authors as they read, with a view to later use in their own writings to strengthen or adorn them with quotations.54 The two collections bear the titles Apologia Remonstrant[ium] verbis praecipue Taciti conscripta. Juny 1620 (An Apology of the Remonstrants, written primarily in Words from Tacitus, June 1620) and Pro Contraremonstrantibus Apologia verbis Taciti praecipue conscripta (An Apology Against the CounterRemonstrants, written primarily in Words from Tacitus).55 Dating from the period of Grotius’s imprisonment at Loevestein, the documents do not seem to be written in his hand, which leads to questions about the identity of the collaborator who collected the quotations, and for which work it was done. Included are quotations like ‘Multi odio praesentium et cupidine mutationis suis quoque periculis laetantur l. 3 in m[edio]’ (Tac. Ann. III.44.2), jotted down behind and below one another without any apparent organising principle.56 The quotations collected here are not used in the Apologeticus of 1622. The (older) AH seems to refer to one or two of them indirectly.57

Conclusion In this article we have observed how Grotius used his scholarly knowledge and methods in his political activity, and seen that to him the scholarly and the political domain – knowledge and prudence – were unseparable. This should be seen in the perspective of the close ties that existed in Holland at the time between governance and politics on the one



54 On commonplace collections, see Ann Moss, Printed Commonplace-Books and the Structuring of Renaissance Thought (Oxford, 1996); Waszink, “Introduction”, in Lipsius, Politica, and the references there. 55 Rotterdam, Gemeentebibliotheek (Municipal Library), MSS. RemonstrantsGereformeerde Gemeente, 417a and 417b. 56 Tacitus, The Annals. Translated, with and Introduction and Notes, by Anthony J. Woodman (Indianapolis, 2004), 105. ‘… many, in their hatred of the present and desire for change, were delighted even at dangers to themselves …’ 57 The quotation ‘cuncta et privata vulnera reip[ublicae] malis operire statuerunt. Hist. l. 1 in m.’ (Tac. Hist. I.53.2; ‘… made up his mind to … use his country’s sufferings to disguise his own predicament’) is clearly recognizable in Grotius, Annales, I, 8. ‘Multi publica mala suis remedium, aut obtegumentum quaerebant.’ Tacitus, The Histories. A New Translation by Kenneth Wellesly (London, 1st ed. 1964, 1972), 54.

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hand, and education, science and scholarship on the other. The fact that the former child prodigy Grotius was considered as such an excellent candidate for a great political career points at these ties as well. We have also seen that in his role as spokesman for the States of Holland Grotius initially had a high-minded ideal as peacemaking statesman-historian in mind with this marriage of knowledge and prudence. In the Annales et historiae Grotius attempts, from an ideal of scholarship oriented towards political service to society but impartial nonetheless, to present a truth based on an authoritative interpretation of the facts, which he hopes will have a reconciliatory effect on the conflict. To this end he uses pre-eminently scholarly means in order to reach an audience, which, however, did not consist exclusively of scholars. Thus we suspect that he misjudged the type of arguments his intended audience was able or prepared to follow. Grotius moreover uses strikingly unconventional methods, for instance by using a style in order to argue points of content, and a difficult and controversial style at that. It seems that by choosing this approach, although it demonstrates his learned and literary virtuosity, Grotius actually hampered the acceptance of his argument. The fact that the author had in the meantime shown his partiality in the Truce conflicts would have further reduced the chances of success for the innovative type of argumentation in the AH. In this case, Grotius’s ideal of the statesman-historian remained an ideal, if only because the Annales et historiae was not printed in its own time. That fact itself however, might be read as an indication that his superiors considered Grotius’s sophisticated literary instrument unfit for use in the tense political circumstances of the age.



CAPABILITY IN POLITICAL THOUGHT

WHY THE WEALTHY SHOULD RULE: MARCUS ZUERIUS BOXHORN’S DEFENCE OF HOLLAND’S ARISTOCRATIC MERCANTILE REGIME JAAP NIEUWSTRATEN

The Dutch Republic is often depicted as having reached its zenith in the 1650s and 1660s when Holland’s grand pensionary Johan de Witt (16251672) and his brother Cornelis (1623-1672) dominated Dutch politics. 1 During this period, also termed in historiography as the ‘First Stadholderless Period’ or the time of ‘True Freedom’, Holland’s wealthy urban mercantile elite reigned freely in their cities and their province, unhindered by the interference of a stadholder, whose strange semisubordinate, semi-sovereign office had been left vacant after the death of prince William II (1626-1650). 2 The brothers Johan (1622-1660) and Pieter de la Court (1618-1685) are credited for explaining and defending the logic behind and indeed the necessity of Holland’s urban mercantile regime most acutely and originally during these festive days of ‘True Freedom’. While the next article addresses some of their views on capability, this article focuses on the work of Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn (1612-1653), who was one of the professors of the De Witt brothers and the De la Court brothers during their stay at Leiden University.3



1 Jonathan I. Israel, The Dutch Republic: Its Rise, Greatness, and Fall, 1477-1806 (Oxford, 1st ed. 1995, 1998), 700-95; Willem Frijhoff and Marijke Spies, Dutch Culture in a European Perspective, Vol. 1. 1650: Hard-Won Unity (Assen, 2004), 106ff; Maarten Prak, The Dutch Republic in the Seventeenth Century: The Golden Age (Cambridge, 2005), 45-60. 2 For a detailed description of the office of the stadholder during the time of the Dutch Republic, see Herbert H. Rowen, “Neither Fish nor Fowl: The Stadholderate in the Dutch Republic”, in Herbert H. Rowen and Andrew Lossky, Political Ideas & Institutions in the Dutch Republic (Los Angeles, 1985), 3-31. 3 Johan and Cornelis de Witt enrolled as students at Leiden on 10 October 1641 and stayed there until the end of 1644 when they departed to go on their Grand Tour. Johan and Pieter de la Court enrolled on 5 October 1641 and 10 November

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Simply put, this paper aims to unearth Boxhorn’s view on capability and office-holding in the Dutch Republic. First, a short overview will be given of how Boxhorn looked at capability in general and the special place he attributes to wealth. Second, it will be argued that Boxhorn’s view on the importance of wealth was influenced by his understanding of Dutch history and, more specifically, by that of the province of Holland. The outcome of this paper will be that Boxhorn’s work presents a defence of Holland’s ‘aristocratic’ mercantile regime closely resembling the ideas later put forward by the De la Court brothers. The issue of capability played a central role in this defence.4 Between 1633 and 1653, Boxhorn was a professor in Leiden, specialising in oratory, history and politics. Among his students were not only the De Witt brothers and the De la Court brothers, but also ‘the flower of the Dutch and German nobility’, including, for example, the duke of Mecklenburg.5 Boxhorn was also one of the most prolific writers of his

 1643, respectively. Just E. Kroon and Anthony J. Blok, Album studiosorum Academiæ Lugduno-batavae MDCCCLXXV-MCMXXV (Leiden, 1925), 327, 345. For Boxhorn as the professor of the De Witt brothers, see Joannes D.M. Cornelissen, “Johan de Witt en de vrijheid”, in ibidem, Eendracht van het land: cultuurhistorische studies over Nederland in de zestiende en zeventiende eeuw. With an essay on his life and work by E.O.G. Haitsma Mulier and A.E.M. Janssen (Amsterdam, 1987), 134, 136; Luc Panhuysen, De Ware Vrijheid: de levens van Johan and Cornelis de Witt (Amsterdam-Antwerp, 2005), 43-63, esp. 49-50. For Boxhorn as the professor of the De la Court brothers, see Ernst H. Kossmann, Political Thought in the Dutch Republic: Three Studies (Amsterdam, 2000), 42; Noel Malcolm, “Hobbes and Spinoza”, in John H. Burns (ed.), The Cambridge History of Political Thought, 1450-1700 (Cambridge, 1991), 547. 4 As early as 1960, Ernst Kossmann suggested that Boxhorn might have paved the way for new, ‘more modern’ thinkers like the De la Courts. Until now, however, no decisive evidence has been brought forward to substantiate this suggestion. Ernst H. Kossmann, Politieke theorie in het zeventiendeeeuwse Nederland (Amsterdam, 1960), 20-22. 5 Lambertus Barlaeus, “Oratio Funebris In Excessum Clarissimi Viri, Marci Zuerii Boxhornii, Eloquentiae & Historiarum in inclyta Academia Luguno-Batavâ, dum viveret, Professoris celeberrimi, habita In Auditorio Theologico IX. Octobris, Anno M DC LIII”, in Henning Witte, Memoriae philosophorum, oratorum, poetarum, historicorum, et philologorum nostri seculi clarissimorum renovatae, decas sexta (Frankfurt am Maim, 1679), 150. ‘Nec vulgares modo discipulos habebat & sectatores, sed plerosque optimatum filios, florem Belgicae & Germanicae nobilitatis … Inter quibus praeter innumeros Germaniae Comites & Barones, etiam fuit illustrissimus Princeps Megapolitanus, sive Dux



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age, publishing more than 60 works on a variety of subjects, ranging from poetry to philology and politics, that found their way into the works of the Cromwellian polemicist John Hall (1627-1656) and Sir James Stewart (1635-1713), Lord Advocate of Scotland,6 and into the libraries of Baruch de Spinoza (1632-1677), Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646-1716) and Samuel Pufendorf (1632-1694).7 Many of these works are on Dutch issues, for example his analysis of the Dutch Republic, the Commentariolus de statu Confoederatarum Provinciarum Belgii (Commentary on the Condition of the Confederate Provinces of the Netherlands), which was a bestseller, seeing at least six reprints between 1649 and 1674.8

 Mekkelenburgensis, qui, ut propius Defuncti nostri institutione & politissimis colloquiis frueretur, mensa ejus aliquamdiu usus est.’ 6 John Hall, The Grounds and Reasons of Monarchy Considered: In a Review of the Scotch Story, gathered out of their Best Authors and Records (Edinburgh, 1650), 49; James Stewart, Jus Populi Vindicatum (London, 1669), 87, 157. 7 For Spinoza, see Eco. O.G. Haitsma Mulier, “Spinoza en Tacitus: de filosoof en de geschiedschrijver”, in E.O.G. Haitsma Mulier, Lodewijk H. Maas and J. Vogel (eds.), Het beeld in de spiegel: historiografische verkenningen:liber amicorum voor Pieter Blaas (Hilversum, 2000), 73-74. For Leibniz, see Prys Morgan, “Boxhorn, Leibniz, and the Welsh”, in Studia Celtica, Vol. 8-9 (1973-1974), 22028; Daniel Droixhe, De l’origine du langage aux langues du monde: études sur les XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles (Tübingen, 1987), 113. For Pufendorf, see Fiammetta Palladini (ed.), La Biblioteca di Samuel Pufendorf: catalogo dell’asta di Berlin del settembre 1697 (Wiesbaden, 1999), 69-70, 308, 388-89. 8 Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn, Commentariolus de statu confoederatarum provinciarum Belgii (The Hague, 1649). Between 1649 and 1678, six Latin editions of Boxhorn’s Commentariolus were published (1649, two editions in 1650, 1654, 1659, 1668); starting with the third edition, it was published together with the De Statu Reipublicae Batavicae Diatriba (Discourse on the Condition of the Dutch Republic; first published under the title De natura reipublicae Batavicae by Jacob Marcus at Leiden in 1618) of the Dutch lawyer and historian Paulus Merula (1558-1607) and the Corte Verthoninghe van het recht by den ridderschap, eedelen ende steden van Hollandt ende Westvrieslant (A Short Exposition of the Rights exercised by the Knights, Nobles and Towns of Holland and West Friesland) written by the town pensionary of Gouda François Vranck (1555-1617). The Commentariolus was also translated into Dutch: Politiijck hantboexken van de staet van ’t Nederlandt (two editions in 1650, 1651, 1652, 1660, 1674). Merula’s and Vranck’s tracts were incorporated into the Dutch version of the Commentariolus starting with the second edition; starting with the fourth edition of Boxhorn’s Militair repartitie-boexken, a tract describing the organisation and workings of the Dutch army. One French edition was also published of the Commentariolus: L'estat et gouvernement politique & militaire, tant par mer que par terre, des Provinces confédérés au Païs-bas (?, 1653).

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Boxhorn’s main political work was the Institutiones Politicae (Political Instructions), published posthumously in 1657 and re-edited in 1668 by his successor at Leiden University, the German George Horn (16201670).9 The Institutiones Politicae consists of two books. Book one deals with the origin, nature and goal of the commonwealth on the one hand, and the resources for achieving these goals on the other. Book two consists of the classical account of the different proper and defective forms of government and their arcana imperii (i.e. the secret devices needed for the preservation of a specific form of government). In book one, chapter eight, which discusses lower magistrates, Boxhorn addresses most elaborately and directly the issue of capability. One of the central questions of this chapter is who is fit to obtain and hold a public office (publicus honor). ‘When choosing a magistrate’, Boxhorn begins, ‘one has to take the utmost precaution.’ Since ‘the burden of exercising power is heavy’, the persona of the magistrate should match that burden.10 Accordingly, one needs to look less at someone’s high birth (genus) than someone’s virtues (virtus), ‘since the sons of heroes are frequently harmful’.11 It follows that the merits and deeds of the ancestors of a certain candidate for a public office count less than the merits and deeds one can expect from the candidate himself, a standpoint that Boxhorn had taken as early as 1635 when, in his dissertation on ‘true nobility’, he criticised those people who only take pride in the glory won by their ancestors, instead of taking pride in their own achievements.12

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Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn, Institutiones politicae cum commentariis ejusdem et observationibus G. Horni (Amsterdam, 1668). All references in this article are to this edition. 10 Ibidem, I.8, p. 104. ‘Diximus §. 3. maximam curam esse in eligendis magistratibus debere. Pro magnitudine nempe curae magnitudo personae esse debet. Grave autem est onus imperii, diligenter itaque ad personas Magistratus attendendum, ut huic oneri pares sint.’ 11 Ibidem. ‘Adjecimus §. 5. viam ad magistratus muniendam virtuti potius quam generi; quia saepe heroum filii sunt noxae; …’ ‘Heroum filii noxae’ is a famous adage of Erasmus (Adagia I.6.32). Pieter de la Court quoted this adage three times in the Political Balance to discredit hereditary monarchical regimes. Pieter de la Court, Consideratien van Staat ofte Politike Weegschaal (Amsterdam, 1662), I.12, 81; I.30, 145, 147. 12 Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn, “Oratio de vera nobilitate”, in ibidem, Orationes duae, De vera nobilitate, et Ineptiis saeculi (Leiden, 1635), 9-10. ‘Et nos majorum nostrum gloriam in nos derivamus, nec relictam ab ijs, nec à nobis acquisitam … Non nobiles omnes, qui ex illustri prosapia prognati. Nisi simiam hominem dixeritis, quia cultu humano ornata incedit. Stolidum est ita majores numerare, ut



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Virtue, according to Boxhorn’s perspective, is something that could be achieved and should be exercised in the same way that wealth could be acquired. This helps to explain why it is not so much someone’s condition (fortuna) that is important when choosing a candidate for a public office, but his spirit and diligence (animus et industria), ‘since the judgements of fortune are blind’.13 As a consequence, Boxhorn posits that in theory all inhabitants of a commonwealth should be able to obtain a public office.14 Nobody must be excluded from obtaining and holding a public office, because private individuals should not be barred from what is held in common.15 From this, we can conclude that a public office is common property and that, at least in this case, Boxhorn saw the res publica, which he defines in nonCiceronian terms as ‘a body of many’,16 in the Ciceronian sense of a res populi, the collective property of the people.17 According to Boxhorn, the principle of ‘non-exclusion’ has four major benefits. First, it excites in people a greater love for the commonwealth, because the fact that no one should be excluded from obtaining and holding a public office demonstrates to the people ‘the greatness of liberty’ that rests on a system of ruling and being ruled in turn.18 This will

 ad eorum mumerum ipse non accedas, & splendidum gloriae suae seipsum auctorem fateri, splendidissimum tamen & à se, & à majoribus suis ordiri.’ 13 Boxhorn, Institutiones Politicae, I.8, 104. ‘Adjecimus §. 5. viam ad magistratus muniendam virtuti potius quam generi; quia saepe heroum filii sunt noxae; industriae quam fortunae; quia caeca sunt judicia fortunae; in Rep[ublica] verò oculatum esse vel maximè convenit.’ Here Boxhorn plays with the double meaning of fortuna: change in terms of wealth, well-being, or the state of one’s property. 14 Ibidem, I.8.5, 97. ‘Via igitur ad honores munienda est inquilinis.’ 15 Ibidem, I.8, 105. ‘Nemo etiam à Magistratu excludendus, juxta §. 6. quia quod commune omnium est, singulis non debet denegari.’ 16 Ibidem, I.2.1, 8. ‘Respublica est corpus multorum ad agnoscendam eiusdem Imperii Majestatem, iisdem legibus, omnium & singulorum utilitatis causa, inbutum.’ ‘A Commonwealth is a body of many permeated by the same laws for the sake of the advantage of all together and each individually to recognise the majesty of the power to command over that same body.’ 17 Cicero, The Republic, I.39. 18 Boxhorn, Institutiones Politicae, I.8, 105. ‘Accedit quod hoc faciat: I. ad Reip[ublicae] amorem majorem in omnibus excitandum: quippe sic ostenditur & magnitudo libertatis, quae in vicissitudine parendi & imperandi consistit, & reprimitur Insolentia Magistratuum.’ Probably because where everyone is allowed to obtain office, no magistrate can hold office for life. According to Aristotle, ‘to rule and be ruled in turn’ was ‘one principle of liberty’, the other one being ‘that a man should live as he likes’. Aristotle, The Politics and The Constitution of Athens. Edited by Stephen Everson (Cambridge, 1st ed. 1996, 2007), 1317b1 [VI:2], 154.

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curb the insolence of the magistrates, because as long as the magistrates realise that they are elected from amongst equals and they themselves will be someday ruled by others, they will, for fear of retaliation, adopt a careful policy and avoid anything that might upset their fellow citizens. In this way, their unbridled desire (libido) is restrained. 19 Second, it contributes to the concord (concordia) within a commonwealth, since both the people who are unfit to and will probably never rule and the people who are fit to rule all share the same hope that one day they might rule.20 Third, it promotes virtuous behaviour, because virtue is treated with contempt if public offices are ‘snatched or taken away’.21 In other words, holding a public office should be earned. Fourth and finally, the principle of ‘non-exclusion’ leads to a public manifestation of obedience, because the person who hopes to obtain an office one day will show more respect to the magistrates present, so as to avoid disobedience when he himself is in office. To conclude, public offices should, at least in theory, be open to any member of the commonwealth for this will stimulate individuals to adjust their behaviour in such a way as to benefit the common good. What should be clear is that Boxhorn argues primarily from a negative perspective: if people adjust their behaviour because public offices are open to any member of the commonwealth, they do so in order to avoid some (future) evil and not, for example, out of love for their fellow man. Fear and self-interest are the leading motives here, and we will see these motives return when we discuss the importance of wealth.22 The principle of ‘non-exclusion’, however, is a theoretical ideal. In reality, Boxhorn directly excludes two kinds of people from obtaining and holding public office: foreigners and people who are of little worth or are

 19

Ibidem. ‘Dum enim cogitant, ex paribus se electos, & aliquando alios futuros, qui ipsis aeque atque illi modo aliis imperent, non parum libido eorum refraenatur.’ 20 Ibidem, I.8, 105. ‘2. Ad firmandam hoc vinculo concordiam Reip[ublicae]. Ubi enim qui impares sunt gerendo reipsa imperio, pares tamen sunt aliis spe gerendi imperii, leviùs ferunt alios sibi imperare, licet ipsi vel nunquam ad imperium deveniant.’ 21 Ibidem. ‘3. ad excitandum virtum. Sublatis enim aut ablatis honoribus virtus comtemnitur.’ 22 Thus, self-interest or love for oneself (amor sui) will produce love for the fatherland (amor patriae), concord (concordia), virtue (virtus) and obedience (obsequium). To advocate for political participation on practical grounds was common practice among Aristotelian scholars. See Robert von Friedeburg and Michael J. Seidler, “The Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation”, in Howell A. Lloyd, Glenn Burgess and Simon Hodson (eds.), European Political Thought, 1540-1700: Religion, Law and Philosophy (New Haven/London, 2007), 159.



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despised by their subjects. 23 That foreigners should be excluded from public office was commonplace in the seventeenth century. Boxhorn states that they possess less knowledge of the characters of their subjects and are likely to take little care of them. 24 The second category of people is excluded because the ‘power of every dignity’ (vis omnis dignitatis) depends on the office-holder. If the person in office is despised, he will lack authority (autoritas) or his authority will be ignored outright, nullifying the effective power of his office.25 Furthermore, as there are those in every commonwealth who have to rule and those who have to obey and as nobody can rule and obey at the same time, a distinction has to be made between those who rule and those who do not. Second, though everybody may be equal before the law, not everyone is blessed with the same degree of virtue or finds himself in the same prosperous condition (fortunae conditione). There are differences. Accordingly, choices have to be made. Boxhorn reduces these down to three choices: a choice between nobles and plebeians; a choice between the elderly and the young; and a choice between the wealthy and the poor.26 In all cases, the best (optimi) should be given preference ‘since this will benefit all’. Accordingly, it is in the interest of the plebeians that those of noble rank rule, since the plebeians themselves are not held in high regard.27 The elderly should be given priority over the young, since they

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Boxhorn, Institutiones Politicae, I.8.4, p. 97. ‘Et ante omnia placuerit quidem, nunquam vilioribus aut contem[p]tis in judiciis subditorum, nunquam peregrinis, nisi in bello forsan, credi publicos honores.’ 24 Ibidem. ‘In peregrinis autem minor peritia earum rerum atque ingeniorum, quibus administrandis, aut regandis imponuntur, aliquando etiam minor fides, cum vel minor, vel nullus est in iis amor subditorum.’ 25 Ibidem. ‘Nam tanti fere est, & fit vis omnis dignitatis, quanti est & fit ille, qui accepit: adeò ut si comtemtus sit, autoritas etiam ejus deficiat & flocci pendatur.’ 26 Interestingly, Boxhorn leaves religion and sex entirely out of this discussion. He felt that religious preferences and preferences for male or female rulers depended on local circumstances and the time one lives in. He does, however, advise that those who are in charge of the commonwealth should adhere to the same religion and he notices that women are deemed by all nations to be weak and to lack judgement. See Boxhorn, Institutiones Politicae, I.7.19, 83; II.2.12, 268. 27 Ibidem, I.8, 106-7. ‘Nempe quod optimi omnibus anteponendi: Quo discrimine nulla injuria fit reliquis, quia beneficium ad omnes redit: interest itaque plebeiorum, ut à generosis regantur, idque propter autoritatem, quia plebeii non ita aestimantur.’

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have greater authority and are more experienced. 28 Finally, it is in the interest of the poor that the wealthy rule ‘since the wealthy can muster more strength and means to protect the poor’.29 Boxhorn points out that this is customary among the Dutch. He then pauses for a moment to explain this further. Boxhorn gives four particular reasons why the Dutch prefer the wealthy (instead of the poor) to hold public offices. The first reason is that the Dutch usually do not pay their magistrates, which implies that candidates for a public office have to be self-supporting.30 Because they already have sufficient means to support themselves, the wealthy are also less likely to ‘plunder’ the commonwealth.31 The third reason is that those people will take better care of the commonwealth who know that their belongings are predominantly to be found in that commonwealth. Merchants, according to Boxhorn, adhere to the same line of reason. When they send their ships with their goods to unknown shores, they force the crew to put some of their personal belongings on board, so that the crew is more trustworthy in protecting the ship.32 This for the obvious, but indirect reason that if any harm would befall the ship, its crew would also have something to lose. Finally, their wealth enables them to display their dignity publicly.33 This public display is probably necessary in order for the magistrate to awe his subjects and boost his authority. Once again, we see the notion of self-interest surface, now specifically linked to wealth and applied to the Dutch context. However, this combination is not a typical Dutch phenomenon. In his account of Roman history, the Dissertationes Politicae de regio Romanorum imperio



28 Ibidem, 107. ‘Demum interest Juvenum, ut à Senibus regantur, quia penes senes major est autoritas et experientia rerum.’ 29 Ibidem. ‘Interest quoque egenorum, ut à Divitibus regantur, quia Divites majorem vim et opes ad defendendos egenos conferre possunt.’ 30 Ibidem. ‘1. Quia nulla ferè apud illos stipendia magistratibus dantur.’ 31 Ibidem. ‘2. Quia divites non adeo Remp[ublicam] expilant, qui sufficientes jam opes habent.’ According to Lesley Price, ‘one of the reasons why contemporaries regarded wealth as a necessary qualification for entry into the regent elite was that this was taken as some sort of a safeguard against misuse of public office for gain’. J.L. Price, Holland and the Dutch Republic: The Politics of Particularism (Oxford, 1994), 49. See also Israel, The Dutch Republic, 125-26. 32 Ibidem, I.8, 105. ‘3. Quia magis curant Rempub[licam] qui sua quoque in illa esse & quidem non modica norunt. Fit hoc ea ratione, quemadmodum cum mercatoriis navibus, ubi sua bona in exteras oras ablegantes adigunt nautas rerum quoque propriarum aliquid imponere, ut tanto fideliores sint in nave custodienda.’ 33 Ibidem. ‘4. Quia ad pompam dignitatis, quae in Magistratu esse debet, opes faciunt.’



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(Political Dissertations on the Regal Rule of the Romans), Boxhorn puts the same arguments forward to praise the senatorial rule of the patricians in Rome. 34 He justifies the unequal distribution of votes between the patricians and the plebeians in the comitia centuriata ‘because the administration of the Commonwealth should be put in the hands of those people, who are fairly wealthy, rather than in the hands of those people who are of lesser condition, since it is likely that those people shall be more devoted to the common good who will suffer more when it is lost’.35 Similarly, in book two, chapter eight, which discusses democratic government, Boxhorn discredits the common people, because they posses ‘less wisdom and take, thanks to their private interests, less care for what is common. Thanks to the poverty that can be found amongst many of them, they are also less inclined to take into account the perils that are facing the Commonwealth’.36 Boxhorn’s view on office-holding, with its focus on fear and selfinterest, can be explained if we look at his account of the origin, nature and purpose of the commonwealth. In Boxhorn’s opinion, the independent, individual commonwealth is the result of a process of decline. In the beginning, before there were any commonwealths, there had existed only single families. These families had formed the first forms of command (imperia) and had, due to their fertility, grown into ‘a certain type of Commonwealth’.37 This had been the legendary golden age, an age where

 34

Published separately in 1643, 1644 and 1645 under the name ‘Disputationes politicae de regio Romanorum imperio’, they were first brought together in 1651 in Boxhorn’s Emblemata politica: accedunt dissertationes politicae de Romanorum Imperio et quaedamaliae (Amsterdam, 1651), 139-355. They were reprinted in Boxhorn’s Varii Tractatus Politici (Amsterdam, 1663), 409-533. References in this article are to 1651 edition. 35 Boxhorn, Dissertationes Politicae, VI.7, p. 213. ‘Quod consilium ipsa ratio probat. Cum enim credibile sit boni publici magis futuros studiosos, qui eo amisso jacturam facturi sunt privatarum opum, ditioribus potius, quàm his, qui minoris fortunae, cura Reipub[licae] mandanda est.’ 36 Boxhorn, Institutiones Politicae, II.8, 345-46 [350-1]. ‘… quod notatum Tacito Annalium XIV.c.60. ubi tradit vulgo minus esse sapientiae et propter privata commoda minus publicae curae, et propter tenuitatem, quae in pleriisque est fortunae, non tantam aestimationem periculorum Reipublicae incumbentium.’ Tacitus, however, says: ‘Inde crebri questus nec occulti per vulgum, cui minor sapientia et ex mediocritate fortunae pauciora pericula sunt.’ Tacitus, The Annals, XIV.60.5, 303. ‘Hence frequent and unconcealed complaints from the public, whose prudence is less and, given the meanness of their fortune, dangers few.’ 37 Ibidem, I.2, 12. ‘Imperia sensim ac gradatim prodiisse dicebamus: Primis enim temporibus singulae familiae, pro Rebuspublicis erant. Quod mirum videri non

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there had been no laws, and where the authority of rulers had been obeyed without coercion.38 The golden age, however, had come to an end when the original families had grown too big for their original homelands to contain them and to provide them with a sufficient amount food. Thus, forced by a scarcity of land and food, they had divided their possessions and had spread around the globe. With the division of property and the dividing of the Earth, law had set in to protect private property. Together these divided families or tribes had constituted a ‘Commonwealth of nations’ that Boxhorn describes as St. Augustine’s City of God, whose ‘prince was reason that ruled as wide as the nations were stretched’.39 But reason’s reign had not lasted. Due to the violation of the law of nations, factions had emerged, soon followed by all kinds of injustices and finally war. As people had begun to aim at their mutual destruction, many neighbouring tribes had merged into bigger compositions, as they had a better chance against the aggression of other tribes as a united front and because they could achieve advantages (utilitas) as a united front that they could not achieve on their own.40 People came to accept the same rulers and to obey the same laws. Essential in this process was the role of religion as an instrument of fear. Only through fear could men, who were created equal by nature, accept indifferences and keep their word. Thus, fear and self-interest heralded the start of the modern commonwealth. The Aristotelian concept of man’s natural sociability, however, is completely lacking. Nowhere in Boxhorn’s works is there any mention or assumption that man is by nature inclined to live in society.

 debet, nam primi & prisci illi longaevi maximè erant atque simul foecundi, ut etiam quidam concubinas haberent. Itaque in vita sua plurimos penes se filios, nepotes & reliquos descendentes habebant, qui quia plures erant, speciem quandam Reipublicae constituebant.’ 38 Ibidem, I.9, 129-30. Reference to Ovid, Metamorphoses, I.89. ‘This was the Golden Age that, without coercion, without laws, spontaneously nurtured the good and the true.’ 39 Ibidem, I.2, 12. ‘Atque Augustinus de Civitate Dei, gentium Rempublicam esse dixit, quae omnes homines complectitur, cuius Princeps ratio, quae tam late imperat, quam gentes sunt porrectae.’ St. Augustine, De Civitate Dei, XIX. 40 Ibidem, I.2.13, 9. ‘At verò, natis interim, & crescentibus injuriis, quibus populis divisi, & potentia jam, opibus ac multitudine hominum, inaequales, in mutuum exitium ferebantur, plures vicinae gentes, & Respublicae modicae tandem sese conjunxerunt, & iisdem Principibus, Magistratibus & legibus, juri & imperio se permiserunt, muti auxilii ferendi causa, & ut tanto promptiùs injurias, quas alii inferebant, aut illaturi erant, quibus prohibendis singulae impares existebant possent propulsare.’



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Instead Boxhorn provides us with a Hobbesian story of bloodshed, injustice and fear. The motivation of man is not to live well, but to survive and advance his own cause. The goal of the commonwealth is a purely secular one: the common good (bonum commune) or the welfare of the people (salus populi). Nowhere does Boxhorn give a precise definition of what he means by these terms, but it becomes clear from what we have just discussed that it centres on protection, physical well-being and material prosperity. Within the commonwealth, the relationship between the individual and the community is one of friction. First, no man is entirely good and so there is always the danger that he will do something bad that might hurt other people or the commonwealth.41 Further, human nature is such ‘that any man wants what he can [get]’.42 If everyone is permitted everything, then everyone will want to take possession of everything and will continuously strive for more.43 This will undoubtedly lead to chaos. As a result, man living within a commonwealth needs to be restrained from seeking his own personal interests at the expense of those of the commonwealth. The question is how. One solution is to incite fear by punishing people. Another is rewarding good or virtuous behaviour. Since no one, because of man’s natural dullness or ambition, will pursue virtue as a goal per se or behave well without the prospect of reward, the community has to reward its citizens.44 Opening offices to men of virtue rather than to men of noble birth can be seen as an indication of that principle. This, however, brings us to another problem. We have thus far spoken primarily about capability for office (i.e. the criteria a candidate has to meet to be eligible for a public office). Is, however, a candidate who meets all the eligibility criteria for public office also a good office-holder? What are the actual traits of a good office-holder? In other words, what criteria does a office-holder have to meet according to Boxhorn to prove himself capable of fulfilling his office? To answer these questions, we first need to know what Boxhorn thought to be the primary tasks an office-holder should fulfil. The first and

 41

Ibidem, II.4, 313. ‘Nemo scilicet omnino bonus.’ Ibidem, II.3, 290. ‘Natura enim humana ita comparata est, ut quisque velit id, quod possit.’ 43 Ibidem. ‘Ubi enim omnia omnibus licent, omnes omnia volunt occupare, et continuo amplius serpunt.’ 44 Ibidem, I.9, 134. ‘Licet enim Stoicorum ex sententia, virtus sibi ipsi sit praemium, et semper pulcherrima merces, tamen sive socordia sive ambitione humani ingenii factum est, ut virtus ex praemiis aestimetur.’ 42

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most important common goal of every office-holder should be the common good. The Disquisitiones Politicae (Political Inquiries), a publication of lectures he made to students in Leiden,45 demonstrates that Boxhorn reminded these future office-holders time and again that ‘the safety of the people is the highest law’46 and that ‘the well-being of the Commonwealth’ (salus Reipublicae) should be their ultimate goal.47 Just as in the Institutiones Politicae, Boxhorn never precisely defines what he means by ‘the safety of the people’ or ‘the well-being of the Commonwealth’. However, from the topics he addresses in both the Institutiones Politicae and the Disquisitiones Politicae, we can deduce what Boxhorn thought to be the primary concerns of a public office-holder and, consequently, what contributes most to the common good. These topics are how to prevent war or, when war has broken out, how to wage war; 48 how to prevent or end a civil war; 49 and how to conclude and



45 See Boxhorn’s biography by his good friend Jacobus Baselius (1623-1661). Jacobus Baselius, “Vita Marci Zuerii Boxhornii”, in Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn, Epistolae et poemata (Frankfurt/Leipzig, 1669), ix. In 1650, the first two editions of the Disquisitiones Politicae appeared, one in The Hague by Johannes Verhoeve, and the other in Leiden by Philipe de Croy. In 1651, Verhoeve published a new edition. Four years later, in 1655, Adriaen Vlacq published an edition of the work in Amsterdam. In 1669, both a Dutch and French edition appeared: Disquisitiones politicae, of Overwegingen van staat en bestiering (Amsterdam, 1669); Recherches politiques très curieuses, tirées de toutes histoires tant anciennes que modernes (Amsterdam, 1669). Finally, an English translation by James Knapton appeared in London in 1701: Arcana Imperii Detecta, or Divers Select Cases in Government; with the Debates, Arguments and Resolutions of the Greatest Statesmen in Several Ages and Governments thereupon. All references in this article refer to Johannes Verhoeve’s 1650 Latin edition. 46 Boxhorn, Disquisitiones Politicae, XI, 55. ‘Salus populi suprema lex sit.’ Ibidem, Institutiones Politicae, I.5.13, 48. ‘Jure autem gentium Salus populi Imperantibus suprema lex data est.’ From Cicero, De Legibus, III.3.8. ‘Regio imperio duo sunto, iique, praeeundo, iudicando, consulendo, praetores, iudices, consule appellamino; militiae summum ius habento, nemini parento; ollis salus populi suprema lex esto.’ 47 Ibidem, XIII, 65. ‘… sed & ubi ita poscit necessitas, salus Reipublicae supra Privilegia omnia est & Leges.’; XXIV, 240. ‘Salutem Reipublicae & Principis supremum semper esse & supra caetera mandatum’; XLVII, 367. ‘Salus Reipublicae … semel sancta & aeterna, & instar omnium lex est.’ 48 Ibidem, VI, 26-32; VIII, 40-3; XVI, 74-78; XXIII, 101-3; XXV-XXVI, 109-16; XXX, 132-40; XXXXI, 192-98. Ibidem, Institutiones Politicae, I.12, 180-208. ‘De iure belli, de bellorum administrandorum recta atque cauta ratione.’ 49 Ibidem, VII, 32-40; XVII-XVIII, 78-84; XXXII, 147-50; XXXVIII, 175-79; LLI, 237-44; LVII, 271-75. Ibidem, Institutiones Politicae, I.14, 221-32. ‘De Bellis



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maintain alliances (foedi) 50 and treaties (pacti). 51 The primary task of a public office-holder then is to maintain domestic and foreign peace. Other key tasks are to legislate, execute justice52 and levy taxes.53 From these tasks, compiled in two books designed to introduce students to the world of politics, we can deduce that public office-holders, when in office, should preferably have knowledge of all these areas or that they be ‘specialists’ (generals, lawyers, tax collectors) in a specific area. But how does one acquire such general or specific knowledge? This is obtained first through one’s own experience. This is precisely the reason why the elderly are preferred over the young. Second, it is obtained through the experiences of others, which can be found in history or in books like the Institutiones and Disquisitiones Politicae. As Boxhorn explains in his oration on history, history is of special value for those ‘who are devoted to the fatherland and to the governing of men’s affairs therein’, because for them history recollects the ‘human verdicts, examples and conclusions that only the memory and the good faith of the Annals keep intact and present very widely’. 54 For this reason, public officeholders should familiarise themselves with the works of the greatest minds

 Civilibus, eorum caussi; denique eorum praeveniendorum, & si exorta sint, componendorum ratione.’ 50 Ibidem, V, 22-6; XX, 89-92; XXII, 96-101; XXXIV-XXXVI, 155-67. Ibidem, Institutiones Politicae, I.11, 164-79. ‘De Foederibus, eorumque diversa ratione.’ 51 Ibidem, IV, 16-21; LIV, 259-62; LVIII, 275-90. Ibidem, Institutiones Politicae, I.13, 208-21. ‘De pactis, quae nomine publico cum hostibus ineuntur, praesertim Induciarum ac pacis, quibus tantùm differuntur bella, aut penitus tolluntur.’ 52 Ibidem, XIII, 61-65; XV, 71-73;.XVII, 78-84; XXIII, 101-3; XXVI, 113-16; XXXIX, 179-85; XXXXV-XXXXVI, 213-25; Ibidem, Institutiones Politicae, I.9, 121-43. ‘De legibus, earum origine, & diversa in omni Republica ratione, de earundum abrogatione & promulgatione. De tribuendis praemiis. Denique de poenis justè & cautè imponendis.’ 53 Ibidem, XXVIII, 122-24; XXXXII, 198-205; LIX-LX, 290-301. Ibidem, Institutiones Politicae, I.10, 143-64. ‘De opibus Reipublicae acquirendis & conservandis, de vectigalium ac Tributorum, Aerariorumque in Republica ratione.’ 54 Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn, De historia, ejusque legendae ac tradendae ratione (Leiden, 1649), 3-4. ‘Vos quoque ego cum video, qui patriae et curandis hominum in ea rebus estis devoti … Quid, quod cum in Republica non incidant de tigno tantum aut stillicidio lites, sed identidem etiam, & hercle, gravissimae de imperio, bello, pace, foederum religione, aliisque, in quibus salus gentium & opes versantur, de his quidem nihil rite recteve, nihil sancte, statuatur, nisi totius, ut sic dixerim, humani generis judicia, exempla, consensus, quae sola Annalium memoria ac fides conservat atque amplissima exhibit, serio et cum cura inspiciantur.’

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of antiquity, most notably Tacitus, ‘the greatest writer of all’.55 However, as I will discuss elsewhere, according to Boxhorn, this did not mean that public office-holders should blindly imitate previous examples. They should instead constantly adapt past knowledge to new circumstances, as ‘times change and we change with them’. 56 Accordingly, ‘everything should be adjusted to the circumstances and times’.57 In addition to theoretical knowledge (scientia) and practical knowledge (prudentia), which a public office-holder gains (or, in case of the elderly, has already gained) through his own experience (experientia) or somebody else’s experience (historia), he should also be an eloquent speaker. Eloquence (eloquentia) is in fact a key characteristic of an effective public office-holder. For example, when he wants to pass new legislation, a public office-holder needs to apply his rhetorical skills to convince men of the logic and the specific advantage of this new legislation, for men prefer to follow reason and will ‘gladly embrace’ a law if they know its specific advantage.58 With his rhetorical skills, the public office-holder can also influence the opinion of his subjects (subditorum opinio) and make them believe things that are not true or that will never happen, as, unfortunately, not all measures a public office-holder must take can count on the approval of the common people (vulgus). 59 For this reason, he has to

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Boxhorn in a letter to Magnus Gabriel de la Gardie (1622-1686), May 1643. Boxhorn, Epistolae et poemata, 203. During the reign of queen Christina of Sweden (1626-1689), Magnus Gabriel de la Gardie was one of the leading Swedish nobles. He later became the head of the Privy Council of king Charles X (1622-1660). 56 Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn, Metamorphosis Anglorum, sive Mutationes variae regum, regni, rerumque Angliae. Opus Historicum et Politicum, ex variis fide dignissimis Monumentis ac Auctoribus contextum, ad haec usque tempora deductum, memoriaeque posteritatis aeternae consecratum (?, 1653), 274. ‘Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis.’ 57 Ibidem, Disquisitiones Politicae, XXXIII, 154. ‘Omnia rebus ac temporibus accommodanda sunt.’ See for a more elaborate discussion of Boxhorn’s view on history and politics, Jaap T. Nieuwstraten, History and Politics in SeventeenthCentury Dutch Political Thought: The Case of Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn (16121653) (PhD-dissertation; Rotterdam, forthcoming). 58 Ibidem, Institutiones Politicae, I.3, 22; I.9, 133. ‘Quàm libenter quisque utilitatem amplectitur, ita quoque legem, quam utilitatis causa esse novit.’ 59 Ibidem, I.15, 243-44. ‘Porro §. 10. ostendimus, quomodò optimè arcan tegi possint, nempe primus modus est, ingenerata animis subditorum opinio, qua persuadetur ratio esse, quae non est, vel futura esse, quae nunquam futura sunt. Opinio verò à ratione eò distat, quod opinio rationi inest, non verò ratio opinioni. Hic ergò opinio locum habet, quia habere ratio non potest. Ad hanc autem opinionem conciliandam maxima & excellens desideratur publica Eloquentia.



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know how to mask his true intentions and come up with ‘false reasons’ (fictae rationes) that will please the people if the occasion calls for it.60 With the art of simulation and dissimulation, we enter the grey area of what is and is not permissible for a public office-holder. In addition to deceiving the people with false appearances, Boxhorn also grants – even recommends – public office-holders to transgress civil laws and to violate ancient privileges if ‘the well-being of the Commonwealth’ demands such action.61 Boxhorn admits that such transgressions might lead to personal injustice, but he deems this acceptable as long as ‘any injury that is done to particular persons, is balanced by public expediency’.62 This does not mean that a public office-holder is free to do as he likes; he may only deviate from civil law, he is not permitted to transgress the boundaries of divine law or the law of nations. Furthermore, he must also always keep his word and honour his agreements.63 It is clear to Boxhorn that this is sometimes at odds with the duty of a public office-holder to violate the ancient privileges he has sworn to uphold if necessity demands such a course of action. Here he states that ‘necessity has no laws’64 and that once again ‘the well-being of the Commonwealth’ should prevail above ancient customs and privileges.65

 Majoris enim laboris est & ingenii, persuadere opinionem, quàm rationem, qua seipsam cuique persuadet.’ 60 Ibidem, I.15.6, 234. ‘Caeterum quia duplicis generis publica negotia, duplex ratio in Rebuspubl[icis] necessario constitui debet: Vera aut Ficta. Vel enim res & actiones, quas moliuntur, gratas futuras subditis confidunt magistratus, tunc verae possunt in vulgus proferri rationes, vel metuunt res, quas cupiunt, effectas, & ideo earum rationes, quanquam justas, ingratas populo futuras & inacceptas, tunc larvae loco fictae rationes usurpari debent.’ 61 Ibidem, Disquisitiones Politicae, XIII, 61-5; XIX, 84-9; XXXIII, 150-5; XXXIX, 179-85. Ibidem, Institutiones Politicae, I.6, 67-79. ‘De Jure Dominationis, quid illud sit? Quomodo id salva aequitate ab aequitate ordinarii juris deflectat ? qui denique ejus supremi termini & leges?’ 62 Ibidem, XIX, 87. ‘Quod in Republica singuli juvent, & quicquid in privatos peccatur, utilitate in publicum pensetur.’ A clear reference to Tacitus, The Annals, XIV.44.3. ‘… habet aliquid ex iniquo omne magnum exemplum, quod contra singulos utilitate publica rependitur.’ 63 Ibidem, Institutiones Politicae, I.6.4, 68. ‘At verò, ut à summis Magistratibus nihil naturae, nihil gentium juri, nihil pactis, in quae singulatim conventum est, derogari posse judicamus; ita ab civilibus legibus, ubi Reipublicae ratio id flagitat, deflectere eos posse arbitramur.’ 64 Ibidem, I.6, 75. 65 Ibidem, I.6.13, 71. ‘Salus Reipublicae facit, ut jus dominationis justum sit, non quod hactenus & ordinario jure receptum est, sed quod maximè Reipublicae in praesens est salutare, & lex, ac agendi ratio, quantumvis nova, & veterem

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We are now in a position to develop a list of hallmarks of a good public office-holder. A public office-holder proves himself capable of fulfilling office, when he: - prevents war or, when war has broken out, keeps the enemy at bay or defeats the enemy; - prevents civil war or ends it when it has broken out; - legislates through persuasion rather than by force; - punishes evildoers and rewards the good; - does not violate divine law or the law of nations; - keeps his word; - transgresses civil law only when necessary and only if it benefits the common good. As the other articles in this volume show, Boxhorn does not deviate much from his Dutch contemporaries in terms of the qualities identifying a good public office-holder. What happens, however, if a public officeholder does not fulfil these tasks properly or – even worse – abuses the powers of his office to his own benefit and to the detriment of the people and the commonwealth, thereby proving himself unworthy and incapable of holding office? In such a case, can a public office-holder be called to account? In his works, Boxhorn hardly addresses the problem of accountability. The one exception can be found in book one, chapter five of the Institutiones Politicae, in which Boxhorn advises the installation of ‘censors’, who should see to it that public office-holders do not act against the laws established to safeguard the freedom of the people and who should notify those ‘in whose interest it was’ if the methods of the magistrates opposed ‘the law and freedom’. 66 Who, however, are these people ‘in whose interest it was’ to be notified, and, when notified, what can they do to stop public office-holders who transgress the boundaries of their office? Boxhorn does not give the answers. He does, however, emphasise that public office-holders who are in office ‘cannot nor should be punished’ although they may be accused of having committed certain

 subvertat, & quibusdam privatis noxia sit, tantò minùs, imò eo ipso nihil iniquitatis habet, quanto in commune plus utilitatis confert. Salus enim populi suprema lex esto.’ 66 Ibidem, I.5, 61. ‘II. Custoditur libertas legibus permissa censoriis Magistratibus introductis, qui sunt Magistratus in Magistratus constituti, qui inquirunt rationes Magistratuum, & si quos legi libertatique adversari deprehenderint, ad eos, quorum interest deferunt, sic ut hoc pacto ratio quasi gesti imperii à summis etiam Magistratibus exigatur.’



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crimes.67 From his comments on the consuls and tribunes of ancient Rome and on tyranny, we can conclude that Boxhorn thinks that a public officeholder can at least be held accountable after he has laid down his office or when he has fallen out of office due to tyrannical behaviour.68 Prevention, however, is better than cure. To prevent public officeholders from abusing the powers of their office, Boxhorn recommends a well-balanced arrangement of public offices that aims to prevent any concentration of power within the magistracy by means of a yearly rotation of office and by a prohibition for blood relatives to hold public offices at the same time or to elect family members as their successors.69 The principle of ‘non-exclusion’, expressed as a system of ruling and being ruled in turn, strives to achieve the same target: fear that they will suffer the consequences for past actions as soon as they are out of office should keep public office-holders in check during their tenure. Boxhorn believes the power of fear to be so strong that it can even bridle princes wielding absolute power.70 All these measures, however, are not guarantees that a public officeholder will abide by divine law and the law of nations, nor that he will govern in the interests of the inhabitants of the commonwealth. Because of man’s obstinate and egocentric nature, no such guarantees can ever be given. Man, whether a public office-holder or a mere subject, will always be tempted to pursue his own interests. Ultimately, as the merchant metaphor seems to suggest, the best and safest solution seems to be to elect those people whose interests are most deeply intertwined with the interests of the commonwealth. Boxhorn acknowledges that this solution casts doubts on the desirability of monarchical regimes, for despite the fact that he considered monarchy ‘the oldest, most simple and, provided maintained in a good condition, the safest way of commanding’,71 he was

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Ibidem, I.9.32, 104. ‘Hinc Magistratus, qua adhuc talis, seu quamdiu titulum muneris publici sustinet, accusari quidem (etsi justa §. 28. non temerè) potest, puniri non potest aut debet.’ 68 Ibidem, I.5, 67; II.4.49-53, 305-6. 69 Ibidem, I.8.19-24, 101-3. 70 Ibidem, I.5, 59. ‘Sed dicat quis; vanam esse hanc aut nullam libertatis conservationem, cum nihil sit, quod ad arbitrii aequitatem cogere possit eum, qui omnium rerum arbitrium accepit? Respondemus fraenum tamen aliquod injectum esse Imperatoribus, quod metum appellavit Aristoteles, qui oritur ex eo, quod metuant, ne pertaesi subditi injustorum imperantium, ne justa quidem velint ferre, et tum facile dejiciant de summa rerum, quemadmodum liberè libertatem suam iis mancipavere.’ 71 Ibidem, II.2.1, 264. ‘Monarchia, Respublica est, in qua uni alicui & soli suprema & praecipua Imperii cura est demandata, cui ex eo Regis aut Principis est

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also aware that monarchies and commonwealths were generally opposed because a single ruler ‘often puts affairs of common concern after private matters, or because he is [often] carried away by temptations of pleasure, or because he, inclined to tyranny, causes the more damage, the more powerful he is’.72 If the best way to ensure good government is to elect those people whose interests are most deeply intertwined with the interests of the commonwealth, it becomes essential to find out what the interests of the commonwealth actually are. Here Boxhorn shares the belief of those scholars who are now labelled ‘political Aristotelians’ that each commonwealth has its own specific interests that depend on social, political and historical conditions.73 For this reason, we have to take a look at Boxhorn’s view on Dutch history in order to understand why Boxhorn felt that in the case of the Dutch Republic the interests of the commonwealth correspond mostly with the interests of those of fortune and fame. The significance of trade for the Dutch Republic and the wealth it generated, was commonly acknowledge throughout Europe and by the Dutch themselves.74 For Boxhorn, this significance was self-evident. The

 cognomentum. Estque illa & antiquissima, & facillima, & si rectè habeatur, tutissima imperandi ratio.’ 72 Ibidem, I.2, 10. ‘Respublica quam hic definimus pro quovis imperio usurpatur, etiam pro eo cui unus praeest, si modo ille saluti obedientium consulat. At quia saepè is aut publica privatis postponit, aut illecebris voluptatum rapitur, aut ad tyrannidem inclinans tantò plus infert damni, quantò potentior est, obtinuit, ut Respublica Monarchiae ferè opponatur.’ 73 See, for example, ibidem, II.1.4, 258. ‘Quae autem regendi ratio & forma optima sit, non tam anxiè, ut fieri solet, perscrutandum putamus. Utique enim, ut generatim dicam, quod sentio, ea optima censenda, quae ad ingenia suorum & commoda, maximè est comparata. Neque enim omnibus in tantâ morum, locorum, temporum diversitate omnia conveniunt.’ For an excellent short English survey of the politica genre and ‘political Aristotelianism’, see Von Friedeburg and Seidler, “The Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation”, 157-66. 74 See for instance V.D.H. (Pieter de la Court), Interest van Holland ofte Gronden van Hollands-welvaren (Amsterdam, 1662); William Temple, Observations on the United Provinces (London, 1673); Petrus Valkenier, 't Verwerd Europe, ofte politijke en historische beschryvinge der waare fundamenten en oorsaken van de oorlogen en revolutien in Europa, voornamentlijk in en omtrent de Nederlanden zedert den jaare 1664, gecauseerd door de gepretendeerde universele monarchie der Franschen (Amsterdam, 1st ed. 1675, 1742), 107-49; Samuel Pufendorf , Inleydingh tot de historien der voornaemste rycken en staten, welke ter deser tƋd in Europa worden gevonden (Leiden, 1st ed. 1680, 1697), 417-79.



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importance of trade and wealth is a frequently recurring theme in his works on Dutch history. In the Nederlantsche Historie (Dutch History)75 and the Theatrum Hollandiae (Theatre of Holland), 76 Boxhorn clearly indicates that the Dutch struggle against the Catholic Church and the Spanish oppressor was not only fought for freedom of conscience, but also for trade. In the Nederlantsche Historie, for example, Boxhorn explicitly attacks the Catholic Church, not only because it had advocated improper doctrine and had oppressed the true faith, but also because the Church’s policy of oppression and its exceptional position, resulting in tax exemption, had devastated Dutch economy.77 Obviously, the importance the Dutch Republic as a whole placed on trade had everything to do with the fact that the economic prosperity of Holland, by far the most important province of the Dutch Republic, depended on it. In the Theatrum, Boxhorn explains this prosperity in terms of a historical process. In ancient times, the province of Holland was small, scarcely inhabited and frequently raided by foreigners. Thanks to the first counts, matters changed for the better. They managed to stop the raids and founded or stimulated the growth of cities. With the emergence of cities, trade began to flourish and wealth began to grow. In addition, the character of the people altered: contact with the outside world, made possible by Holland’s advantageous geographical circumstances, transformed the inhabitants of Holland from simple farmers to traders who exceeded all other nations in experience, industry and bravery.78 Boxhorn was not unique in seeing this change. The young Hugo Grotius (1583-

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Marcus Zuerius Boxhorn, De Nederlantsche Historie, eerste boeck behelsende de eerste veranderingen in de Godsdienst ende leere, neffen de harde vervolgingen daer over ontstaen in de Nederlanden, voor en tot de tijden toe van keiser Karel de Viifde (Leiden, 1649). 76 Ibidem, Theatrum sive Hollandiae comitatus et urbium nova descriptio (Amsterdam, 1632). In 1634, an extended version of the Theatrum appeared in Dutch. Toneel ofte Beschryvinge der steden van Hollandt waer in haer beginselen, voortganck, privilegien, historie ende gelegentheyt vervat worden / int Latyn beschreven by Marcus Zuerius Boxhornius ; int Nederlandts ouergeset uyt de copye, by den autheur uerbetert, ende merckelyck en vermeerdert, door Geraerdt Baerdeloos (Amsterdam, 1634). 77 Ibidem, De Nederlantsche Historie, 58-59, 190, 207-8. 78 Ibidem, Theatrum, 46-47. ‘Hodie certe Hollandi, quanto olim simpliciores, tanto solertia, et in rebus moliendis gerendisque industria, dexteritate, prudentia omnes alias gentes longius antistant: dum commerciis, quae non modo cum vicinis suis, sed cum remotissimis nationibus, atque alio sole calentibus contrahere solent, velut cotibus, indies acuuntur. Ita enim fieri solet, ut eorum mores induamus, quibuscum frequenter versamur.’

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1645) had also took note of this in the Parallelon rerumpublicarum (Comparison of Commonwealths).79 However, while Grotius laments the loss of ancient virtues, Boxhorn only praises Holland’s wealth and prosperity.80 More importantly, and this is another point where Boxhorn’s account differs from Grotius’s, Boxhorn also describes a change in Holland’s political constellation. In the beginning of Boxhorn’s history, the count acts almost unilaterally. As the story develops, however, we see the count entering into discussion with his nobles and the delegates of major cities about the key issues concerning the province. This change is reflected in the many charters that the counts, whether out of self-interest (money) or benevolence, granted the cities. Presented in chronological order, they become lengthier over time and granting a growing list of rights to the cities.81 These charters not only led to economic prosperity, granting privileges to cities to the benefit of their citizens, but they also reflected the growing importance of wealth within Holland’s urban communities. While the oldest charters are silent about requirements for office-holders, later charters, particularly those issued by Philip the Good of Burgundy (13961467) during the mid-fifteenth century, stipulate precisely that only the wealthiest and most honourable citizens (Rijcxste, Eerbaerste, Notabelste, ende Vredelickste) can sit on the city council (vroedschap ende Rijkdom) and that from among those only the wealthiest and most honourable can serve as alderman (schepen) or burgomaster (burgemeester).82 The charters also redefined the relationship between the count and his subjects. The cities of Holland now had certain rights which the count had to observe. If he did not, a count could be rightfully resisted. This is precisely what happened when Philip II, in his attempt to enforce his

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Finished around 1602, the Parallelon rerumpublicarum was never published during Grotius’s lifetime. 80 Arthur Eyffinger, “Hugo Grotius’s Parallelon rerumpublicarum”, in Henk J.M. Nellen and Hans Trapman (eds.), De Hollandse jaren van Hugo de Groot (15831621) (Hilversum, 1996), 91-92; Marieke Meijer Drees, Andere landen, andere mensen: de beeldvorming van Holland versus Spanje en Engeland omstreeks 1650 (The Hague, 1997), 26-28, 47, 55, 59, 65-67. 81 In Institutiones Politicae, Boxhorn claims that the Dutch, while still under their counts, carefully saw to it that their fundamental rights were frequently augmented. Boxhorn, Institutiones Politicae, I.9, 131. 82 Boxhorn, Toneel ofte beschrijvinghe, 151. In Institutiones Politicae, II. 5, 34647, Boxhorn compares Holland to ancient Carthage, where according to Aristotle the most noble and wealthiest persons were chosen to hold public office. Aristotle, Politics, 1293b1 [IV:7].



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religious policies on the Netherlands, oppressed his subjects, violated their rights and deliberately hampered trade. It was for these reasons that Philip II was deposed as count of Holland and Zeeland.83 During the war that followed, both the Dutch and the Spanish suffered heavy losses and had to invest enormous amounts of money. Despite this fact, there was a significant difference between the two parties. While the war impoverished the people of the Iberian Peninsula, the citizens of Dutch Republic grew increasingly wealthy. The main cause behind the growing wealth of Dutch citizens was seaborne trade. Boxhorn cites the Dutch East India Company and Dutch West India Company as examples. Both companies were initiatives of private citizens, who – for ‘the Fatherland’ – financed the equipment of warships against Spain (i.e. ‘the common enemy’). The companies in turn were backed by the public authorities, who gave them legal protection in the form of monopolies. The motive of the private citizens were the spoils of war, while the motive of the public authorities was to damage the enemy and benefit from the companies’ gain. The result was enormous growth in private wealth, which the public government subsequently could tax.84 In Commentariolus, his analysis of the condition of the Dutch Republic, Boxhorn once again underlines the significance of trade and wealth for the well-being and indeed the very existence of Dutch Republic. He goes as far as to claim that the domestic wealth of the Dutch Republic is one of the three main pillars on which the independence of the Republic rests. 85 This domestic wealth consists of the private commodities of its inhabitants. ‘And if these private persons will labour non-stop and

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Ibidem, Theatrum, 86. ‘Philippus III ob tyrannidem, & oppressam libertatem publicam, anno 1572, ab Hollandiae Ordinibus, judicatus est huic principatui suo excidisse.’ King Philip II of Spain was the third count of Holland who listened to the name Philip. 84 Ibidem, 49. ‘Collegia plerumque instituunt, et suis sumtibus naves bellicas praestantissimas adornant. Sunt etiam quae in communes Patria hostes à privatis armantur, solius praedae caussâ. Sed ante alias memorandae nobis sunt celeberrimae illae in Orientalem et Occidentalem Indiam Navigationes … Atque hinc illa opum vis, et potentia Hollandorum, quaeque hanc consequi solet, nominis virtutisque suae apud alios autoritas et reverentia. Sic quodam quasi aestu et torrente felicitatis in hanc gloriam excreverunt; ipsi quamvis omnibus pene destituti, hujus tam lautae et excelsae fortunae suae strennui fabricators.’ 85 The other two pillars are the durability of the Dutch Republic’s institutions by which Boxhorn means the preservation of the organisation of government as established in the Union of Utrecht and the unequal distribution of power and wealth among the seven provinces, ensuring their mutual independence.

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tirelessly to acquire and augment these commodities, this Commonwealth shall for certain not have any want.’86 Boxhorn deems private wealth so important because it can be taxed. Equally important is the actual process of accumulation itself, since the greatest source of public income in the Dutch Republic was the tax income raised on the sale of consumer goods and real estate, as well as import and export duties. Transactions benefitted the commonwealth – the more goods were sold and the richer the Dutch became, the more income the Dutch public authorities had.87 This income was necessary to pay for the military forces that protected the Republic against its enemies and safeguarded its independence. 88 For Boxhorn, empire, trade, and the accumulation of private wealth form the nucleus of the power of the Dutch Republic. It is now time to draw some conclusions. First, the picture Boxhorn draws for us in his historical works tells us a story where economic growth and a positive change of character went hand in hand with the political emancipation of subjects who became political partners and eventually independent rulers. These parallel developments make it tempting to suggest that Boxhorn thinks that better, wealthier, wiser and more experienced tradesmen make for better politicians. Second, Boxhorn’s work reflects a continuous interplay between private interests, mainly articulated in terms of trade and wealth, and the leading public power, be it the count in earlier times or the city governments, provincial States and the States General later on. Boxhorn clearly indicates that both parties needed and stimulated each other and that the same goes for his time and age. Dutch private citizens need a government that will protect their goods and

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Boxhorn, Commentariolus, IX.6, 145. ‘Si ad domesticas opes oculos quoque convertamus, cum illae praecipuè consistant in opibus privatorum, atque eorundem infinita atque indefessa industria quaedam sit in iis parandis, partisque augendis, nihil certè facilè huic Reipublicae est defuturum.’ 87 This is particularly true of the province of Holland that paid for almost 60% of the Republic’s expenditure. In the 1630s, two-third of all tax income of the province of Holland consisted of taxes on consumer goods. Jan de Vries and Ad van der Woude, The First Modern Economy: Success, Failure and Perseverance of the Dutch Economy, 1500-1815 (Cambridge, 1997), 96-113, esp. 102-3. 88 In this context, Boxhorn frequently refers to Tacitus’s famous sententia that ‘tribes cannot be kept quiet without troops. You cannot have troops without pay; and you cannot raise pay without taxation’. Tacitus, The Histories. Translated by W.H. Fyfe. Revised and edited by D.S. Levene (Oxford, 1st ed. 1997, 2008), IV.74.1-2, 223. Boxhorn, Institutiones Politicae, I.9, 132-33; I.10, 156; Ibidem, De Nederlantsche Historie, 207-8.



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enterprises against internal and external enemies. Dutch regenten need wealthy citizens to tax and prosperous inhabitants to consume, as they will provide the financial means necessary to fulfil their tasks and thus keep themselves in power. By allowing the wealthy to rule, the two parties merge as it were, neutralising the always lurking conflicts between private and public interests. Some fifteen years after Boxhorn’s death, Pieter de la Court would propose something similar. In a phrase that has become famous, he states that ‘the interest of every country consists of the well-being of its rulers and subjects together, and it is dependent on a good form of government, and therefore that is the foundation on which the well-being of the commonwealth is built; so one has to understand, that a good form is not where the well- or ill-being of the subjects depend on the virtue or vice of the rulers, but (and this should be noted) where the well- and ill-being of the rulers, by necessity follows from, or depends on the well- or ill-being of the subjects’. 89 Reasoning from the same negative anthropology as Boxhorn, Pieter de la Court concludes that the safest solution is that those people hold public offices whose interests correspond the most with the interests of the commonwealth. Since Pieter de la Court holds that the interests of the commonwealth are the result of the culmination of the interests of the majority of its citizens, they – not a single ruler or a clique of nobles – should govern the commonwealth. In conclusion, we can state that the ideas of Boxhorn and the De la Court brothers signal a breach with the past. For example, although Justus Lipsius (1547-1606) and Hugo Grotius had already acknowledged that, when it comes to politics, it was essential to take into account man’s wickedness, these eminent scholars still believed that there were some people who, because of their noble birth or via good education, were able to rise above the depravities of human nature. To these virtuous men, they

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Pieter de la Court, Aanwysing der heilsame politike gronden en maximen van de Republike van Holland en West-Vriesland (Leiden/Rotterdam, 1669), 2. ‘Aller Landen waerhaftig Interest, bestaet in het welvaeren der Regeerden en Onderdanen gesamentlijk, en het selve kennelijk aan eene goede Regeeringe hangd: alsoo die warelijk is de Grond waar op alle het welvaren des Gemeenen Lands geboud is, soo moet men weten, dat eene goede Regeeringh is, niet daar het wel ofte qualijck vaeren der Onderdanen hangd van de deugd ofte ondeug der Regeerderen, maer (dat seer aanmerkens-waardig is) daar het wel en qualijck vaeren der Regeerderen, nootwendigh volghd op, ofte hanghd van het wel ende qualijck vaeren der Onderdaenen’ (emphasis added). I have used Hans W. Blom’s translation in his Causality and Morality in Politics: The Rise of Naturalism in Dutch SeventeenthCentury Political Thought (PhD dissertation; Utrecht, 1995), 178-79, which also includes the original Dutch text.

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held, the rudder of the state could be entrusted safely.90 Boxhorn and the De la Court brothers denounce such reasoning as wishful thinking. Not only do they question the likelihood of finding such virtuous men, they also do not believe that it is safe to entrust public offices on the grounds of virtue alone, if only, as they believe, because men will never pursue virtue as a goal per se. For both Boxhorn and the De la Courts, then, capability for and in office is not so much about virtuous moral behaviour, but more about ‘self-interest rightly understood’. Therefore, they both put those people in power who have much to gain from serving the common good and who will suffer the most if any harm will come to it. For both, the Dutch ship of the State is safest in the hands of merchants and sailors.

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See, for example, the previous article by Jan Waszink.

MERCURY’S TWO FACES: COMMERCIAL CANDOUR AS THE KEY TO CAPABILITY IN THE DUTCH GOLDEN AGE ARTHUR WESTSTEIJN

Democratic peoples have this passion for generic terms and abstract words because such phrases broaden the scope of thought and allow the mind to include much in few words. A democratic writer will freely put ‘the capabilities’, meaning capable men, without going into details as to what these capabilities are to be applied to. —Alexis de Tocqueville (1805-1859)1

On a cold winter day at the start of 1632, the Dutch humanist scholar Caspar Barlaeus (1584-1648) gave a lecture at the opening of the Amsterdam ‘Athenaeum Illustre’, a newly established higher education civic college for the city’s youth.2 Speaking to the fathers of the young men he was about to teach, the prosperous elite of a town which had become famous for its trade, Barlaeus chose an appropriate topic for his speech: the connection between commerce and the study of philosophy or – as he called it – the ideal of a mercator sapiens (wise merchant), who combines mercantile virtues such as frugality and honesty with scientific knowledge and philosophical insight.3

 1

Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America. Translated by George Lawrence, edited by J.P. Mayer (New York, 1969), 481. 2 For a general history of the Athenaeum, see Dirk van Miert, Illuster onderwijs: het Amsterdamse Athenaeum in de Gouden Eeuw, 1632-1704 (Amsterdam, 2005). 3 The lecture was published the next year: Caspar Barlaeus, Mercator sapiens, sive oratio de conjungendis mercaturae & philosophiae studiis (Amsterdam, 1633), later reissued as the first of Barlaeus’s collected speeches in his Orationum liber (Amsterdam, 1643). For a modern edition with a Dutch translation, see Caspar Barlaeus, Mercator sapiens: oratie gehouden bij de inwijding van de Illustere School te Amsterdam op 9 januari 1632. Edited by S. van der Woude (Amsterdam, 1967).

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From the start, the lecture reflected the pragmatic concerns of the speaker and his audience, gathered in ‘this new sanctuary for the Muses’. In an opening oration, Barlaeus asked God for wisdom and guidance in civic and commercial affairs and requested ‘that those, who have so far followed Mercury, will by now be called candidates for Wisdom; plain but with elegance; striving for money but without detriment for a better motivation, which is science and virtue’.4 Connecting the virtues of these ‘wise merchants’ to the demands of civil society, Barlaeus stressed that the elements of Aristotelian ‘civic prudence’ from cleverness and ingenuity to judgment and consultation were also ‘the very same elements and tasks of commerce’.5 And therefore, the merchant who took up these tasks wisely embodied for Barlaeus the ideal of the prudent citizen engaged in the public life of the polity, the citizen capable of administering communal affairs. One specific commercial quality in particular would make such a merchant apt for performing in public, so Barlaeus argued in his speech. This quality stemmed from the double divinity of ‘the most ingenuous of the Gods, Mercury’, who apart from being the god of commerce was also ‘the author of wisdom and eloquence’. That, Barlaeus insisted, could be no coincidence: through incorporating these two faces of both commerce and wise rhetoric, Mercury showed that ‘merchants need both wisdom and fluency; the one so that they can discern honest from disgraceful gains, the other in order to commend with the allure of words the goods which they are satisfied to sell’.6 With this claim that the wise merchant’s ability to tell honesty from dishonesty was somehow connected to his own appealing speech, Barlaeus drew a parallel between commercial practice and truthful, persuasive

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Barlaeus, Mercator sapiens, 3-4. ‘Stat supplex civium ordo … in novo hoc Musarum sacrario … Da, ut Mercuriales hactenus, jam Sapientiae candidati audiant; parci, sed cum elegantia; pecuniae studiosi, sed sine detrimento melioris studii, hoc est, artium & virtutis.’ Unless stated otherwise, all translations from Latin and Dutch are mine. 5 Ibidem, 24. ‘Aristoteles … Prudentiae civilis administras comitesque facit, Experientiam, Memoriam, Solertiam, Ingenium, Sententiam & Consolium. At hae ipsissimae sunt mercaturae partes & oficia.’ 6 Ibidem, 9-10. ‘… ingeniosissimum Deorum Mercurium, illum sapientiae ac eloquentiae autorem. Nempe ut doceant, & sapientia & facundia opus esse mercantibus; illa, ut quaestum honestum à turpi discernere possint, hac; ut verborum lenocinio commendent eas merces, quas extrudere satagunt.’ On Barlaeus and rhetoric, see also Jeroen Jansen, “Het geslaagde spreken: welsprekendheid als beroepsbekwaamheid in de zeventiende eeuw”, in De zeventiende eeuw, Vol. 18 (2002), 31-42, esp. 37-39.



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speech. In other words, Barlaeus suggested that telling the truth in public is a commercial capability, mastered by those who are schooled in both wisdom and pragmatism. Rhetoric, the art of persuasion, was thus wedded to commerce, the art of selling, and Barlaeus was not the only one in the Dutch Golden Age who cherished this matrimony between speech and trade: some decades after his remarkable lecture in Amsterdam, two brothers from the city of Leiden would establish a similar connection as a pivotal element of their republican theory. These brothers, Johan (16221660) and Pieter de la Court (1618-1685), indeed approached Barlaeus’s ideal of the ‘wise merchant’: apart from being successful textile entrepreneurs they also engaged fervently in the Dutch public debate with the publication of a number of elaborate political treatises.7 Accordingly, the De la Court brothers demonstrated a thorough awareness of the double divinity of Mercury. This article discusses how. In particular, it raises the issue of their own rhetoric, analysed against the background of conventional rhetorical theory exemplified by the Dutch scholar Gerard Vossius (1577-1649), a friend and close colleague of Barlaeus. This analysis leads to a discussion how the ‘commercial’ rhetoric employed by the De la Court brothers underlies their conception of speaking in public and political participation. The ensuing notion of a ‘capability of candour’ will prove to be, in spite of its pretence of straightforwardness, rather generic. However, if Tocqueville is to be believed, it might therefore just as well broaden the scope of thought.

Vossius and the features of rhetoric What did the rhetorical face of Mercury look like in the Dutch Golden Age? Ever since Antiquity, rhetorical practice and teaching had played a central role in public life by offering the main comprehensive system for the creation and evaluation of speech and, consequently, for society’s most important feature: human communication. Famous Roman orators and theorists such as Cicero and Quintilian, themselves elaborating on a rich Greek rhetorical legacy, left hugely influential treatises that would dominate discussions on the subject for centuries. With the advent of humanism, this rhetorical tradition received new and fresh attention and emphasis: rhetoric came to be seen, in line with what the Classics had

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Thus far, there is no comprehensive study of the republican thought of the De la Court brothers, but see the lucid discussion in Eco O.G. Haistma Mulier, The Myth of Venice and Dutch Republican Thought in the Seventeenth Century (Assen, 1980), 120-69.

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argued, as an essential element of the Renaissance ideal of a vir civilis (virtuous citizen) who engages actively in the public life of the polity by eloquently advising his sovereign and instructing his fellow citizens in the pursuit of truth and reason.8 In late Northern humanism at the start of the seventeenth century, the prolific Dutch scholar Vossius was one of the most important protagonists of this tradition. 9 In 1606, Vossius, born almost 30 years before in Heidelberg and by then rector of the Latin School in the Dutch town of Dordrecht, published his Institutiones oratoriae (Oratorical Instructions), a large erudite encyclopaedia of rhetorical theory. 10 During his career, which eventually brought him to the Amsterdam Athenaeum where he gave an opening speech one day before Barlaeus, Vossius’s work on rhetoric saw numerous revised editions and enjoyed growing international demand. The 1621 compendium version of the earlier work, the Rhetorices contractae sive partitionum oratoriarum libri V (Five Books on Abridged Rhetoric or the Classifications of Oratory), became the standard textbook for teaching rhetoric in Dutch schools and universities from 1625 onwards. 11 Given the still rather extensive nature of this version, a far more concise edition followed, summarising the main topics in a few pages – the Elementa rhetorica (First Principles of Rhetoric). Both works

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For a general introduction to humanist rhetoric, see Brian Vickers, “Rhetoric and Poetics”, in Charles B. Schmitt (ed.), The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy (Cambridge, 1988), 715-45. More extensive on the ideal of the vir civilis is Quentin Skinner, Reason and Rhetoric in the Philosophy of Hobbes (Cambridge, 1996), 66-87. Needless to say, the humanist reception of classical rhetorical theory was much more complex and much less uncritical than my short remarks on it might suggest. See, for example, for Ramus’s dialectic defiance of the classical tradition Kees Meerhoff, “Ramus en tijdgenoten: de humanistische receptie van de retorica”, in Lampas: tijdschrift voor Nederlandse classici, Vol. 34 (2001), 351-72. For other important theorists such as Trebizond, Erasmus, and Agricola, see also Thomas M. Conley, Rhetoric in the European Tradition (Chicago/London, 1990), esp. 111-33. 9 See the extensive biography by C.S.M. Rademaker, Life and Work of Gerardus Joannes Vossius (1577-1649) (Assen, 1981), esp. 177-81. 10 The work is analysed in more detail by Jeroen Jansen, “De Institutiones oratoriae van G.J. Vossius (1577-1649)”, in Lampas: tijdschrift voor Nederlandse classici, Vol. 34 ( 2001), 373-90. 11 Rademaker, Vossius, 193-96. Cf. as well the short synopsis of the Rhetorices contractae in Wilfried Barner, Barockrhetorik: Untersuchungen zu ihren geschichtlichen Grundlagen (Tübingen, 1970), 265-74. For some general remarks on the nature of such rhetoric textbooks, see Brian Vickers, “Some Reflections on the Rhetoric Textbook”, in Peter Mack (ed.), Renaissance Rhetoric (New York, 1994), 81-102.



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were widely disseminated throughout the Dutch Republic and the Protestant world, where they would dominate the study of rhetoric throughout the century.12 Accordingly, when Barlaeus talked about the rhetorical face of Mercury, it was the features of Vossius’s account that he must have had in mind. Likewise, when the De la Court brothers attended their classes in rhetoric at Leiden University in the 1640s, it was Vossius’s treatise that they had to read and study in order to improve their rhetorical skills. What was the nature of this material that dictated the seventeenth-century idea of rhetoric in the Dutch orbit? The work of Vossius clearly stood in the tradition of humanist rhetoric that paid increasing attention to the orator’s ability of movere by arousing the various passions of his audience. In the course of the sixteenth century, theorists increasingly emphasised the element of affectus (emotion) in the art of persuasion and accordingly the various devices by which the auditors’ emotions could be played upon to mobilise their wills. In the seventeenth century, this would eventually lead to an increasingly systematic treatment of the role of emotions and psychology in rhetorical theory.13 The principal authority to which Vossius turned for his analysis of rhetoric and affectus was Aristotle. Having long lingered in the dominant shadow of his Roman followers Cicero and Quintilian, Aristotle was reappraised during the sixteenth century for the elaborate discussion of the passions in his Rhetoric. 14 Vossius followed this trend. His first work, the Institutiones oratoriae, was basically intended as a comprehensive, though lucid introduction to Aristotle with the commentary of later theorists. As such, it was welcomed by other learned scholars. Daniel Heinsius (1580-1655), one of the most important Dutch poets and philologists of the early seventeenth century, wrote to Vossius that the work was not hampered by Aristotle’s own ‘obscurity’ and ‘pernicious conciseness’ and would therefore reveal the reader ‘the important secrets of Aristotle’. 15 In the Rhetorices contractae, the paramount presence of Aristotle was toned down a bit while more

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By the end of the century, the Rhetorices contractae had gone into 33 editions, of which 14 German ones and 7 from Oxford. See Jansen, “Institutiones oratoriae”, 388-89, and Conley, Rhetoric, 160. 13 See Brian Vickers, In Defence of Rhetoric (Oxford, 1989), 276-86, and Conley, Rhetoric, 151-62. Cf. also Susan James, Passion and Action: The Emotions in Seventeenth-Century Philosophy (Oxford, 1997), esp. 208-24. 14 See Lawrence D. Green, “Aristotle’s Rhetoric and Renaissance Views of the Emotions”, in Peter Mack (ed.), Renaissance Rhetoric (New York, 1994), 1-26. 15 Quoted in Jansen, “Institutiones oratoriae”, 374.

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attention was given to the Roman rhetoricians, but nonetheless this text has been characterised as ‘the most “Aristotelian” of any treatise on rhetoric of the time’.16 This Aristotelian influence is indeed present from the outset of the Rhetorices contractae. It starts with Vossius’s definition of rhetoric as a ‘faculty of finding in each thing that which is appropriate to persuade’, directly taken from Aristotle.17 By highlighting the nature of rhetoric as a mere faculty and not as an art or science, Vossius clearly distinguished himself from the Ramist tradition which subordinated rhetoric to dialectic in a comprehensive system of imparting knowledge. For Vossius, however, the goal was not the instruction of knowledge, but only persuasion, the stimulation to action. Accordingly, Vossius stated that the threefold nature of rhetoric is ‘that which the Greeks call logos, ethos, and pathos’ – in other words, the correspondence between the orator’s argumentation, his personal ethos and the emotions he is able to arouse in the audience. 18 A painstaking discussion of the exact dimensions of Vossius’s elaboration of this Aristotelian inspired interaction between logos, ethos, and pathos would go far beyond the scope of this article, but a more modest focus on how particular elements of his rhetorical theory surfaced in the writings of two of his readers might suffice to reveal the general conception of rhetoric in the Dutch Golden Age. These readers are the De la Court brothers, and two rhetorical issues are equally paramount in their republican treatises as in Vossius’s textbook: first, the establishment of authorial ethos and of a positive ‘image’ of the author, and second, the use of ornatus in speech, the powerful employment of various stylistic devices.

The peaceful invasion of the reader’s soul As to the first issue, Vossius stressed in line with classical rhetorical theory that an argument should be prudent (and therefore comprehensible

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Conley, Rhetoric, 160. Gerard Vossius, Rhetorices contractae, sive partitionum oratoriarum libri V (Oxford, 1651) I.I.3, 3. ‘Definitur Rhetorice ab Aristotele, facultas utendi in unaquaque re, quod in ea est ad persuadendum idoneum.’ Cf. Aristotle, The “Art” of Rhetoric. Edited and translated by John Henry Freese (Cambridge, 1926), I.II.1, 14. 18 Vossius, Rhetorices contractae, I.II.5, 18. ‘Loci Rhetorum proprii sunt triplices, alii argumentorum docentium, alii conciliantium, alii permoventium. Graeci ea vocant, ȜȩȖȠȓ, ȒșȘ, țĮȚ ʌȐșȘ (rationes, mores, & affectus).’ Cf. Aristotle, Rhetoric, I.II.4, 16. 17



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and easily trusted), not too studious or suspect, and above all that it should ensure that the orator is embraced by his audience. As Vossius summarised: ‘For an oration to be moral, an orator should above all perform in such a way that prudence, probity and benevolence glitter within it.’19 The De la Court brothers took this advice to heart. Their first work, the Politike Weeg-schaal (Political Balance), largely written by Johan and, after his death in 1660, published and revised by Pieter, confronts the reader from the start with an image of an upright and objective author who, benevolent to his audience, rationally searches for truth instead of passionate quarrel. In the preface to the work, written by Pieter, a naval metaphor is used to justify the brothers’ endeavour. ‘All laudable good Orators and Writers’, De la Court begins, are merely like sailors who, navigating through difficult waters, must employ all their skills in order to reach shore safely. As the sailor, the orator is forced to devote himself completely to his cause, even if this devotion will lead to what some might judge as exaggerated conclusions. The reader and the political establishment in particular should therefore take no offence at the work and the style in which it is written, since its writer is truly well-intentioned and not keen on affronting anyone. De la Court thus attempts to present the work as a reliable account that offers the reader a trustworthy and rewarding guide through the panorama of political debate. This image is enforced by the presentation of the author, the recently deceased Johan, as a virtuous man who, ‘while alive, in general did not consider any Quarrelsome writings worth reading, because those are on both sides always more driven by passion than by reason’. 20 De la Court thus emphasises the high moral standards of the author who does not demean himself to the base level of passionate argument, inviting anyone to enter freely the ‘cantankerous path’ of refutation. He continues to say, invoking Tacitus, that those who will, ‘this slanderous scum of Men … cannot be more forcefully answered than with contempt and silence’. 21 This

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Ibidem, II.XV.2, 168-69. ‘Quo morata sit oratio, ante omnia id agendum est oratori, ut in oratione ejus reluceant prudentia, probitas, benevolentia.’ 20 Quoted to the fourth ed., [Johan and Pieter de la Court], Consideratien van Staat, ofte Politike Weeg-schaal (Amsterdam, 1662), sig. *3-*4v. ‘… alle loffelike goede Orateurs en Schrijvers … hy, by leeven zijnde, in het generaal geen Twistschriften leesenswaardig agtede, om dat de selve ten weederzijden altijds meer door passie, als reeden, werden gedreeven.’ 21 Ibidem, sig. *6v.-**1. ‘Indien nogtans iemant dien anderen twistgierigen weg wil inslaan, hy doe dat vryelik, en zy verseekert … dat men dienvolgende, dit lasterent schuim van Menschen (Spreta exolescunt; si irascare adgnita videntur. C.

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powerful statement, clearly reflecting Vossius’s remarks on the utility of undermining possible critique from the start, 22 is ultimately repeated to increase its impact in the very last phrases of the work (again following Vossius),23 when De la Court asserts that by publishing the Politike Weegschaal, he has merely fulfilled his duty as ‘a Lover of my free Fatherland’ and that he shall now refrain from further debate.24 Yet as Vossius instructed, the skilful orator should take care that such an establishment of authorial ethos is not exaggerated, causing studiousness and pretension. De la Court eloquently follows this advice by reacting fiercely against the ‘pedantic scholastic humbug of Scholars’, thus presenting the Politike Weeg-schaal as a much more realistic and accurate account of politics than the fruits of academic pens could possibly provide.25 This dismissal of scholarly politica is even more explicit in the Politike Discoursen (Political Discourses), the brothers’ second work first published in 1662, which overtly claimed to be written out of disgust with conventional political studies in the Swiss, German and Dutch republics, so meagre when compared to the outcome of Italian authors. According to De la Court, all the ‘Latin books … written by some Germanic Professors, Doctors, Preachers, and Schoolmasters’ should be judged as ‘Pedantically cowardly, tasteless, scholastic, full of ignorance and of wrong or harmful and seditious Opinions; so that all those Germanic writers seem to have practised their judgment nowhere less, than in matters of State’.26 With this flamboyant rebuttal of the conventional Aristotelian politica as taught at Leiden and elsewhere, De la Court was able to claim the originality of his and his brother’s writings without having to acknowledge any debts to tradition. 27 By highlighting the autodidactic and anti-

 Tacit.) niet kragtiger kan beantwoorden, dan met veragten, en stil zwijgen.’ The quote is from Tacitus, The Annals, IV.34. 22 Vossius, Rhetorices contractae, III.IV.4-9, 311-12. 23 Ibidem, III.IX.5-10, 345-46. 24 Politike Weeg-schaal, 670. ‘… een Liefhebber mijns vry Vaderlands. 25 Ibidem, sig. *5. ‘… pedantise school-sieke beuselingen, der Geleerden.’ 26 [Johan and Pieter de la Court], Politike Discoursen, handelende in Ses onderscheide Boeken van Steeden, Landen, Oorlogen, Kerken, Regeeringen en Zeeden (Amsterdam, 1662), sig. *2. ‘… de Latijnse boeken, pronkende met hoogdravende Tituls, … beschreeven door eenige Duitse Professoren, Doctoren, Predikers en Schoolmeesters … soo Pedantisch laf, ongesult, schoolsiek, vol van onweetendheid, en verkeerde ofte schadelike, ende oproerige, Opinien te weesen; dat alle die Duitse Schryvers, hun oordeel nergens min, als in saaken van Staat schynen wel geoeffend te hebben.’ 27 Cf. Martin van Gelderen, “Aristotelians, Monarchomachs and Republicans: Sovereignty and Respublica Mixta in Dutch and German Political Thought, 1580-



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establishment character of their works, he tried to capture the reader’s attention by claiming that something novel and unusual was being said: that these works were, ‘considered on the whole, more worth reading than any others that have come to light so far about such Matters in any language’. 28 Yet for all this haughtiness, De la Court realised that, as Vossius had argued, he should be aware not to fall into overt arrogance and swollen language. He therefore also employed the device of modesty. Stating that some passages are ‘hastily written’ and therefore far from comprehensive, while others can hardly hide their ‘inaccuracy’,29 De la Court did not hesitate to assert that their author ‘has surely believed to have erred much in such extensive matters, because of far too poor knowledge, weakness of human judgment, as well as slowness’.30 Such a blend of haughtiness and modesty ought to make the reader truly benevolent and attentive. Overall, with this emphasis on trustworthiness, this dismissal of conventionality, and this self-confident modesty, the De la Court brothers evidently tried to comply with Vossius’s claim that ‘if the orator is loved, he has at his disposal a kind of helepolis [i.e. ‘destroyer of cities’ fortified wheeled tower in ancient Greece] with which he, without any violence, can invade the souls of the auditors’.31 This assertion brings us to a second prominent issue in Vossius’s rhetorical theory, the use of ornatus in speech. Ornatus is that which provides an oration with ‘pictures’ and ‘lights’, it is the fully equipped, armoured language with which the orator can mobilise the inherent persuasive qualities of speech in order to triumph on the rhetorical battlefield.32 Entailing a huge range of specific elocutionary devices which

 1650”, in Martin van Gelderen and Quentin Skinner (eds.), Republicanism: A Shared European Heritage, Vol. 1 (Cambridge, 2002), 195-217, 214-16. 28 Politike Discoursen, sig. *5. ‘… in ’t geheel geconsidereerd weesende, leesens waardiger dunken; als eenige andere, die tot heeden oover diergelijke Materien, in eenigerley taalen, sijn in het ligt gekoomen.’ 29 Ibidem, sig. *4. ‘… een Naawkeurig Leeser sal konnen merken, dat de Aeutheur veele saaken in sijne gedagten heeft gehad, die hy onder het haastig schryven, of niet gekonnen, of niet gewild, of ook vergeeten heefd, uit te drukken ... Iaa dat meer is, de Leeser sal buiten twijfel omtrent de bygebragte exempelen bespeuren, een veel groter slordigheid.” 30 Politike Weeg-schaal, sig. *5. ‘… seekerlik heeft hy gelooft, in soo wijdluftige materien, door al te geringe kennisse, swakheit van een menschelik oordeel, als ook door traagheit, veelsints te sullen hebben gedwaalt.’ 31 Vossius, Rhetorices contractae, II.XV.3-5, 169. ‘… si ametur Orator, habet quasi helepolin quandam, qua, absque violentia, animos auditorum invadat.’ 32 Ibidem, IV.III.1, 387. ‘… undique ornata sit oratio, tum ea eligi debent, quae picturarum instar per se habent ornatum; ut sunt verborum sententiarumque

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are subdivided into ‘tropes’ and ‘figures of speech’ that reflect actual linguistic behaviour and which can thus manipulate human psychology, this ornatus offers the orator the means for the peaceful invasion of the reader’s soul. Vossius’s work includes a very extensive and elaborate discussion of all these tropes and figures of speech, many of which are also used by the De la Court brothers in their writing.33 It would go too far to discuss all, yet a sample of the most important ones may suffice for the purpose of this article. First and foremost, there is the explanatory use of sententiae and exempla, suggested by Vossius to both instruct and delight the audience.34 It is a device that is used very frequently by the De la Court brothers, and all of their works are packed with numerous proverbs and expressions, biblical stories, and episodes from classical and contemporary history. While the employment of these sententiae and exempla is principally meant to provide further explanation and illustration, other figures are rather intrinsic elements of the style of writing. Obvious examples of such figures of speech are interrogatio (i.e. posing a rhetorical question) and ekphonesis (i.e. an exclamation that gives force to a statement and catches the attention of the audience). 35 Johan de la Court employs a powerful fusion of these two stylistic figures in the Politike Weeg-schaal when drawing a conclusion to his discussion of monarchies. In this passage, he connects the more abstract deliberations on monarchical rule to the practical situation in the Dutch Republic, and he warns in exclamatory terms his fellow countrymen never to appoint any stadholder again: ‘O foolish children of men! Do you think it is enough to make a Lord a Head of State, which could do much good to a country? O no, that is truly the blind rock where you will be shipwrecked and which you will groan about for all eternity.’36 Again, the naval metaphor of the Ship of State proves its value, with the obvious connotation that it is to the orator, as an experienced sailor, to lead its crew safely to the harbour.

 lumina, de quibus tractat Dignitas.’ For the metaphorical sense of ornatus as offering the orator the weapons in a war of words, see Skinner, Reason and Rhetoric, 48-51. 33 Cf. Vickers, In Defence, esp. 294-334. 34 Vossius, Rhetorices contractae, IV.XIV.6-21, 450-57. 35 Ibidem, IV.XXI.4-7, 24-25, 481-96. 36 Politike Weeg-schaal, 258. ‘O dwaze menschen kinderen! Meent gy dat het genoeg is, een Heer, een Hooft te maken, dat veel goets aan een land zoude kunnen doen? O neen, dat is waarelik de blinde klip daar gy schipbreuk lyden, en in der eeuwigheid over zugten zult.’



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Overall, many of the devices employed by the De la Court brothers can be said to share one common feature of ornatus: the element of ridicule, used to provoke laughter and delight among readers, strengthen the author’s popularity and scorn all opponents. From the use of vivid expressions and colourful metaphors to the biting contempt of academic scholars, kings, courtiers, and clergymen, the writings of the De la Court brothers are peppered with subtle and often not-so-subtle jokes and derisions. Following Vossius’s subdivision of the stratagem of ridicule into various varieties, it is arguably the device of diasyrmus (i.e. an ‘inimical mockery’ slightly softer than deadly sarcasm), which the De la Court brothers employ most frequently.37 This form of ridicule, obtained through a comparison with something utterly ridiculous, is used, for example, in the Politike Discoursen to scorn the orthodox clerics who pretend to be ‘God’s Ambassadors’. They think they are, Johan de la Court daringly writes, only ‘because of their weak brains and the imprudent reading of Holy Scripture and of the Histories of Godly Heroes’, just as Don Quixote indulged in romances of chivalry. 38 In this way, the ecclesiastic establishment is effectively mocked at through a comparison with the timeless archetype of the deluded daydreamer. Needless to say, such wittiness involved a clear strategy. As classical rhetorical theory already emphasised, joking can, apart from entertain the audience, be a very useful means to repudiate an adversary, since, in Cicero’s words, ‘humour can be used to break up his case, to obstruct his arguments, to make light of his cause, to deter him from speaking and to turn aside what he has said’. 39 Winning an argument by provoking the laughter of the audience, laughing at the adversary: this is exactly what the De la Court brothers tried to obtain in their writings. Yet apart from the mockery of opponents and the provocation of laughter, resorting to satire also served another purpose: the comical, entertaining guise of what was in fact a deeply moralistic message. This

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Vossius, Rhetorices contractae, IV.X.3, 423. ‘Diasyrmus est inimica irrisio, sed extra caedem.’ Significantly, Vossius mentions the fable of ‘Asinus ad lyram’ (The Donkey at the Lyre) as an example of this form of ridicule. Cf. Skinner, Reason and Rhetoric, 406. 38 Politike Discoursen, II.IV.4, 31-32. ‘… sy by hun Toe-hoorders sig veeltijds uitgeeven, voor Gods Ambassadeurs … door haare swakke herssenen, ende het onvoorsigtig leesen der Heilige Schrifture, ende Historien der Goddelike Helden … Het welk aan andere Schryvers weederom occasie heeft gegeeven, te versieren de Historien van Don Quixote le Berger extravagant, den dwalende Ridder, ende sporelose Minner.’ 39 Cicero, De oratore, II.LVII.236, quoted in Skinner, Reason and Rhetoric, 205.

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secondary function of satire went, again, back to the classical recognition of the power of humour, immortalised by Horace when asking ‘what prevents a laughing man from telling the truth?’ (ridentem dicere verum quid vetat?).40 The De la Court brothers, quoting exactly these words and often referring to Juvenal’s Satires, were deeply aware of this expedient and evidently employed it in order to convey their political and moral messages in an appealing manner. 41 They did so by telling colourful, illustrative parables that could at once delight and instruct their audience. This use of emblematic fables, itself a genre at the crossroads of popular and elite culture, is arguably the most striking characteristic of the brothers’ rhetorical ornatus, which ultimately found its clearest expression in their last work, the Sinryke Fabulen, published shortly after Pieter’s death in 1685.42 One particularly telling fable from this collection is the story that relates the fate of a Dutchman and a Frenchman who together visited a far and exotic realm – the Kingdom of Apes. Both travellers were clearly impressed by the luxury and lavishness they encountered, yet they reacted in a diametrically opposite way: the Frenchman praised the extravagance of the court of the King of Apes, but the Dutchman, a ‘blunt and from the Apes-nature much differing man, did not hide his disgust and he called a spade a spade’.43 While the flattering Frenchman was then appointed as the king’s new counsellor, the outspoken Dutchman was instantly executed. Clearly, his straightforwardness makes him the undisputed hero of the story.

 40

Horace, Satires, I.1, v. 24-25. See Ingrid A.R. de Smet, Mennipean Satire and the Republic of Letters, 1581-1655 (Geneva, 1996), 41-53, for a discussion of Lipsius, Heinsius, and Vossius on satire. Cf. also Dilwyn Knox, Ironia: Medieval and Renaissance Ideas on Irony (Leiden, 1989). 41 [Pieter de la Court], Sinryke Fabulen (Amsterdam, 1685), sig. **3. ‘… al schertsende ende al laggende, de Waarheid seggen.’ 42 See Bettina Noak, “De Sinryke Fabulen (1685) van Pieter de la Court: verhulling en onthulling in een ‘verlicht’ genre”, in De zeventiende eeuw, Vol. 18 (2002), 6578, and my forthcoming article “The Power of “Pliant Stuff”: Political Fables and Parrhesia from Francis Bacon to the Brothers De la Court.” 43 Sinryke Fabulen, 9. ‘… deesen Neederlander, die een hark een hark noemde.’ The same fable is told with some amendments in Politike Weeg-schaal, 77-79. ‘… deeze botte, en van der Apen-natuur zeer veel verscheelende mensch … rond uit zeide: hier gansch niet te hebben gezien, dat eenigzins naar een goede regeering zweem: Maar wel pragt en praal, vreeten en zuipen, hoereeren, jaagen, danssen en speelen.’



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‘Calling a boat a boat’: the rhetoric of the market This particular parable reveals a key characteristic of the rhetoric of the De la Court brothers. As the brief juxtaposition of their work with Vossius’s textbook has shown, their narrative strategies follow in many aspects the devices and schemes proposed by conventional late humanist rhetorical theory. By establishing their authorial ethos, using all kinds of tropes, figures, and forms of ridicule, and by integrating emblematic fables within their texts as both delightful illustrations and ironic, implicit commentary, the De la Court brothers are evidently embedded within the rhetorical culture of their day. Nevertheless, theirs is a rhetoric that – for all its figurative embellishment – proposes a distinctive form of public speech that decisively departs from convention. This different rhetorical road which the brothers enter becomes discernible in their critique of the humanist orators par excellence – the courtly advisors and counsellors of princes, and the clergymen who preach from the pulpit. These two groups make up the favourite target of the brothers’ attack at hypocritical and demagogical speech that blurs the essential distinction between virtue and vice.44 Whereas the De la Court brothers present themselves as impartial seekers for truth, they arraign those who jeopardise an objective assessment of good and evil, such as the hypocrite ‘Courtesans’ who indulge ‘impudently in their sycophancies’ at the royal courts and, competing to please the king, ‘change his vices into virtues … as when one calls lavishness generosity, excess royalty, drunkenness cheerfulness, whoring love, haughtiness respectability, cruelness justice, thievery swiftness, cursing openheartedness, blabbing eloquence, dissimulation political, or worldly-wisdom, and the poltroonery or pusillanimity common to Grandees, prudence’.45 Not only courtiers and the writers of conventional mirrors of princes fall victim to this climactic attack at the duplicitous abuse of rhetoric. Another

 44

Cf. Skinner, Reason and Rhetoric, 172-80, 279-84. Politike Discoursen, II.VI.18, 236. ‘… soo pleegen de Courtisans ombeschaamdelik haare pluim-strijkereijen … soo roemen sy niet alleen de Vorsten waaragtige macht, maar verkeeren selfs sijn ondeugden tot deugden, en noemense die deugd, daar sy naast by gelijkt. Gelijk wanneermen de quistigheid milddaadigheid, de ooverdaad royaliteit, de dronkenschap vroylikheid, de hoerery liefde, de hoogmoed agtbaarheid, de wreedheid justitite, de dievery gaawigheid, het vloeken openhartigheid, de klap-achtigheid welspreekendheid, de geveinstheid politie, ofte wereld-wijsheid, ende der Grooten gewoonelike poltronerie, ofte kleinmoedigheid, voorsigtigheid noemd.’ 45

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favourite target of the De la Court brothers are the ‘Clerical Teachers’ or ‘Preachers’, who, out of fanatical bigotry, slander all who disagree with their opinions, in particular men of learning. ‘That is why’, Pieter de la Court added to the second edition of the Politike Discoursen, ‘they have since ancient days made the common people believe that the Jurists were evil Christians, the Physicians Libertines, the Philosophers Atheists, the Politicians feigning Machiavellians, the Mathematicians and Astronomers, Wizards and Fortune-tellers.’46 In short, when rhetorical re-description is abused, truth disappears from sight. With this ridicule of courtiers and clergymen, the De la Court brothers essentially criticise the humanist assumption that one of the prime tasks of the orator is to be able to argue in utramque partem (i.e. both sides of a case), a quality exemplified by Erasmus’s praise for Thomas More’s ability ‘to play the man of all hours with all men’.47 According to the De la Court brothers, such an insistence on the intrinsic ambiguity of any issue and the claim that it always can and should be defended on either side, lies at the origin of the duplicitous, cheating rhetoric of courtiers and clerics who play upon the passions and private interests of their audience and thus undermine an objective assessment of the common good.48 In opposition to this intrinsic ambiguity and deliberate inconsistency of conventional humanist discourse, the De la Court brothers plead for something different: ‘no doubtful and suggestive, but rather indeed a Rational, conclusive, and insisting way of speech’49 – in short, ‘to speak very openly the round truth’, 50 a statement which involves a direct repudiation of Erasmus’s view that ‘the truth may be spoken but it does

 46

Ibidem, II.IV.5, 37. ‘… soo tragten meest alle Geestelijcke Leeraars ofte Preedikers … niet alleen onderdrukken alle Ongeloovigen, maar ook alle anderen, die in ’t minste van haar gevoelen in eenige pointen verschelen … en hier van daan komt het dat sy van oude tijden af de gemeene menschen hebben doen gelooven dat de Iuristen quade Christen, de Medicyns Libertyns, de Philosophen Atheisten, de Politiken geveinsde Machiavillisten, de Mathematici en Astronomi, Tovenaars en Waarseggers waren.’ 47 Quoted in Stephen Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning From More to Shakespeare (Chicago/London, 1984), 231. 48 Cf. Skinner, Reason and Rhetoric, 298-99, for the comparable stance taken by Hobbes. 49 [Pieter de la Court], Aanwysing der heilsame politike Gronden en Maximen van de Republike van Holland en West-Vriesland (Leiden/Rotterdam, 1669), 520-21. ‘… geene twijfelagtige ende voorstellende, maar wel deegelik eene Reedenkavelende, Besluitende, ende dringende wijse van spreeken. 50 Politike Weeg-schaal, 3. ‘… met de ronde waarheid zeer opentlik te spreeken.’



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not serve everyone at all times and under all circumstances’.51 Thus, the De la Court brothers declare the need for bold and straightforward rhetoric, comparable to the Ancient Greek parrhesia, the candid telling of the truth in an unveiled, outspoken way, even in the face of danger.52 As the De la Court brothers argue, such a manner of speech is only feasible in free republics, where a writer can tell the truth frankly without having to fear for his life. It is this opportunity to raise one’s voice freely in public that distinguishes citizens in a republic from the subjects in a monarchy, the fundamental distinction between the Dutchman and the Frenchman in the Kingdom of Apes. While ape-like subjects like the French are always dependent of the arbitrary will of their monarch, the citizens of a republic will never degrade to such a level of overt slavery. Accordingly, where the rhetoric of a flattering courtier is necessarily slavish by nature, the candid speech of the republican is free. As Pieter de la Court presents himself in the preface to his most famous work, the Aanwysing, from 1669: I am no foreign and slavish Courtier who does not care for the Country’s welfare and who is used to be silent or to speak whenever the Monarch or Prince pleases so … I am a born, rounded Hollander who is used to calling Scapham Scapham, a boat a boat, and who straightforwardly steadies its helm.53

It is this kind of republican, Dutch parrhesia which the De la Court brothers propose as the most appropriate form of speech in order to develop a free and constructive public debate. It is a form of speech they pretend to master themselves, a highly important move for it involves the claim that the De la Court brothers (and those who practice the same

 51

Erasmus, “A Diatribe or Sermon Concerning Free Will”, in Discourse on Free Will: Erasmus-Luther. Edited and translated by Ernst F. Winter (London/New York, 2005), 8. 52 See Michel Foucault, Fearless Speech. Edited by Joseph Pearson (Los Angeles, 2001) and David Colclough, Freedom of Speech in Early Stuart England (Cambridge, 2005), esp. 12-60. 53 Aanwysing der heilsame politike Gronden en Maximen van de Republike van Holland en West-Vriesland, sig. *4v. ‘… ik niet ben een uitheems ende slaafsgesind Hoveling, dien aan ’s Lands welvaaren niets gelegen, ende die gewoon is, te swijgen ofte te spreken naar het eenen Monarche ofte Prince lust. Ende soude men konnen daar by voegen, dat ik hier meede betuige merkelik aan ’s Lands welvaaren geinteresseerd te wesen, ende te zijn een gebooren rond Hollander, die Scapham Scapham, een schuit een schuit te noemen, en daar mede regt door zee te vaaren, pleeg.’ The distinct rhetoric of this Dutch vocabulary, where the expression ‘to sail straight through the sea’ means to speak openly, cannot be maintained in translation.

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rhetoric as they do) are the ones who ultimately can be expected to speak the truth in public and thus give account as true and honest citizens. Accordingly, the brothers’ plea for parrhesia should be seen as an essential element of their establishment of authorial ethos which, in its critique of the dissimulation of flattering courtiers and of the demagogy of zealous clerics might be called a rhetorica contra rhetoricam.54 Given the brothers’ frequent use of jokes and ridicule, their style is unmistakably popular and directed to large segments of society. Given their employment of distinctively commercial figures such as ‘interest’ and ‘balance’, maritime metaphor such as the ‘Ship of State’, it is also a style which reflects the daily practice of two successful merchants in an emerging capitalist world.55 Overall, the kind of speech that the De la Court brothers practice and postulate might be described as the one of the stallholder, who extols the virtues of his goods in a loud voice, trying to catch the attention of passers-by, not troubled to ask excessively high prices, yet always willing to negotiate – it is the rhetoric of the market.

Barlaeus and the frowns of commerce As we see, the two faces of Mercury meet, just as Barlaeus aspired in his speech for the Amsterdam Athenaeum. This, however, is not the entire story, as contemporaries often viewed such a mercurial association between commerce and rhetoric as a truly double-faced alliance. Sir William Temple (1628-1699), the English ambassador to the Dutch Republic in the years when the De la Court brothers gained fame and notoriety, epitomised the concerns of those confronted with Dutch commercial candour. ‘The Merchants and Trades-men’, he wrote in his famous description of the Netherlands, ‘are more Mercurial (Wit being sharpened by commerce and conversation of Cities) … They make use of their Skill and their Wit, to take advantage of other men’s Ignorance and Folly they deal with.’56 Such a commonplace characterisation of mercantile deceit brings us back to Barlaeus and his ideal of the mercator sapiens. Indeed, the central objective of Barlaeus’s lecture was to iron out the wrinkly face of commerce by elucidating the virtues that make merchants wise and thus –

 54

Cf. Dietmar Till, Transformationen der Rhetorik: Untersuchungen zum Wandel der Rhetoriktheorie im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Tübingen, 2004), esp. 26-32. 55 Cf. Ceri Sullivan, The Rhetoric of Credit: Merchants in Early Modern Writing (London, 2002). 56 William Temple, Observations upon the United Provinces of the Netherlands (London, 1673), 136.



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pace Temple – ‘demonstrate with the weighty precepts derived from Philosophy that Wisdom can cure their vices’. In other words, Barlaeus hoped to make clear that being mercurial is not necessarily the same as taking advantage of others. In order to prove this claim, Barlaeus insisted that merchants should not to be avaricious, but, as true stoics, always content with their position. ‘Those who strive for immoderate riches’, Barlaeus instructed his audience, ‘will often lose immoderately … and thus while luxury overthrows some, ambition brings down others, the lust for profit being destitute of and unadvised by the warnings of Prudence.’ He therefore concluded that ‘not he who owns more, but he who desires less, is rich … The philosopher calls the soul of man rich and not the money-boxes, however full those are, for as long as the soul suffers from the lust for money, she ispoor’. 57 The same preoccupation with the perilous corruption of the merchant’s soul came to the fore in Barlaeus’s admonition that ‘wisdom warns to employ riches on behalf of reason, not on behalf of lust’. Such rationality is essential since ‘money should not be an instrument for vices’, but instead be conducive to the common good. As Barlaeus asserted: Wisdom does not despise the wealthy but embraces them, under one condition: that they are rich without harm to others, magnificent without luxury, liberal without ostentation, weighty without pedantry, religious without superstition.58

This plea for a rational and moderate pursuit of riches and for the virtues of ‘piety, candour, conscientiousness, prudence, and liberality’, explicitly

 57

Barlaeus, Mercator sapiens, 13-14. ‘Sed proprium libet mercantium virtutes expendere, & depromptis è Philosophia gravibus praeceptis ostendere, quam & illorum vitiis mederi possit Sapientia. Ac primum illud mercatorum attendere monet Sapiens, ne nimium appetat [...] Qui immodicas opes sectantur, immodicis saepe excidunt … atque ita dum alios sua luxuria, alios ambitio praecipitat, hos inconsulta ac Prudentiae monitis destituta lucri cupiditas … Non enim qui plus habet, sed qui minus cupit, dives est … Philosophus animum hominis divitem appellat, non loculos. qui quantumvis pleni sint, dummodo pecuniae cupiditate laboret animus, pauper es.” 58 Ibidem, 15-16. ‘Sapientia divitiis pro ratione, non pro libidine uti monet … Nec enim vitiorum adminicula esse debent pecuniae … neque in proximi perniciem, sed commoda ac salutem conferri. Sapientia opulentos non fastidit, sed exosculatur unice. Illos nempe, qui locupletes sunt sine ullius injuria, magnifici sini luxu, liberales sine ostentatione, graves sine morositate, religiosi sine superstitione.’

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based on ancient stoicism,59 became more pragmatically orientated when Barlaeus addressed the need for firmness in times of misfortune, the duty to be honest in commercial exchanges and the obligation of charity, ‘for being human is common to both the rich and the poor, and it is also human that for the latter nothing is absent without which he could not be a man’. These moral considerations and practical advices amount to the claim that what distinguishes the wise merchant is his sociability, his taking care of the ‘public welfare’ as ‘a man among men, and a citizen among fellow citizens’.60 Such a correlation between the rational pursuit of wealth and the civic duty of employing that wealth for the common good is feasible since self-interest (utile) and morality (honestum) are in fact inextricable, as Barlaeus repeatedly stressed in a clear Ciceronian vein.61 Overall, therefore, the merchant becomes wise if he follows Barlaeus’s advices, which will enable him to perform his duties as a citizen in the public realm. The study of both moral and ‘speculative’ philosophy (i.e. the sciences of geography, biology, astronomy and meteorology) offers the necessary knowledge and insight to achieve this goal. This connection between theoretical judgment and practical insight is significant, as is Barlaeus’s emphasis of the value for the merchant ‘to be able to speak various languages and to comply with the customs and the ways of life of particular peoples’. 62 It implies that, for Barlaeus, commercial wisdom consists at least in part of the practical application of knowledge and the flexible adaptation to exceptional circumstances, and that such wisdom is also essential for the fulfilment of civic duties. Indeed, Barlaeus emphasised in his panegyric that by establishing the Athenaeum the city of Amsterdam would obtain a similar status to other outstanding centres of trade, learning and civility, such as Ancient Athens and Venice: by



59 Ibidem, 16-18. ‘… pietatem … candorem … fidem … prudentiam … liberalitatem.’ Barlaeus acknowledges his debts to, for example, Zeno, Cleanthes, Crates, Chrysippus, Epictetus and in particular to Cicero’s De officiis. 60 Ibidem, 18, 20. ‘… cum hominem esse commune sit diviti & pauperi, humanum quoque est, huic nihil deesse, sine quo homo esse non potest.’ ‘… cum ea lege natus sis, ne publicae saluti officias, & ut homo de hominibus, civis de concivi bene merearis.’ 61 Ibidem, 18-19. Cf. the classic discussion of utile and honestum in Cicero, De officiis, esp. II.III.9, III.III.11, III.VIII.35. 62 Ibidem, 27-28. ‘Amplius, non ingnorae quempiam vestrum opinor, quam ex usu fiet vago mercatori, variis linguis loqui posse, & ad singularum gentium mores, vitaeque instituta se componere.’



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educating young merchants to become wise, the entire civitas would flourish.63 Eventually, this account of mercantile honesty, sociability and rational pragmatism merge under Barlaeus’s overarching claim that the wise merchant has the rhetorical capability to speak candidly in public. As Barlaeus insisted ‘a merchant with a sincere and good mind … distinguishes decent from vicious merchandise, like he distinguishes virtues from vices’.64 Accordingly, the theoretical and practical upbringing of the wise merchant enables him to approach human behaviour as if it were merchandise, differentiating between virtue and vice on the account of commercial insight into what is good and bad irrespective of any in utramque partem reasoning. In other words, the attractive speech of the merchant who attempts to sell his goods wisely is also seen as the kind of free, straightforward speech that is deemed necessary to tell the truth. Through this argument against both unfair trade and dissimulative speech, Barlaeus asserts that honesty and outspokenness are essentially commercial virtues. It is thus the wise merchant who masters as no other the speech appropriate for public political debate and the assessment of the common good: he fulfils the prime prerequisites of a truly civic life.

The importance of being vocal (and earnest) A distant, yet clear echo of Barlaeus’s judgment resonates in the writings of the De la Court brothers, who share a similar neo-stoic emphasis on rationality and moderation vis-à-vis the corrupting passions of human nature and the same Calvinist preoccupation with the corruptive capacities of luxury. 65 However, the brothers’ account also involves a number of striking disparities. While Barlaeus is obviously still deeply rooted in the conventional patterns of thought of late Northern humanism, the De la Court brothers have left these conventions partly behind and, writing in the vernacular instead of Latin, employ a markedly different

 63

See esp. Ibidem, 30-31, where Barlaeus mentions a range of cities that successfully combined trade with learning. 64 Ibidem, 16. ‘Erectae & bonae mentis mercator, … sicut vitiosas merces à probis, ita virtutes a vitiis distinguit.’ 65 Cf. Christopher J. Berry, The Idea of Luxury: A Conceptual and Historical Investigation (Cambridge, 1994), where the importance of the ‘Dutch example’ in the seventeenth century is emphasised, yet without any discussion of Dutch writings. For a famous, much criticised, but still inspiring example of how these writings can be over-interpreted, see Simon Schama, The Embarrassment of Riches: An Interpretation of Dutch Culture in the Golden Age (Collins, 1987).

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language. Barlaeus’s vocabulary of a range of virtues to which the wise merchant should strive – from piety to prudence – is virtually absent from the writings of the De la Court brothers. Also, the De la Court brothers transform Barlaeus’s Ciceronian discussion of the possible overlap between private and public advantage in terms of utile and honestum into a discussion in the consciously modern language of ‘interest’.66 Indeed, when it comes to the issue of civic capability, the De la Court brothers adopt Barlaeus’s claim that the wise merchant embodies the true citizen who is capable of performing and speaking in public, yet they do so in a much more outspoken, politicised way. With their ‘rhetoric of the market’ and their plea for an open public debate in which straightforwardness and sincerity prevail, the brothers obviously engage in a distinctive political argument: the preference for a republican government in which every member of the governing assembly speaks up in public to discuss matters of state. While, according to their theory, monarchies and oligarchies necessarily degenerate into detrimental and discordant governments where the dissimulative speech of self-interested courtiers and favourites governs, only well-ordered republics are conducive to the salus populi because they are based on broadly held, rational discussions of the common good. This centrality of the issue of communication and of speech as the pivotal element around which politics revolve is aptly epitomised in the Politike Weeg-schaal, where a list of all advantages of republican government is headed by the fact that ‘all Assemblies in Republics consist of vocal Members, who are therefore able to govern’.67 Yet for the De la Court brothers, not every member of the polity is deemed capable of being vocal or at least not vocal in the correct way: being vocal is one thing, but being vocal and earnest, being able ‘to call a boat a boat’, is another. Therefore, as a key passage in the Politike Weegschaal insists, some citizens should be considered ‘eminent’ and ‘considerable’ and thus capable of political participation, but the rest of the inhabitants do not qualify for these epithets. 68 This fundamental social

 66

For a comparable development in contemporary English republican thought, see Steve Pincus, “Neither Machiavellian Moment nor Possessive Individualism: Commercial Society and the Defenders of the English Commonwealth”, in The American Historical Review, Vol. 103 (1998), 705-36. 67 Politike Weeg-schaal, 320. ‘Ten eersten, dat alle Vergaderingen in Republiken bestaan uit mondige Leeden; zulks alle de zelve konnen regeeren.’ 68 Cf. on this issue Hans Blom, “Burger en belang: Pieter de la Court over de politieke betekenis van burgers”, in Joost J. Kloek and Karin Tilmans (eds.),



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stratification is based on a number of claims. A first qualification implies, in line with seventeenth-century theory and practice, that only independent citizens who owe no obedience to any master are able to speak freely and thus participate in politics.69 As a result, all children, women and servants are excluded from political capability since they are dependent on their parents, husbands or masters, and the assumption is that their voices are heard through their superiors who represent them in public. Yet dependence is not the only negative criterion. A second is a deficiency in political insight and knowledge, and, accordingly, also all strangers who have not lived in the polity for a certain amount of time and in consequence do not master the local language, cannot be expected to partake successfully in discussions and decision-making. The same is true for ‘all dumb, deaf, infamous, and poor people’, as well as the unemployed and the dependent labourers, who equally lack the power of free speech and political understanding.70 A final distinction is drawn among the remaining citizenry, a division based on the riches and know-how attained through commercial practices. The De la Court brothers suggest that while in theory all mature, independent and informed males should be judged capable of political participation, in practice such a broadening of the ruling class would risk the involvement of destitute, yet imperious men who endanger the peaceful survival of the commonwealth. Republican rule should ultimately be left to those who have enjoyed a good education, who have studied and read, travelled and experienced the realities of daily life, in short, the wise merchants who form the mainstay of commercial society. They are the ones who possess the intricate knowledge ‘to find out the true and

 Burger: een geschiedenis van het begrip ‘burger’ in de Nederlanden van de Middeleeuwen tot de 21ste eeuw (Amsterdam, 2002), 99-112. 69 Cf. Steven Shapin, A Social History of Truth. Civility and Science in Seventeenth-Century England (Chicago/London, 1994), 355-407. 70 Politike Weeg-schaal, 662-63. ‘… alle stommen, dooven, infamen, en arme luiden van aalmissen ofte in Godshuisen leevende als meede alle anderen, die binnen seekeren tijd van jaaren, eenig ambagt hadden gedaan, ofte om een dagloon gewrogt in iemands dienst, hoedanig die zoude mogen weesen; vermits het selven moet werden gepresumeert te geschieden, uit behoeftigheid; moet ook werden gepresumeert, de noodige kennisse tot de Regeeringe te ontbreeken.’ Spinoza maintained comparable categories of political exclusion in his unfinished swan song, the Tractatus Politicus. See Jaap Kerkhoven, “Spinoza’s clausules aangaande uitsluiting van politieke rechten in hun maatschappelijke context”, in Mededelingen vanwege het Spinozahuis, No. 63 (1991), esp. 4-5.

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absolute interest of a City’, a task ‘for which the Poor have got no capability at all’.71 Accordingly, as the conclusion of the Politike Weeg-schaal affirms, the governing assembly in the ideal polity should consist of ‘all the Inhabitants of the Country who can be presumed to have sufficient power and knowledge to take care of their own welfare’: the power to independently make a living and speak for themselves, and the knowledge to make this living in line with the common good and to speak truthfully in public. 72 Those who master these two intrinsically related capacities embody the two faces of Mercury, commerce and rhetoric. Their parrhesia which distinguishes between virtue and vice, as it differentiates between good and bad merchandise, is the proper speech for entering the marketplace of public political debate. In other words, these wise merchants are the ones who embody the opposite of, as the Sinryke fabulen has it in a phrasing which would resonate famously in Tocqueville, ‘self-interest wrongly understood’.73

Conclusion: on the passion of democratic peoples Tocqueville brings us back to the very start of this article with his words that ‘democratic peoples’ have a passion for ‘generic terms and abstract words’. On first sight, when it comes to the Dutch material discussed here, it seems he was right. The capabilities of the wise merchants invoked by Barlaeus and the De la Court brothers are indeed intangible characteristics that have proven – at the least – rather elusive. There is, however, a caveat, which, though obvious, is important to be stressed by way of a conclusion: the republicans from the Dutch Golden Age were definitely several things, but they were certainly not democratic in the way Tocqueville used the term. Unlike Jonathan Israel suggested in his recent work on the ‘radical Enlightenment’, Dutch republicanism from the later seventeenth century, with the De la Court brothers and Baruch de Spinoza (1632-1677) as its most prominent spokesmen, can hardly be

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Politike Weeg-schaal, 541. ‘Want het waaragtig, en absoluit interest eener Stad uit te vinden … waar toe de armen gansch geen bequaamheid hebben.’ 72 , Ibidem, 662. ‘… de beste Regeeringe onder menschen bedenkelik, te sullen werden gevonden by een Vergaaderinge, bestaande uit alle de Ingeseetenen des Lands, die gepresumeerd konnen werden magts en kennisse genoeg te hebben, om hun eigen welvaaren te versorgen.’ 73 Sinryke fabulen, 126. ‘… een verkeerd begreepen eigen Inter-esse.’ Cf. Harvey C. Mansfield, “Self-Interest Rightly Understood”, in Political Theory, Vol. 23, No. 1 (1995), 48-66.



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qualified as the intellectual movement that paved the way for modern democracy. 74 As we have seen, the De la Court brothers’ republican preference for public discussion and decision-making did not entail truly democratic consequences in the strict sense that every citizen of the polity was considered able to participate in government. Rather, as the De la Court brothers maintained that it is necessary that those who take part in public political debate have mastered honest parrhesia and therefore can be expected to speak the truth, they drew a thin, but clear line between those citizens who are capable of free, straightforward speech, and those who are not. For this reason, the Politike Weeg-schaal ultimately concludes ‘that an Aristocracy, which is closest to the Popular Government, is surely the best Government’:75 only those male inhabitants of a certain standing, education, and wealth, should govern by means of holding office in the magistracy on a rotating basis. However, it has to be stressed as well, and here Israel should be given credit nonetheless, that this aristo-democratic republicanism does not position the De la Court brothers among the classical defenders of patrician aristocracy, nor in the Machiavellian-Harringtonian republican tradition, which rests on the prominence of militant, landowning citizens.76 Instead, as the juxtaposition with Barlaeus’s speech on the mercator sapiens has shown, the thought of the De la Court brothers implies that commercially attained riches and mercantile rationality are the characteristics of a truly republican citizen. Partly, this claim entails a justification of the emerging capitalist world of their day. At the same time, however, it involves a clear critique of the existing situation in the Dutch Republic where the small oligarchy in power excluded outsiders to the urban patriciate from partaking in the government. In opposition to this status quo, the De la Court brothers proposed the active vocal and political participation of all who prove to be capable of commercial candour.

 74

Jonathan I. Israel, “The Intellectual Origins of Modern Democratic Republicanism (1660-1720)”, in European Journal of Political Theory, Vol. 3 (2004), 7-36, elaborated further in ibidem, Enlightenment Contested: Philosophy, Modernity, and the Emancipation of Man, 1670-1752 (Oxford, 2006), 240-63. See also the first volume of Israel’s project of a grand synthesis of the Enlightenment. Ibidem, Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity, 1650-1750 (Oxford, 2001). 75 Politike Weeg-schaal, 661. ‘Dat een Aristokratie, die allernaast aan de Populare komt, gewisselik de beste Regeering is.’ 76 This is the tradition that John Pocock has famously described as ‘the paradigmatic case’ in early modern republican discourse. See John G.A. Pocock, The Machiavellian Moment: Florentine Political Thought and the Atlantic Republican Tradition (Princeton, 1st ed. 1975, 2003), esp. 460-64.

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Through employing this ‘rhetoric of the market’, a rhetoric which arraigned dissimulation and demagogy and proclaimed openness and honesty, they postulated a form of republican debate that personifies the two faces of Mercury.



CAPABILITY IN PRACTICE

CAPABILITY AND THE TRANSFORMATION OF DUTCH CITIZENSHIP MICHEL REINDERS

After grand pensionary Johan de Witt and his brother Cornelis had been murdered, ripped to pieces and sold in parts by a group of infuriated citizens in The Hague on 20 August 1672, most Dutchmen agreed that regenten who had adhered to the ideology of True Freedom were no longer capable of holding public office in the Dutch Republic. In the wake of the massacre of the two brothers, several hundreds of other Dutch office-holders in the provinces of Holland, Zeeland and Friesland were also declared unsuitable to hold office any longer and – in a less horrific manner – relieved of their duties. As a consequence, hundreds of offices awaited new personnel in September, October and November 1672. The question that dominated public debate during the fall and winter of 1672 was how to fill these vacant offices. Writing in defence of a group of magistrates in the province of Friesland – but commenting on the events throughout the entire Dutch Republic – the law professor Ulricus Huber (1636-1694) published a pamphlet in November 1672, in which he claimed that it was impossible for ‘the people’ to choose new regenten, since ‘the people’ could not be trusted to be able to distinguish sufficiently between a capable and an incapable regent.1 Capability for office, argued Huber, meant experience, authority and respectability (aensien). Apart from authority and respectability, Huber claimed that it was impossible for people without office to have any experience, so they would not be equipped with this particular quality. Huber tried to appeal to his audience by claiming: ‘I do not argue that, apart from our current regenten, there are no good men, but

 1

Ulricus Huber, Spiegel van Doleancie en Reformatie, Na den Tegenwoordigen Toestant des Vaderlandts, Van Someren 806 ed. (Vreedenburgh: 1672), 13. For Huber, see Ernst H. Kossmann, Political Thought in the Dutch Republic: Three Studies (Amsterdam, 2000), 109-28.

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how to decide who is best?’ Huber’s pamphlet accordingly ended with the conclusion that there was no advice ‘to choose the best’.2 The question ‘how to decide who is fit to govern?’ stood at the centre of many early modern upheavals in the urban centres. In order to answer this question and consequently address the problems of rebellion, regicide, upheaval and political purges, historians have moved away from the anachronistic idea that ‘the people’ rebelled against their governments in the early modern period because they held modern notions of and sought equality and freedom.3 As the work of Robert von Friedeburg and Conal Condren has recently shown, political uprisings were often justified and carried out as part of a person’s duties, for example, defending religion or defending the fatherland, not as a consequence of a person’s rights. 4 Research in the field of citizenship, participation and representation have consequently led to new insights concerning political problems in the seventeenth century.5 This chapter hopes to add to this strand of research

 2

However, Huber was talking about the province of Friesland, where unlike in Holland and Zeeland, the nobility had a large say in politics and capability was thus defined and defended in other terms than in a province where regenten were innately no different from the people they governed. 3 For the Dutch situation, see most notably Piet Geyl, “Democratische tendenties in 1672”, in ibidem (ed.), Pennestrijd over staat en historie: opstellen over de vaderlanse geschiedenis (Groningen, 1971) and A.H. Wertheim-Gijse Weenink, Democratische bewegingen in Gelderland, 1672-1795 (Amsterdam, 1973). 4 See the first article in this collection of essays by Robert von Friedeburg for an elaboration. Furthermore, see Conal Condren, “Liberty of Office and Its Defence in Seventeenth-Century Political Argument”, in History of Political Thought, Vol. 18, No. 2, (1997), 460-82. 5 For representation, see most notably Mark Knights, Representation and Misrepresentation in Later Stuart Britain: Partisanship and Political Culture (Oxford, 2005). For participation, see David Zaret, Origins of Democratic Culture: Printing, Petitions, and the Public Sphere in Early-Modern England (Princeton, 2000). For Dutch citizenship, see Peter Riesenberg, Citizenship in the Western tradition: From Plato to Rousseau (London, 1992); Henk van Nierop, “Popular Participation in Politics in the Dutch Republic”, in Peter Blickle (ed.), Resistance, Representation, and Community (Oxford, 1997), 272-90; Ibidem, “Private Interests, Public Policies: Petitions in the Dutch Republic”, in Arthur K. Wheelock and Adele Seeff (eds.), The Public and Private in Dutch Culture of the Golden Age (Newark, 2000), 33-39; Harald Hendrix and Marijke Meijer Drees (eds.), Beschaafde burgers: burgerlijkheid in de vroegmoderne tijd (Amsterdam, 2001); Joost Kloek and Karin Tilmans (eds.), Burger: geschiedenis van het begrip van de Middeleeuwen tot de eenentwintigste eeuw (Amsterdam, 2002); Jan Luiten van Zanden and Maarten Prak, “Towards an Economic Interpretation of Citizenship:



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by combining notions of citizenship and capability with one of the most explosive political debates in early modern history – the events of the ‘Year of Disaster’ 1672 when hundreds of different Dutch pamphlets and petitions were published and distributed. In total, nearly a million publications were produced within a period of a few months.6 As will be argued below, the debate that accompanied the violent and radical events of the ‘Year of Disaster’ 1672 led to a situation in which citizens could successfully influence government by means of riots, pamphlets and petitions. Moreover, the events and public debates of 1672 suggest that the concept of capability helped define and change crucial notions such as citizenship, sovereignty, and accountability. Contemporaries defined 1672 as a year of wonders, a year of print, a year of judgement and, above all, a year of disaster. The Dutch Republic faced near destruction after an invasion by France, England, Munster and Cologne led to the surrender of three entire provinces and consequently large-scale riots in most of the remaining towns of the Dutch Republic. Dutch citizens, who had been invited with open arms into public debate by politicians, who desperately needed taxes and citizen-soldiers, quickly argued in pamphlets and petitions that their magistrates had not provided the protection they were obliged to offer. This criticism was followed by a whole array of grievances that were soon followed by demands. These demands concerned the prince of Orange, William III (1650-1702), who these riotous citizens helped to be appointed to the offices of captaingeneral, admiral-general and stadholder between January and July 1672. The wish for an Orangist revival was combined with other key features. First, the adherents of the ideology of True Freedom were accused of

 The Dutch Republic between Medieval Communes and Modern Nation-States”, in European Review of History, Vol. 10 (2006), 111-45. 6 See the highly influential publication by Steven Pinucs, Protestantism and Patriotism: Ideologies and the Making of English Foreign Policy, 1650-1668 (Cambridge, 1996). See also Joad Raymond, Pamphlets and Pamphleteering in Early Modern Britain (Cambridge, 2003) and Jason Peacey, Politicians and Pamphleteers: Propaganda during the English Civil Wars and Interregnum (Aldershot, 2004). For the Dutch Republic, see the older, but still unsurpassed publication by Craig E. Harline, Pamphlets, Printing and Political Culture in the Early Dutch Republic (Dordrecht/Boston/Lancaster, 1987). See also Marijke Meijer Drees, Jose de Kruijf and Jeroen Salman (eds.), Het lange leven van het pamflet: boekhistorische, iconografische, literaire en politieke aspecten van pamfletten, 1600-1900 (Hilversum, 2006). For a revision, see Femke Deen, David Onnekink and Michel Reinders (eds.), Pamphlets and Politics in the Early Modern Dutch Republic: A Revision (Leiden, 2010, forthcoming).

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having caused most of what had gone wrong in 1672. Above all, Johan de Witt (1625-1672) and his brother Cornelis (1623-1672) were turned into scapegoats. Moreover, citizens started to articulate their political complaints and grievances and concluded that the Dutch political system needed safeguards against a possible lapse into oligarchy. Their primary response to this problem had been to promote William III. Their second response was a massive purge of Dutch politics, which took place in the fall and winter of 1672. At the midway point between these two events, Johan and Cornelis de Witt were brutally murdered in The Hague by hundreds of citizens.7 This article focuses on the changes in office-holders in Dutch politics in the fall and winter of 1672. These purges were accompanied by debates conducted via the medium of pamphlets and involved regenten and citizens alike. From these debates, it appeared that capability (or ‘bequaemheyt’ as contemporaries called it) stood at the heart of the citizens’ political agenda. A key point of discussion in Dutch historiography is why hundreds of regenten in 1672 were deemed incapable for office and how their replacements were selected. Just like Ulricus Huber, several generations of historians have concluded that riotous burghers were not involved. I define burghers here as the body that constituted the political realm. This was also the group of people from which regenten emerged and the people who were supposed to be represented by magistrates in government. In general, there have been two answers to the question how new regenten were deemed capable in 1672. One school of thought claimed that the determining force behind capability for office was political ideology.8 In this view, the determination of a man’s capability for office was a consequence of the battle between Johan de Witt’s True Freedom on the one side and Orangists on the other.9 Explained in this fashion, the riots

 7

For details and further literature about the ‘Year of Disaster’ 1672, see Daan J. Roorda, Partij en factie: de oproeren van 1672 in de steden van Holland en Zeeland, een krachtmeting tussen partijen en facties (Groningen, 1961). For a revision, see Michel Reinders, “Burghers, Orangists and ‘Good Government’: Popular Political Opposition During the ‘Year of Disaster’ 1672 in Dutch Pamphlets”, in The Seventeenth Century, Vol. 23, No. 2 (2008), 315-46. 8 See most notably Robert Fruin, Verspreide geschriften, 10 vols. (The Hague, 1900-1905) and Piet Geyl, Geschiedenis van de Nederlandse stam, 4 vols. (Amsterdam/Antwerp, 1959). 9 Recently, there has been a renewed interest in this ideological divide. Geert-Onne van de Klashorst, “‘Metten schijn van monarchie getemperd’: de verdediging van



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and purges of 1672 were part of an Orangist movement. The lack of capability of the regenten replaced during the purges in 1672 was thus supposed to have been a consequence of their anti-Orangism. This outlook on politics in the early modern Dutch Republic was severely criticised in the 1960s. Historians who used prosopographical structure-of-politics methods successfully claimed that party ideology had in fact little to do with the purges.10 They showed how local factions in the cities were the secret driving force behind the purges. The lack of capability of regenten was thus a result of being a member of the wrong faction.11 Both looking at ideological differences and pragmatic factionalism holds merit, because Orangism was apparent and forceful in Dutch popular political culture and it cannot be denied that local politics usually focussed on several leading figures and their families.12 Factions did influence the outcome of changes in office. To fully understand, however, what happened during these purges and to understand how the burgher movement influenced these events, we have to look at the problem of capability for office in a new way. Supporting the prince of Orange and belonging to the right circle of people were both part of a bigger claim in 1672: the claim of being capable for office. By looking at the purges in the Dutch Republic of 1672 and using popular political publications as a source, a myriad of properties

 het stadhouderschap in de partijliteratuur 1650-1686”, in Hans W. Blom and Ivo W. Wildenberg (eds.), Pieter de La Court in zijn tijd: aspecten van een veelzijdig publiciste (1618-1685) (Amsterdam/Maarssen, 1986), 93-137; Herbert H. Rowen, The Princes of Orange: The Stadholders in the Dutch Republic (Cambridge, 1988); Geert-Onno van de Klashorst, “De ware vrijheid, 1650-1672”, in E.O.G. Haitsma Mulier and Wyger Velema (eds.), Vrijheid: een geschiedenis van de vijftiende tot de twintigste eeuw (Amsterdam, 1999); 157-85; Jonathan I. Israel, Monarchy, Orangism, and Republicanism in the Later Dutch Golden Age (Amsterdam, 2004); Jill Stern, “The Rhetoric of Popular Orangism, 1650-72”, in Historical Research, Vol. 77, No. 196 (2004), 202-24; Charles-Edouard Levillain, “William III’s Military and Political Career in Neo-Roman Context, 1672-1702”, in The Historical Journal, Vol. 48 (2005), 321-50; Jill Stern, The Phoenix from the Ashes: The Orangists in Word and Image, 1650-1672 (Unpublished PhD-thesis, London, 2007). 10 Most notably Roorda, Partij en factie; M.A.M. Franken, Coenraad van Beuningen’s politieke en diplomatieke aktiviteiten in de jaren 1667-1684 (Groningen, 1966); Simon Groenveld, Evidente factiën in den staat: sociaalpolitieke verhoudingen in de 17e-eeuwse Republiek der Verenigde Nederlanden (Hilversum, 1990). 11 Ibidem, 157-235. 12 Julia Adams, The Familial State: Ruling Families and Merchant Capitalism in Early Modern Europe (Ithaca/London, 2005).

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becomes visible that, taken together, determined a person’s capability for office. This article will do three things. First, I will show what capability actually meant in the minds of the people who propagated this concept. Second, an example from the city of Amsterdam will show how these ideas were refuted by pamphleteers, who tried to defend politicians by pointing out the problem of the arcana imperii, the mysteries of command. Lastly, I will show how this debate forced these publicists to rethink and rearticulate the relation between government and citizens, which led to a transformation of Dutch citizenship. .

Who was capable and why? To start, capability was a surprisingly homogeneous concept within the Dutch Republic during the events of 1672. Capability meant the same for citizens in different cities and in different provinces. The demands published in 1672 in a petition in the city of Middelburgh, for example, resembled demands published in the cities of Amsterdam or Rotterdam in Holland and Leeuwarden in Friesland. How was this possible, knowing that early modern civic movements were supposed to have been strictly local?13 This question can be explained by taking print and the distribution of popular printed publications, including printed petitions, more seriously. Through the rapid and widespread dissemination of print in the Dutch Republic, citizens learned what had happened and what had been argued in other cities and started to copy these actions and arguments in their own towns. Take for instance the murder on Johan and Cornelis de Witt, which event can be seen as the starting point for the purges in 1672. News about the event spread across the entire province of Holland within one day, which was extraordinarily fast compared to England, France and the German lands.14 On 20 August, the day of the murder, the news of the horrible event had already reached Rotterdam at 9 p.m. 15 Dozens of

 13

Heinz Schilling, Religion, Political Culture and the Emergence of Early Modern Society: Essays in German and Dutch History (Leiden/New York/Cologne, 1992). 14 Harline, Pamphlets, 92-93; Raymond, Pamphlets and Pamphleteering, 81. 15 Catharinus Hennekijn, a burgher from Rotterdam had been present in The Hague and spread the news in his hometown. Vroesen, Waaragtig Verhaal van de Muiterij binnen de stad Rotterdam (1785), 165. In Haarlem, the news of the murder became public on Sunday, 21 August. Petrus Langedult, Kort verhaal van de burgerlijke oproeren, voorgevallen binnen Haarlem. Edited by G.H. Kurtz (Haarlem, 1946), 21.



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different pamphlets about this event were distributed within days across the entire Republic. 16 Subsequently, news and commentary about the murder in The Hague led to large-scale riots in many Dutch cities. The killing took place on Saturday, riots in Holland started on Sunday in Amsterdam, Haarlem and Delft and on Monday in Rotterdam and Leiden. Other cities and provinces followed within days. As news spread so quickly and at this point in 1672 when popular political publications appeared in substantial numbers daily, the publication of a pamphlet was a news event in its own right, we may assume that citizens knew what had happened and, more importantly, what had been demanded in other cities soon enough to turn the movement into something greater than the sum of its parts. Four citizens, for example, visited the regent Simon van Leeuwen in Leiden on 30 August 1672. They presented a petition to him and told Van Leeuwen that they had learned [from pamphlets] from other cities that magistrates had been removed by burghers, which they wanted to do as well.17 The civic uprisings in other cities thus quickly became models of how to respond to the circumstances of the time. In this case, news of riots led to more riots. Moreover, many pamphlets appeared after the purges that approached the changes as a provincial or statewide phenomenon. The several different purges were described as one event and the ideas about political resistance needed to justify the civic movement were applied to all burghers in several provinces, not just to the inhabitants of one city.18 Moreover, printed news on local events was presented as concerning the entire Republic. For instance, a sheet with a news story about Groningen on the front side had a story about a petition from Rotterdam printed on the backside. The publication also referred to a letter from Vlissingen. The pamphlet itself was printed in Haarlem.19 Most importantly, however, citizens from different cities and provinces read and copied each others demands in petitions. By printing and

 16

Ninety-nine different pamphlets were published during the first three months after the murder. 17 Petrus Valkenier, ’t Verwerde Europa, Vol. 1 (Amsterdam, 1742), 742. 18 See, for example, Anonymous, Bedenkingen over het geen door de Borgeryen van Hollandt is te weegh gebracht, in het Avancement van sijn Hoogheyd, den prince van Orange (Knuttel 10265 and Tiele 6170, 1672). 19 Anonymous, Copye van een Brief uyt Rotterdam geschreven aen een goet Vrient (Tiele 6057, Haarlem, 1672).

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distributing these petitions, arguments, demands and grievances travelled quickly and over large distances.20 Looking at the demands in the printed petitions published in the cities of Holland, Zeeland and Friesland from August to December, we can distinguish several core arguments that appear on most of the lists in all provinces. These arguments, I propose, can be seen as the ideas of one burgher movement instead of several burgher movements. The search for capable office-holders was in essence a question about trust. Who can we trust to be appointed to rule over us? The citizens of the cities in the Dutch Republic came up with several characteristics in 1672 to determine the candidates’ capability. There were, as has been exhaustingly stressed in the past, correct ideology and correct local connections that a prospective magistrate should support. These were, however, only two items on a long list of qualities or abilities that determined a person’s capability for office. After analysing all the printed petitions of 1672, the most important of these abilities appear to have been respectability (aensien), citizenship, religion, wealth and experience. A person was considered capable for office only if he was able to tick all the boxes.

 20

The custom to print petitions started in the summer of 1672. The first wave of revolts in June and July produced eight printed petitions in Amsterdam, Middelburg, Zierikzee, Gorinchem, and Rotterdam. Anonymous, Copye Van Request aen de Ed. Achtb. Heeren Borgermeesteren, Schepenen, en Raden der Stadt Middelburgh, met een Apostille daer op (Knuttel 10159 and Tiele 6080, 1672); Anonymous, Oprechten Eysch, en versoeck, van de Borgerye, aen de Magistraet der Stadt Gorcom (Petit 3960, 1672); Anonymous, Request Aen Sijn Hoogheydt, den Heere Prince van Orange (Knuttel 10211 and Van der Wulp 4825, 1672); Anonymous, Request Vande Amsterdamse Borgerye Aen Zijn Hoogheyt, den Heere Prince van Orangie Stadthouder van Hollant, Capit. En Ad. Generael (Knuttel 10213, 1672); Arnout van Citters, Artyckelen, welcke versocht zijn van de vroome Burgers der Stadt Middelburgh, van hare Ed. Achtbare Magistraet (Tiele 6081, Middelburg, 1672); Petrus Coorne, Aensprake Uyt naem der Kerkcken van Zeelandt, als oock Onder die, des Classis van Walcheren in ’t bysonder, aen Sijn Hoogheyt den Heere Willem-Henrick de III. Prince van Oranje, &c. Bestaende In een geluckwenschinge over sijn Hoogh-gedachte Hoogheydts bevorderinghe tot die aensienlijcke Chargie van Stadthouder over de Provintie van Zeelant, &c. (Knuttel 10256 and Petit 3816, Middelburg, 1672); A. Couwenhove, Versoeck Gedaen aen de E.E. Heeren Burgermeesteren ende Vroedtschappen der Stadt Rotterdam, door de gemeene Burgerye der selver Stede, op den 8 Julij 1672. Ende aen haer ter selver tijdt toegestaen, ende alsdoen oock gepubliceert (Knuttel 10145 and Tiele 6071, 1672); Cornelis Pous, Breeden-Raedt dan xj. Julij 1672. Gehouden binnen der Stadt Zierc-zee (Knuttel 10162, 1672).



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It is important to note, however, that these abilities were not written in stone. On the contrary, since capability mainly existed in the eyes of a civic public, it was a dynamic concept that changed over time. Not only could the characteristics change over time or by place, the candidate himself could also prove himself incapable. This is what can be referred to as capability in office. For the citizens petitioning in 1672, capability in office was as important as capability for office, since it was the first form that opened the door to political accountability. In essence, this second strand of the capability debate can be seen as a search for safeguards against bad governance. In 1672, Dutch citizens came up with several solutions. They wanted, for instance, to control government with civic committees, suggesting new procedures for choosing magistrates, such as majority vote. Furthermore, they wanted to control the annual accounts to make sure public finances were in order, wanted to limit the number of offices per person to prevent oligarchy and suggested rotation of office after a fixed period for the same reason.21

 21

In the fall and winter of 1672, a second wave of riots was accompanied by a second wave of petitions, which addressed these capability issues. Anonymous, Het aengeplackt Bilet (Tiele 6125, 1672); Anonymous, Eysch, van de burgers van Amsterdam. Dat aan de Beurs heeft geplackt gestaen, en door last van schepenen afgescheurt, den 29 Augusty. 's Morgens ten 9 uuren precys (Petit 3947, 1672); Zacharias Bevensteyn van Hofdyck, and Theodorus Valensis, Resolutien, genomen by de gesamentlijcke Schutteren der Stadt Delf (Knuttel 10529 and Van der Wulp 4832, 1672); Anonymous, Remonstrantie (Van der Wulp 4869, 1672); William of Nassau, prince of Orange, Ordonnantie Of dispositijf van sijn Hoogheyt den Heer Prince van Orange, Gestreckt over sekere Poincten ende Artiijckelen, van weghens eenighe Borgeren ende Gildeus, aen de Magistraet vande Stadt van ter Vere, overgelevert op den 24 September 1672 (Knuttel 10578 and Van der Wulp 4867, Middelburg, 1672); Anonymous, Lijste van de Nominatie, genomen bij de gesamentlijcke Schutterije van ´s Graven-Hage (Petit 3951, The Hague, 1672); Anonymous, Aen haer Ed. Groot-Achtb. Heeren Burgermeesteren en ses-endertigh Raden, mitsgaders de Heeren van den Gerechte der Stadt Amsterdam (Van der Wulp 4846, 1672); Anonymous, Remonstrantie (Tiele 6493); Anonymous, Requeste ofte Versoeck, Op de Naem van de Algemeene Schutterye Der Stadt Haerlem. Aen d’Edele Groot-achtbare Heeren Burgermeesteren en Regeerders der Stadt Haerlem (Knuttel 10546 and Van der Wulp 4841, 1672); Huygens, Artyckelen (Van Alphen 374, 1672); Anonymous, Request Van de Borgerye der Stadt Rotterdam. Gepresenteert Aen de Ed: Groot Achtbare Heeren: de Burgermeesteren, Raeden en Vroedtschappen der Stadt Rotterdam. Den 27 September 1672 (Knuttel 10572 and Van der Wulp 4859, Rotterdam, 1672); Johannes Steengracht, Nootwendige en Zedige Verantwoordingh (Knuttel 10581a, 1672); Anonymous, Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Spiegel Voor de Malcontenten aldaer.

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From these shared notions about capability in office and capability for office, we can describe capability and the burgher movement of 1672 as a quest for good governance, claiming diversity (regenten from different families, only one office per regent) in government within several common, discriminatory categories (religion, citizenship). This good governance, however, had to be controlled, because even when regenten fell within the boundaries of this capability, the Dutch political structure did not prevent the danger of falling into oligarchy. For this reason, burghers demanded safeguards (commissions, control of accounts and publication of rights) and in some cases even a government unit of their own (free city militia) without interference from the city council and the magistrate. The latter demand had another significant impact, because it prevented a small group of regenten from gaining a military monopoly within a city. This also hints at the fact that the capability claims from burghers were not grounded in the idea that virtue alone was enough to produce good governance. According to these burghers, a political structure needed safeguards.

Amsterdam For an example of how these ideas about capability became the central issue of the popular political debate, we turn to Amsterdam, where the riotous citizens were supported by several pamphlets in September 1672, including a series of three pamphlets called Wacht-Praetjes (Militia-

 Dienstigh Tot afweringe haerer verkeerde Factien, ende en Couragement tot algemeyne defentie, (Knuttel 10478 and Tiele 6371, 1672); Anonymous, Extract, Uyt de Resolutien (Knuttel 10527, 1672); Anonymous, Verhael van ´t gepasseerde, ´t Gene in de Nominaty is voorgevallen, aengaende ´t Nomineren van LXXX. Personen, Uyt de Schutterye der Stad Leyden, op den 8en September 1672. om de selve by den Heere Prince van Orangie, Onsen Goeverneur en Stadhouder, Te presenteren, om uyt de selve XL. in ´t getal te Eligeren tot Stadts Regenten (Tiele 6463, 1672); Anonymous, Een Brief uyt Rotterdam (Knuttel 10153, 1672); Anonymous, Eenige Pretensie die de Borgerye van Leyden Met Reeden pretendeeren na den staet en gelegentgenheyt [sic] deses Tijdts (Knuttel 10543 and Van der Wulp 4838, 1672); Jan Pietersz. Sillingh, Rotterdam Hersteldt, door het accorderen vande Magistraet in het versoeck der Burgeren. Tot het renuncieren van hare Ampten, En toestaen dat zijne Hoogheydt als Stadhouder uyt het nomineren van de blyvende Leden andere Persoonen soude Eligeren: 't Welck, als hier inne verklaert op den 22 en 26. Augusti geschiet is. Tot een Regel en voorbeeldt voor alle andere Hollandsche Steden, Vroetschappen en Gemeentens (Knuttel 10209 and Tiele 6123, 1672).



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Talks).22 These pamphlets all came to the same conclusion: the relation between government and citizens was based on a contract. The publications that supported the burgher movement were in turn refuted by a series of pamphlets that supported local government called Dam-Praetjes (Dam- Talks) and several other tracts that commented on the relationship between rulers and the ruled. 23 The debate in these publications concentrated on the importance of obedience and the rightfulness of government. Demands for capability for and in office gave rise to counterarguments about the capability to defend the state, act as ephors and understand politics (i.e. arcana imperii). These pamphleteers concluded that there was no circumstance imaginable under which government could be treated as ‘indecent’ as had happened. The goal of these pamphlets was to stop riots and reinstate obedience. During the first week of September, Amsterdam, as a contemporary commentator remarked, was only ‘a Masaniello away’ from complete anarchy. 24 On 5 September, the mayors in Amsterdam had already complained about ‘the daily growing unrest of the citizenry’.25 Regenten had been threatened in the streets, at home and in publications. In the midst of this turmoil, the first part of the series of pamphlets called WachtPraetje was published on 1 September. In this dialogue, which campaigned in favour of an active citizenry, several characters discussed current events. The pamphlet was straightforward in its intentions: the



22 Anonymous, Wacht-Praetje. Tusschen een Sarjant, Adelborst en Schutter. Gehouden over de oude Voor-rechten der Amsterdamse Burgers, in der selver Wachthuys aen de Uytrechtse Poort (Knuttel 10564 and Tiele 6486); Anonymous, Tweede Deel van ’t Wacht-Praetje, Over de oude Privilegien en Voor-rechten der Amsterdamse Burgers, gehouden in der selver Wacht-Huys aen de Weesper-Poort den 10. September 1672. Tusschen een Sarjant, Adelborst, en Schutter (Knuttel 10565 and Tiele 6487, 1672); Anonymous, Derde Deel van ’t Wacht-Praetje, Over de oude Privilegien en Voor-rechten der Amsterdamse Burgers (Knuttel 10566 and Tiele 6488, 1672). 23 Anonymous, Dam-Praetje, Tusschen Vier Amsterdamsche Burgers: Waermondt, Geerlof, Stouthart, en Heb-Recht. Handelende van de Oude Privilegien, Vryheden, en Gerechtigheden van de Burgery en Schuttery. (Knuttel 10567 and Tiele 6489, 1672); Anonymous, Tweede Dam-Praetje, Tusschen Drie Amsterdamsche Burgers. (Knuttel 10568 and Tiele 6490, Amsterdam, 1672). 24 Valkenier, ’t Verwerde Europa, 675. 25 We should perhaps doubt Bontemantel, who had claimed overconfidently that on 3 September Amsterdam was still ‘peaceful and calm’. G.W. Kernkamp, De regeeringe van Amsterdam, soo in ‘t civiel als crimineel en militaire (1653-1672). Ontworpen door Hans Bontemantel, Vol. 1 (The Hague, 1897), 189.

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sceptical character of a sergeant, who represented local government, was to be convinced of the right for citizens to enjoy their privileges. This pamphlet justified riots and purges, by describing two reasons for civic political participation. The first reason is that they were ‘entitled to’ (based on several written sources). In short, there had been an agreement or – in their own terms – a contract. The second reason was that ‘they have fulfilled their duties’, which meant that citizens had fulfilled their part of the contract.26 The idea of a contract between citizens and government had grown popular quickly in 1672 after several pamphleteers had argued during the summer that the adherents of True Freedom had not only caused the war, but had also done nothing to end it. Consequently, pamphleteers had sought ways to justify riots, and the contract theory had proven successful.27 This support for the burgher movement led to several gatherings of members of the city militia in Amsterdam. On 7 September, the people who left church were given ‘several invitations’.28 Regenten were invited to join a group of citizens to discuss the rights and privileges of the city militia that night at the Kloveniersdoelen.29 About 100 men attended the meeting that night. According to the Amsterdam regent Hans Bontemantel, these were mostly ‘simple men’, although he listed more than 20 respectable (aensienlijcke) citizens in his account of that meeting.30 As soon as everyone was in, the door was closed and a packet of petitions was taken from under a chair. One of the citizens, supposedly a man named Gerrit Claas van Fruyt, climbed on a table and read two petitions in a loud voice.31 One petition appeared to be far more radical than the other. Because several citizens believed the first petition to be ‘too sharp’, the second was chosen to be presented to the mayors and the prince of Orange.32

 26

Anonymous, Wacht-Praetje (Knuttel 10564 and Tiele 6486, 1672). Ibidem. 28 Kernkamp, De regeeringe van Amsterdam, 198 29 Ibidem. 30 These aensienlijcke men were Pieter Godyn, Arent van der Weyde, Daniel Smout, Doctor Abram Poot, Hendrik Poot, Jacob Danckers, Blasius, N. Boevry, Jan Bruynenburch, Elias Nolet, Hendrick Kempenaer, Jacob Luyckemael, Hooft, Bruyn, Hendrick Boom, Gerret Myndersen, Gerrit Claas van Fruyt, Willem de Lange, Pont, Jeronemes Sweers. Jurjaen Geerlofse, and a man named Rombout. Ibidem, 199-207. 31 Ibidem, 200. 32 Ibidem, 201. Anonymous, Aen haer Ed. Groot-Achtb. Heeren Burgemeesteren en ses-en-dertigh Raden, mitsgaders de Heeren van den Gerechte der stadt 27



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After the demands had been read aloud, the petition had to be signed. Supposedly, the pamphleteer Johan Blasius and printer Hendrik Boom, who were present at the meeting, had started to persuade people not to sign the document.33 This caused trouble, because subsequently several citizens – Pieter Godyn and Hendrick Kempenaer in particular – wanted to leave without signing the petition. Fights broke out at the door, because these men were told that they had to remain inside until they signed the petition.34 It is not clear whether people were ultimately forced to sign the document, but after this confusion, it was decided to present the (signed?) petition to the mayors nonetheless. Four respectable men were commissioned to present it to the magistrates the next day: Arent van der Weyde, Jacob Danckers (pharmacist), Abraham Poot (doctor) and Daniel Smout (merchant).35 Arent van der Weyde took the signed petition home to guard it during the night. The next day, Pieter Godyn, the man who had not wanted to sign the document in the first place, visited Van der Weyde, where he told him that he wanted his name removed from the document. Moreover, Godyn, Van der Weyde, Smout and Danckers excused themselves from the commission to present the petition.36 Hendrik Poot, Elias Nolet (a silk merchant) and a man called Bruynenburch were asked in their stead, because they were considered equally respectable men.37 That this respectability was an elusive concept becomes clear when we learn that none of the Amsterdam regenten had any idea who these four men were who came to see them with their petition. Abraham Poot, his brother Hendrik, Nolet and Bruynenburch presented the demands to the

 Amsterdam (Van der Wulp 4846, 1672); Anonymous, Versoeck aen sijn Hoogheyt den Heere Prince van Oranje, Stadhouder , Capiteyn en Admirael Generael (Petit 3954, 1672). See also Arthur F. Salomons, “De rol van de Amsterdamse burgerbeweging in de wetsverzetting 1672”, in Bijdragen en mededelingen betreffende de geschiedenis der Nederlanden, Vol. 106, No. 2 (1991), 215. 33 Kernkamp, De regeeringe van Amsterdam, 201. 34 Ibidem. 35 They were joined by a company of men who had to make sure that the petition was returned and not copied because they did not want their names forever known at city hall. The fear of being registered as a riotous citizen who had signed a petition is a possible explanation for the fight over the signatures, instead of pinning the entire event down as factional strife. 36 Kernkamp, De regeeringe van Amsterdam, 202-3. 37 The petition that was eventually presented to the Amsterdam magistrate was signed in initials by A.v.P [Abraham Poot], H.v.P. [Hendrik Poot], J.v.B. [Johan van Bruynenburch] and E.N. [Elias Nolet]. See Valkenier, ’t Verwerde Europa, byvoegselen, 153.

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magistrates nonetheless.38 The magistrates replied that they could not give in to any of the demands, because the prince of Orange, instead of local government, was to decide on these matters now. Furthermore, the regenten declared that a one-man commission had already been sent to meet with William. The citizens replied that they did not trust this commission (i.e. secretary Schaep) who had been sent to the prince of Orange and that they wanted to send their own delegation. The Poot brothers, Elias Nolet and Bruynenburch were told in turn that they were not considered ‘capable’ of speaking for the entire citizenry of Amsterdam.39 The regenten argued that, if they were to deem these men capable, new groups of citizens would come to city hall with new demands every day. It was decided that three different citizens, Gerrit Claas van Fruyt (who drafted the petition), Jacob Luykermaal and Gerrit Meynders, were to go ensure that every banner of the city militia chose two ‘capable’ men to represent them at a meeting with the prince of Orange.40 The meeting at the Kloveniersdoelen and the meeting at city hall were followed by a host of pamphlets that commented on the situation in Amsterdam. Several pamphlets appeared that enthusiastically supported the notions of capability for and in office and the citizens’ right to determine these characteristics based on the contract theory. The second part of the Wacht-Praetje was published, for example, on 10 September. This pamphlet reacted on publications that had argued against the first part of the Wacht-Praetje. The character of the sergeant, again the voice of

 38

Anonymous, Oprecht Verhael van het gene op Donderdagh den 8. September 1672 tusschen de Hoogh Achtbare Burgermeesteren der Stadrt Amsterdam, En eenige der Burgerye is voor-gevallen (Knuttel 10552 and Tiele 6471, 1672). 39 Ibidem. 40 Valkenier, ’t Verwerde Europa, byvoegselen, 153. The regenten told these men that they should include the captains of their city militia banners in their actions, due to their close contacts with the regenten, which would make communication easier. The citizens disapproved of this idea and replied that the captains were of no use to the members of the city militia, since they were seen by the citizens as ‘part of the city government’. The four men proposed to add a list to the petition with autographs of all the citizens who supported their claim. The citizens did go to several houses of the city militia where many signed the list. Many of the officers on the contrary, as Poot had suspected, refused to sign. Bontemantel spoke to Gerrit Claas van Fruyt in 1680 in the shop of Romeyn de Hooghe, where Fruyt declared that many burghers actually signed the list, but that the officers often refused. Kernkamp, De regeeringe van Amsterdam, 207. Salomons, “De rol van de Amsterdamse burgerbeweging”, 216.



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government, claimed that ‘government should be left to regenten’.41 In the pamphlet, however, this character (and the audience) was slowly but surely convinced by the other characters that citizens were not only allowed to enjoy their political privileges because they had fulfilled their duties, but also that the future of the Republic depended on the citizens’ claim for capability.42

Who is capable to comment on capability? The Wacht-Praetjes were followed by a series of pamphlets called DamPraetjes, which supported government and were critical of the supposed capability of citizens to participate in key governmental decision-making. The first part of Dam-Praetjes defended the rightfulness of government.43 It described the meeting at the Kloveniersdoelen, with the intention of refuting the idea of the legitimacy of such a meeting between citizens. The pamphleteer started with the core argument from the Wacht-Praetje and refuted it using several strands of obedience argumentation. The character Waermont (eventually the winner of the dialogue) opened the debate by claiming that many citizens in the cities were acting as ‘rebels’ (muytemackers), because they had revolted against their rightful regenten.44 The character Geerlof (who represented the riotous citizens in the pamphlet) replied that citizens should only obey government if it delivered good governance. Geerlof claimed that the citizens would not retrieve their rights and privileges by sitting still and obeying government.45 Waermont conversely concluded ‘that the magistrates have been chosen according to the customs and rules [i.e. handvesten] of the cities and that the magistrates are consequently lawful’.46 Waermont tried to elaborate on his point, but Stouthart interrupted him, accusing him in a rude manner. Waermont replied by giving a lecture in the art of accusing.47 This rhetorical episode was meant to illustrate Waermont’s key argument:

 41

Anonymous, Tweede Deel van ’t Wacht-Praetje (Knuttel 10565 and Tiele 6487, 1672). 42 Ibidem. 43 Anonymous, Dam-Praetje (Knuttel 10567, 1672). 44 Ibidem, 3. 45 Ibidem, 4. Roorda has argued that the character Geerlof was meant to be Jurjaen Geerlofsen, who was from Amsterdam and allegedly a Labadist. Arent van der Weyde and Daniel Smout were supposedly Labadists as well. Roorda, Partij en factie, 181. 46 Anonymous, Dam- Praetje, 4. 47 Ibidem.

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‘Everything has to be executed with good policy and order.’48 At that point in the dialogue, the character Geerlof already agreed with Waermont. Backed by part of the audience (those who identified with Geerlof), Waermont described the meeting at the Kloveniersdoelen where the petition was signed. To this end, a new person was introduced in the dialogue: Hebrecht. Whereas Geerlof had claimed that the meeting was filled with respectable men and that everything went ‘with dignity’, Hebrecht claimed contrarily that the meeting had gone ‘without order’ and that there had been only a small number of respectable citizens present. Hebrecht, whose character was, similar to Waermont, meant to give the correct interpretation of events (a translation of ‘Waermont’ is ‘mouth of truth’), even claimed that the petition had not been composed by these citizens at all. Instead, it had been ‘found under a pillow’.49 The point of this passage was that the citizens who had been present at the meeting had been ‘mostly artisans, as my peers and I myself are’. These men, so claimed Hebrecht, could not understand the petition (as a consequence of the arcana imperii), but signed it anyway.50 The men that did not want to sign, and these were the only respectable burghers that had been present, claimed the character, were kept hostage at the house of the city militia until they had signed. Geerlof, who supposedly represented the riotous citizens, gave in to this narrative and claimed that ‘it is true, there were some troubles, but it was not that bad’.51 The audience of the dialogue was presented with a highly unfavourable description of the meeting of citizens at the Kloveniersdoelen. Waermont concluded that the description made clear that political decisions, purges in this case, should not be left to the common man. As these men could not even organise a meeting in unison, claimed Waermont, it was to be expected that whoever was to be removed from office, some citizens would always feel ‘wronged’ by a regent.52 The inevitable conclusion of letting citizens decide on who to remove from office was: ‘Then we might as well send all regenten home.’ 53 As a way out of this undesirable situation, Waermont enthusiastically repeated the idea that the radical pamphleteers had objected against: obey the fathers. ‘That is why every citizen keeps quiet, and without hesitation obeys the law that God has given his people, that is, honour thy father (which also means civic fathers

 48

Ibidem, 5. Ibidem, 7. 50 Ibidem, 8. 51 Ibidem, 9. 52 Ibidem. 53 Ibidem. 49



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or government).’54 The pamphleteer furthermore referred to the Bible for authority. ‘It is the duty of every Christian citizen not to form sects nor start mutiny in spiritual or worldly government and obey his regenten … An honest citizen does not do bad because he loves virtue and does not disobey the judge when he speaks his verdict. And it is considerable that we read in the book of Judges: In those days, there was no king in Israel; everyone did what was righteous in his own eyes. This is how it goes, where there is no fear or respect for government and this is how it goes in this state at this moment.’55 Within days, the Dam-Praetje was followed by the publication of the sequel Tweede Dam-Praetje. Again, the meeting at the Kloveniersdoelen was the main subject and again, the pamphleteer set out to defend the rightfulness of government and the incapability of ‘normal’ citizens to understand politics. The character Geerlof described how during the meeting at the Kloveniersdoelen citizens had not been able to decide whether the petition should be signed. Some argued that by signing the petition they would be ‘branded forever’. 56 The author of the DamPraetjes pre-emptively struck down the obvious answer to this problem, when he wrote that an unsigned petition was ‘useless’.57 Returning to his story, the pamphleteer left the situation hanging in mid-air, claiming that, after several respectable citizens had demanded that their signatures would be removed from the petition, the signed pages were supposedly ‘burnt with a candle’.58 The character Waermont added enthusiastically: ‘It had been best if this deformity had been killed during its birth.’59 The author of the Dam-Praetje integrated the pamphlet Oprecht Verhael (a printed edition of the actual petition from the meeting at the Kloveniersdoelen) verbatim in the dialogue. We can even take the publication of this petition as the reason for the Second Dam-Praetje to appear, for the rest of the pamphlet was used to refute it. The character Waermont claimed: ‘I will address this publication, and split it in half with an axe.’60 Starting with the first point, the author claimed that ‘it is a Crimen Laese Majestatis to approach government discourteously’. 61 Waermont explained the difference between pamphlets, which he defined as not particularly

 54

Ibidem, 11. Ibidem. 56 Anonymous, Tweede Dam-Praetje (Knuttel 10568, 1672). 57 Ibidem. 58 Ibidem. 59 Ibidem. 60 Ibidem. 61 Ibidem. 55

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dangerous, and (printed) petitions, which he thought were very dangerous. Waermont claimed that the petition in question had been produced by men who wanted to force themselves into office.62 The idea that citizens’ political participation through publishing pamphlets and petitions would destroy Dutch politics was often repeated in government polemic that was published in these weeks. The pamphleteer Johannes Fidelis, for example, explained the problematic nature of slander. ‘Before you have uttered a slanderous term, you master it, but once you have spoken, it is master over you.’63 In addition to attacking the ‘riotous’ publications, the negative sides of accountability were portrayed by pamphleteers who attacked the riotous citizens as well. Jacob van Beveren (1612-1676), Lord of Zwijndrecht, was accused of corruption with tax money. One of his accusers had suggested that fraudulent regenten should repay all community financed projects that were ‘without use’. Van Beveren used this accusation to criticise the burgher movement in a pamphlet. ‘The irreparable consequence for the citizenry will be that regenten will no longer take the initiative to produce public works’, wrote Van Beveren. ‘For fear of having to pay for the project themselves if, at one time in the future, someone would think badly of it.’64 Closely related to this argumentation, the author of the Tweede Dam-Praetje (and several other publicists) finally attacked the central premises of the burgher movement: citizenship itself. Pamphleteers who defended government against the citizens eventually started to question the idea of citizenship as the centre of politics. In doing so, however, these pamphleteers were forced to examine their own argumentation as well. The analogy of the family had to be defined more precisely and citizenship was described by these pamphleteers as one movement, instead of several, differentiated, locally based movements. In this sense, the burgher movement with its claim for capability had a tremendous impact on Dutch politics: it paved the way for one ‘national’ citizenship.65 The author of the second part of the Dam-Praetjes refuted the idea that offices could only be filled by citizens from the locality. In particular, the

 62

Ibidem. Fidelis, Hollants Mars-Banquet (Knuttel 10308, 1672), 14. 64 Jacob van Beveren, Deductie ende vertoogh (Erasmus Collectie Openbare Bibliotheek Rotterdam 240, 1672). 65 In this sense, the burgher movement and its consequences resembled Benedict Anderson’s imagined community. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London/New York, 1st ed. 1983, 1991). 63



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pamphleteer referred to the tenth demand in the Amsterdam petition that stated that offices could only be held by citizens who were preferably born in Amsterdam (or in the province of Holland if necessary) and have been a registered citizen for at least six years.66 The character Waermont attacked this notion in a subtle manner. First, he claimed that the demand was not unreasonable, but too limited. Were the people from the province of Zeeland not citizens as well? Were men from Zeeland, who had lived in Amsterdam for 20 or 30 years not citizens? Strengthening this argument, the pamphleteer attacked the use of the privileges of Maria of Burgundy (1457-1482) from 1477 and of Charles V (1500-1558) from 1555, claiming that these privileges were never intended to exclude ‘strangers’ (meaning non-citizens) from office, but that they were meant to exclude people from outside the Netherlands. Again using the analogy of the political family, Waermont claimed that ‘the mayors are not only regenten, but they are also fathers over their citizens’. The character Geerlof replied: ‘Over their native citizens [i.e. those who were born in the city, province, or Republic or had acquired registered citizenship] they are fathers by nature, but considering strangers, they are not fathers but lords, and the strangers cannot lawfully be called their children. I ask of you whether it can be justified whether a father helps a stranger and neglects his own children?’67 The pamphleteer was forced to adjust the analogy of the family by claiming that ‘there is a big difference between the duties of a natural father to his children when compared to the duties of magistrates to the governed’. 68 Moreover, he claimed that regenten had to look at the capability of the person they appoint for new offices, instead of their citizenship. The idea that citizenship was part of a person’s capability was negated by this pamphleteer. 69 To conclude the dialogue, the character Stouthart replied: ‘Until now, I have not understood the situation properly, nor have the men who have signed the petition.’70 Waermont ended his attack with an assignment for all readers: ‘Obey your magistrates.’71

 66

Anonymous, Tweede Dam-Praetje (Knuttel 10568, 1672). Ibidem. 68 Ibidem. 69 The character Stouthart added that recently many new office-holders ‘could not even read and write’. Waermont admitted that regenten in Amsterdam had not looked at capability in the last few years, but from now on, this would change. Ibidem. 70 Ibidem. 71 Ibidem. 67

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Other pamphleteers attacked the central role of citizenship in the capability debate as well. In the Vrymoedige Aenspraak (Bold Appeal), a dialogue from Rotterdam between a character from Holland, a soldier, a sailor and a resident, the recent riots and the role of the rebellious citizens were debated. 72 The Hollander claimed that everything should always happen in ‘good order’ and by authority of state. Moreover, completely denying the possibility of the option of resistance, he claimed: ‘It is not allowed to do evil, even when its product is good.’73 The resident objected to this reasoning. He claimed, echoing the constitutionalism of the burgher movement, that the citizens were passengers on the ship of state as well, so they did well to stand up against government. ‘You must remember that the citizenry makes regenten, but regenten do not make citizenries.’74 The Hollander, who described the burgher movement as a Napelsche Beroerte, reacted by claiming: ‘It is true that citizenries make kings, but kings make laws, and these laws must be obeyed by all.’75 Purges, so he added, must be left to the prince of Orange, who will choose the most capable regenten. 76 The political thought of pamphleteers who supported the burgher movement was thus attacked by using their own axioms. Johan Fidelis claimed that the only remedy against the violent citizens who had rioted under the banner of ‘the welfare of the people’ was ‘force’.77 The author particularly objected to the idea to ‘spare the wolves’, which would, according to him, inevitably lead to ‘subjecting the sheep to cruelty’.78 Violence was thus preferable, but still, Fidelis argued, ‘the welfare of the people is the ultimate law’. 79 This premise could be combined with violence by claiming that violent punishment was necessary to safeguard justice, which enhanced the political foundations that led to ‘prosperity and heavenly bliss’. So Fidelis propagated governmental violence, but only if it served a goal that benefited the abstract category of the people: ‘Violence without policy is madness or tyranny.’ 80 Lashing out another blow at the rightfulness of the burgher movement, Fidelis argued that good virtues demand laws, just as good laws demand virtues. Virtuous rioters were, however, never to be found. On the contrary, these riotous

 72

Anonymous, Vrymoedige Aenspraek (Knuttel 10291, 1672). Ibidem, 6. 74 Ibidem. 75 Ibidem. 76 Ibidem, 7. 77 Fidelis, Hollants Mars-Banquet, 9. 78 Ibidem. 79 Ibidem. 80 Ibidem, 9-11. 73



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men did not have the welfare of the people as their ultimate law, but a ‘mad insurgency’.81 Fidelis concluded that those who cannot be forced by law should be brought into obedience by violence, ‘because justice is the foundation of the state’. 82 Fidelis particularly pointed out the violent citizens in Amsterdam as a bad example for the rest of the Dutch Republic.83 In the end, while several publicists attacked the ideas of the burgher movement, two notions of the riotous citizens were incorporated in the arguments of these pamphleteers who supported the sitting governments. Firstly, they were willing to admit that the relation between government and citizens was more complicated, subtle and reciprocal than the relationship between a father, or custodian and a child. Pamphleteers who attacked the burgher movement accepted this difference. Second, these pamphleteers also acknowledged that Dutch citizenship was no longer a local, but a supra-local phenomenon. In doing so, both the riotous citizens with their printed petitions and the pamphleteers that reacted to these publications (those who defended them and those who attacked them) turned the burgher movement of 1672 into something without historical precedent. Dutch citizenship transformed from local membership of a city into membership of a statewide community in 1672 under influence of claims for capability.

Conclusion What happened to the capability demands in printed petitions filed in 1672? Were they, as has been claimed by several historians, ‘useless, unimportant and mere wishful thinking’ of a powerless burgher movement?84 The demands in the petitions described above were sent to the prince of Orange and to the magistrates in the cities, who, opposed to what has been claimed, most certainly took them seriously and responded. Not all, but many demands were granted. 85 Especially demands that concerned putting limits on one-sidedness in city government and demands concerning a minimum of capability for new regenten – being a burgher (i.e. the core demands of the capability claims in petitions).

 81

Ibidem. Ibidem. 83 Ibidem, 15. 84 Roorda, Partij en factie, 240-48; Wout Troost, Stadhouder-koning Willem III: een politieke biografie (Hilversum, 2001), 98. 85 See, for example, the debate in Rotterdam. Gemeente Archief Rotterdam, 1.01, 374. 82

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Moreover, the promises made by the prince of Orange and city governments to the petitioning citizens were most certainly not only rhetoric to satisfy a riotous movement. In Rotterdam, for example, there was a heated debate about three individuals who had been put on the nomination list for several offices to be sent to the prince of Orange.86 After fierce popular opposition, all three were removed from the list. One man was dismissed, because his older brother’s name was also on the nomination, which opposed the promise to limit the domination of a limited number of families in government. A second man was dismissed, because he was not of the reformed religion, which opposed the promises of religious homogeneity in government. A third candidate did not make the list because his wife was a member of the Arminian faith.87 When the prince of Orange subsequently made his choice from the shortlist of men, the prince granted a man called Jan van Berkel a place in the city council. When he heard, however, that the burghers would ‘break this man’s legs’ as soon as his feet would touch the steps of city hall, the prince replaced him with Dominicus Rosmaalen, a more publicly esteemed member of the city militia.88 This brings us to one of the questions that started the idea for this collection of essays. How could governors in the Dutch Republic claim or argue to be more capable for office than others, when we bear in mind that they were not noble and as we have seen that they were spawned by the same group they governed? As we have seen, both claiming to be an Orangist and not being part of a suspected family was by no means enough to prove a regent’s capability. Indeed, a capable regent supported, whether genuinely or not, the prevailing ideology of the time, and was a politician in a local network of powerful families, without losing himself to a faction. There was much more, however. He listened to the people he governed, because, as every regent had to be a burgher, he was one of them. So a regent had to keep on the good side of the judgement of the people and in the Dutch Republic, capability in petitions was exactly the prescription. Government did not bow down to the burghers of the Republic. On the contrary, these riotous citizens of 1672 were not out to overthrow government and rule themselves. They did emphasise capability to ensure effective governance and proposed to establish several institutions to prevent the oligarchical tendencies that led to the murder on Johan and Cornelis de Witt. As a result, citizens came to see themselves as one

 86

Vroesen, Waaragtig Verhaal, 180-81. Ibidem. 88 Ibidem, 188. 87



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homogeneous group in the Dutch Republic which was an important step on the road to national citizenship.

SUBSERVIENT TO THE STADHOLDER: HOW WILLIAM III’S INTERPRETATION OF CAPABILITY DETERMINED POLITICS IN THE PROVINCE OF UTRECHT, 1674-1688 COEN WILDERS

The death of the president of the States of Utrecht in 1681 brought new opportunities for the most important nobleman in the province, Godard Adriaan van Reede, lord of Amerongen (1621-1691). Amerongen occupied the position of ambassador in Brandenburg when he heard of the president’s death. He wrote to his wife, expressing his grief over the loss of a good friend and relative, and his concern about the damage he expected this would bring to the prosperity of the province. Despite his grief, he was optimistic that the stadholder, prince William III (16501702), would appoint him as the president’s successor. He thought the stadholder could not fail to recognise his loyalty and hard work. 1 However, he also realised that his appointment would be a violation of the so-called Government Regulation, which had been introduced in the province of Utrecht in 1674. This Regulation stipulated that the eldest member of the geëligeerden (Elect) in the States of Utrecht should be the new President.2 Yet, Amerongen was not a member of the Elect, but of the ridderschap (Equestrian Order), and for that reason his application could fail. He therefore firmly instructed his family to take action in order to improve his chances to the maximum, despite his absence from the Dutch Republic. Amerongen instructed his son Godard van Reede, lord of Ginkel (1644-1703) to go to the court of the stadholder to emphasise Amerongen’s generally acknowledged capabilities. He had to emphasise

 1

Het Utrechts Archief (Hua), Archief Huis Amerongen (Aha), inventory number (inv.nr.) 2726, Turnor to Amerongen, 26 January, 1681; Ibidem, 13 February, 1682; Ibidem, inv.nr. 2833, Van Heteren to Amerongen, 13 February 1682. 2 Hua, Archief Staten van Utrecht (AStvU), inv.nr. 232-37, Resolution of the States of Utrecht (ResSoU), 16 April, 1674.

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Amerongen’s political achievements, his seniority in the States of Utrecht and his loyalty to the prince. Amerongen also urged his son to stress the fact that the criteria of the Government Regulation had never been much of a hindrance to the prince while appointing successors. 3 Despite his efforts, Amerongen’s application fell to the ground. After visiting the court, Ginkel informed his father that the prince had selected Everard van Weede, Lord of Dijkveld (1626-1702). He told Amerongen that Dijkveld, as a senior member of the Elect, better suited the requirements for the presidency. However, Ginkel did not know that the true reason for the election of Dijkveld was that William III considered Dijkveld to be more loyal than Amerongen and therefore more capable for the presidency.4 The Government Regulation stated that the stadholder, when appointing public office-holders, should judge their ‘bequamheijt’, or capability.5 When looking at several cases of the election procedure and of the decision making process in the province of Utrecht, it can be concluded that William measured capability in terms of the level of support for his policy and the manner in which it was executed. Yet officeholders were not only supposed to be subservient to the stadholder, but also to the province. In order to promote competence in governance, Utrecht’s elite had installed requirements for regenten, like elsewhere in the Republic. The regenten had to be qualified by birth, age, assets and religion. These old rules, continued after 1674, were first and foremost meant to secure het gemeen belang, the public interest. During the seventeenth century they had gradually transformed into grounds for exclusion, above all securing the position of a few Utrecht families who were not eager to share their power. 6 Although the stadholder’s interpretation of capability determined the entire election procedure, it had to correspond with these provincial and local ideas about capability.

 3

Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2726, Turnor to Amerongen, 4 February, 1682; Ibidem, 2864, Amerongen to William III, 21 January 1680. 4 Nicolaas Japikse, Correspondentie van Willem III en van Hans Willem Bentinck, eersten Graaf van Portland (Den Haag, 1927-1937) II, 455, William III to Amerongen, 13 March, 1682; Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2726, Turnor to Amerongen, 4 February, 1682; Ibidem, 2868, Dijkveld to Amerongen, 6 February, 1682 5 Hua, AStvU, inv.nr. 232-37, ResSoU, 16 April, 1674. 6 Guido de Bruin, Geheimhouding en verraad: de geheimhouding van staatszaken ten tƋde van de Republiek (1600-1750) (Den Haag, 1991), 178-180; Tino Perlot, De Staten van Utrecht en Willem III: de houding van de Staten van Utrecht tegenover Willem III (Utrecht, 2000), 12, 17; Paul Knevel, “Een kwestie van overleven: de kunst van het samenleven”, in Thimo A.H. de Nijs and Eelco Beukers (eds.), Geschiedenis van Holland, Vol. 2 (Hilversum, 2002), 224-25.

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An omnipotent stadholder In the autumn of 1673, after nearly sixteen months of French occupation, the province of Utrecht was in dire straits. During the Rampjaar 1672, the ‘Year of Disaster’, the French army had invaded the Dutch Republic and conquered the provinces of Gelderland, Utrecht and Overijssel quite easily. Now, due to several levies, the city of Utrecht was pressed hard for money while taxes were not raised for almost a year. In the meantime, the construction of the so-called Hollandse Waterlinie ruined the countryside, as they flooded much of the land to stop the French army. All this put the States of Utrecht in a state of virtual bankruptcy. One of the office-holders wrote a few years later that ‘wealth is now imaginary, all real estates have now no value at all’.7 Moreover, people in Holland began to question why the city of Utrecht surrendered so quickly to the French in the summer of 1672, without firing a single shot. Inconsiderate of their hopeless military position, some inhabitants of Holland accused the inhabitants of the city of Utrecht of treason.8 Several influential regenten from Holland used these insinuations to put forward a proposal to minimise the influence of Utrecht in de States-General, hoping to increase their own. Moreover, to compensate for the damage caused by the supposed treason of Utrecht, they claimed territorial expansion eastwards. 9 In this hopeless situation

 7

Quotation taken from Murk van der Bijl, “Utrechts weerstand tegen de oorlogspolitiek tijdens de Spaanse Successie oorlog: de rol van de Heer van Welland van 1672-1707”, in Huib L.Ph. Leeuwenberg, Louise van Tongerloo and Carel A. Rutgers (eds.), Van standen tot staten: 600 jaar Staten van Utrecht, 13751975 (Utrecht, 1975), 180-81. ‘… den rijckdom is nu maer imaginair, de vaste goederen hebben nu gheen prijs meer.’ 8 Daan J. Roorda, PartƋ en factie: de oproeren van 1672 in de steden van Holland en Zeeland, een krachtmeting tussen partƋen en facties (Groningen, 1961), 92. 9 G. van Klaveren, Utrecht zonder regeering, 1673/1674”, in Jaarboekje OudUtrecht, Vol. 2 (1925), 93-109; Suzanna C.J. Jessurun-Ten Dam Ham, Utrecht 1672-1673 (Utrecht, 1934), 159; Daniël de Milan Visconti, “‘t Voorgevallene omtrent de verandering van de regeeringe tot Utrecht in den jare 1674”, in TƋdschrift voor geschiedenis, oudheden en statistiek van Utrecht, Vol. 2 (1936), 270-272; Daan J. Roorda, “Prins Willem III en het Utrechtse regeringsregelement: een schets van de gebeurtenissen, achtergronden en problemen”, in Leeuwenberg, Van Tongerloo and Rutgers (eds.), Van standen tot staten, 91-133; Jules E.A. L. Struick, Utrecht door de eeuwen heen (Utrecht, 1984), 237; Jan den Tex, Onder vreemde heren: de Republiek der Nederlanden, 1672-1674 (Zutphen, 1987), 10; Johan Aalbers, “Met en zonder stadhouder (1674-1747)”, in Cornelis Dekker and Johan Aalbers (eds.), Geschiedenis van de provincie Utrecht (Utrecht, 1997), 232; Dirk E.A. Faber “Op weg naar Stabiliteit”, in ibidem, 291; Bertrand Forclaz,



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nearly all residents of the province of Utrecht set their hopes on the support of the prince of Orange. In November 1673, just after William III had freed the city of Utrecht, a group of burghers presented a petition to count Van Horne, the commanding officer of the States army in Utrecht, in which they called for a more capable government. In 1672 the inhabitants of many cities in Holland transformed their governance successfully, or at least for a short period, using the same strategies and arguments that can be seen in this petition and subsequent pamphlets. 10 The petition stated that during the First Stadholderless Period (1650-1672), in which the House of Orange had no public offices, the government of Utrecht had served mainly its own interests, to the detriment of the public interests. Therefore, the petitioners asked the prince to break the power of the selfish governmental elite, who were severely criticised for their policies. Furthermore, the petition claimed that it would be best to install Orange as a stadholder, and to allow the prince to install a new municipality. In the meantime the petitioners presented themselves as an alternative to the old regime, hoping to gain access to the city council. 11 However, at that moment William III was occupied with the military campaign against the French. It was not until the spring of 1674, after the States of Holland had started to discuss the reintegration of the re-conquered provinces of Gelderland, Utrecht and Overijssel into the Union of Utrecht, that he began to intervene in the decision making process. Due to Utrecht’s petition, the States of Holland authorised William III to change the government in Utrecht, in a so-called wetsverzetting, precisely as the petitioners had intended. However, very few people were aware that the prince wanted more than replacing the office-holders: he aimed for an increase of his power as a future stadholder.

 “‘Rather French than Subject to the Prince of Orange’: The Conflicting Loyalties of the Utrecht Catholics during the French Occupation (1672-73)”, in Church History and Religious Culture, Vol. 87 (2007), 513-16. 10 Michel H.P. Reinders, Printed Pandemonium: The Power of the Public and the Market for Popular Politcal Publications in the Early Modern Dutch Republic (Rotterdam, 2008), 296-306. 11 Anonymous, Waerachtigh Verhael… (Knuttel 10712, 1673); Anonymous, Poetische gedagten… (Knuttel 10763,1673); Anonymous, Rehabeams Regeering … (Knutel 10975, 1673); Anonymous, Bileams Raedt … (Knuttel 11189, 1674); Anonymous, Rehabeams regeering… (Knuttel 11190, 1674); Anonymous, Geaugmenteerde Lyste … (Knuttel 11191,1674); Anonymous, Onomstotelicke vaststellinge … (Knuttel 11198, 1674); Anonymous, Historisch Verhael … (Knuttel 11739, 1680).

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On 16 April 1674, William III attended a meeting of the States of Utrecht, in which he was assigned as stadholder. He immediately elected a new government, which he was authorised to do by the States-General. Office-holders were dismissed from every government council, especially from the city council where 22 out of 25 members did not return to their posts. After the prince had installed the Elect, the Equestrian Order, and the city magistrate and council, he suddenly presented an ingenious document, called the Government Regulation. The Regulation had three important consequences: firstly, the stadholder could not only appoint the city magistrate like his ancestors, but he could install nearly all officeholders as well. Theoretically, he was now able to appoint supporters of his policy in all parts of the state structure in the province of Utrecht. Secondly, the Regulation stipulated that from now on most office-holders had a limited tenure instead of a lifetime employment. Whether the officeholder’s tenure was renewed depended on his capability, which had to be judged by the stadholder. Most importantly, however, the power of officeholders with a bourgeois background was reduced, because Orange expected they would offer the strongest resistance against his policy. After 1674 the tenure of a member of the city council lasted a year, while the members of the Equestrian Order were, as usual, assigned for the rest of their lives. These changes greatly increased the influence of the stadholder, although his choice was limited by the right of governmental councils to nominate office-holders for most posts, and, as previously noted, by the fact that office-holders had to meet certain qualifications.12 Even though the author of the Government Regulation is unknown, it is plausible that it originated in the vicinity of the prince.13 In the highly noble environment in which Orange grew up, it was common for sovereign princes to shape politics personally, with the help of a group of confidants. William III was related to monarchs, among others the kings of England and France, who saw themselves as guardians of the public interest, a task in which they should not be hampered, but had to be supported by the elites. Although their power had many restrictions, the

 12

Hua, AStvU, inv.nr. 232-37, ResSoU, 16 April, 1674. Nicolaas Japikse, Prins Willem III: de stadhouder-koning, Vol. 1 (Amsterdam, 1930-1933), 340; Daan J. Roorda, “Le secret du Prince: monarchale tendenties in de Republiek, 1672-1702”, in A.J.C.M. Gabriëls (ed.), Rond prins en patriciaat: verspreide opstellen (Weesp, 1984), 173; J.L. Price, Holland and the Dutch Republic in the Seventeenth Century: The Politics of Particularism (Oxford, 1994), 247-50, 281; Wout Troost, Stadhouder koning Willem III: een politieke biografie (Amsterdam, 2001), 106. 13



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kings formed the linchpin of politics.14 Despite the fact that the House of Orange resided in the Dutch Republic, a conglomerate of provinces with a decentralised state structure, and did not have a monarchical status, they adopted the highly noble mentality of their relatives. At a smaller scale, they presented themselves similarly to their foreign relatives, for example through their palaces and court life, but they also considered their position within the Dutch Republic as a God-given birthright, which obliged them to the public interests, or at least this is what they propagated. 15 As a result, the political ambitions of William III during the period around the ‘Year of Disaster’, after the First Stadholderless Period, concerned mainly his dynastic powers, as he wanted to regain his family’s former dignities. In later years, when the position of the House of Orange was restored, the prince focused mainly on his foreign policy, in order to combat Louis XIV (1638-1715). After 1674, the Government Regulation caused the political system in the province of Utrecht to depend heavily on the skills and availability of the stadholder, yet Orange was often absent. He resided mostly in one of his palaces or hunting lodges in The Hague, where the States-General and the States of Holland met, and during the military campaign season, he was with the army. William III was represented by brokers in the provinces, who he used at a large scale in order to expand his powers. In

 14

William Beik, Absolutism and Society in Seventeenth-Century France: State Power and Provincial Aristocracy in Languedoc (New York, 1985), 12-17; Kevin Sharpe, The Personal Rule of Charles I (New Haven, 1992), xv-xvii, 59. 15 Roorda, ‘Le Secret du Prince’, 190-92; Herbert H. Rowen, “Neither Fish nor Fowl: The Stadholderate in the Dutch Republic”, in Herbert H. Rowen and Andrew Lossky, Political Ideas & Institutions in the Dutch Republic (Los Angeles, 1985), 3; Maarten Prak, “Republiek en vorst: de stadhouders en het staatsvormingsproces in de Noordelijke Nederlanden, 16e-18e eeuw”, in Kees Bruin and Kitty Verrips (eds.), Door het volk gedragen: koningschap en samenleving (Groningen, 1989), 37; Willem Frijhoff, “Het Haagse hof in nationaal en Europees perspectief”, in Marika Keblusek and Johanna M. Zijlmans (eds.), VorstelƋk vertoon: aan het hof van Frederik Hendrik en Amalia (The Hague, 1997), 16; Olaf Mörke, “Het hof van Oranje als centrum van het politieke en maatschappelƋke leven tƋdens de Republiek”, in ibidem, 58-72; Jonathan I. Israel, “The United Provinces of the Netherlands: The Courts of the House of Orange, c. 1580-1795”, in John Adamson (ed.), The Princely Courts of Europe: Ritual, Politics and Culture under the Ancien Régime, 1500-1750 (London, 1999), 11120; Simon Groenveld, “William III as Stadholder: Prince or Minister?”, in Esther Mijers and David Onnekink (eds.), Redefining William III: The Impact of the KingStadholder in International Context (Aldershot, 2007), 17-38. 15 Roorda, ‘Le Secret du Prince’, 183.

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doing so, he followed the example of rulers in neighboring countries, where the phenomenon was much more common.16 Brokers were people who, as a part of the stadholder’s patronage system, mediated between the provincial elite and Orange. They provided the prince with information and coordinated the decision making process and election procedure on his behalf. This intermediary position enlarged their influence and status in the provinces. Especially the fact that they, unlike most other members of the elite, had access to Orange provided them with great power. Candidates for offices had to be loyal to the brokers, because the stadholder depended heavily on their judgment. Furthermore, these brokers promoted their own interests in passing on information to the stadholder. Many of their relatives and friends were assigned in government councils, due to the brokers’ nomination. 17 However, the brokers had to bear in mind that if the nominated candidates proved to be incapable, it could ruin their own privileged position. Amerongen was one of the two brokers in the province of Utrecht. His prestige and influence originated largely in his social background. Born a member of the influential family Reede-Amerongen on January 21, 1621 he inherited the castle Amerongen from his father, as well as his status and responsibilities as head of the family at the age of 21. He revealed himself as a major player in provincial politics. Most members of the Equestrian Order, of which he received membership in 1642, were relatives who he could influence considerably. He combined his office with several other political key positions and with a career as envoy at several princely German courts. However, despite his strong provincial position, the status of his family depended heavily on their relationship with the House of Orange. Some of his relatives served at the court and others, including Amerongen’s son Ginkel, made a military career in service of the prince in later years. Therefore Amerongen committed himself to secure the



16 Sharon Kettering, “Patronage in Early Modern France”, in French Historical Studies, Vol. 17 (1992), 839-62; Groenveld, “William III as Stadholder”, 17-38; Mörke, ‘Stadtholder' oder 'Staetholder’?: die Funktion des Hauses Oranien und seines Hofes in der politischen Kultur der Republik der Vereinigten Niederlande im 17. Jahrhundert (Münster, 1997), 181. 17 A.J.C.M. Gabriëls, De heren als dienaren en de dienaar als heer: het stadhouderlƋk stelsel in de tweede helft van de 18de eeuw (Leiden, 1989), 178-79, 248-58; Geert H. Janssen, “Political Brokerage in the Dutch Republic: The Patronage Networks of William Fredrick of Nassau-Dietz (1613-1664)”, in C.H.L.I. Cools and Marika Keblusek (eds.), Your Humble Servant: Agents in Early Modern Europe (Hilversum, 2006), 68-69; Roorda, “Le Secret du Prince”, 188, 192.



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position of the House of Orange. It is therefore no surprise that after 1674, due to his loyalty and influence, Amerongen became a broker, mainly to control the nobility in Utrecht for the benefit of the prince.18 The other broker was Dijkveld, a controversial figure in Utrecht´s provincial politics and, like Amerongen, an influential member of the elite and an envoy. Born in 1626, he became a member of the Elect at the age of 23. Soon he was engaged in international diplomacy, but that did not prevent his involvement in provincial politics. Due to his excellent political qualities, many members of the city council were loyal to Dijkveld, because they thought he could help them in their constant rivalry with Utrecht’s nobility. Moreover, during the First Stadholderless Period, he secured his good relationship with the city council by supporting their objective to minimise Orange’s influence. However, once it became evident that the young prince sooner or later would become stadholder, Dijkveld switched sides. As a true opportunist, he devoted himself to support the cause of the Oranges in the early seventies. Apart from the members of the city council, he was one of the few office-holders who stayed in the province in the ‘Year of Disaster’. After that, he was severely criticised, because he was said to have cooperated with the French occupiers. This made his position virtually untenable. During the wetsverzetting in 1674 he was dismissed from his provincial offices, but his return was in fact only a matter of time. He remained active as a diplomat and was willing to defend the interests of the House of Orange. William III came to realise that Dijkveld’s return in provincial politics could strengthen his grip on the city council. In 1677 Orange re-assigned Dijkveld in the Elect and five years later he appointed him as president of the States of Utrecht.19 The personal power of the stadholder was great, enlarged by the brokers as his representatives, yet in the first place the office-holders in the States of Utrecht had to serve the provincial interests. To emphasise this, each office-holder had to take an oath in which he swore to promote all privileges, charters and customs in the province of Utrecht.20 In 1680, the

 18

Murk van der Bijl (ed.), Briefwisseling van Godard Adriaan van Reede van Amerongen en Everard van Weede van DƋkveld (27 March 1671-28 July 1672), 910; Wouter Troost, “William III, Brandenburg and the Construction of the AntiFrench Coalition, 1672-88”, in Jonathan I. Israel (ed.), The Anglo-Dutch Moment: Essays on the Glorious Revolution and Its World Impact (Cambridge, 2003), 299303. 19 Van der Bijl (ed.), Briefwisseling, 9-10. 20 Johan van de Water, Groot placaatboek vervattende alle de placaten, ordonnantien en edicten, der Edele Mogende Heeren Staten 's Lands van Utrecht:

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States ordered an office-holder who was assigned in the Auditor General while staying in The Hague, to take the oath as soon as he returned to the province; this proves that the oath was valued highly.21 As the stadholder was officially a provincial office-holder as well, he too had to protect the public interests. When Willem III was assigned stadholder he promised to respect the state structure and all its privileges. While taking his oath, he symbolised his subservience to the province of Utrecht by putting his hands in those of the president of the States of Utrecht. This was an important moment for the office-holders. During the ratification of the Government Regulation they repeatedly emphasised that the stadholder should appoint office-holders according to the existing rules of the government councils.22

How to elect capable office-holders Each member of the governmental elite had to be qualified by several obligatory office requirements, which had been continued by the Government Regulation. For example, a member of the Equestrian Order had to be at least 24 years old, an active member of the Dutch Reformed Church and had to possess a manor with a tower and a drawbridge. Moreover, after 1667, when the rules were tightened, a member had to own goods in Utrecht worth at least 25,000 guilders. These qualities had to secure good governance by the ‘wisest and most respectable’, measured by their social background, status and wealth. In many similar situations elsewhere in the Republic, these precautions were also motivated by the idea that good governance was possible only if office-holders were strongly connected with the ‘body’ they represented, i.e. the province.23 In addition, however, these qualifications promoted the position of only a few Utrecht noble families.24 Members of the Equestrian Order were expected to uphold the nobles’ honor and loyalty. If one of them had a lifestyle that

 mitsgaders van de Ed. Groot Achtb. Heeren Borgemeesteren en Vroedschap der Stad Utrecht; tot het jaar 1728 ingesloten: verrykt met allerhande edicten van keyzer Karel en Philips den tweeden, handvesten, privilegien, octroyen, instructien, reglementen, resolutien, en andere aanmerkelyke stukken, Vol. 1 (Utrecht, 1729), 172; Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 237-37, ResSoU, 16 April, 1674. 21 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2824, Schonauwen to Amerongen, 5 February, 1680. 22 Hua, AstvU, inv.nr. 232-37, ResSoU, 16 April, 1674; Ibidem, 17 April, 1674. 23 Knevel, “Een kwestie van overleven”, 217-54. 24 Hua, AstvU, inv.nr. 232-32, ResSoU, 23 July, 1667; Bruin, Geheimhouding en verraad, 178-80; Knevel, “Een kwestie van overleven”, 224-25.



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brought the other members into disrepute, the Equestrian Order was inexorable, because their good name and position were at stake.25 As a consequence, office-holders ran into trouble once they failed to meet some of the requirements. Lord Gysbert Johan van Hardenbroek (†1698), for instance, was unable to pay off his debts in 1682 and was forced to sell his manor Groenewoude. Hence his fellow members of the Equestrian Order cancelled his seat in the council. They did not want to tamper with the requirements, because they feared this would undermine their status within the province – after all, what distinguished Hardenbroek of the ordinary nobility after the loss of his manor? Hardenbroek objected against the cancellation of his seat by claiming that he was an experienced and respected member of the council, what made his manor less relevant compared to his competence. Nevertheless, despite the fact that Hardenbroek stressed his capabilities, the Equestrian Order asked the stadholder to intervene. William III, perhaps trying to secure the support of the Equestrian Order, agreed that Hardenbroek had to comply with the requirements. He threatened that Hardenbroek would be discharged from office if he was not able to change his situation within the next six weeks. In despair, Hardenbroek summoned the help of his mother, who lent him a huge amount of money to purchase another manor, named Hindesteijn. At the last moment Hardenbroek was able to keep his seat in the council.26 Although these requirements were important as far as the officeholders were concerned, the stadholder respected these rules as long as they did not clash with his own interests. For example, in April 1674, the stadholder elected his grand nephew Hendrik van Nassau-Ouwerkerk (1640-1708) in the Equestrian Order of Utrecht. Nassau-Ouwerkerk was, unlike Hardenbroek, an intimate of William III. He joined the army in 1666 and accompanied the prince during most of his campaigns. The prince was fond of him, which resulted in a successful military career and a strong position at the Orange court. 27 His assignment in Utrecht’s Equestrian Order was the result of the prince’s wish to provide relatives with posts, revenues and status as well as his desire to increase his grip on the governmental councils. In theory, due to Nassau-Ouwerkerk, the communication between the stadholder and the Equestrian order improved

 25

Hua, AstvU, inv.nr. 731-37, Resolution of the Equestrian Order (ResoEO), 1685; Ibidem, Aha, inv.nr. 2726, Turnor to Amerongen, 11 May, 1682. 26 Hua, AstvU, inv.nr. 232-40, ResSoU, 15 April, 1682; Ibidem, 10 May, 1682; Ibidem, 26 May, 1682; Ibidem, 276-78, ResoEO, 12 June, 1682; Ibidem, Aha, 2726, Turnor to Amerongen, 4 May, 1682; Ibidem, 9 December 1682. 27 Troost, Stadhouder-koning, 59, 107, 114.

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and he was better informed of what happened in the province.28 However, as Nassau-Ouwerkerk was in the army, it was against the rules of the Equestrian Order that he became a member, not to mention the fact that he did not even possess a manor in the province. William III was also aware of Nassau-Ouwerkerk’s difficult position and looked for ways which made it possible for his nephew to comply with the requirements as soon as possible. After a year, Nassau-Ouwerkerk bought a former castle in Woudenberg, that had been uninhabited for decades and was probably a ruin. He boldly requested the States to give these remains the status of a manor. Yet, despite all these irregularities, the Equestrian Order, after being strongly advised by the stadholder, agreed unanimously with the election of Nassau-Ouwerkerk and even permitted his family to become a full-fledged member of the Utrecht nobility.29 In the early years of his reign, Orange assigned dozens of officeholders who he considered capable, even though they did not meet the qualifications.30 An example was the assignment of Willem van Straten (1583-1681), a former professor of medicine at the university of Utrecht who had worked at the Orange court as the personal physician of the prince. Even though he had lived outside the province for almost twenty years. William III rewarded him for his service with the post of burgomaster in the city of Utrecht.31 In most cases these newcomers, with whom the stadholder was hoping to secure his position in the province of Utrecht, had proved their loyalty to the House of Orange in other capacities. However, after a few years the appointments made by Orange seemed to be more in line with the election rules. In 1685, the Equestrian Order even added a new regulation to the qualifications. This regulation allowed army personnel to obtain an office in the Equestrian Order and stated that noblemen from outside the province could be assigned, as long as they were married to noblewomen from Utrecht with the necessary

 28

Olaf Mörke, “De hofcultuur van het huis Oranje-Nassau in de zeventiende eeuw”, in Peter J.M. te Boekhorst, Peter Burke and Willem de Blécourt (eds.), Cultuur en maatschappƋ in Nederland, 1500-1850: een historisch-antropologisch perspectief (Meppel, 1992), 39-77. 29 Aalbers, “Met en zonder stadhouder”, 237. 30 Troost, Stadhouder-koning, 136-37; Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2785, Pesters to Amerongen, 5 December, 1673; Ibidem, 2812, Pesters to Amerongen, 3 January, 1674; Ibidem, 2864, Amerongen to William III, after 1674; Ibidem, AstvU, inv.nr. 278-6, William III to States of Utrecht, 13 March, 1675. 31 Arie de Fouw and Dirk H.T. Vollenhoven, Onbekende raadpensionarissen (Den Haag, 1946), 108; Japikse, Willem III, Vol. 1, 338-40; Roorda, “Prins Willem III en het Utrechts regeringsreglement”, 119.



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requirements.32 Apparently the rules were stretched sufficiently by Orange in order to appoint those he desired – he still assigned officers of the States army in the Utrecht Equestrian Order. Furthermore, the Government Regulation allowed him to change the composition of the governmental councils if necessary. As stated before, the stadholder, while assigning capable officeholders, relied increasingly on the advice of Amerongen and Dijkveld. In several letters, he discussed with his brokers to what extent office-holders matched his interpretation of capability. In 1674 for instance, Amerongen wrote to the stadholder concerning the poor reputation of the government of Utrecht. Many wrong decisions were taken and correct decisions were not executed properly. 33 Furthermore, he indicated some office-holders who outperformed their colleagues and who could bring suitable solutions for problems at hand. Amerongen called the stadholder’s attention to Pieter van Beeck (†1684). Van Beeck was a financial expert and therefore his appointment could expand the government’s competence. However, Van Beeck’s family was known for their resistance against the prince during the First Stadholderless Period and in 1674 William III had therefore discharged several of its members from office. 34 Amerongen nevertheless advised the stadholder to give Van Beeck a seat in the provincial Chamber of Finance.35 The stadholder agreed that Van Beeck’s financial expertise was indispensable, despite his background. Hence he

 32

Hua, AstvU, inv.nr. 731-7, ResoEO, 1685. Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2864, Amerongen to William III, 4 September, 1674. ‘De ambiciliteijt inde regeringe door manquement van viguer ende oude enonervarentheijt in veele van de nieuwe regenten [de oorzaak zijn waardoor de kwam]. Waer toe ick onder ootmoeidg correctie dat bij het veranderen vande magistraets, … U Hoogheijt voor eerst kondende goetvinden [enige heren] vande regeringe te amoveren, en vanden bequame personen in hare plaetsen te stellen.’ 34 Anonymous, Raedt der Oudsten (Knuttel 11188, Amsterdam, 1674). In this pamphlet Pieters van Beeck’s nephews Frederick and Cornelis, members of the city council, were held co-responsible for the fact that Utrecht had agreed in 1667 with the so-called Eeuwig Edict, in which the States of Holland and Utrecht had agreed not to elect a stadholder in the future. 35 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2818, Schonauwen to Amerongen, 23 April, 1675. ‘Ick meer oock aenhaelen dat den heer van Beeck booven veel andere uijtsteeckt in bequamheijt tot de finantie en soo dae tegenwoordigh daer nijet in was, dat alles soude blijven steecken.’ 33

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gave him an important role in reorganising the province’s finances, until his death in 1684.36 As brokers became more important, more members of the elite presented themselves through Amerongen and Dijkveld to the stadholder as capable. Especially their relatives and friends tried to influence them. For instance, the secretary of the States of Utrecht, Jonathan van Luchtenburg, hoped for the support of his friend Amerongen. He informed Amerongen regularly about the meetings of the States of Utrecht, which was vital for Amerongen, who was often abroad as ambassador. Furthermore, Van Luchtenburg stressed in these letters that he devoted himself with his exceptional capabilities to the cause of Amerongen and of William III.37 He asked Amerongen several times to propose his relatives for an office, with varying degrees of success. In 1677 Van Luchtenburg desired a function for his nephew. In a letter he reminded Amerongen that, to prove his loyalty, he had recently forced the States of Utrecht to agree with a proposal in which Amerongen expanded his jurisdictional powers in his manor.38 Even though Van Luchtenburg heavily exaggerated his role, Amerongen wrote a letter of recommendation for Luchtenburg’s nephew to the prince, while assuring his friend that this assignment was just a matter of time. 39 Although Amerongen always had to await Orange’s remuneration of his requests, he knew that as far as the prince was concerned their proposed relatives and friends were often excellent candidates. They were loyal to the brokers and gave Amerongen and Dijkveld the possibility to influence the decision making process. The appointment of relatives and friends therefore could expand the competence and efficiency in governance. However, sometimes the stadholder and the brokers disagreed on the capability of office-holders. For instance, in 1675 Amerongen wanted to assign Jacob Zas van den Bossche (†1690), a financial official, as a burgomaster of the city of Utrecht. Amerongen expected Zas to discipline the city council, which resisted some decisions of the States of Utrecht to



36 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2838, Schonauwen to Amerongen, 21 January, 1684; Ibidem, 2842, Van Beusechem to Amerongen, 17 Oktober, 1684; Ibidem, Schonauwen to Amerongen, 28 November, 1684. 37 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2818, Van Luchtenburg to Amerongen, passim. 38 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2724, Turnor to Amerongen, 1 September, 1676; Ibidem, 18 September, 1676; Ibidem, Van Luchtenburg to Amerongen, 22 September, 1676; Ibidem, inv.nr. 2814, Van Beusechem to Amerongen, September, 1676. 39 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2786, Amerongen to Van Luchtenburg, 10 October, 1676. ‘Ick twijfelende niet off hij sal evenwel de heer Luchtenburgh in sijn Neef daarmede gratificeren.’



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reform taxes. Because Zas van den Bossche had previously held small positions in government and was not a member of the city council, his appointment would be a violation of the election rules. This caused Amerongen to fear that the city council, which had to nominate candidates for the mayoralty, would not co-operate. Amerongen tried to overcome this by implying that one of the ruling burgomasters, Van Straten, should retire from politics because of his age. Consequently, an office would become vacant prematurely, in which case the Government Regulation stated that a nomination was not necessary and the stadholder was allowed to assign anyone as a burgomaster. This complex construction turned out to be unfeasible. Amerongen considered Van Straten incapable, but Orange was not willing to discharge his former personal physician. William III replied to Amerongen it would be much easier to dismiss some other office-holders during the annual election.40 Yet the brokers advised the removal of incapable office-holders only if problems turned out to be structural. In the city council, the stadholder discharged twenty-four members during his thirty-year reign, almost a quarter of those who were appointed. Most of them were removed during their first years of tenure, not for their disloyalty, but probably for lacking political expertise and experience or for being unsuitable for their duty. For instance, in 1677 a member of the city council was discharged because of his frequent absence. 41 However, the stadholder and the brokers probably realised that frequent changes in its composition were not beneficial to the government’s functioning. Moreover, several experienced office-holders, who were removed when the stadholder came into power in 1674, returned to office a few years later – such as Dijkveld. A closer look at the decision making process will shed more light on the reason for this moderate appointment policy. In turn, this will also help to explain why, as we shall see, a significant part of the city council was discharged during the political crisis of 1683-84.

Office-holders subservient to the stadholder? Many members of Utrecht’s elite linked the public interests to subservience to the stadholder.42 This originated partly in the fact that they

 40

Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2814, Zas van den Bossche to Amerongen, 1 October, 1676; Ibidem, Van Beusechem to Amerongen, 7 October, 1676; Ibidem, 2864, Amerongen to William III, 4 September, 1674. 41 Roorda, “Prins Willem II en het Utrechts regeringsreglement”, 124. 42 Knevel, “Een kwestie van overleven”, 217-54; Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2829, Schonauwen to Amerongen, 2 May, 1681.

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considered Orange a source of favours and someone who could damage their career, as most historians have emphasised.43 But they also saw the prince as an ally, defending the interests of the province against the supremacy of Holland.44 Moreover, the Utrecht nobility saw Orange as a unifying factor within the Republic, which was threatened by discord. It was a widespread idea in the Dutch Republic that unity would bring prosperity.45 According to the elite of the province of Utrecht, especially those with a noble background, the stadholder could force the sovereign provinces, which clashed frequently with each other, to retain their mutual interests. 46 Finally, William III, as captain-general of the States army, was seen as the main person who could protect the province against the constantly advancing French armies. All this reinforced the idea that the States of Utrecht should support Orange in order to promote the provincial interests.47 As a result most office-holders were subservient to those who, like Amerongen and Dijkveld, represented the stadholder. Although NassauOuwerkerk was often absent in meetings of the Equestrian Order, noblemen spoke of several important decisions he had enforced. 48 Likewise, the relatives and friends of Amerongen often asked his advice when making important decisions, assuring themselves that their resolution was according to the wishes of Orange – and in the meantime trying to safeguard the favour of Amerongen.49 In general, those who took the lead in the decision making process were considered most capable, as long as they promoted the interests of William III. Those leading officeholders often had a seat in important committees, which gave them an excellent opportunity to control decision making. 50 For example, when

 43

Roorda, “Prins Willem III en het Utrechts regeringsreglement”, passim. Groenveld, “William III as Stadholder: Prince or Minister?”, 17-38. 45 Judith S. Pollmann, “Eendracht maakt macht: stedelƋke cultuuridealen en politieke werkelƋkheid in de Republiek”, in Dennis Bos, Maurits A. Ebben and Henk te Velde (eds.), Harmonie in Holland: het poldermodel van 1500 tot nu (Amsterdam, 2007), 134-51. 46 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2829, Schonauwen to Amerongen, 2 May, 1681. According to Schonauwen it was ‘te verwonderen hoe Sijne Hoogheijd uijt die weinige blom heeft weeten te trecken een salutaire beaum, die tesaemen hout en in een harmonie conserveert de seven provintien’. 47 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2840, Tuyll van Serooskerken to Amerongen, 28 May, 1684. 48 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2726, Turnor to Amerongen, 16 November, 1682; Ibidem, AstvU, inv.nr. 731-6, ResoEO., 7 December, 1674; Ibidem, 28 January, 1675; Ibidem, 20 September, 1675. 49 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2819, Schonauwen to Amerongen, 7 April, 1684. 50 De Bruin, Geheimhouding en verraad, 140-46, 179-82. 44



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Amerongen recommended a new auditor he praised his many qualities but above all his ability to enforce decisions.51 On the other hand, those who presented themselves as capable of influencing the government councils, but failed, were taunted by their fellow office-holders. For instance, after the Elect had refused to accept a proposal for new taxes, Schonauwen blamed Pieter Ruysch (†1700) who, according to him, wanted to be the ‘Atlas’, but had a lack of wisdom, knowledge and firmness. 52 In 1680 Amerongen was informed by one of his friends that the office-holders held long meetings without results, because there was no ‘head’ present.53 All this resulted in a widespread notion that good governance was mainly the responsibility of a few leading office-holders, to whom the others were mostly obedient.54 This hierarchical view on securing good governance showed when the States of Utrecht discussed foreign policy, or its finances. A recurring question was how the Republic had to defend itself against the expansionism of Louis XIV. William III wanted to withstand Louis mainly with military means, while in Holland many preferred the possibility of a truce with France, which would be better for their commercial interest. Although the costs of war weighed heavily on the budget of all provincial States, most office-holders in Utrecht were willing to support William III.55 The French occupation was still fresh in their memory.56 For a long time, Utrecht’s rural areas had suffered the consequences of the destructions caused by the war, while in the city of Utrecht many remembered the levies, forced upon them by the French, with abhorrence. Moreover, the elite was informed regularly in newspapers and pamphlets, through rumours and government reports about the (whether or not alleged) atrocities by the French soldiers in the Spanish Netherlands. 57 Even in 1680, Amerongen reminded the prince that in the last war with

 51

Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2864, Amerongen to William III, after 1674. Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2819, Schonauwen to Amerongen, 30 April, 1677. 53 Cited at: Van der Bijl, “Wellands rol”, 180-81. He wrote that ‘de heeren alhyer blijven vergaederen, en alsoo daer gheen hooft onder ons is, bequaem om de besognes te reguleren, & gevolgh tot conclusie te maecken, blijft alles in staet als het was in den aenvangh’. 54 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2819, Schonauwen to Amerongen, 21 May, 1677; Ibidem, 2824, Schonauwen to Amerongen, 5 February, 1680. 55 Martinus A.M. Franken, Coenraad van Beuningen's politieke en diplomatieke aktiviteiten in de jaren 1667-1684 (Groningen, 1966), 34-35. 56 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2716, Turnor to Amerongen, 3 January, 1682. 57 Hua, Archief Stad Utrecht (ASU), inv.nr. 162-2, De Nassau to Utrecht’s city council, 20 July, 1675; Ibidem, 20 October, 1674; Ibidem, AstvU, inv.nr. 314-8, ResSoU, 15 June, 1675; Ibidem, 20 July, 1681; Ibidem, 12 January, 1682. 52

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France the province was exposed to their enemy, which caused huge damages and many inconveniences. 58 The main purpose of Utrecht’s foreign policy was to prevent a recurrence of the ‘Year of Disaster’. Most of Utrecht’s office-holders discussing the negotiations which would lead to the Peace Treaty of Nijmegen (1678) complied with William III’s interpretation of capability. Although they preferred diplomatic means to stop the French armies, they considered a treaty with Louis XIV undesirable, because they considered the French king unreliable. 59 Moreover, like William III, they feared that a truce with France would separate the Dutch Republic from its allies. However, together with other cities, Amsterdam forced the States of Holland, and consequently the States-General, to start negotiations with the French. In the spring of 1678, after nearly two years of laborious talks, the delegates came to an agreement, which had to be ratified by the provincial States.60 As it was only a treaty between France and the Dutch Republic which did not include the allies, the States of Utrecht strategically decided to approve everything the States-General would conclude, as long as it was in line with the wishes of Orange.61 The delegates responded that a more concrete resolution was desirable, but the States of Utrecht maintained their position. By delaying the decision-making process for several weeks the office-holders in the province of Utrecht hoped to undermine the peace treaty.62 However, by promising among others a reduced levy on imports, Louis XIV convinced Holland to conclude a treaty, if necessary without the other provinces – which would be a mortal sin, considering the unity of the Republic. As it was unthinkable that the Dutch Republic could continue the war without relying on the giant Amsterdam, the StatesGeneral and Orange were forced to sign a peace with France. This had far-

 58

Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2864, Amerongen to William III, 19 May, 1680. Amerongen wrote to the prince that the ‘lant provintien in den jongsten oorloch aen de vijanden geexposeert sijn geweest, en soo veel schade en ongemacken hebben ondervonden’. 59 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2826, Schonauwen to Amerongen, 27 September, 1680; Ibidem, AstvU, inv.nr. 232-37, ResSoU, 30 June, 1674; Ibidem, 4 August, 1674; Ibidem, 5 August, 1674; Ibidem, 25 March, 1674; Ibidem, 232-38, ResSoU, 2 February, 1676; Ibidem, 7 April, 1676. 60 Hua, AstvU, inv.nr. , 232-38, ResSoU, 22 April, 1675; Ibidem, 232-39, ResSoU, 18 March, 1678; Ibidem, 23 March, 1678; Ibidem, 16 April, 1678; Ibidem, 17 April, 1678; Ibidem, 6 May, 1678; Ibidem, 13 May, 1678; Ibidem, 27 May, 1678; Ibidem, 10 June, 1678; Ibidem, 19 June, 1678; Ibidem, 25 June, 1678. 61 Hua, AstvU, inv.nr. 232-39, ResSoU, 15 July, 1678. 62 Hua, AstvU, inv.nr. 232-39, ResSoU, 6 August, 1678; Ibidem, 23 August, 1678; Ibidem, 8 September, 1678; Ibidem, 9 September, 1678.



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reaching implications. As the prince had predicted, the allies felt betrayed and en masse called a truce with France. Furthermore, the limitations of Orange’s power in the Dutch Republic were brought to light by the effects of the Peace Treaty of Nijmegen, which also had consequences within the province of Utrecht.63 After 1678 some office-holders in the province of Utrecht openly challenged William III’s foreign policy, clashing with the prince’s interpretation of capability. Especially within the city there was a latent resistance against the dominant position of the stadholder. The urban office-holders feared that in conflicts in the States, Orange would support the nobility, for example by imposing taxes. Moreover, they were less dependent on Orange for their income and status than the nobility, which lessened the influence of the prince within the city walls. 64 The Government Regulation had restricted their freedom of movement because of their limited tenure. While ratifying the Regulation, the city council pointed out some worries about their privileges, but this had no further consequences. Ten years later, in 1684, the opposition against William III was taking on a more serious form. After the Peace Treaty of Nijmegen more members of the elite felt free to criticise the position of the stadholder. Together with a few prominent figures in Friesland, Groningen and Amsterdam, they wrote a pamphlet in which they described the stadholder’s abuses.65 This indictment, aiming to restrict the powers of the prince, was an initiative of the Frisian stadholder Hendrik Casimir II, lord of Nassau-Dietz (1657-1696), who lived in conflict with Orange because he had refused to appoint him general of the States army.66 In Utrecht, some members of the noble elite were worried about a possible recurrence of the year 1650, when a conflict between Amsterdam and William II had marked the First Stadholderless Period.67 However, eventually the effects of this pamphlet remained limited. Apparently the resistance within the city of Utrecht against the Government Regulation was small as the opposition was not able to convert it into political action.68 The pamphlet of 1684 appeared at a time when the foreign policy of William III caused a lot of resistance, even in Utrecht, a conflict which is

 63

Gerdina H. Kurtz, Willem III en Amsterdam, 1683-1685 (Utrecht, 1928), 20-25. Aalbers, “Met en zonder stadhouder”, 234-44. 65 Roorda, “Prins Willem III en het Utrechts regeringsreglement”, 126. 66 Franken, Coenraad van Beuningen, 230; Troost, Stadhouder-koning, 170-71. 67 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2727, Turnor to Amerongen, 3 July, 1684. Turnor wrote that ‘men seijt van een groote vergaderin, gelijck in t yaer van 50 is geweest en daar de uijnie te vernieuwe en al de provinsie weer tot haer oude previleegie te brengen’. 68 Kurtz, Willem III, 222-25. 64

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rather complicated in all its aspects. The opposition emerged when William III demanded that he could send 16,000 soldiers to the Spanish Netherlands to support Spain in its war against France. Amsterdam and other cities in the Republic refused to contribute, because they feared that the Dutch Republic would be dragged into war. The opposition included some office-holders in the city of Utrecht. They did not want to give the French troops a reason to march into the Republic and aimed for a new truce with Louis XIV. On the other hand, the Equestrian Order supported the prince, arguing that the French expansionism could not be stopped by diplomatic means. Because the States of Utrecht could not come to an agreement, the stadholder sent Dijkveld to impose cooperation upon its members. William III wanted to use the vote of the States of Utrecht as an argument for convincing the States-General. To his annoyance the presence of Dijkveld did not have any notable effect, as Utrecht’s city council continued to delay the decision making process. Eventually the Elect and the Equestrian Order outvoted the delegates of the city, though this was against the rules, which stipulated that decisions on foreign policy and finances had to be taken unanimously. Nevertheless, the stadholder was hindered seriously in his foreign policy and was ultimately forced to accept another peace treaty with France.69 A retort was at hand. In October 1684, during the annual elections of Utrecht’s city council, the interpretation of capability became an important topic. The stadholder wanted to make clear that no one could act against his will without being punished eventually. Dijkveld advised him to discharge all the incapable office-holders who opposed to his policy. Since he had constantly been present at the council meetings, he had no trouble pointing them out. Consequently, nine members of the city council were discharged during the annual election, almost a quarter of the entire council. The removed office-holders realised that their discharge was the result of a presumed lack of loyalty, which was interpreted as a lack of capability. One of them,

 69

Franken, Coenraad van Beuningen, 225; Troost, Stadhouder-koning, 168; Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2727, Turnor to Amerongen, 8 January, 1684; Ibidem, 18 December, 1683; Ibidem, 25 December, 1683; Ibidem, AstvU, inv.nr. 234; ResSoU, 18 December, 1683; Ibidem, 20 December, 1683; Ibidem, 232-40, ResSoU, 9 February, 1683; Ibidem, 232-41, ResSoU, 1 May, 1684; Ibidem, 2 May, 1684; Ibidem, 5 May, 1684; Ibidem, 6 May, 1684; Ibidem, 24 May, 1684; Ibidem, 7 June, 1684; Ibidem, 9 June, 1684; Ibidem, 10 June, 1684; Ibidem, 11 June, 1684; Ibidem, 13 June, 1684; Ibidem, 5 July, 1684; Ibidem, 7 July, 1684; Ibidem, 10 July, 1684; Ibidem, 11 July, 1684; Ibidem, 30 July, 1684; Ibidem, 7 August, 1684; Ibidem, ASU, inv.nr. 121, Resolution of Utrecht’s city council, 20 December, 1683; Ibidem, 21 December, 1683.



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the former burgomaster Johan Strick (†1693), had conducted his own defense by writing a testimony. Strick meticulously described his expertise and experience as an office-holder, pointing out all the laudable decisions of the States he had prepared and executed, and his brilliant contribution to many committees. Furthermore, he emphasised that he and his ancestors had always acted as loyal supporters of the House of Orange. Even during the recent political crisis he had done everything he could in defense of the interests of William III, according to his own record. For instance, he had realised that the ratification of the treaty with France included a financial settlement for the prince. By writing his testimony thus, he consciously used every connotation of capability that was crucial for the evaluation and assessment of office-holders. Moreover, he wrote that, in view of his outstanding capabilities, there must have been malicious reasons for his discharge.70 Though Strick neglected the fact that he had voted against Orange’s proposed army expansion, he was right in claiming that Dijkveld’s advice to discharge all incapable office-holders was in reality inspired by secret motives. Dijkveld’s ambition was to strengthen his own position, as well as those of his relatives and friends. He wanted his brother, a member of the city council, to be elected as a burgomaster,71 for which he needed the support of the city council, which had to nominate his brother for the burgomaster’s office. However, his fellow office-holders considered his brother completely incapable, as he was known as a rattle-brain, a drunkard and a womanizer. 72 In 1684 Dijkveld seized his opportunity when the city council came into conflict with William III. He decided to depict all his rivals as those who initially opposed against the stadholder’s foreign policy, despite the fact that several of them had openly supported the prince in the past.73 Although rumours about the manipulation reached William III, the stadholder decided to follow the advice of Dijkveld. William III wanted to punish the members of the city council for their disloyalty, but, more importantly, he wished to emphasise his powerful position. Moreover, he needed the support of Dijkveld to control the city of Utrecht and was in return prepared to promote Dijkveld’s interests. As a

 70

Hua, Bibliotheek Archief Utrecht, inv.nr. LXVII H9, Deductie van den oud. Burg. J. Strick, 1684. 71 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2727, Turnor to Amerongen, 31 July, 1684; Ibidem, 7 August, 1684. 72 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2726, Turnor to Amerongen, 12 October, 1682. 73 Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2727, Turnor to Amerongen, 2 August, 1684.

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result, Dijkveld’s brother became a burgomaster of Utrecht without any notable opposition.74

Conclusion The decision to continue or to end someone’s tenure was ultimately taken by the stadholder on grounds of capability. Without a concrete definition of what capability actually meant, William III used this as an argument to appoint office-holders he considered most capable for his policy. However, because he had to take provincial and local ideas about capability into account, his appointment policy was not always successful. In an attempt to avoid these obstacles, the stadholder gave Amerongen and Dijkveld great influence as brokers, who monitored the governmental councils and advised him in the election procedure. Office-holders were expected to contribute actively to the decision making process by promoting the interests of the prince through their expertise, experience and leadership qualities. This type of capability was often more crucial than answering the qualifications for birth, age, assets and religion, as formulated in the old rules for the election of office-holders. However, Orange tried to combine both interpretations of capability as much as possible, attempting to secure the support of the provincial elite. If officeholders outperformed their colleagues, they were placed on influential positions and less important members of the government councils would act obediently to their advices. On the other hand, if office-holders turned out to be structurally incapable, meaning if they structurally opposed or failed to support William’s III policy, they were discharged. This had to create a results-oriented decision making process, subservient to the stadholder’s policy. All this had to correspond with the old provincial ideas about capability, which stressed the importance of the public interests. However, until 1678, the province of Utrecht supported the prince’s foreign policy nearly unanimously, because they considered it to be best for the province. The main purpose was to prevent a recurrence of the ‘Year of Disaster’. After the Peace Treaty of Nijmegen some members of the city council opposed Orange’s policy, especially in 1683-1684, because they feared that it would encourage Louis XIV to invade the Republic again. The prince considered their expression of opposing views a clear sign of incapability, which weakened his authority and wanted to discharge the office-holders opposing him. Furthermore, the outcome of this conflict

 74



Hua, Aha, inv.nr. 2873, Amerongen to Dijkveld, 31 October, 1684.

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proved that the election procedure was a powerful instrument in the hands of the brokers, who manipulated the stadholder’s view to their own advantage. William III deliberately gave his brokers the freedom to promote their own interests. Therefore they could propose relatives and friends, who often turned out to be complying with the demands of the stadholder, because of their loyalty to him. Thus, the stadholder’s interpretation of capability determined the entire election procedure.

ENGLISH COMPARISON

OFFICE-HOLDING, PARTICIPATION AND ENGLAND’S ‘MONARCHICAL REPUBLIC’ GLENN BURGESS

Was there a difference in the criteria of capability for office between European republics and countries with royal authority?1 The comparative perspective demanded by this question is important, and it is a primary function of this essay to stimulate readers of a collection of essays, mostly about the Dutch Republic, to consider the ways in which things might have differed elsewhere. The comparative perspective helps us to isolate the distinctive features of the particular case. Historians of England, though, are themselves often inclined to the insular (a charge from which I would not exempt myself): it is another purpose of this essay to counteract this, at least to the extent of suggesting why a comparative European perspective is necessary. In the last twenty years it has become increasingly common to understand early modern England as a ‘monarchical republic’ (Patrick Collinson) or an ‘unacknowledged republic’ (Mark Goldie), terms that might be thought to reduce or to problematise the distinction between monarchies and republics. This paper will examine critically the idea that England was a ‘monarchical republic’. The purpose is not to reject the term – as we shall see, it has a variety of possible meanings, some more useful than others – but rather to compare it with the ways in which the English actually understood their polity in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the ways in which they used certain concepts, and what they had to say about office-holding.

 1

This was one of the framing questions for the conference from which the present volume originates.

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Historiography Three historiographical developments have created, sustained and complicated the interest of English historians in the idea of England as a ‘monarchical republic’.2 The first of these is the iconic work of Patrick Collinson, notably his inaugural lecture as Regius Professor of History at Cambridge, ‘De Republica Anglorum: or History with the Politics Put Back’ (delivered on 9 November 1989), though the concept was earlier elaborated in his ‘The Monarchical Republic of Queen Elizabeth I’, the J.E. Neale Memorial Lecture for 1986. Collinson’s aim was to explore the emergence of ‘a new political history, which is social history with the politics put back in, or an account of political process which is also social’.3 And the essence of this new political history is to explore the social depth of politics, to find signs of political life at levels where it was not previously thought to have existed, and to disclose the horizontal connections of political life at those lower levels as coexistent with the vertical connections which depended upon monarchy and lordship and which have been the ordinary concerns of political history.4

With the primary thrust of these remarks no one, I imagine, would care to take issue. That the inhabitants of the parish and the shire, the village, the town and the city, both possessed a political culture and engaged in political acts none would doubt.5 More problematic, though, is the next move. ‘Early modern England consisted of a series of overlapping, superimposed communities which were also semi-autonomous, selfgoverning political cultures. These may be called, but always in quotes, “republics”: village republics; in the counties, gentry republics; and at a transcendent level, the commonwealth of England, which Sir Thomas Smith (1513-1577) thought it proper to render in Latin as Respublica

 2

The interaction of them is apparent from the valuable essays in John F. McDiarmid, The Monarchical Republic of Early Modern England: Essays in Response to Patrick Collinson (Aldershot, 2007). 3 Patrick Collinson, Elizabethans (Hambledon/London, 2003), 11. [This is the paperback edition of Collinson, Elizabethan Essays (Hambledon, 1994).] 4 Ibidem. 5 On the political culture of the parish see, for example, Steve Hindle, “The Political Culture of the Middling Sort in English Rural Communities, c.15501700”, in Tim Harris (ed.), The Politics of the Excluded, c.1500-1850 (Basingstoke, 2001), 153-94.



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Anglorum.’6 We shall return to Smith, but for the moment, continuing with Collinson, who goes on to tell us that Smith, in defining England as a ‘realm’ was ‘not denying its political status as a commonwealth, even as a kind of republic, a term not yet incompatible with monarchy’.7 Quoting Sir Thomas Smith’s definition of a commonwealth as ‘a society or common doing of a multitude of free men collected together and united by common accord and covenauntes among themselves for the conservation of themselves aswell in peace as in warre’,8 Collinson comments ‘that sounds like a good description of a republic’, though he is careful to note that ‘republic’ in the period meant ‘state’ and not a particular form of government. 9 ‘Elizabethan England’, he can declare, ‘was a republic which happened also to be a monarchy, or vice versa.’10 Monarchy was ‘a public and localised office, like any form of magistracy’, and monarchs who failed to fulfil the terms on which they held office could not assume, at last not in all places, that they would continue to hold that office for long.11 Furthermore, as Burghley’s plans for an emergency interregnum revealed, the survival of the realm was paramount, and might require a temporarily acephalous commonwealth to act in its own defence.12 There is much in these remarks that is perfectly defensible, and the presentation of an enriched understanding of English governance with the label ‘monarchical republic’ has some of the characteristics of what we now recognise as the art of spin and the utterance of the headline-grabbing sound bite. The capacity of this particular sound bite to capture headlines is crucially dependent on the ambiguities of the word ‘republic’. Before exploring this point further, something needs to be said about the other two historiographical tendencies that underpin the concept of the monarchical republic. They share one thing: an emphasis on participation in government. Recent work on the state and office-holding by historians interested in the social history of politics, participation in government, in the form of holding office in the parish, village or shire, can, it is suggested, be linked to constitutional forms. Here, for example, is Steve Hindle:

 6

Ibidem, 16. Ibidem, 17. 8 Sir Thomas Smith, De Republica Anglorum. Edited by Mary Dewar (Cambridge, 1982), 57. 9 Collinson, Elizabethans, 36-38. 10 Ibidem, 43. 11 Ibidem, 47. 12 Ibidem, 53-55. 7

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The tradition of active participation in the life of the community was just as significant in rural parishes as it was in the provincial towns. The experiential significance of ‘quasi-republicanism’ was emphatically not confined to the metropolis or even to parliamentary boroughs, and civic humanism was an idea with deeper roots in rural England than is often realised. The ancient constitutionalism of mixed monarchy was not particularly monarchical, and was all of a piece with the active role of the better sort in parish and vestry.13

That last sentence seems to suggest that a monarchy is somehow less of a monarchy when the monarch does not in person maintain the highways or administer the poor law in every parish of her or his realm. We know a great deal more about office-holding of this sort than we used to do, and it underlies such books as Mike Braddick’s State Formation in Early Modern England.14 Emphasis on the growth of a state and of royal power that took the form of a growth in office-holding, or in distributed rather than central authority undoubtedly revels to us that the themes of reciprocity and negotiation are central to understanding the dynamics of socio-political power in early modern England.15 Mark Goldie estimates that in the later seventeenth century there were about 50,000 parish officers, filled by around 20% of adult males; as offices rotated, then perhaps 50% of adult males might eventually gain experience of this form of self-government in any one decade.16 This should encourage us to ‘to abandon the interpretive vocabulary of hegemony and social control, in favour of a vocabulary of agency, reciprocity, mediation, participation and negotiation’; and to recognise that ‘governance was not something done from on high to the passive recipients of authority, but something actively engaged in by the lesser agents of government; and every citizen was in some measure a lesser agent of government’.17



13 Steve Hindle, The State and Social Change in Early Modern England, 15501640 (Basingstoke, 1st ed. 2000, 2002), 27. 14 Michael J. Braddick, State Formation in Early Modern England, c.1550-1700 (Cambridge, 2000). 15 See for example M.J. Bradddick and John Walter, “Introduction. Grids of Power: Order, Hierarchy and Subordination in Early Modern Society”, in ibidem (eds.), Negotiating Power in Early Modern Society: Order, Hierarchy and Subordination in Britain and Ireland (Cambridge, 2001). 16 Mark Goldie, “The Unacknowledged Republic: Officeholding in Early Modern England”, in Tim Harris (ed.), The Politics of the Excluded, c.1500-1850 (Basingstoke, 2001), 153-94. 17 Ibidem, 155.



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Such a way of looking at the administration and governance of early modern England is undoubtedly illuminating and important, and has just as undoubtedly contributed to acceptance of the idea of the ‘monarchical republic’. Whether this acceptance is altogether justified is a matter to which we shall return. A second historiographical development that has contributed to the vogue for the concept of the ‘monarchical republic’ is the development of interest in the existence or survival of ‘classical humanism’ and ‘republicanism’ in English political thought, especially in the period generally seen as least congenial for such ideas (1560-1640). Markku Peltonen’s work has been the main contribution, and he explicitly builds on Collinson’s account of the place of civic consciousness in English ideas and practises of government. 18 Furthermore, Mark Goldie’s influential essay on office-holding and the ‘unacknowledged republic’, weighted towards the later seventeenth century, links directly work on political thought and on the social basis of politics, suggesting that in early modern England ‘a certain type of republican discourse was ubiquitous’.19 In the act of governance a form of civic discourse, a ‘quasi-republicanism’, was expressed in word and practice, and this provided a bed of experience that helps to understand the receptivity of English discourse, such as it was, to forms of civic humanism. Illuminating as all of this is in so many ways, there are problems, not least of which is the ready slippage between ‘civic humanism’ and ‘republicanism’. It is worth making this point in passing, so that it is clear that the point of my argument is not to deny that capability in and for office was often discussed in humanist terms, drawing upon ideals of public service. Of course, it was throughout the early modern period, but this has no necessary connection with republicanism as a form of rule.20 Another problem identified recently lies in the compatibility of the two historiographical trends just discussed. Ethan Shagan has pointed out that civic humanist thinkers were often centralisers, hostile to the sort of local

 18

Marku Peltonen, Classical Humanism and Republicanism in English Political Thought, 1570-1640 (Cambridge, 1995), 6, 48, 55-56. See also Quentin Skinner, Visions of Politics, Vol. 2 (Cambridge, 2002), 308-43. 19 Goldie, “Unacknowledged Republic”, 180. 20 The point is argued more extensively in Johann P. Sommerville, “English and Roman Liberty in the Monarchical Republic of Early Stuart England”, in McDiarmid (ed.), The Monarchical Republic of Early Modern England, 201-16, esp. 207-11.

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particularism that formed a basis for the participatory governance of the parish and town.21

Perceptions of the English Polity Our starting point here should be, not an English work but one translated into English by the English historian Richard Knolles (c.1550-1610) in 1606, Jean Bodin’s Six Books of the Commonweale. The work was a masterpiece of comparative political analysis, cataloguing and analysing the polities and societies of Europe, ancient and modern. Bodin (15301596) made a very important distinction, commenting on a passage in Aristotle: And these absurdities, and others also much greater than they, ensure hereof, in that Aristotle hath mistaken the manner and forme of the government of a Commonweale, for the soveraigne state thereof. For as we have before said, the state may be a pure royal Monarcie, and yet the government thereof popular: as namely if the prince give honours, offices, and preferments therein to the poore, aswell as to the rich: to the base aswell as to the noble, and so indifferently to all without respect or accepting of person.22

As Bodin pointed out, ‘to judge of an estate, the question is not to know who have the magistracies or offices: but onely who they bee which have the soveraigntie and power to place and displace the magistrates and officers and to give lawes unto every man’. Though the terms differed, similar types of distinctions were made by George Lawson (c.1598-1678) in the 1650s: Politica, or Politicks is the act of well ordering a Common-wealth. A Common-wealth is the order of Superiority and Subjection in a Community for the Publick Good. Of Politicks there be two parts, the constitution [and] administration of a Common-wealth.23

 21

Ethan Shagan, “The Two Republics: Conflicting Views of Participatory Local Government in Early Tudor England”, in ibidem, 19-36. 22 Jean Bodin, Six Bookes of the Commonweale. Edited by Richard Knolles (London,1606), 249. 23 George Lawson, Politica Sacra et Civilis (London, 1689), 12-15. See also Sommerville, “English and Roman Liberty”, 210-11 on Beacon. See further Alan Orr, “Inventing the British Republic: Richard Beacon’s Solon His Follie (1594) and the Rhetoric of Civilization”, in Sixteenth Century Journal, Vol. 38 (2008), 975-94.



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It was a ‘commonwealth’ of the sort described by Bodin in my first quotation that is described in Sir Thomas Smith’s De Republica Anglorum – the core text for the concept of the monarchical republic. He concluded book I with a chapter on those ‘men which doe not rule’ (though that label was soon heavily qualified), which ended thus: Wherefore generally to speak of the common wealth, or policie of Englande, it is governed, administred and manied [maintained] by three sortes of persons, the Prince, Monarch … [or] King … in whose name and by whose authoritie all things be administered. The gentlemen … [and] the yeomanrie: each of these hath his part and administration in judgementes, corrections of defaultes, in election of offices, in appointing tributes and subsidies, and in making lawes, as shall appear heereafter.24

The English commonwealth was a monarchy, ruled by a king possessing a series of absolute powers (war and peace, coinage, determination of holders of the chief offices or magistracies), with powers of taxation and law-making exercised through parliament, and administered by a network of office-holders or lesser magistrates. The most distinctive thing about that network was, indeed, its social reach, involving in the villages even those who do not rule as churchwardens, alerunners and constables. As Smith noted, in understanding the commonwealth one was interested in exploring ‘how this head doth distribute his authorities and power to the rest of the members for the government of his realme’. In England, of the five chief powers of government, two were ‘done by the prince in parliament’ (law making and taxation), two ‘by the prince alone’ (including the choice of officers, and also making war and peace), and one through the legal system (justice).25 This is not a ‘monarchical republic’ – at any rate, no more of one than any other European monarchy, and rather less than some – but a form of monarchy, of which even the most absolute relied (not surprisingly) on magistrates and office-holders to govern locally and centrally. England was no more and no less a monarchical republic, or even a monarchical democracy than France was – though in that case a monarchical aristocracy perhaps. Office-holding in the French monarchy has been extensively explored, and as a result what ‘absolutism’ meant for France was long ago rethought. 26 This is surely the point at which a properly

 24

Smith, De Republica Anglorum, 77. Ibidem, 88. 26 Important early work includes, e.g., Pierre Goubert, Louis XIV and Twenty Million Frenchmen (London, 1970); Roland Mousnier, The Institutions of France under the Absolute Monarchy, 1598-1789, 2 vols. (Chicago, 1979-84). 25

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developed comparative perspective is needed. Commenting on Smith’s encomium to the ‘absoluteness’ of English monarchy, Collinson has said ‘it is a naïve mistake to convert that fiction into a statement of simple literal fact, as if the queen really did attend personally to everything of any consequence which was done in her name’.27 So it is, but is it a mistake that any historian has ever made? Can anyone, whether in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries or in the twenty-first really suppose that having local office-holders, however numerous, makes a monarchy any less of a monarchy? A few perhaps, for as Sir Robert Filmer (c.1588-1653) warned: ‘Many ignorant men are apt by the name of commonwealth to understand a popular government, wherein wealth and all things shall be common, tending to the levelling community in the state of pure nature’,28 though even that seems more a warning about the inversion of social rather than of political order, and it was, in any case, an attempt to blacken by implication.

Conceptual Histories We need to take a closer look at the key terms in the monarchical-republic argument: republic and commonwealth. As Patrick Collinson has recently remarked, looking back on his own seminal writings, ‘to have a monarchical republic you must have a word interchangeable for the sixteenth century with republic, a commonwealth’.29 In sixteenth-century English usage the words were in most cases interchangeble equivalents for the Latin respublica. Problems reside, though, in the interplay between these two, seemingly synonymous terms, commonwealth and republic. The former, as we have seen Collinson note, does not in the sixteenth century imply a non-monarchical form of rule, though it came to do so later; republic, though, does tend to carry such implications, especially for us. Part of the reason for the continued appeal of Collinson’s sound-bite coinage is the slipperiness of this terminology, enabling those who use it both to claim that their use of ‘republic’ is not anachronistic, while quietly exploiting for effect its anachronistic implications. An example might be Stephen Alford’s description of William Cecil (1520-1598) as ‘a republican who believed passionately and forcefully in the survival of

 27

Collinson, Elizabethans, 36. Sir Robert Filmer, Observations Concerning the Original of Government (London, 1652), in ibidem, Patriarcha and Other Writings. Edited by Johann P. Sommerville (Cambridge, 1991), 186. 29 Collinson, “Afterword”, in McDiarmid (ed.), The Monarchical Republic, 251. 28



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English monarchy’.30 And why not? Would not all or most sixteenthcentury (protestant) republicans (if we mean that term non-anachronistically) have been monarchists? In very recent work, David Wootton has tried to chart the origins of the use of the word ‘republic’ in what we might call its republican sense across much of western Europe, giving pride of place to the innovative usage of Machiavelli, and pointing out how late this usage was to catch on, either in Latin or in the vernaculars.31 Certainly, the English story seems to confirm this general pattern. English usage until well into the seventeenth century usually used the word commonwealth to refer to a body politic of any form, though with powerfully normative implications. A commonwealth was a body politic, whether a monarchy or some other type, in which the common or public good was properly pursued. This usage is typified by the easy reference of Sir Edward Coke (1552-1634) to the different ‘forme[s] of Common wealth’, ‘monarchicall … Aristocraticall … Democraticall’. 32 The term commonwealth or republic was generic not specific, it referred to a polity typified by being well-ruled. It had both descriptive and normative dimensions: a commonwealth or republic was a polity in which the common good was pursued. It could come in any form - the term implied nothing one way or the other on this point. That is to say, a monarch who ruled in a commonwealth was a monarch who pursued the common welfare not his own advantage or interest; he or she was, in other words, a true monarch and not a tyrant. The term commonwealth is almost certainly more important in articulating distinctions between good monarchy and tyranny than in articulating distinctions between forms of government until the 1640s and especially until after 1649. But no doubt earlier than this hints of a new usage can be found in which commonwealth begins to function polemically as a contraction of ‘aristocratic’ or even ‘popular commonwealth’. Commonwealth can be juxtaposed to monarchy or kingdom rather earlier, giving a sense of how and why the later evolution of ‘republican’ meanings of the term emerged. An example (from Scotland) is the remark of John Craig (c.1512-1600) of 1564:

 30

Stephen Alford, “The Political Creed of William Cecil”, in ibidem, 74. David Wootton, “The True Origins of Republicanism: The Disciples of Baron and the Counter-Example of Venturi”, in Manuela Albertone (ed.), Il repubblicanesimo moderno: L'idea di repubblica nella riflessione storica di Franco Venturi (Naples, 2006), 271-304. 32 The Selected Writings of Sir Edward Coke, 3 vols. Edited by Steve Sheppard (Indianapolis, 2003), I, 94. 31

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‘My lord’, said he, ‘my judgement is that every kingdom is, or at least should be, a commonwealth, albeit that every commonwealth be not a kingdom; and therefore I think that in a kingdom no less diligence ought to be taken that laws be not violated than is [in] a commonwealth; because that the tyranny of princes who continually ring [reign?] in a kingdom is more hurtful to the subjects than is the misgovernment of those that from year to year are changed in free commonwealths.’33

But you have to wait a long time for more obviously republican usages to become at all common. The usage collapsing ‘commonwealth’ into nonmonarchical commonwealth really came into its own by the later 1640s when the argument was advanced that monarchy and commonwealth were incompatible, because all monarchies were inherently or at least incipiently tyrannical. This usage exploits the positive connotations of ‘commonwealth’ for anti-monarchical purposes. An example, perhaps, is this warning to Charles I (1600-1649) from his advisors: Besides it must be justly apprehended that, as soon as you shall have consented [to take upon you] the guilt of this war, and with such acknowledgement shall place the power of the sword legally in those who have made this war against you; (both which are evidently manifest in these Propositions) the Loves [sic. ?] who publickly profess a set of propositions to succeed these, will upon the advantage of such weakness in you, and strength in their hands, instead of restoring the powers thus given them, take their first opportunity to drive on the business to the greatest extremities by an avowed changing of Monarchy into a Commonwealth.34

But it was 1649 and the Rump parliament that cemented the association of commonwealth and republicanism: Be it declared and enacted by this present Parliament, and by the authority of the same, that the people of England, and of all the dominions and territories thereunto belonging, are and shall be, and are hereby constituted, made, established, and confirmed, to be a Commonwealth and Free State, and shall from henceforth be governed as a Commonwealth and Free State by the supreme authority of this nation, the representatives of the people in Parliament, and by such as they shall appoint and

 33

John Knox, On Rebellion. Edited by Roger Mason (Cambridge, 1994), 207-8 . Jermyn, Culpeper and Ashburnham to King Charles I, 6 August 1646, in State Papers Collected by Edward, Earl of Clarendon, 3 vols. (London, 1767-86), II, 244-45 – advising the king against the Newcastle Propositions.

34



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Office-Holding, Participation and England’s ‘Monarchical Republic’ constitute as officers and ministers under them for the good of the people, and that without any King or House of Lords.35

Thus, the development of a republican sense of commonwealth came relatively late, and to talk of England as a (monarchical) republic or commonwealth in the usage of the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries (the former term in fact quite uncommon) is to say only that England possessed a good or non-tyrannical king, a ruler who ruled for the good of her or his subjects. This usage did not of course die out in the wake of the polemics of the mid-seventeenth century. John Locke (16341702) still defined a commonwealth as ‘not a Democracy, or any Form of Government, but any Independent Community which the Latines signified by the word Civitas’.36 But by this time the term’s potential for polemical exploitation and its diversity of uses was enormous. This was apparent for example in The State-Anatomy of Great Britain of John Toland (16701722): As for the word Commonwealth (which is the common-weal or good) whenever we use it about our own Government, we take it only in this sense: just as the word Respublica in Latin, is a general word for all free Governments, of which we believe ours to be the best. This is the sense in which King James I, call’d himself, the great servant of the Commonwealth; and in which Sir Thomas Smith, Secretary of State to more than one of our Princes, entitles his account of the English Government, the Commonwealth of England. Now with us there is no medium in the case: for whoever is not for this form of Government, is for absolute hereditary Monarchy, and consequently for unlimited arbitrary Power in the Monarch …37 Court parasites represent … all true lovers of the Constitution as enemies to their power, and as Republicans, or Commonwealths-men, by which they meant men of levelling and Democratical Principles.38

Though Collinson was usually very careful to guard against the dangers of anachronism, subsequent adaptation of the term has been less so. Much of

 35

‘Act Declaring England to be a Commonwealth’ (London, 1649), in Samuel R. Gardiner (ed.), Constitutional Documents of the Puritan Revolution, 1625-1660 (Oxford, 1st ed. 1889, 1906), 388. 36 John Locke, Two Treatises of Government. Edited by Peter Laslett (Cambridge, 1960), II, § 133, 355. 37 John Toland, The State-Anatomy of Great Britain: Containing a Particular Account of its Several Interests and Parties,Their Bent and Genius (London, 1717), 10-11. 38 Ibidem, 11.

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the appeal of the concept of ‘monarchical republic’ relies upon the ambiguity between ‘republican’ meaning a form non-monarchical rule and ‘republican’ in the generic sense as any government, of whatever form, over free men for their own good. England in the early modern period was understood to be a republic or (much more usually) a commonwealth in the latter sense; but not in the former. In the label ‘monarchical republic’ the use of the latter term to mitigate the former is misleading for two reasons. Its appeal to the social depth of office-holding is irrelevant in this context, interesting thought it is, because it confuses modes of governance and administration with the location of sovereign authority; and the terminology is in itself dangerously anachronistic in its implications – indeed I would suggest that the term has a misleading potential to exploit this anachronism while at the same time acknowledging it. Even Collinson, in discussing the now famous case of the parish of Swallowfield, has asked: ‘Who ever suspected that Swallowfield … was a republic?’39 Well, not its early modern inhabitants for a start. The famous Swallowfield articles in which the better sort of inhabitants laid down some principles for meeting together to run the parish were highly unusual for a number of reasons. But, that point aside, those articles never used the language of commonwealth or republic. Swallowfield was portrayed by its inhabitants as a ‘company’ united by the desire to serve the monarch and, less explicitly, to dominate their neighbours. They wished to work together ‘to the end we may the better & more quietly lyve together in good love & Amyte to the praise of God, and for the better servynge of her Majestie when wee meete together’.40

Capability for Office One body of evidence that might be examined in this context is made up of the various guide books and other writings aimed at local office-holders, to advise them on their conduct of office, and to specify the qualities that might be needed for one to be considered capable of holding office. There is room here for only a very brief glance at this material, and conclusions are provisional. But a hypothesis might be advanced: the capabilities required of English office-holders typically involved combinations of three things: 1. a set of general virtues and qualities, often approached and

 39

Collinson, Elizabethans, 23. Steve Hindle, “Hierarchy and Community in the Elizabethan Parish: The Swallowfield Articles of 1596”, in The Historical Journal, Vol. 42 (1999), 835-51, quoted on 848. 40



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described in languages that we might care to call civic humanist, but also in religious language, and involving virtues associated with the duty of service to the well-being of the whole community; 2. a set of often quite specific qualities associated with particular types of office and the duties they entailed; and 3. the virtues and qualities associated with the duty of subjection or service to the king.41 It was in this latter dimension that we can see additional reasons for caution in using the concept of a ‘monarchical republic’. Office-holders served king and commonwealth. William Lambarde (1536-1601), for example, built a set of fairly obvious requirements for justices of the peace. Naturally, ‘they do (or should do) Law & Justice’. But success required more than just the knowledge to enforce laws, for ‘he is like to prevaile more by his mediation and intreatie’. Therefore, he has both ‘his proper office in Law, and … his common duetie in Charitie’. By the king’s law (statute), JPs were required to be ‘good men and lawfull (which were no maintainer of evil, nor barretors in the countrey)’, and were to be ‘furnished with three of the principall ornaments of a Judge: that is to say, with Justice, Wisdome and Fortitude, for to that some the words Good, Learned, Valiant, doe fully amount: and under the word Good, it is meant also that he loveth & feare God aright without the which he cannot be Good at all’. But JPs needed also to know the ultimate source of their authority: ‘From the King who is the head of Justice ought to flow all authority to the inferiour and subaltern Justices …’ They continued in office ‘during only the pleasure of the Prince, by whose pleasure they were at the first appointed: and therefore by the determination of that pleasure their authority ceaseth also’.42 Michael Dalton (†c.1648), too, noted that, the king ‘prizing them and valuing them with the nearest employed about him’ (ep. ded.), JPs were in office to serve both king and commonwealth.43 Late in the seventeenth century, Edmund Bohun (1645-1699) gave an exhausting and daunting account of the qualities needed by JPs, among which was an understanding and a love for ‘the nature of Our government’. After comparing monarchies and commonwealths he declared:

 41

Cf. the very suggestive table of qualities required by justices of the peace, just before the main text in Edmund Bohun, The Justice of Peace, His Calling and Qualifications (London, 1693). 42 William Lambarde, Eirenarcha, or the Office of the Justice of Peace (London, 1602), 3, 10, 19, 30-1, 23, 63. 43 Michael Dalton, The Country Justice (London, 1618), Ep. Ded.

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For these and many other Causes, which for brevity I omit, I have ever blessed God that I was born in a Monarchy, and a Subject to a Prince, who is settled in his Throne by a long Succession, and an Undoubted Right, so that no Mortal hath any pretence against it.

But English kings ruled by law not arbitrarily, and holders of office needed to understand the proper reach of the king’s lawful government, noting: We have Magistrates dispersed all over the Nation for our Security; and for the rest, our highest Courts are open four times in the Year, where all men may have equal Right, the Poor as well as the Rich; and besides, there come two of the Judges twice in every Year into every County, that if any man hath cause for it, he may complain, and have Right done him. We have four Sessions in every Year, wherein the Justices of the Peace, or a great part, meet to determine what a few could not, and by Appeals redress their Errors; and there is not a Country Village but the King hath an Officer in it to Secure our Peace, and Apprehend Malefactors.44

This was a vision, which holders of office were expected to share, of royal government meshed with participation in office down to the village and parish level. Thus it may be that those who held offices of governance or administration in early modern England held them in a monarchy; their qualifications and capability for public service involved both the qualities of serving the commonweal, which the holder of the royal office also served, and loyalty to God and king, in whose names and on whose authority they themselves worked. It was indeed the monarch who, in the last resort, determined whether they did indeed possess the necessary capabilities. Office-holding was indeed integral to the governance and society of early modern England, but there is no reason to suppose that this made the realm of England into any sort of republic, not even a quasirepublic. Closer examination of the writings addressed to or about humbler offices – constables for example – might tell a different story; but for the moment there seems every reason to believe that a distinction between government and administration compromises at least some of the uses to which the concept of the ‘monarchical republic’ has been put.

 44



Bohun, Justice of Peace, 63-71.

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Conclusion Had a modern historian declared early modern England to have been a ‘monarchical commonwealth’, few might have been surprised. Furthermore, contemporaries would have seen the point of the remark. At one level, ‘monarchical republic’ means no more than this and is equally unproblematic. If the term alludes to the participation in governance and administration of large numbers of people through office-holding, then it usefully draws our attention to an important truth. It has also facilitated one of the most important historiographical developments of the last decade, the development of a new social history of early modern English politics. But much of the appeal of ‘monarchical republicanism’ seems to lie in the much more debatable effort to insinuate that the nature of participation through office qualifies and reduces the monarchical character of early modern governance. This would seem to be, at bottom, a category confusion. The queens and kings of England did not, it is true, take an active role in the governance of Swallowfield; they did not collect taxes nor did they read their own proclamations in every county town; they did not, in person, take much of a role in the maintenance of highways. Nor did French monarchs. But monarchs they all remained, rulers over kingdoms that were, because they were well-governed, commonwealths too. Monarchs everywhere depended on the willing co-operation of those over whom they ruled. Only a comparative study of office-holding across the kingdoms and republics of Europe will tell us if there really was anything very unusual about England.

BEYOND THE REPUBLIC: CAPABILITY AND THE ETHICS OF OFFICE CONAL CONDREN

The purpose of this paper is first to sketch one sort of intellectual context for the Dutch emphasis on governmental capability and then to give some indication of the ways in which capability in and for governmental office was turned against the United Provinces, so creating a negative image of the Dutch from the qualities with which they were associated. To begin with it should be accepted that the emphasis on capability may have been persistent in Holland, but it was not unique. In the fifteenth century, for example, Florence had seen itself marked by a particular diplomatic expertise, ragione with which it could outwit and manipulate its rivals, even those of greater military prowess. Ragione was central to a sense of Tuscan civic identity and survival.1 But more generally, in a world in which identity was tied very much to assumed or imposed offices, realms of moral and practical responsibility, there was always some criterion of fitness to act in office, and thus to assume an authenticating and authoritative persona; in the most broad terms, notions of capability furnished rights and liberties of office, and conversely the abuse of these might be a sign of incapability, or corruption.2 A survey of the established oaths taken by those entering almost any office in England, shows that capability for office was accepted as vital; and it was frequently announced or symbolically displayed in the processes of initiation. In the London Skinners’ Company for example, a circlet of office was ceremoniously tried on a number of heads before

 1

See, for example, Felix Gilbert, “Florentine Political Assumptions in the period of Savanarola and Soderini”, in The Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, Vol. 20 (1957), 187-214; Maurizio Viroli, From Politics to Reason of State: The Acquisition and Transformation of the Language of Politics, 1250-1600 (Cambridge, 1992), for example, 132-36. 2 Conal Condren, Argument and Authority in Early Modern England: The Presupposition of Oaths and Offices (Cambridge, 2006), 1-12, 80-104.

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being placed on the elected master’s and declared as fitting.3 The longer more informative oaths in The Booke of Oathes (1649) place as much stress on capability as what we would see as moral integrity. The oath of the privy counsellor was an implicit attestation to a capability to council. The midwife’s oath, an unusually long one also alluded to the competencies required by her ‘care’ or ‘room’.4 Such a capability involved what we might now tease out as two dimensions: a practical one and an overtly ethical one. I say overtly ethical because the practical or technical was coloured implicitly by the ethical. That is, because any given office itself was a morally sanctioned sphere of responsibility, action undertaken in its name, together with the skills and capacities routinely exercised in its execution had some implicit moral justification. Practical capacities were, indeed, overwhelmingly judged by the end, or function of the activity. Hence what counted as a practical necessity for a persona, depended much on the office under consideration. The capability of the soldier amounted to a set of virtues. The importance of these had been rehearsed since antiquity: discipline, stamina, industry, courage, and, at least for officers, initiative. From such a list of idealised qualities, it is not clear at what point they might be largely matters of practical capability. Analogous technical skills were also required of the poet, but they too were ethicised as it were, by being made to serve to moral station of poetry. The poet, wrote George Puttenham (c.1520-1590), being both an imitator and a maker, needs to be able to observe and capitalise on experience. The quite technical attainments he goes on to discuss in detail, the mastery of proportion and ornamentation, serve the end of the poet’s office; for poets were at once the first legislators and philosophers of the world, with a continuing moral burden.5 Moreover, the formal content of any ethical or practical virtue might vary from office to office, deontological qualities were fragile and subject to adaptation and qualification. They may be considered as meta-virtues, as it were, synoptic ways of high-lighting proper conduct specific to a field of responsibility. In this way, for example, justice retained many of its Platonic associations of being a matter of knowing what was due, something that depended on who one was. Again, discretion was a virtue but the discretion of a judge was not the same as that of the mid-wife. Prudence might be a cardinal virtue of office-holding, but as it meant

 3

Christina Hole, English Custom and Usage (London, 1944), 114. The Booke of Oathes (London, 1649), 228. 5 George Puttenham, The Arte of English Poesie (1589). Edited by Gladys Doige Willcock and Alice Walker (Cambridge, 1st ed. 1936, 1970), I.1-5; II on proportion; III on ornamentation. 4

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making fit judgements in context, it could mean many different things; as Justus Lipsius (1547-1606) remarked, of all virtues prudence could not be captured by a formula or reduced to a rule. 6 The general notion of capability may be seen under the same quasi-deontological heading; capability was a sine qua non for occupation of office, its content and limitations were functions of the offices considered. That it was not necessarily discussed or theorised is far more a function of its implicit significance than of its only mattering in some contexts for some people. What I would suggest then, is simply that any claim on holding an office implied both an ethical and practical set of assertions, and they amounted to what we would now call a legitimating vocabulary. But this was also to announce standards by which one could be critically judged; and so with the vocabulary of legitimation came also a contrasting vocabulary of critique gathered around notions of corruption and incapability, unfitness. Thus for every claim to competence or virtue fitting for office, there was a body of redescriptive alternatives undermining authority. In this way, liberty could become mere licence, courage be deemed foolhardiness, prerogative rule dismissed as arbitrariness, mercy might be called disparagingly vain pity. Similarly, even without such rhetorical antonyms, virtues could be disparaged as being ‘so-called’ or they might be attributed to nefarious motives, as mercy might be seen as the expression of laziness, justice be denigrated as the consequence of vindictiveness. The vocabulary of office-holding was, in short, both negative and positive; and all office-holders had an interest in keeping it that way, for they needed to protect themselves, often by accusing others.7 In these general principles of the vocabulary of social judgement the United Provinces was at one with the rest of early modern Christendom, drawing on and adapting much the same inheritance of classical and Christian ethical theory. The Dutch made explicit what was part of the presupposed mind set of early modern Europe. They did not need to do so because theirs was a republic in which there was no inheritance of a throne carrying its own and sufficient sanction, the situation with a stadholder in periodic tensions with the States of Holland, was more complicated than that and not surprisingly, the range of ‘bequamheit’ (capability) was appropriately flexible. What can be said, however, is that the question of capability took on a particular slant where lineage or inheritance could function as a criterion for occupation of office, simply because few assumed that

 6

Justus Lipsius, Sixe Books of Politickes. Translated by William Jones (London, 1594), IV.1; I.13. 7 Condren, Argument and Authority, 80-100.



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lineage per se was sufficient for effective conduct in office, and lineage might be recognised in a given case to be at odds with abilities.8 One way of looking at this is in reference to the standard topos, of true nobility, prominent in England from the fifteenth century, when John Tiptoft (1427-1470) had translated the Controversia de nobilitate (Debate on nobility) of Buonaccorso da Montemagna (c.1391-1429).9 The nobility saw as part of its office an important place in government, and the question of lineage or virtue appropriate for office was crucial. By and large, it was held that true nobility inhered in virtue, but what constituted virtue varied. Liberality was of course expected of a gentleman-but we come much closer to notions of governmental capability in a stress on learning and eloquence, on judgement, discretion and prudence. The presumption was that capacity and aptitude went with and even arose from blood-line, after all, since antiquity animals had been bred and improved for their specific characteristics, it is a point relied upon by Plato in order to control the breeding of his political elite in The Republic; but few (certainly not Plato) were so naïve to think that lines always bred true or that the characteristics sought were restricted to them. It needs to be stressed here that although there was in England a pronounced sense of social hierarchy, position and status was recognised to be contingent not natural or fixed, the mighty might well fall, the humble be exalted. Ideally virtues and competences in given offices should be the mechanisms of social fluidity. Thus the king in All’s Well that Ends Well, ‘From the lowest place when virtuous things proceed,/ The place is dignified by th’doer’s deed./ Where great additions swell’s and virtues none,/ It is a dropsied honour’.10 Noble families might be morally bankrupt before their extinction and those not of noble blood could show forth what was required of aristocratic virtue; as Thomas Fuller (1608-1661) put it optimistically, the

 8

See, for example, Thomas Rogers, A Philosophical Discourse Entitled The Anatomy of the Mind (London, 1576), II.68; Henry Peacham, The Compleat Gentleman (London, 1622), 159; Sir Thomas Elyot, The Book Named The Govenor (London, 1531). Edited by S.E. Lehmberg, (London, 1962), 103-6. 9 John Tiptoft, A Declamation of Nobleness, c.1450, cited in Quentin Skinner, “Political Philosophy”, in Quentin Skinner and Charles B. Schmidt (eds.), The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy (Cambridge, 1988), 447; Markku Peltonen, Classical Humanism and Republicanism in English Political Thought, 1570-1640 (Cambridge, 1995), 8, 11. 10 William Shakespeare, All’s Well That Ends Well (London, 1604-5), act.2. sc.3, lines 123-25.

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good yeoman is ‘a gentleman in ore’.11 Hence the stress on true nobility; it was a topos focussed on the potential tensions between blood and capacity, and its popularity was an acknowledgement of social fluidity. As a corollary, it was that same recognition of fluidity, of status-insecurity that generated so much attention to and defensive pride in social standing. As aristocracy was an office of counsel involving some participation in rule and indeed as definitions and understandings of counsel were difficult to disentangle from the office of rule itself, it is to be expected that the questions of true nobility with their negotiation between inheritance and capacity would flow through to issues of kingship. Certainly from the Renaissance, and perhaps Erasmus (1467/9-1536) is the key figure here, the question of capability became central when dealing with monarchies. If a young prince was bound to rule, it was all the more important to educate in the requirements of the office. The long-term and detailed interest in princely education attests to presupposed centrality of capability. Inheritance was never enough. Initial capability in acquiring and holding rule did much to explain why a dynasty might be established, but the legitimating functions of lineage were never to be taken for granted. When Shakespeare (1564-1616) wrote of position without capacity as a ‘dropsied honour’ none could escape the fact, and he had made money dramatising the remarkable instability of the monarchy itself and the feeble guarantee that lineage alone might give to a ruler. Of course, contingencies beyond capability to rule could be the causes of turmoil – but in both the cases of Richard II (1367-1400) and Henry VI (1421-1471) it is a lack of fitness for the demands of office that explains much about their depositions and deaths. Take Edward Hall’s assessment of Henry VI: ‘This yll chance & misfortune, by many mens opinions happened to him, because he was a man of no great wit, such as men commonly call an Innocent man, neither a foole, neither very wyse, whose study always was more to excel, other in Godly liuynge & virtuous example,/ than in wordly regiment, or temporall dominion, in so much, that in comparison to the study & delectation that he had to virtue / and godliness, he little regarded, but in manner despised al worldly power & temporal authoritie, which syldome follow or seke after such persons, as from them flye or disdayne to take them. But hys enemies asci/bed all this to hys coward stomack.’12

 11

Thomas Fuller, The Holy State and the Profane State (Cambridge, 1642), ‘The good Yeoman’. 12 Edward Hall (c.1499-1547), The Union of the Two Noble and Illustre Famelies of Lancastre & Yorke (London, 1548), CCXV.



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As Shakespeare summarised the perceptions of those around the king, he was ‘not fit to govern and rule multitudes’.13 By the same token, many a monarch had to sustain a position with more than a claim to inherited right. Making such a claim could backfire, as Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) perceptively reflected. It was to be expected that with the foundation of a new dynasty, the ruler should emphasise the abilities and the competences that had placed him on the throne; but for those who followed in the line, those proclaimed virtues became a source of vulnerability. For a successor not to have them could become a powerful weapon in the hands of the discontented.14 As I shall suggest with the Dutch Republic, hostile eyes could always convert rhetorically capability into something less elevated. And during the sixteenth century John Knox (c.1505-1572) and Christopher Goodman (c.1521-1603) put a gendered notion of capability very much on the table; women by their nature could have neither right nor capability to rule; but here, above all, capability presupposed pietistic correctness. A Protestant princess like Elizabeth (1533-1603) was altogether more fit to rule than a Catholic prince. And indeed, John Aylmer (1521-1594), the bishop of London, argued that Elizabeth had overcome her inherent incapacity through her erudition. Following Erasmus, he held that learning, a command of the liberal arts was a necessary attribute of competent rule.15 Notions of capability, then, were ubiquitous to understandings of personae in office, but neither simple nor clear cut, often full of unstated presuppositions about the ends of the office in question and themselves capable of wide-ranging re-specification and manipulation. Perhaps Shakespeare’s image of Henry V (1386-1422) can stand synoptically as an ideal of the range of abilities required of a ruler whose office of ruling embraced subordinate areas of responsibility. The ruler was a judge, diplomat and soldier, and needed the prudent judgement to shift between and use the virtues of each office: eloquence, discrimination, mercy, an understanding of his own responsibility and its limits, decisiveness and courage. In this image, as Asha Pollnitz has argued, we

 13

Shakespeare, Henry VI, pt. 2. 5.1., lines 93-94. Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan (London, 1651). Edited by Richard Tuck (Cambridge, 1991). ‘Review and Conclusion’, 486. 15 John Aylmer, An Harborowe for Faithfull and Trewe Subiectes Agaynst the Late Blowne Blaste, Concerninge the Gouer[n]ment of Wemen (London, 1559). See Aysha Pollnitz, “Educating Hamlet and Prince Hal”, in David Armitage, Conal Condren and Andrew Fitzmaurice (eds.), Shakespeare and the History of Early Modern Political Thought (Cambridge, 2009, forthcoming). 14

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see an engagement with the question of what skills and education were necessary for rule, an engagement that sees a shift away from Erasmian virtues of pacific demeanour, piety and a command of the liberal arts, to an acceptance of the need to supplement them with practical and military attainments. In the idiom of Montaigne (1533-1592), the office of rule was recognised as being distinctive and peculiarly difficult because of the burdens of practical judgement.16 This could, of course, raise moral difficulties. If a perceived practical capacity was not adequately married to the functions of the office, it could easily become dangerously destabilising; as Plato had argued in The Republic, those most naturally gifted for philosophy, were likely to be the most dangerous if distracted from the paths of virtue, precisely because of their natural capabilities. Shakespeare made much the same point. ‘For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds:/Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.’17 What is now called ‘reason of state’ theory needs to be seen in this context of deeds, sweet when undertaken according to the ends of the office yet becoming sour when those ends were ignored. It is important to say something about it here, as the image of Dutch capability hinged on the manipulation of the rhetorics involved. Reason of state had strong legal, medieval antecedents in a long-standing acceptance of the overriding and special responsibilities rulers had for those in their care.18 This did not literally concern the state, but the special status of the ruler and what latitude was allowed in ruling; it was a reason of status. In reference to the state, reason of state seems to have started as a fairly casual phrase introduced by Francesco Guicciardini (1483-1540), living in a world in which the neologism, lo stato, was beginning to be established as a term for a polity, but still with connotations of illegitimacy and force.19 A term of governing art in Florence, lo stato carried with it associations of secrecy, the arcana imperii (mysteries of command) and the ragione the Florentines had, until the disastrous invasion of 1494, taken to define their own peculiar capabilities. In the post-Reformation world in which confessional division did much to determine who was a legitimate holder of office, reason of state developed a janus-like character, appropriate to

 16

Pollnitz, “Educating Hamlet and Prince Hal.” Plato, Republic. Edited and translated by Paul Shorey (Cambridge, 1930), vi 490E-492A; Shakespeare, Sonnets, 94. 18 Gaines Post, Studies in Medieval Legal Thought, Public Law and the State, 1100-1322 (Princeton, 1964), 308. 19 Harro Höpfl, “Orthodoxy and Reason of State”, in History of Political Thought, Vol. 23 (2002), 214. 17



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the complimentary registers of the rhetorics of office in which it was embedded. As the discussions of Giovanni Botero (c.1544-1617), Scipione Amirato (1531-1601), and Arnoldus Clapmarius (1574-1605) make abundantly clear, a positive reason of state exhibited the necessary skills and judgement to good ends, the exercise of capacities within and justified by an ethical frame.20 A bad reason of state, bereft of ethical legitimation was skill reduced to mere Machiavellian cunning, judgement in the service of evil or self-interest, where one could be a variation on the other.21 In its negative form, that is not as policy but as a series of accusatory explanations and dire warnings, reason of state was particularly subject to satiric reduction; Machiavelli’s penchant for exaggeration and simplification, so effectively exploited by his critic Innocent Gentillet (c.1535-c.1595), provided an easy means for associating a negatively conceived reason of state with an image of ruthless duplicity, endemic suspicion and remarkable ingenuity in developing devious and complex plots. Indeed, as Noel Malcolm has suggested, popularised examples of such dangerous reason of state in Europe were at least in part satiric creations pretending to be revelations of secret plans. They were not unlike the stage image of Machiavelli writ large.22 If in this negative image reason of state was a misused and disreputable casuistry, in its positive formulation it was the adaptation of a widespread casuistry of office. It is, in fact, misleading to restrict this casuistry to statecraft and so create from it a cohesive political theory. For any defined and accepted office it was accepted that normally, there was a certain sort of conduct appropriate to it but that in emergency, for the sake of the ends or purposes of the office itself, such rules could and should be set aside. As Lipsius, now seen specifically as a reason of state theorist, insisted. If mothers and physicians can lie for the greater good of those in their care, this is a sufficient precedent for princes.23 All notions of fitness for office, then, included the prudence to recognise and cope with the abnormal in the

 20

Giovanni Botero, Della regione di Stato (Venice, 1589). Edited by L. Firpo (Turin, 1948), I.1; Scipione Ammirato, Discorsi sopra Cornelio Tacito (Florence, 1594); Arnoldus Clapmarius, De arcanis rerumpublicarum (Bremen, 1605). See Peter S. Donaldson, Machiavelli and the Mystery of State (Cambridge, 1988), 11340. 21 Pedro Ribedeniera, Treatise on the Religion and the Virtues Requisite in a Christian Prince (1595, trans. 1603). Harro Hopfl, Jesuit Political Thought: The Society of Jesus and the State, c.1540-1630 (Cambridge, 2004), 106. 22 Noel Malcolm, Reason of State, Propaganda, and the Thirty Years’ War: An Unknown Translation by Thomas Hobbes (Oxford, 2007), 30-60. 23 Lipsius, Sixe Bookes, 14, 115.

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name of the office. Breaking a moral norm could be couched casuistically as an ethical necessity. In a descant upon this, the Duc du Rohan (1579-1638) argued that rulers had to understand and serve an interest, the interest of their peoples and or domains. Understanding such an interest, and furthering it served as a criterion of capability in rule and, very much in the wake of Dutch speculation, what has since become called ‘interest theory’ developed in the seventeenth century.24 But this too could be expressed as a negative, or as a positive; there were proper interests and interests that functioned as motivations explaining evil intent. As I have suggested, this began as a descant on office-holding, keyed to the word interest. But unlike most conceptions of office that were bounded in some way (for movement beyond proper limit defined tyranny), one can get the impression that interest is indefinitely acquisitive; and so by the mid-seventeenth century, a rhetoric of interest could be seen as standing to one side of officeholding, as having more explanatory weight in a corrupt world.25 Hence for men as different in perspective as the republican Henry Neville (16201694) and the high monarchist William Cavendish (1592-1676), the capacity to identify men’s interests was the way of controlling them.26 Here we see an inkling of the argumentative strategies that could turn the stress on capability into a moral weakness. Denuded of its ethical grounding in activity in office, the technically competent servant of an office could be redescribed as some sort of cunning monster. This, in fact, has been the recent misreading of the image of Henry V made possible by ignoring that every apparent shift in his persona was, as it were, authenticated within the play by his service to his office as ruler. Overlapping with this ethical evaporation as a corollary of a diminution of a sense of office, self-interest loses some of its strong associations with corruption. Machiavelli (1469-1527) had set something of a precedent for this in The Prince. It had been a work geared to the abilities, mostly military required of a new prince. But Machiavelli had conveyed very little sense that this strength and dexterity, capability as virtù needed to be geared to the good of the ruled or the principality; Machiavelli’s prince did not act for the good of the state. For, as Jack Hexter made clear many years ago, in The Prince the state is an uncertain possession, not a locus of

 24

Henri duc de Rohan, De l’interest des princes et estates de la Chrestiente (Paris, 1639). 25 Condren, Argument and Authority, 343-46. 26 Henry Neville, A Game of Picquet (London, 1660); William Cavendish, ‘Advice’, Clarendon MS 109, Bodeian Library, Oxford.



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responsibility. 27 Lying for a good end, for the good of the people, the commonwealth, for the maintenance of the office itself (all forms of justification for dubious conduct from medieval Europe onwards) is evident enough in The Discourses but in The Prince it hardly arises. Survival and aggrandizement in a nasty world is close to being an end in itself. Viewed from the outside such a vision of the political world makes capability look decidedly dangerous and unwelcome. This, I think, is exactly how the Dutch stress on capability was inverted, resdescribed by erasing the ethicising end of the Dutch governors as servants of the Republic; they could be construed as festering lilies, thus granted grudging respect and subject to condemnation. To put it another way, the bifurcated attitude to Dutch capability in government was an expression of the janus-like character of the rhetorics of reason of state and interest. In the uneasy and shifting relationships between Holland and England during the seventeenth century we can see how with minor inflections an admired and feared efficiency can be transmuted into a cunning selfinterested grubbiness. The relationships between the two countries were particularly volatile. They were near neighbours and trading rivals, sharing or being driven by the same interest in trade. On the general principles of European hostilities (your neighbour is your enemy your neighbour’s neighbour is your friend) this should have made them conventional and full time antagonists; but the relationship was far more complicated. The countries were protestant basions during the Counter-Reformation, so shared a denominational interest as well as a divisive trading one. England’s hostility to Spain was bound to make Holland, and of course Portugal, potential allies. There was much movement between churches and congregations. During the Cromwellian Commonwealth, there was in England serious talk of uniting with Holland to create something like a joint sovereignty. During the Restoration there was discussion of how far Dutch organizational and trading capacities were related to the Republic’s practice of religious toleration; the Republic was a standing challenge to the common assumption that in a good society toleration should not be necessary. Dutch efficiency over a range of sphere’s of activity was always potentially a topos for English domestic debate. And so competent were the war-like trading Dutch that despite war breaking out with England on four separate occasions, they mounted an invasion so efficient

 27

Jack H. Hexter, The Vision of Politics on the Eve of the Reformation (London, 1973), 50-178.

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the English could pretend, and have done so ever since, it was something else. In 1688 William III of Orange (1650-1702) arrived in England with an army carried on a fleet larger than that assembled by Phillip II of Spain (1527-1598) in 1587-8. 28 The expedition was the result of careful planning, and the concentration of the financial and technical resources of the Republic. It may have been large enough to conquer the country if necessary; but William could also rely on considerable disaffection within England, and after its arrival, his army was swelled by English supporters and, having marched to London, it was there as a significantly bristling presence. It sat strategically placed while William awaited the results of the Convention Debates, having made clear his conditions for the settlement of England’s affairs.29 Yet it is striking how muted were the debates and the surrounding pamphlet literature on the very existence of the Dutch troops. Occasionally they might be mentioned, but it was more usual in debate to speak as if William was there almost as a lone guest, or rescuer. Sometimes the Dutch presence was construed as a matter of returning the favour England had done them in the previous century in the struggles again Spain. The notion of an invasion, especially one serving Dutch continental military ambitions was, after all, far more difficult to accommodate than what might be called either an intervention or invitation. The Dutch were needed in the name of religion, but best kept under the table. The situation with the revolution of 1688-9 provides, as it were, a concentration of a long-standing ambivalence about the Dutch. Reactions to them were frequently a sort of litmus test to other attitudes, especially to religious affiliation and hostility to monarchy. To illustrate the point, I want to provide a brief comment on the English image of the Dutch before and after the invasion of 1688. Specifically, first I shall turn to Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), no stranger to Holland and its affairs. He gives two contrasting pictures of the Dutch, each as a mean of passing comment on his own society. Sometime during 1653, possibly to commemorate the English navel victory over the Dutch at Portland, Marvell wrote The Character of Holland.30 In this poem he did not deny the Dutch a competence, a remarkable energy and a degree of

 28

Jonathan Scott, England’s Troubles: Seventeenth-Century English Political Instability in European Context (Cambridge, 2000), 213-20 for a succinct account of the conditions behind the invasion. 29 Jonathan I. Israel, “The Dutch Role in the Glorious Revolution”, in ibidem (ed.), The Anglo-Dutch Moment (Cambridge, 1991), 105-10, 128-29. 30 Andrew Marvell, “The Character of Holland”, in ibidem, Complete Poems. Edited by Elizabeth Storey Dunno (Harmondsworth, 1978), 112-16.



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cunning, but through sustained tapinosis, diminished the activities in which capacity was manifested. As Annabel Paterson notes, Marvell draws on popularly abusive broadside images of Holland, and tasteless stereotypes of its people. 31 He creates what David Norbrook has aptly called a satirical myth of political foundation.32 The Dutch, living in a land half sea, had all the slippery ambivalence of being half fish. ‘They with mad labour fished the land to shore.’ 33 Their energies were spent on rescuing soil, their skills lay in digging and heaping embankments. ‘To make a bank was a great plot of state:/Invent a shovel and be magistrate.’34 It is a grudging recognition of achievement and one that prefaces acceptance of a dangerous cunning. ‘… with feigned treaties, they invade by stealth.’35 Here then, governmental capacity is reduced to the unethical yet unthreatening aspect of reason of state in a form suitable to be laughed at by the superior and victorious English Republic. The satirical foundation myth provides a propagandistic contrast to the English Commonwealth’s emerging strength.36 But there is no such patronising air about his image of Michiel De Ruyter (1607-1676) and his fleet in The Last Instructions.37 Marvell wrote the poem in 1667, five years after he had spent some eleven months in Holland, where no doubt he would have experienced some of the often remarked upon practical consequences of the Republic’s efficiency; the sense of order, the ease, safety and economy of travel within its borders.38 Marvell’s satire is turned against the court surrounding Charles II and perhaps, vicariously against the monarch himself for presiding over endemic political corruption, and the cowardice of ‘a race of drunkards, pimps and fools’. 39 In contrast, the Dutch are formidable. Where the English have been neglectful and lazy, the Dutch are models of industry and efficiency. Consequently, De Ruyter curbed the ocean and sailed ‘among our rivers undisturbed’.40 With ‘complacence in their trim’ they

 31

Annabel M. Patterson, Marvell and the Civic Crown (Princeton, 1978), 119-20. David Norbrook, Writing The English Republic: Poetry, Rhetoric and Politics,1627-1660 (Cambridge, 2000), 296. 33 Marvell, “The Character of Holland”, line 10. 34 Ibidem, lines 47-48. 35 Ibidem, line 117. 36 Norbrook, Writing The English Republic, 298. 37 Andrew Marvell, “The Last Instructions to a Painter”, in ibidem, Complete Poems, 157-83. 38 Geoffrey Parker, Europe in Crisis, 1598-1648 (London, 1st ed. 1980, 1984), 38. 39 Marvell, “The Character of Holland”, line 12. 40 Ibidem, lines 523-24. 32

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bring ‘Terror and war’, but lack an enemy;41 and so, when the English fleet has been burned, they ‘leisurely return’ with their prize, The Charles, while the impotent English can do little more than watch and fulminate.42 The principal contrast of the poem is with English naval incompetency and treachery, signs of a wider moral turpitude and the consequences of an incapable and corrupt court culture around the king. Thus on Henry Germaine (1605-1684), earl of St. Albans, ‘Paint then St Albans full of soup and gold,/The new court’s pattern, stallion of the old …’43 The fleets of the warring countries are figures of the societies as a whole, and above all their contrasting political cultures. Perhaps drawing on this, in the following year Henry Neville insterted an assured Dutch naval presence,as a deus ex machina in his political allegory The Isle of Pines.44 A striking example of how Dutch capability could be rhetorically reconfigured by diminishing justificatory ethics of office can be seen in Arbuthnot’s History of John Bull, a satirical allegory about the wars of the Spanish Succession and the Treaty of Utrecht (1712), wars in which England and Holland were, of course, allies, tied in firm alliance consequent upon the invasion of 1688-9. 45 The main characters in this satiric allegory are John Bull, who is England, (Arbuthnot appears to have been the inventer of this patriotic image) and Nic. Frog, Holland. With this creature John Arbuthnot (1667-1735) may have been echoing Marvell’s amphibious image of the Dutch, but is also alluding to Niccolo Machiavelli. John, a clothier, and Nic., a linen-draper, are partners who have long supplied the old, now deceased Lord Strutt, (Spain), but find themselves in a tricky law-suit (war) with Lewis Baboon (France). The relationship between John and Nic. is uneasy because of their differing patterns of capability and ethical integrity. But virtue is relative in Arbuthnot’s satiric vision and the partners are surrounded by far more dubious characters, such as John’s poor sister Peg (Scotland), Hocus Pocus (the duke of Malborough), John Bull’s first wife Mrs Bull (the casuistry of resistance), Habbakkuk Slyboots (Lord Somers) and in the

 41

Ibidem, lines 536-40. Ibidem, lines 724-26. 43 Ibidem, lines 29-30. 44 For some discussion of this see Gaby Mahlberg, “Republicanism in Henry Neville’s The Isle of Pines (1668)”, in John Morrow and Jonathan Scott (eds.), Liberty, Authority, Formality: Political Ideas and Culture, 1600-1900 (Exeter, 2008), 150-52. 45 John Arbuthnot, The History of John Bull (1712). Originally published as a series of separate pamphlets in George Aitken (ed.), The Life and Works of John Arbuthnot (Oxford, 1892). 42



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background Signiora Bubonia (the pope). The only characters of unalloyed virtue are John’s mother (the Church of England), his second wife (the queen, he had murdered the first Mrs Bull) and possibly Sir Roger Bold (Edward Harley). John is ‘in the main’ honest and plain dealing; he is ‘choleric, bold and of a very unconstant temper’ and apt to quarrel with his best friends. Yet if flattered, he could be ‘led like a child’. 46 He is, in short, particularly vulnerable to the sorts of deft manipulation at which Nic. Frog excels. It was hardly a complementary picture and one that would need adjustment before it could become an emblem of imperial jingoism a century or so later. Yet John is also a man of some capacity, he understood his business very well, but was ever careless in his accounts and easily cheated by his partners.47 And what crucially of Nic. Frog? He stands alone in the sense that he is not like John surrounded by the additional characters indicating the complexity of English and Scottish domestic politics; so what we get is a uniform and abstracted characterisation of the Dutch Republic’s foreign policy and the domestic preconditions for its success. Nic., we are told briskly, is ‘a cunning sly whoreson’, the reverse of John in many ways, He is covetous, frugal, careful in his business ‘would pinch his belly to save his pocket’, never robbed by servants or debtors, had no diversions ‘except tricks of high German artists, and legerdemain: no man exceeded Nic. in these; yet it must be owned that Nic. was a fair dealer, and in that way acquired immense riches’. 48 As it unfolds, the story plays on these characteristics, with Nic. using and flattering the combustible John to his own ends, and behaving decently only with reluctance or when he also sees an advantage.49 Leaving aside that this is a trading allegory, the image of Holland it leaves us with is one of considerable but highly guarded respect; Nic.’s capability is at once presented and denuded of any of the moral qualities that would legitimate his conduct. Despite his cajoling and ingratiating exchanges with John and letters to him, Nic.’s conduct is largely bereft of responsibility, loyalty or integrity. He is, in a word, portrayed as technically adept but devoid of the virtues of office. Capability becomes narrow, efficiently pursued self-interest, dangerous because effective. It is not far from Machiavelli’s image of the prince, the display of technical skills, though economic rather than military, without any edifying purpose

 46

Ibidem, 203. Ibidem, 203-4. 48 Ibidem, 4. 49 Ibidem, 223, 252-56, 268-71, 273-74, 280-81, 285-87. 47

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to provide the criterion by which to measure conduct; or to put it another way, it is the personification of the negative image of reason of state, what may be called more fittingly than a theory, ‘state casuistry’. What above all gave medieval and early modern Christendom an identity were a number of presuppositions about the world, contentious, to be sure, when made explicit or specific, but at the most general level of expression the signs of belonging to one identifiable culture. The notion of fitness for office was one of them and it is in this context that the Dutch emphasis on capability to serve the community can be placed. The manner in which it was reconfigured by neighbours, partially tied to, but often hostile to the Dutch Republic was one way in which shared presuppositions were converted into contentious doctrines; the ambivalence and slipperiness of the relationships with England were, in a sense projected onto the Dutch themselves and in that process political thought articulated and changed.