This was the lot of Maestricht on the 20th of October. It was
instinctively felt to be the precursor of fresh disasters. Vague,
incoherent, but widely disseminated rumors had long pointed to Antwerp
and its dangerous situation. The Spaniards, foiled in their views upon
Brussels, had recently avowed an intention of avenging themselves in the
commercial capital. They had waited long enough, and accumulated
strength enough. Such a trifling city as Alost could no longer content
their cupidity, but in Antwerp there was gold enough for the gathering.
There was reason for the fears of the inhabitants, for the greedy longing
of their enemy. Probably no city in Christendom could at that day vie
with Antwerp in wealth and splendor. Its merchants lived in regal pomp
and luxury. In its numerous, massive warehouses were the treasures of
every clime. Still serving as the main entrepot of the world's traffic,
the Brabantine capital was the centre of that commercial system which was
soon to be superseded by a larger international life. In the midst of
the miseries which had so long been raining upon the Netherlands, the
stately and egotistical city seemed to have taken stronger root and to
flourish more freshly than ever. It was not wonderful that its palaces
and its magazines, glittering with splendor and bursting with treasure,
should arouse the avidity of a reckless and famishing soldiery. Had not
a handful of warriors of their own race rifled the golden Indies? Had
not their fathers, few in number, strong in courage and discipline,
revelled in the plunder of a new world? Here were the Indies in a single
city. Here were gold and silver, pearls and diamonds, ready and
portable; the precious fruit dropping, ripened, from the bough. Was it
to be tolerated that base, pacific burghers should monopolize the
treasure by which a band of heroes might be enriched?

A sense of coming evil diffused itself through the atmosphere. The air