Staging the Nassau-Dietz Identity: Funerary Culture and Managing Succession at the Frisian Nassau Court in the Seventeenth Century

Abstract

The time after the death of a prince was crucial for a dynasty to safeguard titles, possessions and other privileges for future generations. Whereas official agreements arranged the deceased’s succession on paper, funerary culture provided dynasties with opportunities to legitimise and consolidate their position. This article focuses on the funeral of Ernest Casimir, Count of Nassau-Dietz (1573–1632) and stadtholder of Friesland, Groningen, and Drenthe. It unravels the main themes in the dynastic identity of the Nassau-Dietz family and examines how this identity helped the dynasty protect its hold on the non-hereditary office of stadtholder. Furthermore, it aims to demonstrate that the direct relatives of the deceased were not the only stakeholders in the process of identity construction after Ernest Casimir’s death; local political elites were closely involved as well.

On the third of January 1633, soldiers and citizens marched through the streets of Leeuwarden, a city in the Dutch province of Friesland.¹ It immediately became clear that they were not heading for war, because their weapons pointed towards the ground and trailed along it in a mournful way.² The march, which ended at the central market square, marked the beginning of a day filled with military and princely display. It was the day of the funeral of Ernest Casimir, Count of Nassau-Dietz (1573–1632). Ernest Casimir had not only been a German count, but also the stadtholder of the Dutch provinces of Friesland, Groningen, and Drenthe. As one of the chief military commanders in the war of the United Provinces against Spain, he had died with his boots on: during a surveillance of the fortress of the city of Roermond in the province of Guelders, he was shot in the head and died shortly afterwards.

As stadtholder, Ernest Casimir had resided in the Nassau palace in Leeuwarden, together with his wife Sophie Hedwig of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel (1592–1642), and their sons Henry Casimir (1612–1640) and William Frederick (1613–1664), as well as their princely household.³ In historiography, their court as well as the other courts of the seventeenth-century Dutch branches of the House of Nassau have always been treated as unusual princely courts. This is not only because of their modest size, but also because of their peculiar setting: both the Nassau-Dietz family and their much better-known cousins of the Orange-Nassau family resided in a republic.⁴ As stadtholders, the Nassau men did not have sovereign status. They were appointed by and subordinate to the States General and the provincial states of the United Provinces.

Despite their extraordinary political position, both the Nassau-Dietz and the Orange-Nassau families functioned in the same way most early modern dynasties did. According to Wolfgang Weber, a dynasty required a head of the family, around which the rest of the family was centred. The head of the family held a public office (not necessarily the office of king) that generated high material and immaterial profit. Members of the dynasty supported the collective will to pass on that office and other possessions to the next generation and endorsed a family history that justified the holding of the office. Furthermore, members of a dynasty believed that physical and psychological traits and social and legal claims could be transferred to the next generation.⁵ In order to make this transfer credible, official or legal mechanisms as well as cultural mechanisms were used.⁶ This paper studies the application of both types of mechanisms after the death of Ernest Casimir and unravels how the construction of a dynastic identity in seventeenth-century funerary culture complemented, legitimized and consolidated the formal arrangement of Ernest Casimir’s succession. It will illustrate that the members of the Nassau-Dietz dynasty were not the only stakeholders in this process of identity construction; local political elites were closely involved as well.

Historians Liesbeth Geevers and Mirella Marini characterise dynastic identity as a collective memory of the dynasty; a narrative that helped to intensify the idea of unity or to distinguish the dynasty from other families. It could be shaped by genealogies, family histories, ‘a particular political activity […], connections with certain other dynasties (through marriages, alliances, or rivalries) or distinctive burial practices’.⁷ Although the approach to burial rites as moments of dynastic identity construction is relatively new, it is the result of historians’ established understanding of noble funerary practices as a key element of political culture.

Ralph Giesey was the first to systematically analyse the components of the royal funerary ceremony, demonstrating that the renaissance funeral marked the transfer of power from the deceased to the new king.⁸ Many medievalists and early modernists have followed the example of Giesey, including several (serial) analyses of the funerals of Habsburg kings and emperors.⁹ Jennifer Woodward’s study of early modern British funerals offered a new analytical framework of the royal funeral as a dramatized ritual.¹⁰ Recently, the concept of dynastic identity has been implemented on research focusing on one element of funerary culture, namely, last wills.¹¹ This paper builds on this research on funerals and dynastic identity, but it also takes into account other elements of early modern funerary culture, such as death announcements and elegies. In this article, I will therefore understand funerary culture as the complete set of rituals, customs, and cultural products that were performed, observed, made and used because of a bereavement.

The relative neglect of the Frisian Nassau-Dietz branch in both research on funerary culture and research on the Nassau family is not the only reason why this family forms an interesting case study.¹² Since the family was only one branch of the larger Nassau dynasty, an investigation of their identity formation sheds light on the possibilities of cadet branches developing their own identity within a larger dynasty. Additionally, research on dynastic identities has until now primarily focused on hereditary positions, whereas the Frisian Nassaus were holding the position of stadtholder which was not hereditary. This paper therefore aims to provide insight into the interaction between a non-hereditary or even contested political position and the construction of a distinctive dynastic identity.

The Frisian Nassau Dynasty

Ernest Casimir can be considered the ‘founder’ of the Nassau-Dietz dynasty, since he had inherited the territory of Dietz (today’s Diez in the Rhineland) in 1607 when the county of Nassau had been divided between himself and his brothers.¹³ The Nassau dynasty was a German noble family that possessed a Reichsgrafschaft, a county that was an immediate fief of the Holy Roman Emperor.¹⁴ Otto I (before 1247–1289/90), who divided the Nassau possessions between himself and his brother Walram II in the prima divisio of 1255, became the founder of the Ottonian branch of the family. Several generations later this lineage, which ruled over the possessions to the north of the Lahn River, consisted of several sub-branches, among which Nassau-Dillenburg, Nassau-Hadamar, Nassau-Siegen and Nassau-Beilstein.¹⁵ The most prominent scion of the Ottonian lineage is probably William I, count of Nassau-Dillenburg and prince of Orange (1533–1584). This William of Orange, also known as William the Silent, received his education at the Brussels court of Mary of Hungary (1505–1558), sister of Emperor Charles V (1500–1558), and subsequently served as representative (governor or stadtholder) of Charles’s son King Philip II (1527–1598) in three provinces, and eventually became the leader of the Dutch Revolt against Spain.¹⁶

During the Dutch Revolt, the descendants of William were already considered the most prominent family in the Republic. When several provinces of the Low Countries promulgated the Act of Abjuration in 1581 and therefore no longer recognised the Spanish king as their sovereign, those provinces nevertheless maintained the office of stadtholder. From then on, the stadtholder in those provinces was not a representative of a sovereign anymore, but a ‘servant’ of the estates. Increasingly, the stadtholderate became a military office: the stadtholder was the commander-in-chief of the army, and in the province of Holland also of the navy.¹⁷ When William the Silent was assassinated in 1584, he was succeeded as stadtholder of the provinces of Holland and Zeeland by his son Maurice of Orange-Nassau (1567–1625), who became stadtholder of the provinces of Utrecht, Guelders and Overijssel in 1590 as well. The two northern provinces, Friesland and Groningen, however, appointed a different Nassau scion as their stadtholder, namely William Louis (1560–1620), the nephew of William the Silent.¹⁸ Both Maurice and William Louis were succeeded by their brothers because they died without legitimate children: Frederick Henry of Orange-Nassau succeeded Maurice as stadtholder of Holland, Zeeland, Utrecht, Guelders and Overijssel in 1625, and Ernest Casimir became stadtholder of Friesland in 1620 and of Groningen and Drenthe in 1625.¹⁹

Ernest Casimir’s son Henry Casimir had been prepared for a military career and a prominent position in the Dutch Republic since his birth in 1612. After his father’s death, Henry Casimir took over the charge of his father’s troops and succeeded him as stadtholder. Ernest Casimir and Henry Casimir’s active role as stadtholders in the Eighty Years’ War resulted in their premature and unfortunate death. Only eight years after his appointment as stadtholder, Henry Casimir faced the same fate as his father: he was shot on the battlefield and died several days later (figure 1).

Figure 1 Ernest Casimir I, Count of Nassau-Dietz (1573–1632), Wybrand de Geest, c. 1630–1635.

(Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam)

Preparations for an Untimely Death

Both stadtholderly families in the Dutch Republic were players in the war against Spain and therefore their members were running the risk of coming to an untimely end. A first mechanism to prepare for a premature death was to draw up official documents. These could help to arrange the stadtholder’s succession and to give shape to the future of the dynasty.

Ernest Casimir fought many battles in the late 1620s and early 1630s, together with his cousin Frederick Henry. He understood the danger he was in during those battles and therefore decided to draw up his will in June 1627.²⁰ The will suggests that Ernest Casimir was aware of his role as founding father of a new dynastic branch, since he was the first count of Nassau-Dietz after the division of his father’s possessions in 1607. He made a clear distinction between the larger Nassau dynasty, which he referred to as ‘our House’ and the new branch he had founded, which he referred to as ‘my House and Branch’.²¹ His will built on the inheritance traditions of the Nassau dynasty, for example by excluding his daughters from his inheritance and ordering his sons to maintain their sisters and provide them with an appropriate dowry instead, following the ‘custom of our House of Nassau’.²²

Ernest Casimir envisioned his dynasty as a distinctly Reformed, Calvinist, dynasty. First of all, he stipulated large donations to Reformed institutions only: he donated money to the poor members of the Reformed churches in Leeuwarden and Groningen, and to the Nassau home for widows in Arnhem, which had been founded by his sister-in-law Anna Margaretha of Manderscheid-Gerolstein, Countess of Nassau, in 1606 and only accepted widows that were Reformed.²³ More significantly, Ernest Casimir had also made a plan for the scenario in which none of his children would survive him. In that case, his nephew John Maurice of Nassau-Siegen (1604–1679) would be the principal inheritor. However, Ernest Casimir added a requirement: John Maurice and his offspring had to remain supporters of the ‘true’ Reformed confession. If John Maurice chose another confession, his inheritance would be transferred to the Reformed Nassau relative with the closest degree of kinship. It is likely that Ernest Casimir also had a Reformed education in mind when he instructed his wife Sophie Hedwig to raise their children ‘in the true understanding and fear of God’.²⁴

Whereas Ernest Casimir’s will covered the succession rights of his comital title, the stadtholderly title was more complicated to pass on. Until 1675, the Frisian stadtholderate was a non-hereditary office. In Groningen and Drenthe, the other two provinces in which Ernest Casimir functioned as stadtholder, the stadtholderate only became hereditary in the eighteenth century. For his appointment as stadtholder, Ernest Casimir himself had been dependent on the benevolence of the Frisian Provincial States. His brother William Louis had in extremis recommended him as his successor, but there were no stringent regulations that could safeguard the office for Ernest Casimir.²⁵ Ernest Casimir was therefore by no means assured of the office, especially since the Orange-Nassau family regarded the vacancy as an opportunity to expand its authority to the northern provinces.²⁶ Maurice of Orange-Nassau made a successful bid for the stadtholderate in Groningen and Drenthe, but the Frisian States chose Ernest Casimir as their stadtholder.²⁷

Ernest Casimir wanted to prevent a situation in which his own death would give rise to such a period of uncertainty again, and he therefore found a way to guarantee the office for his son Henry Casimir. He asked the Frisian States to provide his son with a so-called ‘survivance’, the right to succeed his father as stadtholder of Friesland.²⁸ Ernest Casimir’s cousin Frederick Henry had probably put this idea into Ernest Casimir’s head as he had safeguarded his own succession as stadtholder of the provinces of Overijssel, Utrecht, Holland, Zeeland and Guelders in the same way several years earlier.²⁹ Ernest Casimir made the petition in March 1632 and the Frisian States accepted his proposal at their meeting on 27 March 1632.³⁰ They declared that they accepted the proposal ‘considering the merits and good services rendered by the House of Nassau’. In other words, they considered Henry Casimir a suitable stadtholder because he was a member of the Nassau dynasty.

Ernest Casimir tried to realise a similar arrangement in the provinces of Groningen and Drenthe, but he did not succeed. The members of the provincial States of Groningen were displeased with the Frisian States because they had approved the declaration of survivance without consulting them.³¹ The regents in Drenthe had different reasons to postpone their response to Ernest Casimir’s request. They were afraid that they would offend Frederick Henry by promising to appoint Henry Casimir as Ernest Casimir’s successor.³² Ernest Casimir’s assurance that the Prince of Orange had given his approval was of no avail: both provinces deferred the decision about their future stadtholder.

The Frisian promise to appoint Henry Casimir as their new stadtholder became relevant very quickly because Ernest Casimir died in the beginning of June 1632, only two months after he arranged his succession. Although several Frisian regents questioned their promise to Ernest Casimir, they were bound to keep it.³³ However, the declaration of survivance included an important additional stipulation, namely that the Frisian States were allowed to provide Henry Casimir with a regulation describing his rights and obligations as a stadtholder that was different from his father’s. This stipulation opened the door to a curtailment of the stadtholder’s formal authority. The regulation Henry Casimir received in December 1632 for example restricted his privileges to appoint military officers. Moreover, Henry Casimir was expressly forbidden to ask for a similar arrangement for his own succession.³⁴

Ernest Casimir’s decision to arrange a declaration of survivance for his son Henry Casimir before he left for his campaign, saved the position of his family in Friesland, but not in the provinces of Groningen and Drenthe. As soon as the news of Ernest Casimir’s death reached Friesland, Ernest Casimir’s former secretary was sent to the Provincial States of Groningen to hand over a letter written by Ernest Casimir’s widow Sophie Hedwig, asking the States to appoint her son as their new stadtholder. Moreover, Sophie Hedwig brought about a deputation of two Frisian councillors, Edzard van Burmania and Johan van der Sande, who had to persuade the Groningen States that it was best if both provinces appointed the same stadtholder. The Groningen States eventually agreed, probably because they were even more resistant to appoint Frederick Henry, who already was the stadtholder of five other provinces, and preferred to maintain the relatively independent status they had under another stadtholder.³⁵ Drenthe followed the example of the other two northern provinces and also appointed Henry Casimir, but factions supporting Frederick Henry soon gained impetus.³⁶ It can be concluded that Ernest Casimir had formally arranged that his son Henry Casimir would be his successor as count of Nassau-Dietz and stadtholder of Friesland. Nonetheless, from the instructions Henry Casimir received for his Frisian stadtholderate and the reluctant attitude of the other provinces, it becomes clear that his position required legitimation and consolidation.

A Dynastic Funeral Business

Seventeenth-century funerary culture provided ample opportunities to consolidate the prominent position of the Nassau-Dietz dynasty. After his death, Ernest Casimir’s court was transformed into a theatre of mourning and the bereaved constituted a dynastic funeral business managing all the steps that had to be taken to organise Ernest Casimir’s funeral and commemoration. First of all, the body of the deceased had to be taken care of. Ernest Casimir’s body was immediately embalmed in the army camp and then transported to Leeuwarden, which had now become the home base of the Nassau-Dietz dynasty. When the body arrived in Leeuwarden, ‘groß undt klein’ [big and small] assembled on the streets to catch a glimpse of the former stadtholder.³⁷ His widow Sophie Hedwig would arrive several days later. Ernest Casimir’s body was exposed in the stadtholderly court for several days. The interior of the court had to be accommodated for the period of mourning. The walls of Ernest Casimir’s salon were covered in black, as was the furniture in several of his rooms.³⁸ Moreover, Sophie Hedwig’s rooms, including an antechamber, bedroom, garderobe, cabinet and even her lavatory, were completely covered in black fabrics.³⁹ It is probable that several of these rooms were visited by people from outside the court in this period, since the palace probably served as the site for Ernest Casimir’s lying-in-state.⁴⁰

Another step that had to be made quickly was to make a draft of the death announcement that was going to be sent to relatives, friends and institutions. The death announcement was not only a practical means to inform relatives — most of them were already informed by their secretaries who wrote each other regularly — but it was also the first attempt to mould the commemoration of the deceased. A prominent theme in Ernest Casimir’s death announcement — a theme that would re-occur in the death announcement for his son Henry Casimir in 1640 — was the courage of the Nassau men, who defended the United Provinces and the Reformed Church with their lives. Ernest Casimir was depicted as a valiant warrior who had died ‘im dero Ambt und Beruff’ [in his office and occupation/vocation] and fighting for the ‘freijheijt des Vatterlandes’ [freedom of the fatherland].⁴¹ These were important traits for a high-ranking military office such as the stadtholderate. The death announcement must have appealed to Ernest Casimir’s relatives and subjects, as these words of bravery and patriotism shaped the contours of Ernest Casimir’s commemoration texts that followed (see below, ‘Appropriating the deceased in text’).

After the official death announcement, the invitations for the funeral had to be made. Strikingly, not only Ernest Casimir’s heir Henry Casimir, but also his widow Sophie Hedwig signed the invitations, even those for the provincial and urban institutions in the Dutch Republic. This points at Sophie Hedwig’s close involvement in the organisation of the funeral. Just like royal funerals, the funerals of the stadtholders took place a long time after their death. Ernest Casimir’s funeral was planned for the third of January 1633, more than half a year after his death. This period allowed the family to inform relatives living abroad in time. January was probably also a convenient month because military officers — who, as will be discussed later on, played a crucial role in the funeral ceremony — had by then returned from their military campaigns. Consequently, this long period of time between death and funeral made it possible to gather the right number and combination of people that was required to make the funeral a big event.

En Route to the Final Resting Place

Seven months after his death, the day of Ernest Casimir’s funeral had finally come. The funeral day consisted of several ceremonies: the positioning of guards of soldiers throughout the city, the funeral procession, the church service, and a private meal in the stadtholderly court for those invited.⁴² Even though these ceremonies on paper seemed to highlight Ernest Casimir’s dual identity as count on the one hand and stadtholder on the other, this distinction was not that clear in practice.

As early as seven o’clock in the morning, soldiers and members of the local citizen’s militia marched through the streets and gathered at the central market square, where they were set in battle order. They were completely dressed in black — even their drums were covered with black cloth. After this spectacle, each military squad moved to a specific part of the city, in order to block the roads. Thus, they formed a sort of guard of honour that monitored the road from the stadtholderly court to the church in which the stadtholder was to be buried. According to the description of Ernest Casimir’s funeral procession, this guard prevented disorder and a ‘scramble of the people’.⁴³

In the meantime, all the invited guests gathered at the stadtholderly palace. They formed a large funeral procession, which can be divided into five sections. The first section of the procession was formed by the personal guard of the stadtholder, who — also dressed in black — marched in a very slow, stately and mournful manner. One of them dragged along a special black version of the banner of the guard. This was a dramatic act that ‘made many visitors burst into tears’.⁴⁴ After the opening section of the procession, another followed that represented the stadtholderly court, consisting of servants of the guests and members of the court personnel, such as the footmen and the court physician.

The third section was centred on heraldry.⁴⁵ Coats of arms, referring to the hereditary possessions of the family, were attached in a funeral procession to the sides of horses, which were accompanied by someone carrying the same heraldic banners (perhaps for the spectators who could not see the horses). The coats of arms were probably ordered according to their importance, starting with the relatively small barony of Liesveld and ending with Nassau, the county that was at the root of the Nassau-Dietz family. Another element in this section was formed by the guidons of Ernest Casimir’s regiments in the Dutch Republic.⁴⁶ This element was different from the coats of arms because it did not directly refer to Ernest Casimir’s hereditary comital possessions.

The fourth section actually contained the body of the deceased. Succeeding Ernest Casimir’s court steward, halberdiers, his personal guard, walked in front of and after the bier. The bier itself was carried by almost forty officers from Friesland, Groningen and Drenthe (the provinces connected to Ernest Casimir’s stadtholderate). Henry Casimir walked behind Ernest Casimir’s corpse, thus presenting himself as the heir. His brother William Frederick walked behind him. After the two brothers followed other close relatives of Ernest Casimir, delegates of close relatives, and delegates of Sophie Hedwig’s family, including a delegate of the King of Denmark (figure 2).⁴⁷

Figure 2 Print 8 of the print series depicting Ernest Casimir’s funeral procession in Leeuwarden in 1633, print maker: J. Hermans, intermediary draughtsman: Jelle Reyners, publisher: Claude Fonteyne, 1634

(Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam)

The last section of the procession was called ‘after the mourners’ (‘nae de rouw’). Both in the written draft for the order of the procession and in a print series depicting the procession published after the funeral, this section was distinctly separated from the previous section (‘the mourners’ or ‘de rouw’). The ‘after the mourners’ section consisted of delegates of the local, provincial, and national authorities: from the mayor of the Frisian town of Bolsward to delegates of the Provincial States of Friesland, Groningen and Drenthe. Remarkably, the universities of Franeker (in Friesland) and Groningen were also represented in the procession, the former even by ten professors and two beadles.⁴⁸ The presence of these professors distinguished the Nassau-Dietz family from the Orange-Nassau family, whose funerals were not attended by any delegates of universities. The institutional section of the procession — the ‘after the mourners’ section — consisted of more than two hundred persons and thus formed a major part of the procession.

The strict division between ‘the mourners’ and ‘after the mourners’ has been interpreted as characteristic for the Dutch stadtholderate: the first part represented the identity of the Nassaus as ‘private’ noblemen whose titles were hereditary and could therefore be easily transferred to a new generation, and the second part belonged to a different institutional sphere, namely that of the ‘public’ and non-hereditary office of stadtholder.⁴⁹ From this perspective, the funeral procession thus visualized the dual character of the Nassaus. During Ernest Casimir’s procession, the distinction between his noble relatives on the one hand and the delegates of Dutch state institutions on the other, is indeed strict on paper, yet in practice the distinction was blurred in several ways.

Firstly, the objects shown in the procession breached the strict separation: the heraldic section not only consisted of Nassau heraldry, but also of the banners of Ernest Casimir’s regiments and his full armour. These referred to his military activities as stadtholder and captain-general instead of his comital title. Subsequently, both of Ernest Casimir’s sons, who were part of the ‘mourners’, were accompanied by noblemen from Friesland and Groningen. One of them was even the ‘grietman’ (a combination of a mayor and a judge) of a Frisian municipality (‘grietenij’), and therefore, he could have been part of the ‘after the mourners’ part of the procession as well.

Moreover, it is important to ask whether the distinction between the two ‘spheres’ was just as clear in the performance of the procession as it was on paper. There were no trumpeters announcing the new section of the procession. The only way to discern the delegates from the state institutions from the delegates of European dynasties, was to assess their appearance. However, many more distant relatives of Ernest Casimir were not able to attend in person and therefore asked the family of the deceased to arrange a substitute for them. In the end, Henry II, count of Nassau-Siegen, was the only member of the invited dynasties to participate in the procession. The other fourteen counts and princes were substituted by men from Friesland and Groningen. In practice, this meant that the funeral procession was primarily a regional affair.

In this sense, the funeral procession was a reflection of the position of the Nassau-Dietz family: in theory and on paper, the stadtholderate was strictly distinguished from its private status as a comital dynasty. Nevertheless, in practice the stadtholderate had become part of its dynastic identity as well. For the safeguarding of the stadtholderate for future generations, the Nassau-Dietz family was dependent on the support of Frisian and Groningen regent families, visualized by their omnipresence on the funeral day.

Appropriating the Deceased in Text

Another important element of seventeenth-century funerary culture was the correspondence that followed the death announcement. These letters of condolence did not only comfort the bereaved, but they also formed an important medium for constructing the memory of the deceased. Unfortunately, the archive only consists of one condolence letter pertaining to Ernest Casimir’s death. There would have been many more in the past: the number of letters sent after Henry Casimir’s death — fifty-five to Sophie Hedwig, fifty-nine to Henry Casimir’s brother William Frederick — gives an indication of the numbers that should be seen as more typical.⁵⁰

The letter of condolence regarding Ernest Casimir that has survived was written by one of his family members from Nassau-Dillenburg, possibly Louis Henry, count of Nassau-Dillenburg, or his wife Catherine of Sayn-Wittgenstein.⁵¹ The letter is a direct response to the death announcement written by Sophie Hedwig and describes Ernest Casimir as ‘ein vortrefflicher kriegsheldt’ (‘an excellent war hero’).⁵² Moreover, Ernest Casimir had been a ‘beschirmer des Vatterlandts’ (‘protector of the fatherland’, leaving which fatherland unspecified) and he had been very loyal to the Protestant Church. These themes had already been highlighted in the death announcement itself and would re-occur in letters of condolence written after Henry Casimir’s death.⁵³ The bravery displayed by Ernest Casimir and Henry Casimir was described as characteristic for Nassau men. Juliana of Nassau-Dillenburg for example said that Henry Casimir ‘followed in the praiseworthy footsteps of his forefathers as a brave hero’.⁵⁴ The Nassaus thus appropriated Henry Casimir and his father as ‘their’ brave warriors and made them part of a larger series of Nassau heroes.

Sophie Hedwig and her sons probably also tried to keep the memory of Ernest Casimir and his bravery alive by preserving the clothes he had died in. His clothes, including his trousers and cape, are today stored in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. The item that visualized Ernest Casimir’s bravery most vividly was his hat, on which the bullet hole was clearly visible, and blood and cerebral fluid could be seen on the brim of the hat.⁵⁵

As mentioned earlier, the family itself was not the only stakeholder in Ernest Casimir’s commemoration; the Frisians also gave shape to Ernest Casimir’s memory. An important contribution to the posthumous appropriation of Ernest Casimir was made by several Frisian poets, such as Petrus Geestdorp (ca 1608–1646, who wrote two poems about Ernest Casimir) and Petrus Baardt (ca 1590–1644).⁵⁶ All of these poems were published by Claude Fonteyne, the regular printer of the Frisian Provincial States, and Baardt was paid for his poem about Ernest Casimir by the Frisian States. This means that the Provincial States at least facilitated the commemorative poems, and probably also recognized the importance of being involved in the construction of Ernest Casimir’s memory.

Just like the bereaved family and the author of the condolence letter, the Frisian poets highlighted Ernest Casimir’s bravery. Not only the military deeds that resulted in the death of the stadtholders were described in the poems, but also their past achievements. The invasion of the Veluwe (1629) and the siege of ‘s-Hertogenbosch (1629) were two of his greatest achievements, according to the poets. Ernest Casimir’s indirect cause of death, his valour, played a significant role not only in the poems about Ernest Casimir himself, but also in poems written about his sons and wife.⁵⁷

Even though the fact that Ernest Casimir had been a count is frequently mentioned in their poems — Geestdorp starts the first thirteen lines of one of his elegies with the words ‘Count Ernest’ — surprisingly few references are made to the German territories that had provided him with the comital title.⁵⁸ The poets instead depict Ernest Casimir as a particularly Frisian hero. The ending of Baardt’s poem is exemplary for this view. Whereas the prince of Orange (it is unclear which) was a defender of the Netherlands in general, Baardt writes that Ernest Casimir’s family was responsible for the safety of the province of Friesland in particular.⁵⁹

Both Baardt and Geestdorp explicitly include themselves in the group of Frisians that was protected by the Nassau-Dietz family. Geestdorp states that Ernest Casimir was ‘our chief commander’ and protected ‘our coastline’, and he sets up a Frisian virgin who cries: ‘My hero! my Hero! my breastwork and my protection against all misfortune!’.⁶⁰ Baardt describes Ernest Casimir as ‘the Ajax of us Frisians’ and ‘the Hector of our Country’, and claims that ‘our fatherland’ thrived under Ernest Casimir’s reign.⁶¹ Baardt had already emphasized his personal connection to Ernest Casimir in the prologue, printed together with the poem, stating that he could not neglect honouring Ernest Casimir, ‘father of our fatherland’, with an elegy.⁶² The stadtholders were not only the fierce military commanders of the Frisian troops; they were also the wise governors of Friesland. Geestdorp, for example, praises the way in which Ernest Casimir had governed (‘bestiert’) the Frisians.⁶³

Furthermore, a genealogy of the Frisian Nassau-Dietz stadtholders was constructed in the poems. William Louis, Ernest Casimir’s brother, was the first Nassau stadtholder to look after the interests of the Frisians. Baardt refers to him as ‘Prins Wilhelm’, whose death the Frisian fatherland had been lamenting previously.⁶⁴ The transfer of the stadtholderate to his brother Ernest Casimir went smoothly: ‘Ernest, pious hero! You who calmly and diligently followed in the virtuous footsteps of your brother’.⁶⁵ This transfer of power was, also literally in the poem, followed by many heroic deeds of Ernest Casimir as a Frisian benefactor. Baardt’s poem comes full circle since it ends with a call for another smooth transfer of power, this time from Ernest Casimir to Henry Casimir, one of the ‘shoots’ left behind by the late Count: ‘Let it be Henry now, who is Friesland’s Saviour’.⁶⁶ Geestdorp made a similar ‘wreath’ of Nassau-Dietz stadtholders, also portraying Henry Casimir as a ‘shoot’ from the comital tree. Henry Casimir formed, together with his father Ernest Casimir and his uncle William Louis, a circle with the Frisian virgin at its centre.⁶⁷ He reinforces the topic of shared character traits at the end of his poem, expressing his hope that both of Ernest Casimir’s sons had inherited their father’s spirit: ‘Who knows whether God is able to provide Ernest’s offspring with their father’s spirit; and whether he who has taken one Ernest away from us, will give us two in return?’⁶⁸

By stressing the ‘Frisianness’ of the Nassau-Dietz dynasty, the poets on the one hand helped the family to safeguard their position as stadtholder. On the other, their appropriation of the Nassau-Dietz stadtholders simultaneously pointed out the family’s responsibility. This meant that, as protectors of Friesland, they had to defend the well-being and freedom of the Frisians, rather, perhaps, than pursue their own dynastic ambitions or work towards maintaining good relations with the Orange-Nassau stadtholders. The involvement of the Frisian Provincial States in the publication of the poems suggests that the States readily endorsed this message conveyed by the Frisian poets.

Conclusion

The death of Count Ernest Casimir marked the beginning of a pivotal period for the Nassau-Dietz dynasty, which had to legitimise itself as a family that was inextricably bound up with the Dutch Republic in general, and the province of Friesland in particular. Formally, the family was connected to the province because the Frisian States had promised Ernest Casimir to appoint his son Henry Casimir as their new stadtholder. Moreover, Ernest Casimir’s death gave rise to a funerary culture that helped to construct a dynastic identity that consolidated and legitimised the connection between the dynasty and the province. The Nassau court in Leeuwarden transformed into a focal point of this funerary machinery. It was the place where Ernest Casimir’s dead body was kept until the funeral day and where Frisians could bring their stadtholder a final farewell. It was also the ‘office’ for the organisers of the funeral, who had to find the right expressions to commemorate the deceased, and make sure all the right persons and groups were invited and assigned the appropriate position in the procession.

The role of the stadtholders’ wives in the organisation of ceremonies and the commemoration of the deceased is a promising avenue for further research.⁶⁹ Despite her absence in the public funerary ceremonies themselves, Ernest Casimir’s wife Sophie Hedwig nevertheless supervised the funerary business and evolved into a prominent actor in the Nassau-Dietz funerary culture. She was the person informing Ernest Casimir’s relatives of his death, was actively involved in the selection and invitation of the guests, and her high birth provided Ernest Casimir’s funeral with additional splendour. The period following Ernest Casimir’s death marked the beginning of a life that opened up new responsibilities: the life of a widow. Although she was commemorated as a woman who endured the loss of her husband and son with a ‘masculine spirit’, her actions were probably part of her responsibilities as wife and mother of successive stadtholders.⁷⁰

Funerary culture provided the Nassau-Dietz dynasty with diverse opportunities to give shape to and express their dynastic identity. The funeral procession, a topic that has already received ample attention of historians, played a major role in this identity construction, but last wills, correspondence and printed texts contributed as well. All of these elements formed a stage for the Nassau-Dietz family that enabled them to stress the important characteristics of their dynastic identity, such as their high noble status, the family members’ bravery, their Protestant confession and their zeal for the Dutch cause in the Eighty Years’ War. All of these aspects of their dynastic identity helped them to present themselves as perfect stadtholders rather than counts.

The mourning period was also the time for other parties, such as the Frisian Provincial States, to (re)define their relation with the Nassau-Dietz family. The high number of Frisian officials performing in the procession and the emphasis of the Frisian poets on the ‘Frisianness’ of the dynasty point at the complicated relation between the Nassau-Dietz dynasty and the Frisian institutions. The fact that the Nassau-Dietz family was a cadet branch of the larger Nassau dynasty is important in this regard, as the other Nassau cadet branch in the Republic, the Orange-Nassau family, was interested in the Frisian stadtholderate as well. Whereas the Nassau-Dietz branch strived to safeguard its hold on the stadtholderly office for future generations, the Frisian institutions were primarily keen on maintaining their independent status in the Republic, which for them meant to keep the Orange-Nassau family as far away as possible. They therefore preferred a stadtholder from the Nassau-Dietz dynasty over one from the Orange-Nassau branch. Early modern funerary culture not only provided the Nassau-Dietz dynasty with opportunities to stage their dynastic identity, but Frisian institutions and subjects also used these opportunities to ‘celebrate’ the close bond between the province of Friesland and the Nassau-Dietz dynasty in order to reinforce their relative independence.

This case study thus brings forward an intriguing situation: the non-hereditary office of the Frisian stadtholderate is passed on to the next generation of the Nassau-Dietz dynasty because of the merits of the dynasty in the past. Simultaneously, narratives constructed in elements of the funerary culture that accompanied Ernest Casimir’s death contributed to an appropriation of the office by the Nassau-Dietz dynasty on the one hand, and of the Nassau-Dietz dynasty by the Frisian States on the other. This underlines the idea that even though the Nassau family had no hereditary right to claim the stadtholdery office, there was at least an expectation of succession. Making official arrangements and constructing a consolidating narrative, the Nassau-Dietz dynasty succeeded in living up to these expectations in the province of Friesland.

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Lidewij Nissen

Lidewij Nissen

Lidewij Nissen is a PhD candidate at the Radboud Institute for Culture & History (RICH) at Radboud University in Nijmegen (the Netherlands). She works on a project called The ‘First Ladies’ of the Dutch Republic: The Political Agency of the Stadtholders’ Wives in the Seventeenth Century, which deals with the political and dynastic responsibilities of the princely female consorts of four seventeenth-century Nassau stadtholders and is funded by the Netherlands Organisation for Scientific Research (NWO).

Notes

1 This article is based on the thesis I wrote as part of my master’s programme in Historical Studies at Radboud University, Nijmegen, the Netherlands. I thank my supervisor Dr Dries Raeymaekers and the anonymous reviewer for their valuable feedback.

2 Afbeeldinghe Der Ghedenck-weerdighe / Heerlijcke / ende Treur-Statighe Wt-Vaert ofte Begraefnisse Ter Eeren, ende eeuwigher Ghedachtenis, Van den Cloeck-moedighen ende seer Vermaerden Krijghs-Heldt Ernst Casimyr Graeff tot Nassauw, Catzenellenboghen. Print series published by Claude Fonteyne (Leeuwarden, 1634). Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, objectnummer RP-P-OB-81.609A. A short description that also lists the people that participated in the funeral procession can be found on the first page of the print series.

3 Ernest Casimir had married Sophie Hedwig in 1607. As the daughter of Henry Julius, duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg (1564–1613) and the Danish princess Elizabeth of Denmark (1573–1626), Sophie Hedwig outranked her husband. Their marriage therefore provided Ernest Casimir’s dynasty with more prestige and an extensive international network of related princely houses.

4 Heinz Schilling, ‘The Orange Court. The Configuration of the Court in an Old European Republic’, in Ronald G. Asch and Adolf M. Birke (eds), Princes, Patronage, and the Nobility. The Court at the Beginning of the Modern Age c.1450–1650 (Oxford, 1991), pp. 441-454; Olaf Mörke, ‘Sovereignty and Authority. The Role of the Court in the Netherlands in the First Half of the Seventeenth Century’, in Asch and Birke, Princes, Patronage, and the Nobility, pp. 455-477; Olaf Mörke, ‘De hofcultuur van het huis Oranje-Nassau in de zeventiende eeuw’, in Peter te Boekhorst, Peter Burke and Willem Frijhoff (eds), Cultuur en maatschappij in Nederland 1500–1850: een historisch-antropologisch perspectief (Meppel and Heerlen, 1992), pp. 39-77. Ernest Casimir’s and Sophie Hedwig’s Leeuwarden court has also been studied by historians interested in the value of the court for the cultural, social and political life of Leeuwarden and Friesland: Ph. H. Breuker, It wurk fan Gysbert Japix (Leeuwarden, 1989); Ph. H. Breuker, Friese cultuur in de jonge republiek : een historisch interpretatiekader (Leiden, 1991); Ph. H. Breuker, ‘Court Culture in Seventeenth-Century Friesland’, Dutch Crossing. A Journal of Low Countries Studies 18 (1994), pp. 61-83; Yme Kuiper, ‘Profijt, eer en reputatie. Friese adel en politieke cultuur in het tweede kwart van de zeventiende eeuw’, in: J. Frieswijk et al. (eds), Fryslân, staat en macht 1450–1650. Bijdragen aan het historisch congres te Leeuwarden van 3 tot 5 juni 1998 (Hilversum and Leeuwarden, 1999), pp. 173-204; Ph. H. Breuker, ‘Friese hofcultuur’, De Vrije Fries 83 (2003), pp. 75-116.

5 Wolfgang E.J. Weber, ‘Dynastiesicherung und Staatsbildung: die Entfaltung des frühmodernen Fürstenstaates’, in idem (ed.), Der Fürst: Ideen und Wirklichkeiten in der europäischen Geschichte (Cologne, 1998), p. 95.

6 The importance of these mechanisms is also touched upon in Jeroen Duindam’s Dynasties: A Global History of Power, 1300–1800 (Cambridge, 2016). Duindam applies them to families ruling a polity only, whereas in the definition of Weber non-ruling families could use similar mechanisms.

7 Liesbeth Geevers and Mirella Marini, ‘Introduction: Aristocracy, Dynasty and Identity in Early Modern Europe, 1520–1700’, in Eadem (eds), Dynastic Identity in Early Modern Europe: Rulers, Aristocrats and the Formation of Identities (Farnham, 2015), p. 16.

8 Ralph Giesey, The Royal Funeral Ceremony in Renaissance France (Geneva, 1960).

9 See for example: Alain Erlande-Brandenburg, Le roi est mort: étude sur les funerailles, les sépultures et les tombeaux des rois de France jusqu’à la fin du XIIIe siècle (Paris, 1975); Elizabeth Brown, ‘The Ceremonial of Royal Succession in Capetian France: The Double Funeral of Louis X’, Traditio. Studies in ancient and medieval history 34 (1978), pp. 227-270; eadem, ‘The Ceremonial of Royal Succession in Capetian France: The Funeral of Philip V’, Speculum. A journal of medieval studies 55 (1980), pp. 266-293; R.J. Meyer, Königs- und Kaiserbegräbnisse im Spätmittelalter: von Rudolf von Habsburg bis zu Friedrich III (Cologne, 2000); H.P. Zelfel, Ableben und Begräbnis Friedrichs III (Vienna, 1974); P. Aufgebauer, ‘Der tote König: Grablegen und Bestattungen mittelalterlicher Herrscher (10. –12. Jahrhundert)’, Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht 45:11 (1994), pp. 680-693; F. Smahel, ‘Spectaculum et pompa funebris: Das Leichenzeremoniell bei der Bestattung Kaiser Karls IV’, in idem (ed.), Zur politischen Präsentation und Allegorie im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert (Munich, 1994), pp. 1-27; M. Hawlik van der Water, Der schöne Tod: Zeremonialstrukturen des Wiener Hofes bei Tod und Begräbnis zwischen 1640–1740 (Vienna, Freiburg and Basel, 1989); J. Varela, La muerte del rey: el ceremonial funerario de la monarquía española (1500–1885) (Madrid, 1990); J.M.N. Soria, Ceremonias de la realeza: propaganda y legitimación en la Castila Trastámara (Madrid, 1993); F.M. Gil, Muerte y sociedad en la España de los Austrias (Madrid, 1993). For research on princely funerals in the Low Countries, see: Geert H. Janssen, ‘Dynastieke transfer in de Republiek: de politieke en religieuze betekenis van de stadhouderlijke begrafenisstoet’, Bijdragen en mededelingen betreffende de geschiedenis der Nederlanden 122 (2007), pp. 208-232; idem, ‘Political Ambiguity and Confessional Diversity in the Funeral Processions of Stadholders in the Dutch Republic’, The Sixteenth Century Journal 40 (2009), pp. 283-301; Catrien Santing, ‘Spreken vanuit het graf: de stoffelijke resten van Willem van Oranje in hun politiek-culturele betekenis’, Bijdragen en mededelingen betreffende de geschiedenis der Nederlanden 122 (2007), pp. 181-207; Hans Cools, ‘Uitvaarten als intredes: de scenografie van de successie bij aristocratische begrafenissen in de Bourgondisch-Habsburgse landen en in de jonge Republiek’, in Mario Damen and Louis Sicking (eds), Bourgondië voorbij: de Nederlanden 1250–1650; liber amicorum Wim Blockmans (Hilversum, 2010), pp. 193-206.

10 Jennifer Woodward, The Theatre of Death. The Ritual Management of Royal Funerals in Renaissance England 1570-1625 (Woodbridge, 1997).

11 Mirella Marini, ‘Pendanten in leven en dood: vroomheid, identiteit en autoriteit in de testamentaire beschikkingen van Anna van Croy, hertogin van Aarschot en prinses-gravin van Arenberg (1564–1635)’, in Peter Bitter, Viera Bonenkampová and Koen Goudriaan (eds), Graven spreken: perspectieven op grafcultuur in de middeleeuwse en vroegmoderne Nederlanden (Hilversum, 2013), pp. 153-170; Jonathan Spangler, ‘Points of Transferral: Mademoiselle de Guise’s Will and the Transferability of Dynastic Identity’, in Geevers and Marini (eds), Dynastic Idenity in Early Modern Europe, pp. 131-150.

12 Primarily William Louis, Ernest Casimir’s brother, and William Frederick, the son of Ernest Casimir and Sophie Hedwig, have reveived scholarly attention. For William Louis see: J.P.C.M. van Hoof, Willem Lodewijk: noorderling en Nederlander (The Hague, 1990); F. Postma, ‘Der Statthalter, der Politiker wurde: der friesische Statthalter Wilhelm Ludwig (1560–1620) und der Konflikt um den Waffenstillstand’, in Horst Lademacher (ed.), Oranien-Nassau, die Niederlande und das Reich: Beiträge zur Geschichte einer Dynastie (Münster, 1995), pp. 25-46; W. Bergsma, ‘Willem Lodewijk en het Leeuwarder hofleven’, It Beaken 60 (1998), pp. 191-256; Jasper van der Steen, ‘Erinnerung an den Niederländischen Aufstand. Gemeinschaftskultur und dynastische Erinnerungspolitik im Haus Nassau’, in Rouven Pons (ed.), Oranien und Nassau in Europa. Lebenswelten einer frühneuzeitlichen Dynastie (Wiesbaden, 2018), pp. 192-207. For William Frederick see: Luuc Kooijmans, Liefde in opdracht: het hofleven van Willem Frederik van Nassau (Amsterdam, 1995); H. Spanninga, ‘“Ick laet niet met mij gecken”: over beeld en zelfbeeld, macht en invloed van de Friese stadhouder Willem Frederik van Nassau (1613–1664)’, Jaarboek Oranje-Nassau (1997), pp. 55-95; Geert H. Janssen, Princely Power in the Dutch Republic: Patronage and William Frederick of Nassau (1613–64) (Manchester, 2008). William Frederick’s diaries have been published as: J. Visser (ed.), Gloria Parendi: dagboeken van Willem Frederik, stadhouder van Friesland, Groningen en Drenthe, 1643–1649, 1651–1654 (The Hague, 1995). For studies on the family in general see: S. Groenveld, ‘Nassau contra Oranje in de 17^de-eeuwse Republiek’, Jaarboek Oranje-Nassau Museum (1997), pp. 11-53. This article was republished as idem, ‘Gemengde gevoelens: de relaties tussen Nassaus en Oranjes als stadhouders en kapiteins-generaal’, in Simon Groenveld, J.J. Huizinga and Y.B. Kuiper (eds), Nassau uit de schaduw van Oranje (Franeker, 2003), pp. 23-43; Horst Lademacher (ed.), Onder den Oranje boom: das Haus Oranien-Nassau als Vermittler niederländischer Kultur in deutschen Territorien im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Munich, 1999).

13 Koninklijke Verzamelingen, The Hague [hereafter KV], A22, William Louis, 228, Proclamation that William Louis and his brothers will keep their father’s possession within the family, 1607; and 231, Inventory of the possessions of John VI of Nassau and division among his children, 1607–1608.

14 Simon Groenveld, ‘Diez, die Niederlande und Leeuwarden (16. bis frühes 18. Jahrhundert) ’, in Friedhelm Jürgensmeier (ed.), Nassau-Diez und die Niederlande. Dynastie und Oranierstadt Diez in der Neuzeit (Wiesbaden, 2012), pp. 17-48.

15 How this Ottonian lineage managed their family business and developed a ‘corporate culture’ is the subject of Jasper van der Steen’s research project ‘The Nassaus and the Family Business of Power in Early Modern Europe’, carried out at Leiden University, in the Netherlands.

16 Few English biographies have been written about William the Silent. An exception is C.V. Wedgwood, William the Silent: William of Nassau, prince of Orange, 1533-1584 (London, 1944). Herbert Rowen examines William the Silent’s life in the first chapter of: Herbert H. Rowen, The Princes of Orange: The Stadholders in the Dutch Republic (Cambridge, 1988). K.W. Swart’s Willem van Oranje en de Nederlandse Opstand, 1572–1584 (The Hague, 1994) has been translated into English as K.W. Swart, William of Orange and the Revolt of the Netherlands, 1572-84 (Aldershot, 2003). Dutch biographies devoted to him are numerous: M.G. Schenk, Willem de Zwijger (Baarn, 1984); Arie van Deursen, Willem van Oranje: Een biografisch portret (Amsterdam 1995); Hubrecht Klink, Opstand, politiek en religie bij Willem van Oranje: een thematische biografie (Heerenveen, 1998); J.G. Kikkert, Willem van Oranje (Soesterberg, 2006); Olaf Mörke, Wilhelm von Oranien (1533–1584): Fürst und ‘Vater’ der Republik (Stuttgart, 2007); Ronald De Graaf, De Prins. Willem van Oranje, 1533–1584. (Elburg, 2018); Jeroen Punt and Louis Ph. Sloos, Willem van Oranje. De jonge prins Van Oranje als edelman en militair (Zutphen, 2018).

17 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 (Münster, 1997), pp. 37-8.

18 In 1587, William Louis married one of William’s daughters, Countess Anna of Nassau (1563–1588).

19 After the death of William Louis, the provinces of Groningen and Drenthe appointed Maurice as their stadtholder, instead of Ernest Casimir (see section ‘Preparations for an Untimely Death’).

20 KV, A23 Ernst Casimir, 140, Original testament dated 23-06-1627; with four copies.

21 KV, A23-140, pp. 2-3.

22 KV, A23-140, p. 2.

23 Gelders Archief, Arnhem [hereafter GA], 2000 Oud archief Arnhem, 3754, General regulations drawn up by William Frederick, 1650.

24 It seems likely that Ernest Casimir deliberately chose these words, which did not explicitly refer to the Reformed confession, because his wife was a Lutheran. KV, A23-140, p. 2.

25 Lutzen H. Wagenaar, Het leven van graaf Willem Lodewijk. Een Vader des Vaderlands, ‘Uz Heit’ (Amsterdam and Pretoria, no year [1906]), pp. 394-6.

26 Jonathan Israel, The Dutch Republic. Its Rise, Greatness, and Fall, 1477–1806 (Oxford, 1995), pp. 467-8.

27 When Maurice died in 1625, Ernest Casimir was appointed stadtholder of Groningen and Drenthe after all.

28 Hotso Spanninga, Gulden Vrijheid? Politieke cultuur en staatsvorming in Friesland, 1600–1640 (Hilversum, 2012), pp. 186–8.

29 J.J. Poelhekke, Frederik Hendrik. Prins van Oranje. Een biografisch drieluik (Zutphen, 1978), pp. 349-50.

30 KV, A24 Henry Casimir, 64, Copy of the declaration of ‘survivance’, 1632; G.F. thoe Schwartzenberg en Hohenlansberg and J.F.M. Herbell (eds), Groot placaat- en charterboek van Vriesland (6 vols, Leeuwarden, 1768–1795), vol. V, p. 341; L. van Aitzema, Saken van Staet en Oorlogh in, ende omtrent de Vereenigde Nederlanden (6 vols, The Hague, 1669-1671), vol. I, p. 1225.

31 KV, A24, 65, Letter of Jurgen Ripperda to Ernest Casimir, 01-04-1632.

32 KV, A24, 65, Letter of Roelof van Echten to Ernest Casimir, 08-04-1632.

33 Spanninga, Gulden Vrijheid?, p. 186.

34 Schwartzenberg and Herbell, Groot placaat- en charterboek, vol. V, pp. 354-5.

35 The death of Henry Casimir in 1640 immediately ended the agreement between the two provinces, since Friesland appointed Henry Casimir’s brother William Frederick as his successor, but Groningen did not.

36 J. Heringa, ‘Zelfstandig gewest in de Republiek, 1603–1748’, in J. Heringa et al. (eds), Geschiedenis van Drenthe (Meppel and Amsterdam, 1985), pp. 388-91.

37 Hessisches Hauptstaatsarchiv, Wiesbaden, 3036 Gesamtinventar Altes Dillenburger Archiv, Bestand 170 III, 529, Correspondence 1632, Newsletter.

38 This becomes apparent from the inventory of the palace that was made in 1633, just before Sophie Hedwig left for Dietz: ‘Inventaris van de inboedel van het Hof te Leeuwarden, 1633’, in S.W.A. Drossaers and Th. H. Lunsingh Scheurleer (eds), Inventarissen van de inboedels in de verblijven van de Oranjes en daarme gelijk te stellen stukken, 1567–1795 II (The Hague, 1974), pp. 29-67.

39 Normally, Sophie Hedwig’s rooms were covered in splendid tapestry that matched the furniture. Her bedroom, for example, was styled in the colour gold, whereas the antechamber was gold and red.

40 This was not unique: after the death of Ernest Casimir’s cousin Maurice in 1625, the Dutch States General agreed that it was common practice to open up the body of persons of such stature in order to prepare it for a viewing; J. Roelevink (ed.), Resolutiën der Staten-Generaal: Nieuwe Reeks 1610–1670, vol. VII: July 1624-December 1625 (The Hague, 1994), p. 347: resolution 1985 (25 April 1625). These resolutions can be consulted online: http://resources.huygens.knaw.nl/retroboeken/statengeneraal/.

41 KV, A23 Ernest Casimir, 142, Documents concerning the funeral of Ernest Casimir, 1632–1633; Draft death announcement addressed to Amalia of Sayn-Wittgenstein, Countess of Nassau, and Louis Henry, Count of Nassau-Dillenburg.

42 Unfortunately, very few sources have survived describing the church service and the private meal.

43 Afbeeldinghe Der Ghedenck-weerdighe / Heerlijcke / ende Treur-Statighe Wt-Vaert ofte Begraefnisse, front page.

44 Ibid.

45 During Ernest Casimir’s funeral, this section was preceded by trumpeters.

46 Similar guidons were displayed in the funeral of Ernest Casimir’s son William Frederick in 1664. In both cases, one of the banners depicted a garland with oranges (‘oranjetakken’), emphasising their connection to William of Orange.

47 As daughter of Princess Elizabeth of Denmark, Sophie Hedwig was the niece of King Christian IV of Denmark (1577–1648).

48 Afbeeldinghe Der Ghedenck-weerdighe / Heerlijcke / ende Treur-Statighe Wt-Vaert ofte Begraefnisse.

49 Janssen, ‘Dynastieke transfer in de Republiek’, pp. 208-32; idem, ‘Political Ambiguity and Confessional Diversity’, pp. 283-301.

50 KV, A24 Henry Casimir, 5, Documents about the funeral of Henry Casimir, 1640–1641; KV, A23a Sophie Hedwig, 33, Letters from officials in Dietz sent after Henry Casimir’s death, 1640; KV, A23a Sophie Hedwig, 34, Letters of condolence after Henry Casimir’s death; KV, A25 William Frederick, 159, Correspondence after Henry Casimir’s death.

51 The copy in the archive is probably a draft, since it is not signed and includes several erasures.

52 KV, A23 Ernest Casimir, 142, Letter from an unknown sender (an inhabitant of Dillenburg, presumably a count of Nassau) to Sophie Hedwig, 08/18-7-1632.

53 Henry Casimir is, for example, described as ‘a young heroic lord’ and the Provincial States of Groningen emphasised that he had died in service of the fatherland and the Church, KV, A23a Sophie Hedwig, 34, Letter from an unknown sender (J.A.) to Sophie Hedwig, 06/16-07-1640.

54 KV, A23a-34, Letter from Juliana von Nassau-Dillenburg to Sophie Hedwig, 19-07-1640.

55 The habit of preserving clothes that had been worn during an important event had developed in Sweden only a few years earlier: in 1628 Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden wanted to preserve the costume he had worn on his campaign in Poland and established the Royal Armoury for this purpose. Bianca M. du Mortier, Mode & Kostuum (Amsterdam, 2016), pp. 21-29. The authenticity of Ernest Casimir’s hat is a subject of study of the Rijksmuseum.

56 More famous Dutch poets such as Joost van den Vondel and Jacob Revius also wrote a poem about the death of Ernest Casimir, but their poems were rather aimed at celebrating the victories Frederick Henry of Orange-Nassau had accomplished together with Ernest Casimir than at commemorating Ernest Casimir himself.

57 See for example a poem by Pieter Godewyck about Henry Casimir: ‘O! noble Heart who has defied the enemy, in his bulwark. The sad fate that a shot from the high walls of Roermond has killed Ernest has never made you lose courage’. Pieter Godewyck, Lyck-klaght, Over de doot van den Doorluchtigen Edelen ende hoogh-geboren Hendrick Kasimier (Dordrecht, 1640).

58 For example, Geestdorp also refers to ‘Friesland’s tomb of the counts’; Petrus Geestdorp, Friessche Mey-krans, gestoffeert met dor hoy, vol aff-ghemaeyde Bloemen, in-geleyt met ’s Doodts verderffelijcke vruchten, beklagende den droevigen dood van Ernest Casimyr, Graeff tot Nassau (Leeuwarden, 1632).

59 Petrus Baardt, Loff- en lijck-gedicht, over het onduldich aff-lijven van Ernest Casimyr (Leeuwarden, 1633). Baardt refers to an Orange prince that had lost his father when he was young, just like Henry Casimir. This could be Maurice, who became stadtholder of Holland and Zeeland when he was only eighteen years old, but it could also be Maurice’s younger brother Frederick Henry.

60 Geestdorp, Friessche Mey-krans.

61 Baardt, Loff- en lijck-gedicht. This identification of the poets with the stadtholders’ Frisian subjects frequently re-occurred in elegies about Ernest Casimir’s sons.

62 Baardt, Loff- en lijck-gedicht.

63 Geestdorp, Friessche Mey-krans.

64 The use of the word ‘prins’ here is curious because the Frisian Nassaus were rarely referred to as ‘princes’ in Dutch.

65 Baardt, Loff- en lijck-gedicht.

66 Baardt, Loff- en lijck-gedicht.

67 ‘Join up your hands and make this string of diverse links. You, Frisian Virgin! are in the middle of this circle’, Geestdorp, Friessche Mey-krans.

68 Geestdorp, Friessche Mey-krans.

69 The competences and responsibilities of the spouses of four seventeenth-century stadtholders is the topic of my PhD research project ‘The ‘First Ladies’ of the Dutch Republic: The Political Agency of the Stadtholders’ Wives in the Seventeenth Century’ (Radboud Institute for Culture and History (RICH) at Radboud University, Nijmegen, the Netherlands).

70 KV, A25 William Frederick, 161, Correspondence after Sophie Hedwig’s death, Letter from P. van Watta to William Frederick, without date.