The effect would be heightened by the character of the, locality where the gloomy show was to be presented.  The great square of Brussels had always a striking and theatrical aspect.  Its architectural effects, suggesting in some degree the meretricious union between Oriental and a corrupt Grecian art, accomplished in the medieval midnight, have amazed the eyes of many generations.  The splendid Hotel de Ville, with its daring spire and elaborate front, ornamented one side of the place; directly opposite was the graceful but incoherent facade of the Brood-huis, now the last earthly resting-place of the two distinguished victims, while grouped around these principal buildings rose the fantastic palaces of the Archers, Mariners, and of other guilds, with their festooned walls and toppling gables bedizened profusely with emblems, statues, and quaint decorations.  The place had been alike the scene of many a brilliant tournament and of many a bloody execution.  Gallant knights had contended within its precincts, while bright eyes rained influence from all those picturesque balconies and decorated windows.  Martyrs to religious and to political liberty had, upon the same spot, endured agonies which might have roused every stone of its pavement to mutiny or softened them to pity.  Here Egmont himself, in happier days, had often borne away the prize of skill or of valor, the cynosure of every eye; and hence, almost in the noon of a life illustrated by many brilliant actions, he was to be sent, by the hand of tyranny, to his great account.

On the morning of the 5th of June, three thousand Spanish troops were drawn up in battle array around a scaffold which had been erected in the centre of the square.  Upon this scaffold, which was covered with black cloth, were placed two velvet cushions, two iron spikes, and a small table.  Upon the table was a silver crucifix.  The provost-marshal, Spelle, sat on horseback below, with his red wand in his hand, little dreaming that for him a darker doom was reserved than that of which he was now the minister.  The executioner was concealed beneath the draperies of the scaffold.

At eleven o’clock, a company of Spanish soldiers, led by Julian Romero and Captain Salinas, arrived at Egmont’s chamber.  The Count was ready for them.  They were about to bind his hands, but he warmly protested against the indignity, and, opening the folds of his robe, showed them that he had himself shorn off his collars, and made preparations for his death.  His request was granted.  Egmont, with the Bishop at his side, then walked with a steady step the short distance which separated him from the place of execution.  Julian Romero and the guard followed him.  On his way, he read aloud the fifty-first Psalm:  “Hear my cry, O God, and give ear unto my prayer!” He seemed to have selected these scriptural passages as a proof that, notwithstanding the machinations of his enemies, and the cruel punishment to which they had led him, loyalty to his sovereign was as deeply rooted and as religious a sentiment in his bosom as devotion to his God.  “Thou wilt prolong the King’s life; and his years as many generations.  He shall abide before God for ever!  O prepare mercy and truth which may preserve him.”  Such was the remarkable prayer of the condemned traitor on his way to the block.