ans, and, generally, as
accursed--was by nature singularly prone to religious innovation. Had it
not been for the Holy Inquisition, it was the opinion of acute and
thoughtful observers in the beginning of the seventeenth century, that
the infamous heresies of Luther, Calvin, and the rest, would have long
before taken possession of the land. To that most blessed establishment
it was owing that Spain had not polluted itself in the filth and ordure
of the Reformation, and had been spared the horrible fate which had
befallen large portions of Germany, France, Britain, and other barbarous
northern nations. It was conscientiously and thankfully believed in
Spain, two centuries ago, that the state had been saved from political
and moral ruin by that admirable machine which detected heretics with
unerring accuracy, burned them when detected, and consigned their
descendants to political incapacity and social infamy to the remotest
generation.

As the awful consequences of religious freedom, men pointed with a
shudder to the condition of nations already speeding on the road to ruin,
from which the two peninsulas at least had been saved. Yet the British
empire, with the American republic still an embryo in its bosom, France,
North Germany, and other great powers, had hardly then begun their
headlong career. Whether the road of religious liberty was leading
exactly to political ruin, the coming centuries were to judge.

Enough has been said in former chapters for the characterization of
Philip II. and his polity. But there had now been nearly ten years of
another reign. The system, inaugurated by Charles and perfected by his
son, had reached its last expression under Philip III.

The evil done by father and son lived and bore plentiful fruit in the
epoch of the grandson. And this is inevitable in history. No generation
is long-lived enough to reap the harvest, whether of good or evil, which
it sows.

Philip II. had been indefatigable in evil, a thorough believer in his
supernatural mission as despot, not entirely without capacity for
affairs, personally absorbed by the routine of his bureau.

He was a king, as he understood the meaning of the kingly office. His
policy was continued after his death; but there was no longer a king.
That important regulator to the governmental machinery was wanting. How
its place was supplied will soon appear.

Meantime the organic functions were performed very much in the old way.
There was, a