Alexander of
Parma thoroughly aware of the contrary. There was Andrew de Loo, more
talkative, more credulous, more busy than ever, and more fully impressed
with the importance of his mission, and there was the white-bearded
Lord-Treasurer turning complicated paragraphs; shaking his head and
waving his wand across the water, as if, by such expedients, the storm
about to burst over England could, be dispersed.

The commissioners should come, if only the Duke of Parma would declare on
his word of honour, that these hostile preparations with which all
Christendom was ringing; were not intended against England; or if that
really were the case--if he would request his master to abandon all such
schemes, and if Philip in consequence would promise on the honour of a
prince, to make no hostile attempts against that country.

There would really seem an almost Arcadian simplicity in such demands,
coming from so practised a statesman as the Lord-Treasurer, and from a
woman of such brilliant intellect as Elizabeth unquestionably possessed.
But we read the history of 1587, not only by the light of subsequent
events, but by the almost microscopic revelations of sentiments and
motives, which a full perusal of the secret documents in those ancient
cabinets afford. At that moment it was not ignorance nor dulness which
was leading England towards the pitfall so artfully dug by Spain. There
was trust in the plighted word of a chivalrous soldier like Alexander
Farnese, of a most religious and anointed monarch like Philip II. English
frankness, playing cards upon the table, was no match for Italian and
Spanish legerdemain, a system according to which, to defraud the
antagonist by every kind of falsehood and trickery was the legitimate end
of diplomacy and statesmanship. It was well known that there were great
preparations in Spain, Portugal, and the obedient Netherlands, by land
and sea. But Sir Robert Sidney was persuaded that the expedition was
intended for Africa; even the Pope was completely mystified--to the
intense delight of Philip--and Burghley, enlightened by the sagacious De
Loo, was convinced, that even in case of a rupture, the whole strength of
the Spanish arms was to be exerted in reducing Friesland and Overyssel.
But Walsingham was never deceived; for he had learned from Demosthenes a
lesson with which William the Silent, in his famous Apology, had made the
world familiar, that the only citadel against a tyrant and a conqueror