. They
were personally excited against him, because he had procured the
suppression of their religious dramas. "These rhetoricians who make
farces and street plays," wrote the Cardinal to Philip, "are particularly
angry with me, because two years ago I prevented them from ridiculing the
holy Scriptures." Nevertheless, these institutions continued to pursue
their opposition to the course of the government. Their uncouth gambols,
their awkward but stunning blows rendered daily service to the cause of
religious freedom. Upon the newly-appointed bishops they poured out an
endless succession of rhymes and rebuses, epigrams, caricatures and
extravaganzas. Poems were pasted upon the walls of every house, and
passed from hand to hand. Farces were enacted in every street; the odious
ecclesiastics figuring as the principal buffoons. These representations
gave so much offence, that renewed edicts were issued to suppress them.
The prohibition was resisted, and even ridiculed in many provinces,
particularly in Holland. The tyranny which was able to drown a nation in
blood and tears, was powerless to prevent them from laughing most
bitterly at their oppressors. The tanner, Cleon, was never belabored more
soundly by the wits of Athens, than the prelate by these Flemish
"rhetoricians." With infinitely less Attic salt, but with as much
heartiness as Aristophanes could have done, the popular rhymers gave the
minister ample opportunity to understand the position which he occupied
in the Netherlands. One day a petitioner placed a paper in his hand and
vanished. It contained some scurrilous verses upon himself, together with
a caricature of his person. In this he was represented as a hen seated
upon a pile of eggs, out of which he was hatching a brood of bishops.
Some of these were clipping the shell, some thrusting forth an arm, some
a leg, while others were running about with mitres on their heads, all
bearing whimsical resemblance to various prelates who had been
newly-appointed. Above the Cardinal's head the Devil was represented
hovering, with these words issuing from his mouth: "This is my beloved
Son, listen to him, my people."
There was another lampoon of a similar nature, which was so well
executed, that it especially excited Granvelle's anger. It was a rhymed
satire of a general nature, like the rest, but so delicate and so
stinging, that the Cardinal ascribed it to his old friend and present
enemy, Simon Renard. This man, a Burg
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