ed the crime of treason. The
definitions, couched in eighteen articles, declared it to be treason to
have delivered or signed any petition against the new bishops, the
Inquisition, or the Edicts; to have tolerated public preaching under any
circumstances; to have omitted resistance to the image-breaking, to the
field-preaching, or to the presentation of the Request by the nobles, and
"either through sympathy or surprise" to have asserted that the King did
not possess the right to deprive all the provinces of their liberties, or
to have maintained that this present tribunal was bound to respect in any
manner any laws or any charters. In these brief and simple, but
comprehensive terms, was the crime of high treason defined. The
punishment was still more briefly, simply, and comprehensively stated,
for it was instant death in all cases. So well too did this new and
terrible engine perform its work, that in less than three months from the
time of its erection, eighteen hundred human beings had suffered death by
its summary proceedings; some of the highest, the noblest, and the most
virtuous in the land among the number; nor had it then manifested the
slightest indication of faltering in its dread career.

Yet, strange to say, this tremendous court, thus established upon the
ruins of all the ancient institutions of the country, had not been
provided with even a nominal authority from any source whatever. The King
had granted it no letters patent or charter, nor had even the Duke of
Alva thought it worth while to grant any commissions either in his own
name or as Captain-General, to any of the members composing the board.
The Blood-Council was merely an informal club, of which the Duke was
perpetual president, while the other members were all appointed by
himself.

Of these subordinate councillors, two had the right of voting, subject,
however, in all cases to his final decision, while the rest of the number
did not vote at all. It had not, therefore, in any sense, the character
of a judicial, legislative, or executive tribunal, but was purely a board
of advice by which the bloody labors of the duke were occasionally
lightened as to detail, while not a feather's weight of power or of
responsibility was removed from his shoulders. He reserved for himself
the final decision upon all causes which should come before the council,
and stated his motives for so doing with grim simplicity. "Two reasons,"
he wrote to the King, "have