inistration to Philip in terms of
exalted eulogy. He was a "sage seignior," a prudent governor, one on whom
his Majesty could entirely repose. He was a man of long experience,
trained all his life to affairs, and perfectly capable of giving a good
account of everything to which he turned his hands. He admitted, however,
to other correspondents, that the administration of the sage seignior, on
whom his Majesty could so implicitly rely, had at last "brought that
provinces into a deplorable condition."

Four different forms of pardon had been sent from Madrid, toward the
close of 1569. From these four the Duke was to select one, and carefully
to destroy the other three. It was not, however, till July of the
following year that the choice was made, and the Viceroy in readiness to
announce the pardon. On the 14th of that month a great festival was held
at Antwerp, for the purpose of solemnly proclaiming the long expected
amnesty. In the morning, the Duke, accompanied by a brilliant staff, and
by a long procession of clergy in their gorgeous robes, paraded through
the streets of the commercial capital, to offer up prayers and hear mass
in the cathedral. The Bishop of Arras then began a sermon upon the
blessings of mercy, with a running commentary upon the royal clemency
about to be exhibited. In the very outset, however, of his discourse, he
was seized with convulsions, which required his removal from the pulpit;
an incident which was not considered of felicitous augury. In the
afternoon, the Duke with his suite appeared upon the square in front of
the Town House. Here a large scaffolding or theatre had been erected. The
platform and the steps which led to it were covered with scarlet cloth. A
throne, covered with cloth of gold, was arranged in the most elevated
position for the Duke. On the steps immediately below him were placed two
of the most beautiful women in Antwerp, clad in allegorical garments to
represent righteousness and peace. The staircase and platform were lined
with officers, the square was beset with troops, and filled to its utmost
verge with an expectant crowd of citizens. Toward the close of a summer's
afternoon, the Duke wearing the famous hat and sword of the Pope, took
his seat on the throne with all the airs of royalty. After a few
preliminary ceremonies, a civil functionary, standing between two
heralds; then recited the long-expected act of grace. His reading,
however, was so indistinct, that few save