rity was left to the King, except the nominal right to approve these
revolutionary proceedings, according to the statement in the preamble.
Such a reservation in favor of his Majesty seemed a superfluous sarcasm.
It was furthermore resolved that the Prince of Orange should be appointed
Lieutenant-General for Matthias, and be continued in his office of
Ruward. This constitution, drawn up under the superintendence of the
Prince, had been already accepted by Matthias, while still at Antwerp,
and upon the 18th of January, 1578, the ceremony of his inauguration took
place.

It was the third triumphal procession which Brussels had witnessed within
nine months. It was also the most brilliant of all; for the burghers, as
if to make amends to the Archduke for the actual nullity to which he had
been reduced, seemed resolved to raise him to the seventh heaven of
allegory. By the rhetorical guilds he was regarded as the most brilliant
constellation of virtues which had yet shone above the Flemish horizon. A
brilliant cavalcade, headed by Orange, accompanied by Count John of
Nassau, the Prince de Chimay and other notables, met him at Vilvoorde,
and escorted him to the city gate. On an open field, outside the town,
Count Bossu had arranged a review of troops, concluding with a
sham-fight, which, in the words of a classical contemporary, seemed as
"bloody a rencontre as that between Duke Miltiades of Athens and King
Darius upon the plains of Attics." The procession entered the Louvain
gate, through a splendid triumphal arch, filled with a band of invisible
musicians. "I believe that Orpheus had never played so melodiously on his
harp," says the same authority, "nor Apollo on his lyre, nor Pan on his
lute, as the city waits then performed." On entering the gates, Matthias
was at once delivered over to the hands of mythology, the burghers and
rhetoricians taking possession of their illustrious captive, and being
determined to outdo themselves in demonstrations of welcome. The
representatives of the "nine nations" of Brussels met him in the
Ritter-street, followed by a gorgeous retinue. Although it was mid-day,
all bore flaming torches. Although it was January, the streets were
strewed with flowers. The houses were festooned with garlands, and hung
with brilliant silks and velvets. The streets were thronged with
spectators, and encumbered with triumphal arches. On the Grande Place
always the central scene in Brussels, whether for comedies