er, she was, in reality, much detested in the provinces, and she
repaid their aversion with abhorrence. "I could not live among these
people," she wrote to the Emperor, but a few weeks before the abdication,
"even as a private person, for it would be impossible for me to do my
duty towards God and my prince. As to governing them, I take God to
witness that the task is so abhorrent to me, that I would rather earn my
daily bread by labor than attempt it." She added, that a woman of fifty
years of age, who had served during twenty-five of them, had a right to
repose, and that she was moreover "too old to recommence and learn her A,
B, C." The Emperor, who had always respected her for the fidelity with
which she had carried out his designs, knew that it was hopeless to
oppose her retreat. As for Philip, he hated his aunt, and she hated
him--although, both at the epoch of the abdication and subsequently, he
was desirous that she should administer the government.

The new Regent was to be the Duke of Savoy. This wandering and
adventurous potentate had attached himself to Philip's fortunes, and had
been received by the King with as much favor as he had ever enjoyed at
the hands of the Emperor. Emanuel Philibert of Savoy, then about
twenty-six or seven years of age, was the son of the late unfortunate
duke, by Donna Beatrice of Portugal, sister of the Empress. He was the
nephew of Charles, and first cousin to Philip. The partiality of the
Emperor for his mother was well known, but the fidelity with which the
family had followed the imperial cause had been productive of nothing but
disaster to the duke. He had been ruined in fortune, stripped of all his
dignities and possessions. His son's only inheritance was his sword. The
young Prince of Piedmont, as he was commonly called in his youth; sought
the camp of the Emperor, and was received with distinguished favor. He
rose rapidly in the military service. Acting always upon his favorite
motto, "Spoliatis arma supersunt," he had determined, if possible, to
carve his way to glory, to wealth, and even to his hereditary estates, by
his sword alone. War was not only his passion, but his trade. Every one
of his campaigns was a speculation, and he had long derived a
satisfactory income by purchasing distinguished prisoners of war at a low
price from the soldiers who had captured them, and were ignorant of their
rank, and by ransoming them afterwards at an immense advance. This sort
of tra