f the
troops. "It cuts me to the heart," wrote the Bishop to Philip, "to see
the Spanish infantry leave us; but go they must. Would to God that we
could devise any pretext, as your Majesty desires, under which to keep
them here! We have tried all means humanly possible for retaining them,
but I see no way to do it without putting the provinces in manifest
danger of sudden revolt."

Fortunately for the dignity of the government, or for the repose of the
country, a respectable motive was found for employing the legion
elsewhere. The important loss which Spain had recently met with in the
capture of Zerby made a reinforcement necessary in the army engaged in
the Southern service. Thus, the disaster in Barbary at last relieved the
Netherlands of the pest which had afflicted them so long. For a brief
breathing space the country was cleared of foreign mercenaries.

The growing unpopularity of the royal government, still typified,
however, in the increasing hatred entertained for the Bishop, was not
materially diminished by the departure of the Spaniards. The edicts and
the bishoprics were still there, even if the soldiers were gone. The
churchman worked faithfully to accomplish his master's business. Philip,
on his side, was industrious to bring about the consummation of his
measures. Ever occupied with details, the monarch, from his palace in
Spain, sent frequent informations against the humblest individuals in the
Netherlands. It is curious to observe the minute reticulations of tyranny
which he had begun already to spin about a whole, people, while cold,
venomous, and patient he watched his victims from the centre of his web.
He forwarded particular details to the Duchess and Cardinal concerning a
variety of men and women, sending their names, ages, personal appearance,
occupations, and residence, together with directions for their immediate
immolation. Even the inquisitors of Seville were set to work to increase,
by means of their branches or agencies in the provinces, the royal
information on this all-important subject. "There are but few of us left
in the world," he moralized in a letter to the Bishop, "who care for
religion. 'Tis necessary, therefore, for us to take the greater heed for
Christianity. We must lose our all, if need be, in order to do our duty;
in fine," added he, with his usual tautology, "it is right that a man
should do his duty."

Granvelle--as he must now be called, for his elevation to the
cardin