trigue served
his country, not a narrow personal ambition, and it was only by such arts
that he became Philip's master, instead of falling at once, like so many
great personages, a blind and infatuated victim. No doubt his purveyors
of secret information were often destined fearfully to atone for their
contraband commerce, but they who trade in treason must expect to pay the
penalty of their traffic.

Although, therefore, the great nobles held themselves aloof from the
confederacy, yet many of them gave unequivocal signs of their dissent
from the policy adopted by government. Marquis Berghen wrote to the
Duchess; resigning his posts, on the ground of his inability to execute
the intention of the King in the matter of religion. Meghen replied to
the same summons by a similar letter. Egmont assured her that he would
have placed his offices in the King's hands in Spain, could he have
foreseen that his Majesty would form such resolutions as had now been
proclaimed. The sentiments of Orange were avowed in the letter to which
we have already alluded. His opinions were shared by Montigny, Culemburg,
and many others. The Duchess was almost reduced to desperation. The
condition of the country was frightful. The most determined loyalists,
such as Berlaymont, Viglius and Hopper, advised her not to mention the
name of inquisition in a conference which she was obliged to hold with a
deputation from Antwerp. She feared, all feared, to pronounce the hated
word. She wrote despairing letters to Philip, describing the condition of
the land and her own agony in the gloomiest colors. Since the arrival of
the royal orders, she said, things had gone from bad to worse. The King
had been ill advised. It was useless to tell the people that the
inquisition had always existed in the provinces. They maintained that it
was a novelty; that the institution was a more rigorous one than the
Spanish Inquisition, which, said Margaret, "was most odious, as the King
knew." It was utterly impossible to carry the edicts into execution.
Nearly all the governors of provinces had told her plainly that they
would not help to burn fifty or sixty thousand Netherlanders. Thus
bitterly did Margaret of Parma bewail the royal decree; not that she had
any sympathy for the victims, but because she felt the increasing danger
to the executioner. One of two things it was now necessary to decide
upon, concession or armed compulsion. Meantime, while Philip was slowly
and sec