theology." The excellent Viglius forgot, however, that theology had been
meddling altogether too much with the people to make it possible that the
public attention should be entirely averted from the subject. Men and
women who might be daily summoned to rack, stake, and scaffold, in the
course of these ecclesiastical arrangements, and whose births, deaths,
marriages, and position in the next world, were now to be formally
decided upon, could hardly be taxed with extreme indiscretion, if they
did meddle with the subject.

In the dilemma to which the Duchess was reduced, she again bethought
herself of a special mission to Spain. At the end of the year (1564), it
was determined that Egmont should be the envoy. Montigny excused himself
on account of private affairs; Marquis Berghen "because of his
indisposition and corpulence." There was a stormy debate in council
after Egmont had accepted the mission and immediately before his
departure. Viglius had been ordered to prepare the Count's instructions.
Having finished the rough draught, he laid it before the board. The
paper was conceived in general terms and might mean any thing or nothing.
No criticism upon its language was, however, offered until it came to the
turn of Orange to vote upon the document. Then, however, William the
Silent opened his lips, and poured forth a long and vehement discourse,
such as he rarely pronounced, but such as few except himself could utter.
There was no shuffling, no disguise, no timidity in his language.
He took the ground boldly that the time had arrived for speaking out.
The object of sending an envoy of high rank and European reputation like
the Count of Egmont, was to tell the King the truth. Let Philip know it
now. Let him be unequivocally informed that this whole machinery of
placards and scaffolds, of new bishops and old hangmen, of decrees,
inquisitors, and informers, must once and forever be abolished. Their
day was over. The Netherlands were free provinces, they were surrounded