sycophancy. He begged his friend Joachim to take his part, if his
Excellency should write unfavorably about his conduct to the King. He
seemed to have changed his views of the man concerning whose "prudence
and gentleness" he could once turn so many fine periods. He even
expressed some anxiety lest doubts should begin to be entertained
as to the perfect clemency of the King's character. "Here is so much
confiscation and bloodshed going on," said he, "that some taint of
cruelty or avarice may chance to bespatter the robe of his Majesty."
He also confessed that he had occasionally read in history of greater
benignity than was now exercised against the poor Netherlanders. Had the
learned Frisian arrived at these humane conclusions at a somewhat earlier
day, it might perhaps have been better for himself and for his
fatherland. Had he served his country as faithfully as he had served
Time, and Philip, and Alva, his lands would not have been so broad, nor
his dignities so numerous, but he would not have been obliged, in his old
age; to exclaim, with whimsical petulance, that "the faithful servant is
always a perpetual ass."

It was now certain that an act of amnesty was in contemplation by the
King. Viglius had furnished several plans, which, however, had been
so much disfigured by the numerous exceptions suggested by Alva, that
the President could scarce recognize his work. Granvelle, too, had
frequently urged the pardon on the attention of Philip. The Cardinal
was too astute not to perceive that the time had arrived when a continued
severity could only defeat its own work. He felt that the country could
not be rendered more abject, the spirit of patriotism more apparently
extinct. A show of clemency, which would now cost nothing, and would
mean nothing, might be more effective than this profuse and wanton
bloodshed.