pathetically, "it is not wonderful that the whole nation should be ill-
disposed towards me, for I certainly have done nothing to make them love
me. At the same time, such language transmitted from Madrid does not
increase their tenderness."

In short, viewed as a measure by which government, without disarming
itself of its terrible powers, was to pacify the popular mind, the
amnesty was a failure. Viewed as a net, by which fresh victims should be
enticed to entangle themselves, who had already made their way into the
distant atmosphere of liberty, it was equally unsuccessful. A few very
obscure individuals made their appearance to claim the benefit of the
act, before the six months had expired. With these it was thought
expedient to deal gently; but no one was deceived by such clemency.
As the common people expressed themselves, the net was not spread on
that occasion for finches.

The wits of the Netherlands, seeking relief from their wretched condition
in a still more wretched quibble, transposed two letters of the word
Pardona, and re-baptized the new measure Pandora. The conceit was not
without meaning. The amnesty, descending from supernal regions, had been
ushered into the presence of mortals as a messenger laden with heavenly
gifts. The casket, when opened, had diffused curses instead of
blessings. There, however, the classical analogy ended, for it
would have puzzled all the pedants of Louvain to discover Hope
lurking, under any disguise, within the clauses of the pardon.

Very soon after the promulgation of this celebrated act, the new bride
of Philip, Anne of Austria, passed through the Netherlands, on her way
to Madrid. During her brief stay in Brussels, she granted an interview
to the Dowager Countess of Horn. That unhappy lady, having seen her