The aristocracy of the Netherlands was excessively extravagant, dissipated, and already considerably embarrassed in circumstances.  It had been the policy of the Emperor and of Philip to confer high offices, civil, military, and diplomatic, upon the leading nobles, by which enormous expenses were entailed upon them, without any corresponding salaries.  The case of Orange has been already alluded to, and there were many other nobles less able to afford the expense, who had been indulged with these ruinous honors.  During the war, there had been, however, many chances of bettering broken fortunes.  Victory brought immense prizes to the leading officers.  The ransoms of so many illustrious prisoners as had graced the triumphs of Saint Quentin and Gravelines had been extremely profitable.  These sources of wealth had now been cut off; yet, on the departure of the King from the Netherlands, the luxury increased instead of diminishing, “Instead of one court,” said a contemporary, “you would have said that there were fifty.”  Nothing could be more sumptuous than the modes of life in Brussels.  The household of Orange has been already painted.  That of Egmont was almost as magnificent.  A rivalry in hospitality and in display began among the highest nobles, and extended to those less able to maintain themselves in the contest.  During the war there had been the valiant emulation of the battlefield; gentlemen had vied with each other how best to illustrate an ancient name with deeds of desperate valor, to repair the fortunes of a ruined house with the spoils of war.  They now sought to surpass each other in splendid extravagance.  It was an eager competition who should build the stateliest palaces, have the greatest number of noble pages and gentlemen in waiting, the most gorgeous liveries, the most hospitable tables, the most scientific cooks.  There was, also, much depravity as well as extravagance.  The morals of high society were loose.  Gaming was practised to a frightful extent.  Drunkenness was a prevailing characteristic of the higher classes.  Even the Prince of Orange himself, at this period, although never addicted to habitual excess, was extremely convivial in his tastes, tolerating scenes and companions, not likely at a later day to find much favor in his sight.  “We kept Saint Martin’s joyously,” he wrote, at about this period, to his brother, “and in the most jovial company.  Brederode was one day in such a state that I thought he would certainly die, but he has now got over it.”  Count Brederode, soon afterwards to become so conspicuous in the early scenes of the revolt, was, in truth, most notorious for his performances in these banqueting scenes.  He appeared to have vowed as uncompromising hostility to cold water as to the inquisition, and always denounced both with the same fierce and ludicrous vehemence.  Their constant connection with Germany at that period did not improve the sobriety of the Netherlands’ nobles.  The aristocracy of