where I have wished for you a thousand times, for I am certain that you would think them appropriate for philosophy and worthy the habitation of the Muses.  Here are beautiful mountains, high as heaven, fertile on all their sides, wreathed with vineyards, and rich with every fruit; here are rivers flowing through charming valleys, the waters clear as crystal, filled with trout, breaking into numberless cascades.  Here are umbrageous groves, fertile fields, lovely meadows; on the one aide great warmth, on the other aide delectable coolness, despite the summer’s heat.  Nor is there any lack of good company, friends, and relations, with, as you well know, the very best wines in the world.”

Thus it is obvious that the Cardinal was no ascetic.  His hermitage contained other appliances save those for study and devotion.  His retired life was, in fact, that of a voluptuary.  His brother, Chantonnay, reproached him with the sumptuousness and disorder of his establishment.  He lived in “good and joyous cheer.”  He professed to be thoroughly satisfied with the course things had taken, knowing that God was above all, and would take care of all.  He avowed his determination to extract pleasure and profit even from the ill will of his adversaries.  “Behold my philosophy,” he cried, “to live joyously as possible, laughing at the world, at passionate people, and at all their calumnies.”  It is evident that his philosophy, if it had any real existence, was sufficiently Epicurean.  It was, however, mainly compounded of pretence, like his whole nature and his whole life.  Notwithstanding the mountains high as heaven, the cool grottos, the trout, and the best Burgundy wines in the world, concerning which he descanted so eloquently, he soon became in reality most impatient of his compulsory seclusion.  His pretence of “composing himself as much as possible to tranquillity and repose” could deceive none of the intimate associates to whom he addressed himself in that edifying vein.  While he affected to be blind and deaf to politics, he had eyes and ears for nothing else.  Worldly affairs were his element, and he was shipwrecked upon the charming solitude which he affected to admire.  He was most anxious to return to the world again, but he had difficult cards to play.  His master was even more dubious than usual about everything.  Granvelle was ready to remain in Burgundy as long as Philip chose that he should remain there.  He was also ready to go to “India, Peru, or into the fire,” whenever his King should require any such excursion, or to return to the Netherlands, confronting any danger which might lie in his path.  It is probable that he nourished for a long time a hope that the storm would blow over in the provinces, and his resumption of power become possible.  William of Orange, although more than half convinced that no attempt would be made to replace the minister, felt it necessary to keep strict watch on his movements.  “We must be on our guard,” said he, “and not