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 that country, as is well known, were most “potent at potting.”  “When the German finds himself sober,” said the bitter Badovaro, “he believes himself to be ill.”  Gladly, since the peace, they had welcomed the opportunities afforded for many a deep carouse with their Netherlands cousins.  The approaching marriage of the Prince of Orange with the Saxon princess—­an episode which will soon engage our attention—­gave rise to tremendous orgies.  Count Schwartzburg, the Prince’s brother-in-law, and one of the negotiators of the marriage, found many occasions to strengthen the bonds of harmony between the countries by indulgence of these common tastes.  “I have had many princes and counts at my table,” he wrote to Orange, “where a good deal more was drunk than eaten.  The Rhinegrave’s brother fell down dead after drinking too much malvoisie; but we have had him balsamed and sent home to his family.”

These disorders among the higher ranks were in reality so extensive as to justify the biting remark of the Venetian:  “The gentlemen intoxicate themselves every day,” said he, “and the ladies also; but much less than the men.”  His remarks as to the morality, in other respects, of both sexes were equally sweeping, and not more complimentary.