were sent into Valenciennes, together with a company of the Duke of Aerschot’s regiment.  The prisons were instantly filled to overflowing with men and women arrested for actual or suspected participation in the tumult.  Orders had been sent down from the capital to make a short process and a sharp execution for all the criminals.  On the 16th of May, the slaughter commenced.  Some were burned at the stake, some were beheaded:  the number of victims was frightful.  “Nothing was left undone by the magistrates,” says an eyewitness, with great approbation, “which could serve for the correction and amendment of the poor people.”  It was long before the judges and hangmen rested from their labors.  When at last the havoc was complete, it might be supposed that a sufficient vengeance had been taken for the “day of the ill-burned,” and an adequate amount of “amendment” provided for the “poor people.”

Such scenes as these did not tend to increase the loyalty of the nation, nor the popularity of the government.  On Granvelle’s head was poured a daily increasing torrent of hatred.  He was looked upon in the provinces as the impersonation of that religious oppression which became every moment more intolerable.  The King and the Regent escaped much of the odium which belonged to them, because the people chose to bestow all their maledictions upon the Cardinal.  There was, however, no great injustice in this embodiment.  Granvelle was the government.  As the people of that day were extremely reverent to royalty, they vented all their rage upon the minister, while maintaining still a conventional respect for the sovereign.  The prelate had already become the constant butt of the “Rhetoric Chambers.”  These popular clubs for the manufacture of homespun poetry and street farces out of the raw material of public sentiment, occupied the place which has been more effectively filled in succeeding ages, and in free countries by the daily press.  Before the invention of that most tremendous weapon, which liberty has ever wielded against tyranny, these humble but influential associations shared with the pulpit the only power which existed of moving the passions or directing the opinions of the people.  They were eminently liberal in their tendencies.  The authors and the actors of their comedies, poems, and pasquils were mostly artisans or tradesmen, belonging to the class out of which proceeded the early victims, and the later soldiers of the Reformation.  Their bold farces and truculent satire had already effected much in spreading among the people a detestation of Church abuses.  They were particularly severe upon monastic licentiousness.  “These corrupt comedians, called rhetoricians,” says the Walloon contemporary already cited, “afforded much amusement to the people.”  Always some poor little nuns or honest monks were made a part of the farce.  It seemed as if the people could take no pleasure except in ridiculing God and the Church.  The people, however, persisted in the opinion that