if the seigniors took his life, they would destroy the best friend they ever had.  This villa, where most of his plans were matured and his state papers drawn up, was called by the people, in derision of his supposed ancestry, “The Smithy.”  Here, as they believed, was the anvil upon which the chains of their slavery were forging; here, mostly deserted by those who had been his earlier, associates, he assumed a philosophical demeanor which exasperated, without deceiving his adversaries.  Over the great gate of his house he had placed the marble statue of a female.  It held an empty wine-cup in one hand, and an urn of flowing water in the other.  The single word “Durate” was engraved upon the pedestal.  By the motto, which was his habitual device, he was supposed, in this application, to signify that his power would outlast that of the nobles, and that perennial and pure as living water, it would flow tranquilly on, long after the wine of their life had been drunk to the lees.  The fiery extravagance of his adversaries, and the calm and limpid moderation of his own character, thus symbolized, were supposed to convey a moral lesson to the world.  The hieroglyphics, thus interpreted, were not relished by the nobles—­all avoided his society, and declined his invitations.  He consoled himself with the company of the lesser gentry,—­a class which he now began to patronize, and which he urgently recommended to the favor of the King,—­hinting that military and civil offices bestowed upon their inferiors would be a means of lowering the pride of the grandees.  He also affected to surround himself with even humbler individuals.  “It makes me laugh,” he wrote to Philip, “to see the great seigniors absenting themselves from my dinners; nevertheless, I can always get plenty of guests at my table, gentlemen and councillors.  I sometimes invite even citizens, in order to gain their good will.”

The Regent was well aware of the anger excited in the breasts of the leading nobles by the cool manner in which they had been thrust out of their share in the administration of affairs.  She defended herself with acrimony in her letters to the King, although a defence was hardly needed in that quarter for implicit obedience to the royal commands.  She confessed her unwillingness to consult with her enemies.

She avowed her determination to conceal the secrets of the government from those who were capable of abusing her confidence.  She represented that there were members of the council who would willingly take advantage of the trepidation which she really felt, and which she should exhibit if she expressed herself without reserve before them.  For this reason she confined herself, as Philip had always intended, exclusively to the Consulta.  It was not difficult to recognize the hand which wrote the letter thus signed by Margaret of Parma.