ears, while the thing was most commendable.  He manifested much anxiety that the public should be disabused of their fear of the Spanish inquisition, but he was the indefatigable supporter of the Netherland inquisition, which Philip declared with reason to be “the more pitiless institution” of the two.  He was the author, not of the edicts, but of their re-enactment, verbally and literally, in all the horrid extent to which they had been carried by Charles the Fifth; and had recommended the use of the Emperor’s name to sanctify the infernal scheme.  He busied himself personally in the execution of these horrible laws, even when judge and hangman slackened.  To the last he denounced all those “who should counsel his Majesty to permit a moderation of the edicts,” and warned the King that if he should consent to the least mitigation of their provisions, things would go worse in the provinces than in France.  He was diligent in establishing the reinforced episcopal inquisition side by side with these edicts, and with the papal inquisition already in full operation.  He omitted no occasion of encouraging the industry of all these various branches in the business of persecution.  When at last the loud cry from the oppressed inhabitants of Flanders was uttered in unanimous denunciation by the four estates of that province of the infamous Titelmann, the Cardinal’s voice, from the depths of his luxurious solitude, was heard, not in sympathy with the poor innocent wretches, who were daily dragged from their humble homes to perish by sword and fire, but in pity for the inquisitor who was doing the work of hell.  “I deeply regret,” he wrote to Viglius, “that the states of Flanders should be pouting at inquisitor Titelmann.  Truly he has good zeal, although sometimes indiscreet and noisy; still he must be supported, lest they put a bridle upon him, by which his authority will be quite enervated.”  The reader who is acquainted with the personality of Peter Titelmann can decide as to the real benignity of the joyous epicurean who could thus commend and encourage such a monster of cruelty.

If popularity be a test of merit in a public man, it certainly could not be claimed by the Cardinal.  From the moment when Gresham declared him to be “hated of all men,” down to the period of his departure, the odium resting upon him had been rapidly extending:  He came to the country with two grave accusations resting upon his name.  The Emperor Maximilian asserted that the Cardinal had attempted to take his life by poison, and he persisted in the truth of the charge thus made by him, till the day of his death.  Another accusation was more generally credited.  He was the author of the memorable forgery by which the Landgrave Philip of Hesse had been entrapped into his long imprisonment.  His course in and towards the Netherlands has been sufficiently examined.  Not a single charge has been made lightly, but only after careful sifting of evidence.  Moreover they are all sustained mainly from the criminal’s