This was certainly strong language.  She was also very explicit in her representations of the influence which had been used by certain personages to prevent the exercise of any authority upon her own part.  “Wherefore,” said Margaret, “I eat my heart; and shall never have peace till the arrival of your Majesty.”

There was no doubt who those personages were who, as it was pretended, had thus held the Duchess in bondage, and compelled her to grant these infamous concessions.  In her secret Italian letters, she furnished the King with a tissue of most extravagant and improbable falsehoods, supplied to her mainly by Noircarmes and Mansfeld, as to the course pursued at this momentous crisis by Orange, Egmont, Horn, and Hoogstraaten.  They had all, she said, declared against God and against religion.—­Horn, at least, was for killing all the priests and monks in the country, if full satisfaction were not given to the demands of the heretics.  Egmont had declared openly for the beggars, and was levying troops in Germany.  Orange had the firm intention of making himself master of the whole country, and of dividing it among the other seigniors and himself.  The Prince had said that if she took refuge in Mons, as she had proposed, they would instantly convoke the states-general, and take all necessary measures.  Egmont had held the same language, saying that he would march at the head of forty thousand men to besiege her in that city.  All these seigniors, however, had avowed their determination to prevent her flight, to assemble the estates, and to drag her by force before the assembly, in order to compel her consent to every measure which might be deemed expedient.  Under all these circumstances, she had been obliged to defer her retreat, and to make the concessions which had overwhelmed her with disgrace.

With such infamous calumnies, utterly disproved by every fact in the case, and unsupported by a tittle of evidence, save the hearsay reports of a man like Noircarmes, did this “woman, nourished at Rome, in whom no one could put confidence,” dig the graves of men who were doing their best to serve her.

Philip’s rage at first hearing of the image-breaking has been indicated.  He was ill of an intermittent fever at the wood of Segovia when the news arrived, and it may well be supposed that his wrath at these proceedings was not likely to assuage his malady.  Nevertheless, after the first burst of indignation, he found relief in his usual deception.  While slowly maturing the most tremendous vengeance which anointed monarch ever deliberately wreaked upon his people, he wrote to say, that it was “his intention to treat his vassals and subjects in the provinces like a good and clement prince, not to ruin them nor to put them into servitude, but to exercise all humanity, sweetness, and grace, avoiding all harshness.”  Such were the avowed intentions of the sovereign towards his people at the moment when the terrible Alva, who was to be the exponent of all this “humanity, sweetness, and grace,” was already beginning the preparations for his famous invasion of the Netherlands.