those lovely clouds,” says a gallant chronicler, “descended the gentle rain of flowers.”  Garlands were strewed before his feet, laurelled victory sat upon his brow.  The same conventional enthusiasm and decoration which had characterized the holiday marches of a thousand conventional heroes were successfully produced.  The proceedings began with the church, and ended with the banquet, the day was propitious, the populace pleased, and after a brilliant festival, Don John of Austria saw himself Governor-General of the provinces.

Three days afterwards, the customary oaths, to be kept with the customary conscientiousness, were rendered at the Town House, and for a brief moment all seemed smiling and serene.

There was a reverse to the picture.  In truth, no language can describe the hatred which Don John entertained for the Netherlands and all the inhabitants.  He had come to the country only as a stepping-stone to the English throne, and he never spoke, in his private letters, of the provinces or the people but in terms of abhorrence.  He was in a “Babylon of disgust,” in a “Hell,” surrounded by “drunkards,” “wineskins,” “scoundrels,” and the like.  From the moment of his arrival he had strained every nerve to retain the Spanish troops, and to send them away by sea when it should be no longer feasible to keep them.  Escovedo shared in the sentiments and entered fully into the schemes of his chief.  The plot, the secret enterprise, was the great cause of the advent of Don John in the uncongenial clime of Flanders.  It had been, therefore, highly important, in his estimation, to set, as soon as possible, about the accomplishment of this important business.  He accordingly entered into correspondence with Antonio Perez, the King’s most confidential Secretary of State at that period.  That the Governor was plotting no treason is sufficiently obvious from the context of his letters:  At the same time, with the expansiveness of his character, when he was dealing with one whom he deemed has close and trusty friend, he occasionally made use of expressions which might be made to seem equivocal.  This was still more the case with poor Escovedo.  Devoted to his master, and depending most implicitly upon the honor of Perez, he indulged in language which might be tortured into a still more suspicious shape when the devilish arts of Perez and the universal distrust of Philip were tending steadily to that end.  For Perez—­on the whole, the boldest, deepest, and most unscrupulous villain in that pit of duplicity, the Spanish court—­was engaged at that moment with Philip, in a plot to draw from Don John and Escovedo, by means of this correspondence, the proofs of a treason which the King and minister both desired to find.  The letters from Spain were written with this view—­those from Flanders were interpreted to that end.  Every confidential letter received by Perez was immediately laid by him before the King, every letter which the