If, however, all their plans should fail, the Secretary suggested to his friend Antonio, that he must see and make courtiers of them.  He suggested that a strong administration might be formed in Spain, with Don John, the Marquis de Los Velez, and the Duke of Sesa.  “With such chiefs, and with Anthony and John—­[Viz., John of Escovedo and Antony Perez.]—­ for acolytes,” he was of opinion that much good work might be done, and that Don John might become “the staff for his Majesty’s old age.”  He implored Perez, in the most urgent language, to procure Philip’s consent that his brother should leave the provinces.  “Otherwise,” said he, “we shall see the destruction of the friend whom we so much love!  He will become seriously ill, and if so, good night to him!  His body is too delicate.”  Escovedo protested that he would rather die himself.  “In the catastrophe of Don John’s death,” he continued, “adieu the court, adieu the world!” He would incontinently bury himself among the mountains of San Sebastian, “preferring to dwell among wild animals than among courtiers.”  Escovedo, accordingly, not urged by the most disinterested motives certainly, but with as warm a friendship for his master as princes usually inspire, proceeded to urge upon Perez the necessity of, aiding the man who was able to help them.  The first step was to get him out of the Netherlands.  That was his constant thought, by day and night.  As it would hardly be desirable for him to go alone, it seemed proper that Escovedo should, upon some pretext, be first sent to Spain.  Such a pretext would be easily found, because, as Don John had accepted the government, “it would be necessary for him to do all which the rascals bade him.”  After these minute statements, the Secretary warned his correspondent of the necessity of secrecy, adding that he especially feared “all the court ladies, great and small, but that he in everything confided entirely in Perez.”

Nearly at the same time, Don John wrote to Perez in a similar tone.  “Ah, Senor Antonio,” he exclaimed, “how certain is my disgrace and my misfortune.  Ruined is our enterprise, after so much labor and such skilful management.”  He was to have commenced the work with the very Spanish soldiers who were now to be sent off by land, and he had nothing for it but to let them go, or to come to an open rupture with the states.  “The last, his conscience, his duty, and the time, alike forbade.”  He was therefore obliged to submit to the ruin of his plans, and “could think of nothing save to turn hermit, a condition in which a man’s labors, being spiritual, might not be entirely in vain.”  He was so overwhelmed by the blow, he said, that he was constantly thinking of an anchorite’s life.  That which he had been leading had become intolerable.  He was not fitted for the people of the Netherlands, nor they for him.  Rather than stay longer than was necessary in order to appoint his successor, there was no resolution