It might have seemed natural, after such an exhibition, that Philip Egmont should accept his character of renegade, and confess his intention of reconciling himself with the murderers of his father.  On the contrary, he addressed a letter to the magistracy of Brussels, denying with vehemence “any intention of joining the party of the pernicious Spaniards,” warmly protesting his zeal and affection for the states, and denouncing the “perverse inventors of these calumnies against him as the worst enemies of the poor afflicted country.”  The magistrates replied by expressing their inability to comprehend how the Count, who had suffered villainous wrongs from the Spaniards, such as he could never sufficiently deplore or avenge, should ever be willing to enslave himself, to those tyrants.  Nevertheless, exactly at the moment of this correspondence, Egmont was in close negotiation with Spain, having fifteen days before the date of his letter to the Brussels senate, conveyed to Parma his resolution to “embrace the cause of his Majesty and the ancient religion”—­an intention which he vaunted himself to have proved “by cutting the throats of three companies of states’ soldiers at Nivelle, Grandmont, and Ninove.”  Parma had already written to communicate the intelligence to the King, and to beg encouragement for the Count.  In September, the monarch wrote a letter to Egmont, full of gratitude and promises, to which the Count replied by expressing lively gratification that his Majesty was pleased with his little services, by avowing profound attachment to Church and King, and by asking eagerly for money, together with the government of Alost.  He soon became singularly importunate for rewards and promotion, demanding, among other posts, the command of the “band of ordnance,” which had been his father’s.  Parma, in reply, was prodigal of promises, reminding the young noble “that he was serving a sovereign who well knew how to reward the distinguished exploits of his subjects.”  Such was the language of Philip the Second and his Governor to the son of the headless hero of Saint Quentin; such was the fawning obsequiousness with which Egmont could kiss that royal hand reeking with his father’s blood.

Meanwhile the siege of Maestricht had been advancing with steady precision.  To military minds of that epoch—­perhaps of later ages—­this achievement of Parma seemed a masterpiece of art.  The city commanded the Upper Meuse, and was the gate into Germany.  It contained thirty-four thousand inhabitants.  An army, numbering almost as many Souls, was brought against it; and the number of deaths by which its capture was at last effected, was probably equal to that of a moiety of the population.  To the technical mind, the siege no doubt seemed a beautiful creation of human intelligence.  To the honest student of history, to the lover of human progress, such a manifestation of intellect seems a sufficiently sad exhibition.  Given, a city with strong walls and towers, a slender garrison and a devoted population on one side; a consummate chieftain on the other, with an army of veterans at his back, no interruption to fear, and a long season to work in; it would not seem to an unsophisticated mind a very lofty exploit for the soldier to carry the city at the end of four months’ hard labor.