He protested that he desired, at least, to be equal to the enemy, without asking, as others had usually done, for double the amount of the hostile force.  He gave a glance at the foreign complications of the Netherlands, telling Philip that the estates were intriguing both with France and England.  The English envoy had expressed much uneasiness at the possible departure of the Spanish troops from the Netherlands by sea, coupling it with a probable attempt to liberate the Queen of Scots.  Don John, who had come to the provinces for no other purpose, and whose soul had been full of that romantic scheme, of course stoutly denied and ridiculed the idea.  “Such notions,” he had said to the envoy, “were subjects for laughter.  If the troops were removed from the country, it was to strengthen his Majesty’s force in the Levant.”  Mr. Rogers, much comforted, had expressed the warm friendship which Elizabeth entertained both for his Majesty and his Majesty’s representative; protestations which could hardly seem very sincere, after the series of attempts at the Queen’s life, undertaken so recently by his Majesty and his Majesty’s former representative.  Nevertheless, Don John had responded with great cordiality, had begged for Elizabeth’s portrait, and had expressed the intention, if affairs went as he hoped, to go privately to England for the purpose of kissing her royal hand.  Don John further informed the King, upon the envoy’s authority, that Elizabeth had refused assistance to the estates, saying, if she stirred it would be to render aid to Philip, especially if France should meddle in the matter.  As to France, the Governor advised Philip to hold out hopes to Alencon of espousing the Infanta, but by no means ever to fulfil such a promise, as the Duke, “besides being the shield of heretics, was unscrupulously addicted to infamous vices.”

A month later, Escovedo described the downfall of Don John’s hopes and his own in dismal language.—­“You are aware,” he wrote to Perez, “that a throne—­a chair with a canopy—­is our intention and our appetite, and all the rest is good for nothing.  Having failed in our scheme, we are desperate and like madmen.  All is now weariness and death.”  Having expressed himself in such desponding accents, he continued, a few days afterwards, in the same lugubrious vein, “I am ready to hang myself,” said he, “and I would have done it already, if it were not for keeping myself as executioner for those who have done us so much harm.  Ah, Senor Antonio Perez!” he added, “what terrible pertinacity have those devils shown in making us give up our plot.  It seems as though Hell were opened and had sent forth heaps of demons to oppose our schemes.”  After these vigorous ejaculations he proceeded to inform his friend that the English envoy and the estates, governed by the Prince of Orange, in whose power were the much-coveted ships, had prevented the departure of the troops by sea.  “These devils complain of the expense,” said he; “but we would