was justly regarded as a trap.  No one was deceived by it.  No man, after the experience of the last three years; would voluntarily thrust his head into the lion’s mouth, in order to fix it more firmly upon his shoulders.  No man who had effected his escape was likely to play informer against himself, in hope of obtaining a pardon from which all but the most sincere and zealous Catholics were in reality excepted.

The murmur and discontent were universal, therefore, as soon as the terms of the act became known.  Alva wrote to the King, to be sure, “that the people were entirely satisfied, save only the demagogues, who could tolerate no single exception from the amnesty; but he could neither deceive his sovereign nor himself by such statements.”  Certainly, Philip was totally disappointed in the effect which he had anticipated from the measure.  He had thought “it would stop the mouths of many people.”  On the contrary, every mouth in the Netherlands became vociferous to denounce the hypocrisy by which a new act of condemnation had been promulgated under the name of a pardon.  Viglius, who had drawn up an instrument of much ampler clemency, was far from satisfied with the measure which had been adopted.  “Certainly,” he wrote to his confidant, “a more benignant measure was to be expected from so merciful a Prince.  After four years have past, to reserve for punishment and for execution all those who during the tumult did not, through weakness of mind, render as much service to government as brave men might have offered, is altogether unexampled.”

Alva could not long affect to believe in the people’s satisfaction.  He soon wrote to the King, acknowledging that the impression produced by the pardon was far from favorable.  He attributed much evil effect to the severe censure which was openly pronounced upon the act by members of the government, both in Spain and the Netherlands.  He complained that Hopper had written to Viglius, that “the most severe of the four forms of pardon transmitted had been selected;” the fact being, that the most lenient one had been adopted.  If this were so, whose imagination is powerful enough to portray the three which had been burned, and which, although more severe than the fierce document promulgated, were still entitled acts of pardon?  The Duke spoke bitterly of the manner in which influential persons in Madrid had openly abominated the cruel form of amnesty which had been decreed.  His authority in the Netherlands was already sufficiently weakened, he said, and such censure upon his actions from head-quarters did not tend to improve it.  “In truth,” he added, almost pathetically, “it is not wonderful that the whole nation should be ill-disposed towards me, for I certainly have done nothing to make them love me.  At the same time, such language transmitted from Madrid does not increase their tenderness.”