with increasing disfavor.  “The people here,” wrote Saint Goard from Madrid, “are completely desperate, whatever pains they take to put a good face on the matter.  They desire most earnestly to treat, without losing their character.”  It seemed, nevertheless, impossible for Philip to bend his neck.  The hope of wearing the Imperial crown had alone made his bigotry feasible.  To less potent influences it was adamant; and even now, with an impoverished exchequer, and, after seven years of unsuccessful warfare, his purpose was not less rigid than at first.  “The Hollanders demand liberty of conscience,” said Saint Goard, “to which the King will never consent, or I am much mistaken.”

As for Orange, he was sincerely in favor of peace—­but not a dishonorable peace, in which should be renounced all the objects of the war.  He was far from sanguine on the subject, for he read the signs of the times and the character of Philip too accurately to believe much more in the success of the present than in that of the past efforts of Maximilian.  He was pleased that his brother-in-law, Count Schwartzburg, had been selected as the Emperor’s agent in the affair, but expressed his doubts whether much good would come of the proposed negotiations.  Remembering the many traps which in times past had been set by Philip and his father, he feared that the present transaction might likewise prove a snare.  “We have not forgotten the words I ‘ewig’ and ‘einig’ in the treaty with Landgrave Philip,” he wrote; “at the same time we beg to assure his Imperial Majesty that we desire nothing more than a good peace, tending to the glory of God, the service of the King of Spain, and the prosperity of his subjects.”

This was his language to his brother, in a letter which was meant to be shown to the Emperor.  In another, written on the same day, he explained himself with more clearness, and stated his distrust with more energy.  There were no papists left, except a few ecclesiastics, he said; so much had the number of the Reformers been augmented, through the singular grace of God.  It was out of the question to suppose, therefore, that a measure, dooming all who were not Catholics to exile, could be entertained.  None would change their religion, and none would consent, voluntarily, to abandon for ever their homes, friends, and property.  “Such a peace,” he said, “would be poor and pitiable indeed.”

These, then, were the sentiments of the party now about to negotiate.  The mediator was anxious for a settlement, because the interests of the Imperial house required it.  The King of Spain was desirous of peace, but was unwilling to concede a hair.  The Prince of Orange was equally anxious to terminate the war, but was determined not to abandon the objects for which it had been undertaken.  A favorable result, therefore, seemed hardly possible.  A whole people claimed the liberty to stay at home and practice the Protestant religion, while their King asserted the right to banish them for ever, or to