now overran the country, indeed, vied with each other in extravagant insolence.  “Their outrages are most execrable,” wrote Marquis Havre; “they demand the most exquisite food, and drink Champagne and Burgundy by the bucketfull.”  Nevertheless, on the 4th of December, the Prince came to Ghent.  He held constant and anxious conferences with the magistrates.  He was closeted daily with John Casimir, whose vanity and extravagance of temper he managed with his usual skill.  He even dined with Imbue, and thus, by smoothing difficulties and reconciling angry passions, he succeeded at last in obtaining the consent of all to a religious peace, which was published on the 27th of December, 1578.  It contained the same provisions as those of the project prepared and proposed during the previous summer throughout the Netherlands.  Exercise of both religions was established; mutual insults and irritations—­whether by word, book, picture, song, or gesture—­were prohibited, under severe penalties, while all persons were sworn to protect the common tranquillity by blood, purse, and life.  The Catholics, by virtue of this accord, re-entered into possession of their churches and cloisters, but nothing could be obtained in favor of the imprisoned gentlemen.

The Walloons and Malcontents were now summoned to lay down their arms; but, as might be supposed, they expressed dissatisfaction with the religious peace, proclaiming it hostile to the Ghent treaty and the Brussels union.  In short, nothing would satisfy them but total suppression of the Reformed religion; as nothing would content Imbize and his faction but the absolute extermination of Romanism.  A strong man might well seem powerless in the midst of such obstinate and worthless fanatics.

The arrival of the Prince in Ghent was, on the whole, a relief to John Casimir.  As usual, this addle-brained individual had plunged headlong into difficulties, out of which he was unable to extricate himself.  He knew not what to do, or which way to turn.  He had tampered with Imbue and his crew, but he had found that they were not the men for a person of his quality to deal with.  He had brought a large army into the field, and had not a stiver in his coffers.  He felt bitterly the truth of the Landgrave’s warning—­“that ’twas better to have thirty thousand devils at one’s back than thirty thousand German troopers, with no money to give them;” it being possible to pay the devils with the sign of the cross, while the soldiers could be discharged only with money or hard knocks.  Queen Elizabeth, too, under whose patronage he had made this most inglorious campaign, was incessant in her reproofs, and importunate in her demands for reimbursement.  She wrote to him personally, upbraiding him with his high pretensions and his shortcomings.  His visit to Ghent, so entirely unjustified and mischievous; his failure to effect that junction of his army with the states’ force under Bossu, by which the royal army was to have been surprised and annihilated;