for Leicester, even then, to conciliate the whole party.  It was highly desirable that he should do so, for not one of the Provinces where he boasted his strength was quite secure for England.  Count Moeurs, a potent and wealthy noble, was governor of Utrecht and Gelderland, and he had already begun to favour the party in Holland which claimed for that Province a legal jurisdiction over the whole ancient episcopate.  Under these circumstances common prudence would have suggested that as good an understanding as possible might be kept up with the Dutch and German counts, and that the breach might not be rendered quite irreparable.

Yet, as if there had not been administrative blunders enough committed in one year, the unlucky lean Englishman, with the black beard, who was the Earl’s chief representative, contrived—­almost before his master’s back was turned—­to draw upon himself the wrath of all the fine ladies in Holland.  That this should be the direful spring of unutterable disasters, social and political, was easy to foretell.

Just before the governor’s departure Otheman came to pay his farewell respects, and receive his last commands.  He found Leicester seated at chess with Sir Francis Drake.

“I do leave you here, my poor Otheman,” said the Earl, “but so soon as I leave you I know very well that nobody will give you a good look.”

“Your Excellency was a true prophet,” wrote the secretary a few weeks later, “for, my good Lord, I have been in as great danger of my life as ever man was.  I have been hunted at Delft from house to house, and then besieged in my lodgings four or five hours, as though I had been the greatest thief, murderer, and traitor in the land.”

And why was the unfortunate Otheman thus hunted to his lair?  Because he had chosen to indulge in ‘scandalum magnatum,’ and had thereby excited the frenzy of all the great nobles whom it was most important for the English party to conciliate.

There had been gossip about the Princess of Chimay and one Calvaert, who lived in her house, much against the advice of all her best friends.  One day she complained bitterly to Master Otheman of the spiteful ways of the world.

“I protest,” said she, “that I am the unhappiest lady upon earth to have my name thus called in question.”

So said Otheman, in order to comfort her:  “Your Highness is aware that such things are said of all.  I am sure I hear every day plenty of speeches about lords and ladies, queens and princesses.  You have little cause to trouble yourself for such matters, being known to live honestly, and like a good Christian lady.  Your Highness is not the only lady spoken of.”

The Princess listened with attention.

“Think of the stories about the Queen of England and my Lord of Leicester!” said Otheman, with infinite tact.  “No person is exempted from the tongues of evil, speakers; but virtuous and godly men do put all such foolish matter under their feet.  Then there is the Countess of Hoeurs, how much evil talk does one hear about her!”