In such a caballing, prevaricating age, it is difficult to know which of all the plotters and counterplotters engaged in these intrigues could accomplish the greatest amount of what—­for the sake of diluting in nine syllables that which could be more forcibly expressed in one—­was then called diplomatic dissimulation.  It is to be feared, notwithstanding her frequent and vociferous denials, that the robes of the “imperial votaress” were not so unsullied as could be wished.  We know how loudly Leicester had complained—­we have seen how clearly Walsingham could convict; but Elizabeth, though convicted, could always confute:  for an absolute sovereign, even without resorting to Philip’s syllogisms of axe and faggot, was apt in the sixteenth century to have the best of an argument with private individuals.

The secret statements of Parma-made, not for public effect, but for the purpose of furnishing his master with the most accurate information he could gather as to English policy—­are certainly entitled to consideration.  They were doubtless founded upon the statements of individuals rejoicing in no very elevated character; but those individuals had no motive to deceive their patron.  If they clashed with the vehement declarations of very eminent personages, it must be admitted, on the other hand, that they were singularly in accordance with the silent eloquence of important and mysterious events.

As to Alexander Farnese—­without deciding the question whether Elizabeth and Burghley were deceiving Walsingham and Leicester, or only trying to delude Philip and himself—­he had no hesitation, of course, on his part, in recommending to Philip the employment of unlimited dissimulation.  Nothing could be more ingenuous than the intercourse between the King and his confidential advisers.  It was perfectly understood among them that they were always to deceive every one, upon every occasion.  Only let them be false, and it was impossible to be wholly wrong; but grave mistakes might occur from occasional deviations into sincerity.  It was no question at all, therefore, that it was Parma’s duty to delude Elizabeth and Burghley.  Alexander’s course was plain.  He informed his master that he would keep these difficulties alive as much as it was possible.  In order to “put them all to sleep with regard to the great enterprise of the invasion,” he would send back Bodman to Burghley and Croft, and thus keep this unofficial negotiation upon its legs.  The King was quite uncommitted, and could always disavow what had been done.  Meanwhile he was gaining, and his adversaries losing, much precious time.  “If by this course,” said Parma, “we can induce the English to hand over to us the places which they hold in Holland and Zeeland, that will be a great triumph.”  Accordingly he urged the King not to slacken, in the least, his preparations for invasion, and, above all, to have a care that the French were kept entangled and embarrassed among themselves, which was a most substantial point.