fitting opportunity to inflict the disgrace on which he was resolved.  Meantime, Charles Mansfeld made a feeble attempt to lead an army from the Netherlands into France, to support the sinking fortunes of the League; but it was not for that general-of-artillery to attempt the well-graced part of the all-accomplished Farnese with much hope of success.  A considerable force of Spanish infantry, too, had been sent to Paris, where they had been received with much enthusiasm; a very violent and determined churchman, Sega, archbishop of Piacenza, and cardinal-legate, having arrived to check on the part of the holy father any attempt by the great wavering heretic to get himself readmitted into the fold of the faithful.

The King of Spain considered it his duty, as well as his unquestionable right, to interfere in the affairs of France, and to save the cause of religion, civilization and humanity, in the manner so dear to the civilization-savers, by reducing that distracted country—­utterly unable to govern itself—­under his sceptre.  To achieve this noble end no bribery was too wholesale, no violence too brutal, no intrigue too paltry.  It was his sacred and special mission to save France from herself.  If he should fail, he could at least carve her in pieces, and distribute her among himself and friends.  Frenchmen might assist him in either of these arrangements, but it was absurd to doubt that on him devolved the work and the responsibility.  Yet among his advisers were some who doubted whether the purchase of the grandees of France was really the most judicious course to pursue.  There was a general and uneasy feeling that the grandees were making sport of the Spanish monarch, and that they would be inclined to remain his stipendiaries for an indefinite period, without doing their share of the work.  A keen Jesuit, who had been much in France, often whispered to Philip that he was going astray.  “Those who best understand the fit remedy for this unfortunate kingdom, and know the tastes and temper of the nation,” said he, “doubt giving these vast presents and rewards in order that the nobles of France may affect your cause and further your schemes.  It is the greatest delusion, because they love nothing but their own interest, and for this reason wish for no king at all, but prefer that the kingdom should remain topsy-turvy in order that they may enjoy the Spanish doubloons, as they say themselves almost publicly, dancing and feasting; that they may take a castle to-day, and to-morrow a city, and the day, after a province, and so on indefinitely.  What matters it to them that blood flows, and that the miserable people are destroyed, who alone are good for anything?”