burnings, hangings, and butcherings in those provinces had been able to excite, and which forty subsequent years of bloodshed had not begun to allay, might well shake their heads when they saw this new representative of Spanish authority.  It would have been wiser—­so many astute politicians thought—­for Albert to take the Emperor Charles for his model, who had always the power of making his tyranny acceptable to the Flemings, through the adroitness with which he seemed to be entirely a Fleming himself.

But Albert, although a German, valued himself on appearing like a Spaniard.  He was industrious, regular in his habits, moderate in eating and drinking, fond of giving audiences on business.  He spoke German, Spanish, and Latin, and understood French and Italian.  He had at times been a student, and, especially, had some knowledge of mathematics.  He was disposed to do his duty—­so far as a man can do his duty, who imagines himself so entirely lifted above his fellow creatures as to owe no obligation except to exact their obedience and to personify to them the will of the Almighty.  To Philip and the Pope he was ever faithful.  He was not without pretensions to military talents, but his gravity, slowness, and silence made him fitter to shine in the cabinet than in the field.  Henry iv., who loved his jests whether at his own expense or that of friend or foe, was wont to observe that there were three things which nobody would ever believe, and which yet were very true; that Queen Elizabeth deserved her title of the, throned vestal, that he was himself a good Catholic, and that Cardinal Albert was a good general.  It is probable that the assertions were all equally accurate.

The new governor did not find a very able group of generals or statesmen assembled about him to assist in the difficult task which he had undertaken.  There were plenty of fine gentlemen, with ancient names and lofty pretensions, but the working men in field or council had mostly disappeared.  Mondragon, La Motte, Charles Mansfeld, Frank Verdugo were all dead.  Fuentes was just taking his departure for Italy.  Old Peter Ernest was a cipher; and his son’s place was filled by the Marquis of Varambon; as principal commander in active military operations.  This was a Burgundian of considerable military ability, but with an inordinate opinion of himself and of his family.  “Accept the fact that his lineage is the highest possible, and that he has better connections than those of anybody else in the whole world, and he will be perfectly contented,” said a sharp, splenetic Spaniard in the cardinal’s confidence. “’Tis a faithful and loyal cavalier, but full of impertinences.”  The brother of Varambon, Count Varax, had succeeded la Motte as general of artillery, and of his doings there was a, tale ere long to be told.  On the whole, the best soldier in the archduke’s service for the moment was the Frenchman Savigny de Rosne, an ancient Leaguer, and a passionate hater of the Bearnese, of heretics,