The man, however, in whose hands the administration of the Netherlands was in reality placed, was Anthony Perrenot, then Bishop of Arras, soon to be known by the more celebrated title of Cardinal Granvelle.  He was the chief of the Consults, or secret council of three, by whose deliberations the Duchess Regent was to be governed.  His father, Nicholas Perrenot, of an obscure family in Burgundy, had been long the favorite minister and man of business to the Emperor Charles.  Anthony, the eldest of thirteen children, was born in 1517.  He was early distinguished for his talents.  He studied at Dole, Padua, Paris, and Louvain.  At, the age of twenty he spoke seven languages with perfect facility, while his acquaintance with civil and ecclesiastical laws was considered prodigious.  At the age of twenty-three he became a canon of Liege Cathedral.  The necessary eight quarters of gentility produced upon that occasion have accordingly been displayed by his panegyrists in triumphant refutation of that theory which gave him a blacksmith for his grandfather.  At the same period, although he had not reached the requisite age, the rich bishopric of Arras had already been prepared for him by his father’s care.  Three years afterwards, in 1543, he distinguished himself by a most learned and brilliant harangue before the Council of Trent, by which display he so much charmed the Emperor, that he created him councillor of state.  A few years afterwards he rendered the unscrupulous Charles still more valuable proofs of devotion and dexterity by the part he played in the memorable imprisonment of the Landgrave of Hesse and the Saxon Dukes.  He was thereafter constantly employed in embassies and other offices of trust and profit.

There was no doubt as to his profound and varied learning, nor as to his natural quickness and dexterity.  He was ready witted, smooth and fluent of tongue, fertile in expedients, courageous, resolute.  He thoroughly understood the art of managing men, particularly his superiors.  He knew how to govern under the appearance of obeying.  He possessed exquisite tact in appreciating the characters of those far above him in rank and beneath him in intellect.  He could accommodate himself with great readiness to the idiosyncrasies of sovereigns.  He was a chameleon to the hand which fed him.  In his intercourse with the King, he colored himself, as it were, with the King’s character.  He was not himself, but Philip; not the sullen, hesitating, confused Philip, however, but Philip endowed with eloquence, readiness, facility.  The King ever found himself anticipated with the most delicate obsequiousness, beheld his struggling ideas change into winged words without ceasing to be his own.  No flattery could be more adroit.  The bishop accommodated himself to the King’s epistolary habits.  The silver-tongued and ready debater substituted protocols for conversation, in deference to a monarch who could not speak.  He corresponded with Philip, with Margaret of Parma, with