which permitted of such liberality was not one to be very materially increased by a dowry which might seem enormous to many of the pauper princes of Germany.  “The bride’s portion,” says a contemporary, “after all, scarcely paid for the banquets and magnificent festivals which celebrated the marriage.  When the wedding was paid for, there was not a thaler remaining of the whole sum.”  Nothing, then, could be more puerile than to accuse the Prince of mercenary motives in seeking this alliance; an accusation, however, which did not fail to be brought.

There were difficulties on both sides to be arranged before this marriage could take place.  The bride was a Lutheran, the Prince was a Catholic.  With regard to the religion of Orange not the slightest doubt existed, nor was any deception attempted.  Granvelle himself gave the most entire attestation of the Prince’s orthodoxy.  “This proposed marriage gives me great pain,” he wrote to Philip, “but I have never had reason to suspect his principles.”  In another letter he observed that he wished the marriage could be broken off; but that he hoped so much from the virtue of the Prince that nothing could suffice to separate him from the true religion.  On the other side there was as little doubt as to his creed.  Old Landgrave Philip of Hesse, grandfather of the young lady, was bitterly opposed to the match. “’Tis a papist,” said he, “who goes to mass, and eats no meat on fast days.”  He had no great objection to his character, but insurmountable ones to his religion.  “Old Count William,” said he, “was an evangelical lord to his dying day.  This man is a papist!” The marriage, then, was to be a mixed marriage.  It is necessary, however, to beware of anachronisms upon the subject.  Lutherans were not yet formally denounced as heretics.  On the contrary, it was exactly at this epoch that the Pope was inviting the Protestant princes of Germany to the Trent Council, where the schism was to be closed, and all the erring lambs to be received again into the bosom of the fold.  So far from manifesting an outward hostility, the papal demeanor was conciliating.  The letters of invitation from the Pope to the princes were sent by a legate, each commencing with the exordium, “To my beloved son,” and were all sent back to his Holiness, contemptuously, with the coarse jest for answer, “We believe our mothers to have been honest women, and hope that we had better fathers.”  The great council had not yet given its decisions.  Marriages were of continual occurrence, especially among princes and potentates, between the adherents of Rome and of the new religion.  Even Philip had been most anxious to marry the Protestant Elizabeth, whom, had she been a peasant, he would unquestionably have burned, if in his power.  Throughout Germany, also, especially in high places, there was a disposition to cover up the religious controversy; to abstain from disturbing the ashes where devastation still glowed, and was one day to rekindle itself.  It was exceedingly difficult for any man, from the Archduke Maximilian down, to define his creed.  A marriage, therefore; between a man and woman of discordant views upon this topic was not startling, although in general not considered desirable.