he laid it before the board.  The paper was conceived in general terms and might mean any thing or nothing.  No criticism upon its language was, however, offered until it came to the turn of Orange to vote upon the document.  Then, however, William the Silent opened his lips, and poured forth a long and vehement discourse, such as he rarely pronounced, but such as few except himself could utter.  There was no shuffling, no disguise, no timidity in his language.  He took the ground boldly that the time had arrived for speaking out.  The object of sending an envoy of high rank and European reputation like the Count of Egmont, was to tell the King the truth.  Let Philip know it now.  Let him be unequivocally informed that this whole machinery of placards and scaffolds, of new bishops and old hangmen, of decrees, inquisitors, and informers, must once and forever be abolished.  Their day was over.  The Netherlands were free provinces, they were surrounded by free countries, they were determined to vindicate their ancient privileges.  Moreover, his Majesty was to be plainly informed of the frightful corruption which made the whole judicial and administrative system loathsome.  The venality which notoriously existed every where, on the bench, in the council chamber, in all public offices, where purity was most essential, was denounced by the Prince in scathing terms.  He tore the mask from individual faces, and openly charged the Chancellor of Brabant, Engelbert Maas, with knavery and corruption.  He insisted that the King should be informed of the necessity of abolishing the two inferior councils, and of enlarging the council of state by the admission of ten or twelve new members selected for their patriotism, purity, and capacity.  Above all, it was necessary plainly to inform his Majesty that the canons of Trent, spurned by the whole world, even by the Catholic princes of Germany, could never be enforced in the Netherlands, and that it would be ruinous to make the attempt.  He proposed and insisted that the Count of Egmont should be instructed accordingly.  He avowed in conclusion that he was a Catholic himself and intended to remain in the Faith, but that he could not look on with pleasure when princes strove to govern the souls of men, and to take away their liberty in matters of conscience and religion.

Here certainly was no daintiness of phraseology, and upon these leading points, thus slightly indicated, William of Orange poured out his eloquence, bearing conviction upon the tide of his rapid invective.  His speech lasted till seven in the evening, when the Duchess adjourned the meeting.  The council broke up, the Regent went to supper, but the effect of the discourse upon nearly all the members was not to be mistaken.  Viglius was in a state of consternation, perplexity, and despair.  He felt satisfied that, with perhaps the exception of Berlaymont, all who had listened or should afterwards listen to the powerful arguments of Orange, would be inevitably seduced or bewildered.  The President lay awake, tossing and tumbling in his bed, recalling the Prince’s oration, point by point, and endeavoring, to answer it in order.  It was important, he felt, to obliterate the impression produced.  Moreover, as we have often seen, the learned Doctor valued himself upon his logic.