of your predecessors;” adding, with insane self-complacency, “and all this has been accomplished without violence.”  He also assured his Majesty as to the prosperous condition of financial affairs.  His tax was to work wonders.  He had conversed with capitalists who had offered him four millions yearly for the tenth penny, but he had refused, because he estimated the product at a much higher figure.  The hundredth penny could not be rated lower than five millions.  It was obvious, therefore, that instead of remitting funds to the provinces, his Majesty would, for the future, derive from them a steady and enormous income.  Moreover, he assured the King that there was at present no one to inspire anxiety from within or without.  The only great noble of note in the country was the Duke of Aerschot, who was devoted to his Majesty, and who, moreover, “amounted to very little,” as the King well knew.  As for the Prince of Orange, he would have business enough in keeping out of the clutches of his creditors.  They had nothing to fear from Germany.  England would do nothing as long as Germany was quiet; and France was sunk too low to be feared at all.

Such being the sentiments of the Duke, the King was already considering the propriety of appointing his successor.  All this was known to the President.  He felt instinctively that more clemency was to be expected from that successor, whoever he might be; and he was satisfied, therefore, that he would at least not be injuring his own position by inclining at this late hour to the side of mercy.  His opposition to the tenth and twentieth penny had already established a breach between himself and the Viceroy, but he felt secretly comforted by the reflection that the King was probably on the same side with himself.  Alva still spoke of him, to be sure, both in public and private, with approbation; taking occasion to commend him frequently, in his private letters, as a servant upright and zealous, as a living register, without whose universal knowledge of things and persons he should hardly know which way to turn.  The President, however, was growing weary of his own sycophancy.  He begged his friend Joachim to take his part, if his Excellency should write unfavorably about his conduct to the King.  He seemed to have changed his views of the man concerning whose “prudence and gentleness” he could once turn so many fine periods.  He even expressed some anxiety lest doubts should begin to be entertained as to the perfect clemency of the King’s character.  “Here is so much confiscation and bloodshed going on,” said he, “that some taint of cruelty or avarice may chance to bespatter the robe of his Majesty.”  He also confessed that he had occasionally read in history of greater benignity than was now exercised against the poor Netherlanders.  Had the learned Frisian arrived at these humane conclusions at a somewhat earlier day, it might perhaps have been better for himself and for his fatherland.  Had he served his country as faithfully as he had served Time, and Philip, and Alva, his lands would not have been so broad, nor his dignities so numerous, but he would not have been obliged, in his old age; to exclaim, with whimsical petulance, that “the faithful servant is always a perpetual ass.”