ing at the
world, at passionate people, and at all their calumnies." It is evident
that his philosophy, if it had any real existence, was sufficiently
Epicurean. It was, however, mainly compounded of pretence, like his whole
nature and his whole life. Notwithstanding the mountains high as heaven,
the cool grottos, the trout, and the best Burgundy wines in the world,
concerning which he descanted so eloquently, he soon became in reality
most impatient of his compulsory seclusion. His pretence of "composing
himself as much as possible to tranquillity and repose" could deceive
none of the intimate associates to whom he addressed himself in that
edifying vein. While he affected to be blind and deaf to politics, he had
eyes and ears for nothing else. Worldly affairs were his element, and he
was shipwrecked upon the charming solitude which he affected to admire.
He was most anxious to return to the world again, but he had difficult
cards to play. His master was even more dubious than usual about
everything. Granvelle was ready to remain in Burgundy as long as Philip
chose that he should remain there. He was also ready to go to "India,
Peru, or into the fire," whenever his King should require any such
excursion, or to return to the Netherlands, confronting any danger which
might lie in his path. It is probable that he nourished for a long time a
hope that the storm would blow over in the provinces, and his resumption
of power become possible. William of Orange, although more than half
convinced that no attempt would be made to replace the minister, felt it
necessary to keep strict watch on his movements. "We must be on our
guard," said he, "and not be deceived. Perhaps they mean to put us
asleep, in order the better to execute their designs. For the present
things are peaceable, and all the world is rejoiced at the departure of
that good Cardinal." The Prince never committed the error of undervaluing
the talents of his great adversary, and he felt the necessity of being on
the alert in the present emergency. "'Tis a sly and cunning bird that we
are dealing with," said he, "one that sleeps neither day nor night if a
blow is to be dealt to us." Honest Brederode, after solacing himself with
the spectacle of his enemy's departure, soon began to suspect his return,
and to express himself on the subject, as usual, with ludicrous
vehemence. "They say the red fellow is back again," he wrote to Count
Louis, "and that Berlaymont has gone