found himself
bitterly deceived in his hopes. The obstinate Netherlanders would not
love him, notwithstanding the good wishes he had manifested. They would
not even love the King of Spain, notwithstanding the blessings which his
Majesty was declared to have heaped upon them. On the contrary, they
persisted in wasting their perverse affections upon the pestilent Prince
of Orange. That heretic was leading them to destruction, for he was
showing them the road to liberty, and nothing, in the eyes of the
Governor, could be more pitiable than to behold an innocent people
setting forth upon such a journey. "In truth," said he, bitterly, in his
memorable letter to his sister the Empress, "they are willing to
recognize neither God nor king. They pretend to liberty in all things: so
that 'tis a great pity to see how they are going on; to see the impudence
and disrespect with which they repay his Majesty for the favors which he
has shown them, and me for the labors, indignities, and dangers which I
have undergone for their sakes."

Nothing, indeed, in the Governor's opinion, could surpass the insolence
of the Netherlanders, save their ingratitude. That was the serpent's
tooth which was ever wounding the clement King and his indignant brother.
It seemed so bitter to meet with thanklessness, after seven years of Alva
and three of Requesens; after the labors of the Blood Council, the
massacres of Naarden, Zutphen, and Harlem, the siege of Leyden, and the
Fury of Antwerp. "Little profit there has been," said the Governor to his
sister, "or is like to be from all the good which we have done to these
bad people. In short, they love and obey in all things the most perverse
and heretic tyrant and rebel in the whole world, which is this damned
Prince of Orange, while, on the contrary, without fear of God or shame
before men, they abhor and dishonor the name and commandments of their
natural sovereign." Therefore, with a doubting spirit, and almost with a
broken heart, had the warrior shut himself up in Namur Castle, to await
the progress of events, and to escape from the snares of his enemies.
"God knows how much I desire to avoid extremities," said he, "but I know
not what to do with men who show themselves so obstinately rebellious."

Thus pathetically Don John bewailed his fate. The nation had turned from
God, from Philip, from himself; yet he still sat in his castle,
determined to save them from destruction and his own hands from
blo