The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1564-65 | Page 3

at the

popinjay, calling every man by his name, and assisting at jovial
banquets in town-house or guild-hall. The Prince, although at times a
necessary partaker also in these popular amusements, could find small
cause for rejoicing in the aspect of affairs. When his business led him
to the palace, he was sometimes forced to wait in the ante-chamber for
an hour, while Secretary Armenteros was engaged in private
consultation with Margaret upon the most important matters of
administration. It could not be otherwise than galling to the pride and
offensive to the patriotism of the Prince, to find great public
transactions entrusted to such hands. Thomas de Armenteros was a
mere private secretary--a simple clerk. He had no right to have
cognizance of important affairs, which could only come before his
Majesty's sworn advisers. He was moreover an infamous peculator. He
was rolling up a fortune with great rapidity by his shameless traffic in
benefices, charges, offices, whether of church or state. His name of
Armenteros was popularly converted into Argenteros, in order to
symbolize the man who was made of public money. His confidential
intimacy with the Duchess procured for him also the name of "Madam's
barber," in allusion to the famous ornaments of Margaret's upper lip,
and to the celebrated influence enjoyed by the barbers of the Duke of
Savoy, and of Louis the Eleventh. This man sold dignities and places of
high responsibility at public auction. The Regent not only connived at
these proceedings, which would have been base enough, but she was
full partner in the disgraceful commerce. Through the agency of the
Secretary, she, too, was amassing a large private fortune. "The Duchess
has gone into the business of vending places to the highest bidders,"
said Morillon, "with the bit between her teeth." The spectacle presented
at the council-board was often sufficiently repulsive not only to the
cardinalists, who were treated with elaborate insolence, but to all men
who loved honor and justice, or who felt an interest in the prosperity of
government. There was nothing majestic in the appearance of the
Duchess, as she sat conversing apart with Armenteros, whispering,
pinching, giggling, or disputing, while important affairs of state were
debated, concerning which the Secretary had no right to be informed. It
was inevitable that Orange should be offended to the utmost by such
proceedings, although he was himself treated with comparative respect.
As for the ancient adherents of Granvelle, the Bordeys, Baves, and

Morillons, they were forbidden by the favorite even to salute him in the
streets. Berlaymont was treated by the Duchess with studied insult.
"What is the man talking about?" she would ask with languid
superciliousness, if he attempted to express his opinion in the
state-council. Viglius, whom Berlaymont accused of doing his best,
without success, to make his peace with the seigniors, was in even still
greater disgrace than his fellow- cardinalists. He longed, he said, to be
in Burgundy, drinking Granvelle's good wine. His patience under the
daily insults which he received from the government made him
despicable in the eyes of his own party. He was described by his friends
as pusillanimous to an incredible extent, timid from excess of riches,
afraid of his own shadow. He was becoming exceedingly pathetic,
expressing frequently a desire to depart and end his days in peace. His
faithful Hopper sustained and consoled him, but even Joachim could
not soothe his sorrows when he reflected that after all the work
performed by himself and colleagues, "they had only been beating the
bush for others," while their own share in the spoils had been withheld.
Nothing could well be more contumelious than Margaret's treatment of
the learned Frisian. When other councillors were summoned to a
session at three o'clock, the President was invited at four. It was quite
impossible for him to have an audience of the Duchess except in the
presence of the inevitable Armenteras. He was not allowed to open his
mouth, even when he occasionally plucked up heart enough to attempt
the utterance of his opinions. His authority was completely dead. Even
if he essayed to combat the convocation of the states-general by the
arguments which the Duchess, at his suggestion, had often used for the
purpose, he was treated with the same indifference. "The poor
President," wrote Granvelle to the King's chief secretary, Gonzalo
Perez, "is afraid, as I hear, to speak a word, and is made to write
exactly what they tell him." At the same time the poor President, thus
maltreated and mortified, had the vanity occasionally to imagine
himself a bold and formidable personage. The man whom his most
intimate friends described as afraid of his own shadow, described
himself to Granvelle as one who went his own gait, speaking his mind
frankly upon every opportunity, and