In a letter to his sister, the regent, written some two years after this period, Philip says: "I have never had any other object in view than the good of my subjects. In all that I have done, I have but trod in the footsteps of my father, under whom the people of the Netherlands must admit they lived contented and happy. As to the Inquisition, whatever people may say of it, I have never attempted anything new. With regard to the edicts, I have been always resolved to live and die in the Catholic faith. I could not be content to have my subjects do otherwise. Yet I see not how this can be compassed without punishing the transgressors. God knows how willingly I would avoid shedding a drop of Christian blood,--above all, that of my people in the Netherlands; and I should esteem it one of the happiest circumstances of my reign to be spared this necessity."[605] Whatever we may think of the sensibility of Philip, or of his tenderness for his Flemish subjects in particular, we cannot deny that the policy he had hitherto pursued was substantially that of his father. Yet his father lived beloved, and died lamented, by the Flemings; while Philip's course, from the very first, had encountered only odium and opposition. A little reflection will show us the reasons of these different results. Both Charles and Philip came forward as the great champions of Catholicism. But the emperor's zeal was so far tempered by reason, that it could accommodate itself to circumstances. He showed this on more than one occasion, both in Germany and in Flanders. Philip, on the other hand, admitted of no compromise. He was the inexorable foe of heresy. Persecution was his only remedy, and the Inquisition the weapon on which he relied. His first act on setting foot on his native shore was to assist at an _auto da fé_. This proclaimed his purpose to the world, and associated his name indelibly with that of the terrible tribunal. The free people of the Netherlands felt the same dread of the Inquisition that a free and enlightened people of our own day might be supposed to feel. They looked with gloomy apprehension to the unspeakable misery it was to bring to their firesides, and the desolation and ruin to their country. Everything that could in any way be connected with it took the dismal coloring of their fears. The edicts of Charles the Fifth, written in blood, became yet more formidable, as declaring the penalties to be inflicted by this tribunal. Even the erection of the bishoprics, so necessary a measure, was regarded with distrust on account of the inquisitorial powers which of old were vested in the bishops, thus seeming to give additional strength to the arm of persecution. The popular feeling was nourished by every new convert to the Protestant faith, as well as by those who, from views of their own, were willing to fan the flame of rebellion.