Philip II. was accustomed to honor More by frequent visits to his
studio, on which occasions he treated him with extraordinary
familiarity. One day, in a moment of condescension and admiration, the
monarch jocosely slapped More on the shoulder which compliment the
painter, in an unguarded moment, playfully returned by smearing his hand
with a little carmine from his brush. The King withdrew his hand and
surveyed it for a moment, seriously; the courtiers were petrified with
horror and amazement; the hand to which ladies knelt before they had the
honor to kiss it, had never before been so dishonored since the
foundation of the monarchy; at that moment the fate of More was balanced
on a hair; he saw his rashness, fell on his knees, kissed the King's
feet, and humbly begged pardon for the offence. Philip smiled, and
pardoned him, and all seemed to be well again; but the person of the
King was too sacred in those days, and the act too daring to escape the
notice of the Inquisition, from whose bigotry and vengeance the King
himself could not have shielded him. Happily for More, one of Philip's
ministers advised him of his danger, and without loss of time he set out
for Brussels, upon the feigned pretence of pressing engagements, nor
could Philip ever induce him to return to his court.