On the 18th of December the Duke of Alva departed from the provinces for ever.  With his further career this history has no concern, and it is not desirable to enlarge upon the personal biography of one whose name certainly never excites pleasing emotions.  He had kept his bed for the greater part of the time during the last few weeks of his government—­ partly on account of his gout, partly to avoid being seen in his humiliation, but mainly, it was said, to escape the pressing demands of his creditors.  He expressed a fear of travelling homeward through France, on the ground that he might very probably receive a shot out of a window as he went by.  He complained pathetically that, after all his labors, he had not “gained the approbation of the King,” while he had incurred “the malevolence and universal hatred of every individual in the country.”  Mondoucet, to whom he made the observation, was of the same opinion; and informed his master that the Duke “had engendered such an extraordinary hatred in the hearts of all persons in the land, that they would have fireworks in honor of his departure if they dared.”

On his journey from the Netherlands, he is said to have boasted that he had caused eighteen thousand six hundred inhabitants of the provinces to be executed during the period of his government.  The number of those who had perished by battle, siege, starvation, and massacre, defied computation.  The Duke was well received by his royal master, and remained in favor until a new adventure of Don Frederic brought father and son into disgrace.  Having deceived and abandoned a maid of honor, he suddenly espoused his cousins in order to avoid that reparation by marriage which was demanded for his offence.  In consequence, both the Duke and Don Frederic were imprisoned and banished, nor was Alva released till a general of experience was required for the conquest of Portugal.  Thither, as it were with fetters on his legs, he went.  After having accomplished the military enterprise entrusted to him, he fell into a lingering fever, at the termination of which he was so much reduced that he was only kept alive by milk, which he drank from a woman’s breast.  Such was the gentle second childhood of the man who had almost literally been drinking blood for seventy years.  He died on the 12th December, 1582.

The preceding pages have been written in vain, if an elaborate estimate be now required of his character.  His picture has been painted, as far as possible, by his own hand.  His deeds, which are not disputed, and his written words, illustrate his nature more fully than could be done by the most eloquent pen.  No attempt has been made to exaggerate his crimes, or to extenuate his superior qualities.  Virtues he had none, unless military excellence be deemed, as by the Romans, a virtue.  In war, both as a science and a practical art, he excelled all the generals who were opposed to him in the Netherlands, and he was inferior to no commander in the world during