Fleece, his gold-inlaid Milan armor, marked him at once as one of high degree.  On the field of battle he possessed the rare gift of inspiring his soldiers with his own impetuous and chivalrous courage.  He ever led the way upon the most dangerous and desperate ventures, and, like his uncle and his imperial grandfather, well knew how to reward the devotion of his readiest followers with a poniard, a feather, a riband, a jewel, taken with his own hands from his own attire.

His military, abilities—­now for the first time to be largely called into employment—­were unquestionably superior to those of Don John; whose name had been surrounded with such splendor by the World-renowned battle of Lepanto.  Moreover, he possessed far greater power for governing men, whether in camp or cabinet.  Less attractive and fascinating, he was more commanding than his kinsman.  Decorous and self-poised, he was only passionate before the enemy, but he rarely permitted a disrespectful look or word to escape condign and deliberate chastisement.  He was no schemer or dreamer.  He was no knight errant.  He would not have crossed seas and mountains to rescue a captive queen, nor have sought to place her crown on his own head as a reward for his heroism.  He had a single and concentrated kind of character.  He knew precisely the work which Philip required, and felt himself to be precisely the workman that had so long been wanted.  Cool, incisive, fearless, artful, he united the unscrupulous audacity of a condottiere with the wily patience of a Jesuit.  He could coil unperceived through unsuspected paths, could strike suddenly, sting mortally.  He came prepared, not only to smite the Netherlanders in the open field, but to cope with them in tortuous policy; to outwatch and outweary them in the game to which his impatient predecessor had fallen a baked victim.  He possessed the art and the patience—­as time was to prove—­not only to undermine their most impregnable cities, but to delve below the intrigues of their most accomplished politicians.  To circumvent at once both their negotiators and their men-at-arms was his appointed task.  Had it not been for the courage, the vigilance, and the superior intellect of a single antagonist, the whole of the Netherlands would have shared the fate which was reserved for the more southern portion.  Had the life of William of Orange been prolonged, perhaps the evil genius of the Netherlands might have still been exorcised throughout the whole extent of the country.  As for religion, Alexander Farnese was, of course, strictly Catholic, regarding all seceders from Romanism as mere heathen dogs.  Not that he practically troubled himself much with sacred matters—­for, during the life-time of his wife, he had cavalierly thrown the whole burden of his personal salvation upon her saintly shoulders.  She had now flown to higher spheres, but Alexander was, perhaps, willing to rely upon her continued intercessions in his behalf.