Such was the famous bridge of Parma.  The magnificent undertaking has been advantageously compared with the celebrated Rhine-bridge of Julius Caesar.  When it is remembered; however; that the Roman work was performed in summer, across a river only half as broad as the Scheldt, free from the disturbing, action of the tides; and flowing through an unresisting country; while the whole character of the structure; intended only to, serve for the single passage of an army, was far inferior to the massive solidity of Parma’s bridge; it seems not unreasonable to assign the superiority to the general who had surmounted all the obstacles of a northern winter, vehement ebb and flow from the sea, and enterprising and desperate enemies at every point.

When the citizens, at last, looked upon the completed fabric, converted from the “dream,” which they had pronounced it to be, into a terrible reality; when they saw the shining array of Spanish and Italian legions marching and counter-marching upon their new road; and trampling, as it were; the turbulent river beneath their feet; when they witnessed the solemn military spectacle with which the Governor-General celebrated his success, amid peals of cannon and shouts of triumph from his army, they bitterly bewailed their own folly.  Yet even then they could hardly believe that the work had been accomplished by human agency, but they loudly protested that invisible demons had been summoned to plan and perfect this fatal and preter-human work.  They were wrong.  There had been but one demon—­one clear, lofty intelligence, inspiring a steady and untiring hand.  The demon was the intellect of Alexander Farnese; but it had been assisted in its labour by the hundred devils of envy, covetousness, jealousy, selfishness, distrust, and discord, that had housed, not, in his camp, but in the ranks of those who were contending for their hearths and altars.

And thus had the Prince arrived at success in spite of every obstacle.  He took a just pride in the achievement, yet he knew by how many dangers he was still surrounded, and he felt hurt at his sovereign’s neglect.  “The enterprise at Antwerp,” he wrote to Philip on the day the bridge was completed, “is so great and heroic that to celebrate it would require me to speak more at large than I like, to do, for fear of being tedious to your Majesty.  What I will say, is that the labours and difficulties have been every day so, great, that if your Majesty knew them, you would estimate, what we have done more highly than-you do; and not forget us so utterly, leaving us to die of hunger.”

He considered the fabric in itself almost impregnable, provided he were furnished with the means to maintain what he had so painfully constructed.

“The whole is in such condition,” said he, “that in opinion of all competent military judges it would stand though all Holland and Zeeland should come to destroy our, palisades.  Their attacks must be made at immense danger, and disadvantage, so severely can we play upon them with our artillery and musketry.  Every boat is, garnished with the most dainty captains and soldiers, so that if the enemy should attempt to assail us now, they would come back with broken heads.”