He was at that time, after almost superhuman exertions, engaged in the famous relief of Paris.  He had gone there, he said, against his judgment and remonstrating with his Majesty on the insufficiency of men and money for such an enterprise.  His army was half-mutinous and unprovided with food, artillery, or munitions; and then he found himself slandered, ridiculed, his life’s life lied away.  ’Twas poor payment for his services, he exclaimed, if his Majesty should give ear to these calumniators, and should give him no chance of confronting his accusers and clearing his reputation.  Moreo detested him, as he knew, and Prince Doria said that the commander once spoke so ill of Farnese in Genoa that he was on the point of beating him; while Moreo afterwards told the story as if he had been maltreated because of defending Farnese against Doria’s slanders.

And still more vehemently did he inveigh against Moreo in his direct appeals to Philip.  He had intended to pass over his calumnies, of which he was well aware, because he did not care to trouble the dead—­for Moreo meantime had suddenly died, and the gossips, of course, said it was of Farnese poison—­but he had just discovered by documents that the commander had been steadily and constantly pouring these his calumnies into the monarch’s ears.  He denounced every charge as lies, and demanded proof.  Moreo had further been endeavouring to prejudice the Duke of Mayenne against the King of Spain and himself, saying that he, Farnese, had been commissioned to take Mayenne into custody, with plenty of similar lies.

“But what I most feel,” said Alexander, with honest wrath, “is to see that your Majesty gives ear to them without making the demonstration which my services merit, and has not sent to inform me of them, seeing that they may involve my reputation and honour.  People have made more account of these calumnies than of my actions performed upon the theatre of the world.  I complain, after all my toils and dangers in your Majesty’s service, just when I stood with my soul in my mouth and death in my teeth, forgetting children, house, and friends, to be treated thus, instead of receiving rewards and honour, and being enabled to leave to my children, what was better than all the riches the royal hand could bestow, an unsullied and honourable name.”

He protested that his reputation had so much suffered that he would prefer to retire to some remote corner as a humble servant of the king, and leave a post which had made him so odious to all.  Above all, he entreated his Majesty to look upon this whole affair “not only like a king but like a gentleman.”

Philip answered these complaints and reproaches benignantly, expressed unbounded confidence in the duke, assured him that the calumnies of his supposed enemies could produce no effect upon the royal mind, and coolly professed to have entirely forgotten having received any such letter as that of which his nephew complained.  “At any rate I have mislaid it,” he said, “so that you see how much account it was with me.”