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.  The life of a bravo in time of peace—­the deliberate project in war to exterminate whole cities full of innocent people, who had different notions on the subject of image-worship and ecclesiastical ceremonies from those entertained at Rome, did not seem to him at all incompatible with the precepts of Jesus.  Hanging, drowning, burning and butchering heretics were the legitimate deductions of his theology.  He was no casuist nor pretender to holiness:  but in those days every man was devout, and Alexander looked with honest horror upon the impiety of the heretics, whom he persecuted and massacred.  He attended mass regularly—­in the winter mornings by torch-light—­and would as soon have foregone his daily tennis as his religious exercises.  Romanism was the creed of his caste.  It was the religion of princes and gentlemen of high degree.  As for Lutheranism, Zwinglism, Calvinism, and similar systems, they were but the fantastic rites of weavers, brewers, and the like—­an ignoble herd whose presumption in entitling themselves Christian, while rejecting the Pope; called for their instant extermination.  His personal habits were extremely temperate.  He was accustomed to say that he ate only to support life; and he rarely finished a dinner without having risen three or four times from table to attend to some public business which, in his opinion, ought not to be deferred.