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