lowing in Alva's footsteps, would
never be able to rival the intensity and the unswerving directness of
purpose which it had been permitted to the Duke's nature to attain. The
new Governor-General was, doubtless, human, and it had been long since
the Netherlanders imagined anything in common between themselves and the
late Viceroy.

Apart from this hope, however, there was little encouragement to be
derived from anything positively known of the new functionary, or the
policy which he was to represent. Don Luis de Requesens and Cuniga, Grand
Commander of Castile and late Governor of Milan, was a man of mediocre
abilities, who possessed a reputation for moderation and sagacity which
he hardly deserved. His military prowess had been chiefly displayed in
the bloody and barren battle of Lepanto, where his conduct and counsel
were supposed to have contributed, in some measure, to the victorious
result. His administration at Milan had been characterized as firm and
moderate. Nevertheless, his character was regarded with anything but
favorable eyes in the Netherlands. Men told each other of his broken
faith to the Moors in Granada, and of his unpopularity in Milan, where,
notwithstanding his boasted moderation, he had, in reality, so oppressed
the people as to gain their deadly hatred. They complained, too, that it
was an insult to send, as Governor-General of the provinces, not a prince
of the blood, as used to be the case, but a simple "gentleman of cloak
and sword."

Any person, however, who represented the royal authority in the provinces
was under historical disadvantage. He was literally no more than an
actor, hardly even that. It was Philip's policy and pride to direct all
the machinery of his extensive empire, and to pull every string himself.
His puppets, however magnificently attired, moved only in obedience to
his impulse, and spoke no syllable but with his voice. Upon the table in
his cabinet was arranged all the business of his various realms, even to
the most minute particulars.

Plans, petty or vast, affecting the interests of empires and ages, or
bounded within the narrow limits of trivial and evanescent detail,
encumbered his memory and consumed his time. His ambition to do all the
work of his kingdoms was aided by an inconceivable greediness for labor.
He loved the routine of business, as some monarchs have loved war, as
others have loved pleasure. The object, alike paltry and impossible, of
this ambition,