cially, it was his wont to seek and defy
every gentleman whose skill or bravery had ever been commended in his
hearing: At last, upon one occasion it was his fortune to encounter a
certain Count Torelli, whose reputation as a swordsman and duellist was
well established in Parma. The blades were joined, and the fierce combat
had already been engaged in the darkness, when the torch of an accidental
passenger gashed full in the face of Alexander. Torelli, recognising thus
suddenly his antagonist, dropped his sword and implored forgiveness, for
the wily Italian was too keen not to perceive that even if the death of
neither combatant should be the result of the fray, his own position was,
in every event, a false one. Victory would ensure him the hatred, defeat
the contempt of his future sovereign. The unsatisfactory issue and
subsequent notoriety of this encounter put a termination to these
midnight joys of Alexander, and for a season he felt obliged to assume
more pacific habits, and to solace himself with the society of that
"phoenix of Portugal," who had so long sat brooding on his domestic
hearth.

At last the holy league was formed, the new and last crusade proclaimed,
his uncle and bosom friend appointed to the command of the united troops
of Rome, Spain, and Venice. He could no longer be restrained. Disdaining
the pleadings of his mother and of his spouse, he extorted permission
from Philip, and flew to the seat of war in the Levant. Don John received
him with open arms, just before the famous action of Lepanto, and gave
him an excellent position in the very front of the battle, with the
command of several Genoese galleys. Alexander's exploits on that eventful
day seemed those of a fabulous hero of romance. He laid his galley
alongside of the treasure-ship of the Turkish fleet, a vessel, on account
of its importance, doubly manned and armed. Impatient that the Crescent
was not lowered, after a few broadsides, he sprang on board the enemy
alone, waving an immense two-handed sword--his usual weapon--and mowing a
passage right and left through the hostile ranks for the warriors who
tardily followed the footsteps of their vehement chief. Mustapha Bey, the
treasurer and commander of the ship, fell before his sword, besides many
others, whom he hardly saw or counted. The galley was soon his own, as
well as another, which came to the rescue of the treasure-ship only to
share its defeat. The booty which Alexander's crew secure