The Project Gutenberg eBook of History Of The Reign Of Philip The Second, King Of Spain, by William H. Prescott.

CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE OF FRANCE, OF THE ROYAL
ACADEMY OF HISTORY AT MADRID, ETC.

LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE
NEW YORK. 416, BROOME STREET.

PREFACE.

The reign of Philip the Second has occupied the pen of the historian more frequently—if we except that of Charles the Fifth—than any other portion of the Spanish annals. It has become familiar to the English reader through the pages of Watson, who has deservedly found favor with the public for the perspicuity of his style,—a virtue, however, not uncommon in his day,—for the sobriety of his judgments, and for the skill he has shown in arranging his complicated story, so as to maintain the reader's interest unbroken to the end. But the public, in Watson's day, were not very fastidious in regard to the sources of the information on which a narrative was founded. Nor was it easy to obtain access to those unpublished documents which constitute the best sources of information. Neither can it be denied that Watson himself was not so solicitous as he should have been to profit by opportunities which a little pains might have put within his reach,—presenting, in this respect, a contrast to his more celebrated predecessor, Robertson; that he contented himself too easily with such cheap and commonplace materials as lay directly in his path; and that, consequently, the foundations of his history are much too slight for the superstructure. For these reasons, the reign of Philip the Second must still be regarded as open ground for English and American writers.

And at no time could the history of this reign have been undertaken with the same advantages as at present, when the more enlightened policy of the European governments has opened their {iv}national archives to the inspection of the scholar; when he is allowed access, in particular, to the Archives of Simancas, which have held the secrets of the Spanish monarchy hermetically sealed for ages.

The history of Philip the Second is the history of Europe during the latter half of the sixteenth century. It covers the period when the doctrines of the Reformation were agitating the minds of men in so fearful a manner as to shake the very foundations of the Romish hierarchy in the fierce contest which divided Christendom. Philip, both from his personal character, and from his position as sovereign of the most potent monarchy in Europe, was placed at the head of the party which strove to uphold the fortunes of the ancient Church; and thus his policy led him perpetually to interfere in the internal affairs of the other European states,—making it necessary to look for the materials for his history quite as much without the Peninsula as within it. In this respect the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella presents a strong contrast to that of Philip the Second; and it was the consideration of this, when I had completed my history of the former, and proposed at some future day to enter upon that of the latter, that led me to set about a collection of authentic materials from the public archives in the great European capitals. It was a work of difficulty; and, although I had made some progress in it, I did not feel assured of success until I had the good fortune to obtain the coöperation of my friend, Don Pascual de Gayangos, Professor of Arabic in the University of Madrid. This eminent scholar was admirably qualified for the task which he so kindly undertook; since, with a remarkable facility—such as long practice only can give—in deciphering the mysterious handwriting of the sixteenth century, he combined such a thorough acquaintance with the history of his country as enabled him to detect, amidst the ocean of manuscripts which he inspected, such portions as were essential to my purpose.

With unwearied assiduity he devoted himself to the examination of many of the principal collections, both in England and on the Continent. Among these may be mentioned the British Museum and the State-Paper Office, in London; the Library of the Dukes of Burgundy, in Brussels; that of the University of Leyden; the {v}Royal Library, at the Hague; the Royal Library of Paris, and the Archives of the Kingdom, in the Hôtel Soubise; the Library of the Academy of History, the National Library at Madrid, and, more important than either, the ancient Archives of Simancas, within whose hallowed precincts Señor Gayangos was one of the first scholars permitted to enter.

Besides these public repositories, there are several private collections to the owners of which I am largely indebted for the liberal manner in which they have opened them for my benefit. I may mention, in particular, the late Lady Holland, who kindly permitted copies to be made by Señor Gayangos from the manuscripts preserved in Holland House; Sir Thomas Phillips, Bart., who freely extended the same courtesy in respect to the present work which he had shown to me on a former occasion; and Patrick Fraser Tytler, Esq., the late excellent historian of Scotland, who generously placed at my disposal sundry documents copied by him in the public offices with his own hand, for the illustration of the reign of Mary Tudor.

In Spain the collection made by Señor Gayangos was enriched by materials drawn from the family archives of the marquis of Santa Cruz, whose illustrious ancestor first had charge of the Spanish armada; from the archives of Medina Sidonia, containing papers of the duke who succeeded to the command of that ill-starred expedition; and from the archives of the house of Alva,—a name associated with the most memorable acts of the government of Philip.

The manuscripts, thus drawn from various quarters, were fortified by such printed works as, having made their appearance in the time of Philip the Second, could throw any light on his government. Where such works were not to be purchased, Señor Gayangos caused copies to be made of them, or of those portions which were important to my purpose. The result of his kind, untiring labors has been to put me in possession of such a collection of authentic materials for the illustration of the reign of Philip as no one before had probably attempted to make. Nor until now had the time come for making the attempt with success.

There still remained, however, some places to be examined where I might expect to find documents that would be of use to {vi}me. Indeed, it is in the nature of such a collection, covering so wide an extent of ground, that it can never be complete. The historian may be satisfied, if he has such authentic materials at his command, as, while they solve much that has hitherto been enigmatical in the accounts of the time, will enable him to present, in their true light, the character of Philip and the policy of his government. I must acknowledge my obligations to more than one person, who has given me important aid in prosecuting my further researches.

One of the first of them is my friend, Mr. Edward Everett, who, in his long and brilliant career as a statesman, has lost nothing of that love of letters which formed his first claim to distinction. The year before his appointment to the English mission he passed on the Continent, where, with the kindness that belongs to his nature, he spent much time in examining for me the great libraries, first in Paris, and afterwards more effectually in Florence. From the Archivio Mediceo, in which he was permitted by the grand duke to conduct his researches, he obtained copies of sundry valuable documents, and among them the letters of the Tuscan ministers, which have helped to guide me in some of the most intricate parts of my narrative. A still larger amount of materials he derived from the private library of Count Guicciardini, the descendant of the illustrious historian of that name. I am happy to express my lively sense of the courtesy shown by this nobleman; also my gratitude for kind offices rendered me by Prince Corsini; and no less by the Marquis Gino Capponi, whose name will be always held in honor for the enlightened patronage which he has extended to learning, while suffering, himself, under the severest privation that can befall the scholar.

There was still an important deficiency in my collection,—that of the Relazioni Venete, as the reports are called which were made by ambassadors of Venice on their return from their foreign missions. The value of these reports, for the information they give of the countries visited by the envoys, is well known to historians. The deficiency was amply supplied by the unwearied kindness of my friend, Mr. Fay, who now so ably fills the post of minister from the United States to Switzerland. When connected with the American legation at Berlin, he, in the most obliging manner, {vii}assisted me in making arrangements for obtaining the documents I desired, which, with other papers of importance, were copied for me from the manuscripts in the Royal Library of Berlin, and the Ducal Library of Gotha. I have also, in connection with this, to express my obligations to the distinguished librarian of the former institution, Mr. Pertz, for the good-will which he showed in promoting my views.

Through Mr. Fay, I also obtained the authority of Prince Metternich to inspect the Archives of the Empire in Vienna, which I inferred, from the intimate relations subsisting between the courts of Madrid and Vienna in that day, must contain much valuable matter relevant to my subject. The result did not correspond to my expectations. I am happy, however, to have the opportunity of publicly offering my acknowledgments to that eminent scholar, Dr. Ferdinand Wolf, for the obliging manner in which he conducted the investigation for me, as well in the archives above mentioned, as, with better results, in the Imperial Library, with which he is officially connected.

In concluding the list of those to whose good offices I have been indebted, I must not omit the names of M. de Salvandy, minister of public instruction in France at the time I was engaged in making my collection; Mr. Rush, then the minister of the United States at the French court; Mr. Rives, of Virginia, his successor in that office; and last, not least, my friend, Count de Circourt, a scholar whose noble contributions to the periodical literature of his country, on the greatest variety of topics, have given him a prominent place among the writers of our time.

I am happy, also, to tender my acknowledgments for the favors I have received from Mr. Van de Weyer, minister from Belgium to the court of St. James; from Mr. B. Homer Dixon, consul for the Netherlands at Boston; and from my friend and kinsman, Mr. Thomas Hickling, consul for the United States at St. Michael's, who kindly furnished me with sundry manuscripts exhibiting the condition of the Azores at the period when those islands passed, with Portugal, under the sceptre of Philip the Second.

Having thus acquainted the reader with the sources whence I have derived my materials, I must now say a few words in regard {viii} to the conduct of my narrative. An obvious difficulty in the path of the historian of this period arises from the nature of the subject, embracing, as it does, such a variety of independent, not to say incongruous topics, that it is no easy matter to preserve anything like unity of interest in the story. Thus the Revolution of the Netherlands, although, strictly speaking, only an episode to the main body of the narrative, from its importance, well deserves to be treated in a separate and independent narrative by itself.[1] Running along through the whole extent of Philip's reign, it is continually distracting the attention of the historian, creating an embarrassment something like that which arises from what is termed a double plot in the drama. The best way of obviating this is to keep in view the dominant principle which controlled all the movements of the complicated machinery, so to speak, and impressed on them a unity of action. This principle is to be found in the policy of Philip, the great aim of which was to uphold the supremacy of the Church, and, as a consequence, that of the crown. "Peace and public order," he writes on one occasion, "are to be maintained in my dominions only by maintaining the authority of the Holy See." It was this policy, almost as sure and steady in its operation as the laws of Nature herself, that may be said to have directed the march of events through the whole of his long reign; and it is only by keeping this constantly in view that the student will be enabled to obtain a clew to guide him through the intricate passages in the history of Philip, and the best means of solving what would otherwise remain enigmatical in his conduct.

In the composition of the work, I have, for the most part, conformed to the plan which I had before adopted. Far from confining myself to a record of political events, I have endeavored to present a picture of the intellectual culture and the manners of the people. I have not even refused such aid as could be obtained {ix} from the display of pageants, and court ceremonies, which, although exhibiting little more than the costume of the time, may serve to bring the outward form of a picturesque age more vividly before the eye of the reader. In the arrangement of the narrative, I have not confined myself altogether to the chronological order of events, but have thrown them into masses, according to the subjects to which they relate, so as to produce, as far as possible, a distinct impression on the reader. And in this way I have postponed more than one matter of importance to a later portion of the work, which a strict regard to time would assign more properly to an earlier division of the subject. Finally, I have been careful to fortify the text with citations from the original authorities on which it depends, especially where these are rare and difficult of access.

In the part relating to the Netherlands I have pursued a course somewhat different from what I have done in other parts of the work. The scholars of that country, in a truly patriotic spirit, have devoted themselves of late years to exploring their own archives, as well as those of Simancas, for the purpose of illustrating their national annals. The results they have given to the world in a series of publications, which are still in progress. The historian has reason to be deeply grateful to those pioneers, whose labors have put him in possession of materials which afford the most substantial basis for his narrative. For what basis can compare with that afforded by the written correspondence of the parties themselves? It is on this sure ground that I have mainly relied in this part of my story; and I have adopted the practice of incorporating extracts from the letters in the body of the text, which, if it may sometimes give an air of prolixity to the narrative, will have the advantage of bringing the reader into a sort of personal acquaintance with the actors, as he listens to the words spoken by themselves.

In the earlier part of this Preface, I have made the acknowledgments due for assistance I have received in the collection of my materials; and I must not now conclude without recording my obligations, of another kind, to two of my personal friends,—Mr. Charles Folsom, the learned librarian of the Boston Athenæum, who has repeated the good offices he had before rendered me in {x} revising my manuscript for the press; and Mr. John Foster Kirk, whose familiarity with the history and languages of Modern Europe has greatly aided me in the prosecution of my researches, while his sagacious criticism has done me no less service in the preparation of these volumes.

Notwithstanding the advantages I have enjoyed for the composition of this work, and especially those derived from the possession of new and original materials, I am fully sensible that I am far from having done justice to a subject so vast in its extent and so complicated in its relations. It is not necessary to urge in my defence any physical embarrassments under which I labor; since that will hardly be an excuse for not doing well what it was not necessary to do at all. But I may be permitted to say, that what I have done has been the result of careful preparation; that I have endeavored to write in a spirit of candor and good faith; and that, whatever may be the deficiencies of my work, it can hardly fail—considering the advantages I have enjoyed over my predecessors—to present the reader with such new and authentic statements of facts as may afford him a better point of view than that which he has hitherto possessed for surveying the history of Philip the Second.

CONTENTS.

HISTORY OF PHILIP THE SECOND.

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I.

Introductory Remarks.—Spain under Charles the Fifth.—He prepares to resign the Crown.—His Abdication.—His Return to Spain.—His Journey to Yuste.

In a former work, I have endeavored to portray the period when the different provinces of Spain were consolidated into one empire under the rule of Ferdinand and Isabella; when, by their wise and beneficent policy, the nation emerged from the obscurity in which it had so long remained behind the Pyrenees, and took its place as one of the great members of the European commonwealth. I now propose to examine a later period in the history of the same nation,—the reign of Philip the Second; when, with resources greatly enlarged, and territory extended by a brilliant career of discovery and conquest, it had risen to the zenith of its power; but when, under the mischievous policy of the administration, it had excited the jealousy of its neighbors, and already disclosed those germs of domestic corruption which gradually led to its dismemberment and decay.

By the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella, most of the states of the Peninsula became united under one common rule; and in 1516, the sceptre of Spain, with its dependencies both in the Old and the New World, passed into the hands of their grandson, Charles the Fifth, who, though he shared the throne nominally with his mother, Joanna, became, in consequence of her incapacity, the real sovereign of this vast empire. He had before inherited, through his father, Philip the Handsome, that fair portion of the ducal realm of Burgundy which comprehended Franche Comté and the Netherlands. In 1519, he was elected to the imperial crown of Germany. Not many years elapsed before his domain was still further enlarged by the barbaric empires of Mexico and Peru; and Spain then first realized the magnificent vaunt, since so often repeated, that the sun never set within the borders of her dominions.

Yet the importance of Spain did not rise with the importance of her acquisitions. She was, in a manner, lost in the magnitude of these acquisitions. Some of the rival nations which owned the sway of Charles, in Europe, were of much greater importance than Spain, and attracted much more attention from their contemporaries. In the earlier period of that monarch's reign, there was a moment when a contest was going forward in Castile, of the deepest interest to mankind. Unfortunately, the "War of the Comunidades,"{2} as it was termed, was soon closed by the ruin of the patriots; and, on the memorable field of Villalar, the liberties of Spain received a blow from which they were destined not to recover for centuries. From that fatal hour,—the bitter fruit of the jealousy of castes and the passions of the populace,—an unbroken tranquillity reigned throughout the country; such a tranquillity as naturally flows not from a free and well-conducted government, but from a despotic one. In this political tranquillity, however, the intellect of Spain did not slumber. Sheltered from invasion by the barrier of the Pyrenees, her people were allowed to cultivate the arts of peace, so long as they did not meddle with politics or religion,—in other words, with the great interests of humanity; while the more adventurous found a scope for their prowess in European wars, or in exploring the boundless regions of the Western world.

While there was so little passing in Spain to attract the eye of the historian, Germany became the theatre of one of those momentous struggles which have had a permanent influence on the destinies of mankind. It was in this reign that the great battle of religious liberty was begun; and the attention and personal presence of Charles were necessarily demanded most in the country where that battle was to be fought. But a small part of his life was passed in Spain, in comparison with what he spent in other parts of his dominions. His early attachments, his lasting sympathies, were with the people of the Netherlands; for Flanders was the place of his birth. He spoke the language of that country more fluently than the Castilian; although he knew the various languages of his dominions so well, that he could address his subjects from every quarter in their native dialect. In the same manner, he could accommodate himself to their peculiar national manners and tastes. But this flexibility was foreign to the genius of the Spaniard. Charles brought nothing from Spain but a religious zeal, amounting to bigotry, which took deep root in a melancholy temperament inherited from his mother. His tastes were all Flemish. He introduced the gorgeous ceremonial of the Burgundian court into his own palace, and into the household of his son. He drew his most trusted and familiar counsellors from Flanders; and this was one great cause of the troubles which, at the beginning of his reign, distracted Castile. There was little to gratify the pride of the Spaniard in the position which he occupied at the imperial court. Charles regarded Spain chiefly for the resources she afforded for carrying on his ambitious enterprises. When he visited her, it was usually to draw supplies from the cortes. The Spaniards understood this, and bore less affection to his person than to many of their monarchs far inferior to him in the qualities for exciting it. They hardly regarded him as one of the nation. There was, indeed, nothing national in the reign of Charles. His most intimate relations were with Germany; and as the Emperor Charles the Fifth of Germany, not as King Charles the First of Spain, he was known in his own time, and stands recorded on the pages of history.

When Charles ascended the throne, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, Europe may be said to have been much in the same condition, in one respect, as she was at the beginning of the eighth. The Turk menaced her on the east, in the same manner as the Arab had before menaced her on the west. The hour seemed to be fast approaching which was to decide whether Christianity or Mahometanism should hold the ascendant. The Ottoman tide of conquest rolled up to the very walls of Vienna; and Charles, who, as head of the empire, was placed on the frontier of Christendom, was called on to repel it. When thirty-two years of age, he marched against the formidable Solyman, drove him to an ignominious retreat, and, at less cost of life than is often expended in a skirmish, saved Europe from invasion. He afterwards{3} crossed the sea to Tunis, then occupied by a horde of pirates, the scourge of the Mediterranean. He beat them in a bloody battle, slew their chief, and liberated ten thousand captives from their dungeons. All Europe rang with the praises of the young hero, who thus consecrated his arms to the service of the Cross, and stood forward as the true champion of Christendom.

But from this high position Charles was repeatedly summoned to other contests, of a more personal and far less honorable character. Such was his long and bloody quarrel with Francis the First. It was hardly possible that two princes, so well matched in years, power, pretensions, and, above all, love of military glory, with dominions touching on one another through their whole extent, could long remain without cause of rivalry and collision. Such rivalry did exist from the moment that the great prize of the empire was adjudged to Charles; and through the whole of their long struggle, with the exception of a few reverses, the superior genius of the emperor triumphed over his bold, but less politic adversary.

There was still a third contest, on which the strength of the Spanish monarch was freely expended through the greater part of his reign,—his contest with the Lutheran princes of Germany. Here, too, for a long time, fortune favored him. But it is easier to contend against man than against a great moral principle. The principle of reform had struck too deep into the mind of Germany to be eradicated by force or by fraud. Charles, for a long time, by a course of crafty policy, succeeded in baffling the Protestant league; and, by the decisive victory at Muhlberg, seemed, at last, to have broken it altogether. But his success only ministered to his ruin. The very man on whom he bestowed the spoils of victory turned them against his benefactor. Charles, ill in body and mind, and glad to escape from his enemies under cover of the night and a driving tempest, was at length compelled to sign the treaty of Passau, which secured to the Protestants those religious immunities against which he had contended through his whole reign.

Not long after, he experienced another humiliating reverse from France, then ruled by a younger rival, Henry the Second, the son of Francis. The good star of Charles—the star of Austria—seemed to have set; and as he reluctantly raised the siege of Metz, he was heard bitterly to exclaim, "Fortune is a strumpet, who reserves her favors for the young!"

With spirits greatly depressed by his reverses, and still more by the state of his health, which precluded him from taking part in the manly and martial exercises to which he had been accustomed, he felt that he had no longer the same strength as formerly to bear up under the toils of empire. When but little more than thirty years of age, he had been attacked by the gout, and of late had been so sorely afflicted with that disorder, that he had nearly lost the use of his limbs. The man who, cased in steel, had passed whole days and nights in the saddle, indifferent to the weather and the season, could now hardly drag himself along with the aid of his staff. For days he was confined to his bed; and he did not leave his room for weeks together. His mind became oppressed with melancholy, which was, to some extent, a constitutional infirmity. His chief pleasure was in listening to books, especially of a religious character. He denied himself to all except his most intimate and trusted counsellors. He lost his interest in affairs; and for whole months, according to one of his biographers, who had access to his person, he refused to receive any public communication, or to subscribe any document, or even letter.[2] One cannot understand how the business of the nation{4} could have been conducted in such a state of things. After the death of his mother, Joanna, his mind became more deeply tinctured with those gloomy fancies which in her amounted to downright insanity. He imagined he heard her voice calling on him to follow her. His thoughts were now turned from secular concerns to those of his own soul; and he resolved to put in execution a plan for resigning his crown and withdrawing to some religious retreat, where he might prepare for his latter end. This plan he had conceived many years before, in the full tide of successful ambition. So opposite were the elements at work in the character of this extraordinary man!

Although he had chosen the place of his retreat, he had been deterred from immediately executing his purpose by the forlorn condition of his mother, and the tender age of his son. The first obstacle was now removed by the death of Joanna, after a reign—a nominal reign—of half a century, in which the cloud that had settled on her intellect at her husband's death was never dispelled.

The age of Philip, his son and heir, was also no longer an objection. From early boyhood he had been trained to the duties of his station, and, when very young, had been intrusted with the government of Castile. His father had surrounded him with able and experienced counsellors, and their pupil, who showed a discretion far beyond his years, had largely profited by their lessons. He had now entered his twenty-ninth year, an age when the character is formed, and when, if ever, he might be supposed qualified to assume the duties of government. His father had already ceded to him the sovereignty of Naples and Milan, on occasion of the prince's marriage with Mary of England. He was on a visit to that country, when Charles, having decided on the act of abdication, sent to require his son's attendance at Brussels, where the ceremony was to be performed. The different provinces of the Netherlands were also summoned to send their deputies, with authority to receive the emperor's resignation, and to transfer their allegiance to his successor. As a preliminary step, on the twenty-second of October, 1555, he conferred on Philip the grand-mastership—which, as Lord of Flanders, was vested in himself—of the toison d'or, the order of the Golden Fleece, of Burgundy; the proudest and most coveted, at that day, of all the military orders of knighthood.

Preparations were then made for conducting the ceremony of abdication with all the pomp and solemnity suited to so august an occasion. The great hall of the royal palace of Brussels was selected for the scene of it. The walls of the spacious apartment were hung with tapestry, and the floor was covered with rich carpeting. A scaffold was erected, at one end of the room, to the height of six or seven steps. On it was placed a throne, or chair of state, for the emperor, with other seats for Philip, and for the great Flemish lords who were to attend the person of their sovereign. Above the throne was suspended a gorgeous canopy, on which were emblazoned the arms of the ducal house of Burgundy. In front of the scaffolding, accommodations were provided for the deputies of the provinces, who were to be seated on benches arranged according to their respective rights of precedence.[3] {5}

On the twenty-fifth of October, the day fixed for the ceremony, Charles the Fifth executed an instrument by which he ceded to his son the sovereignty of Flanders.[4] Mass was then performed; and the emperor, accompanied by Philip and a numerous retinue, proceeded in state to the great hall, where the deputies were already assembled.[5]

Charles was, at this time, in the fifty-sixth year of his age. His form was slightly bent,—but it was by disease more than by time,—and on his countenance might be traced the marks of anxiety and rough exposure. Yet it still wore that majesty of expression so conspicuous in his portraits by the inimitable pencil of Titian. His hair, once of a light color, approaching to yellow, had begun to turn before he was forty, and, as well as his beard, was now gray. His forehead was broad and expansive; his nose aquiline. His blue eyes and fair complexion intimated his Teutonic descent. The only feature in his countenance decidedly bad was his lower jaw, protruding with its thick, heavy lip, so characteristic of the physiognomies of the Austrian dynasty.[6]

In stature he was about the middle height. His limbs were strongly knit, and once well formed, though now the extremities were sadly distorted by disease. The emperor leaned for support on a staff with one hand, while with the other he rested on the arm of William of Orange, who, then young, was destined at a later day to become the most formidable enemy of his house. The grave demeanor of Charles was rendered still more impressive by his dress; for he was in mourning for his mother; and the sable hue of his attire was relieved only by a single ornament, the superb collar of the Golden Fleece, which hung from his neck.

Behind the emperor came Philip, the heir of his vast dominions. He was of a middle height, of much the same proportions as his father, whom he resembled also in his lineaments,—except that those of the son wore a more sombre, and perhaps a sinister expression; while there was a reserve in his manner, in spite of his efforts to the contrary, as if he would shroud his thoughts from observation. The magnificence of his dress corresponded with his royal station, and formed a contrast to that of his father, who was quitting the pomp and grandeur of the world, on which the son was about to enter.{6}

Next to Philip came Mary, the emperor's sister, formerly queen of Hungary. She had filled the post of regent of the Low Countries for nearly twenty years, and now welcomed the hour when she was to resign the burden of sovereignty to her nephew, and withdraw, like her imperial brother, into private life. Another sister of Charles, Eleanor, widow of the French king, Francis the First, also took part in these ceremonies, previous to her departure for Spain, whither she was to accompany the emperor.

After these members of the imperial family came the nobility of the Netherlands, the knights of the Golden Fleece, the royal counsellors, and the great officers of the household, all splendidly attired in their robes of state, and proudly displaying the insignia of their orders. When the emperor had mounted his throne, with Philip on his right hand, the Regent Mary on his left, and the rest of his retinue disposed along the seats prepared for them on the platform, the president of the council of Flanders addressed the assembly. He briefly explained the object for which they had been summoned, and the motives which had induced their master to abdicate the throne; and he concluded by requiring them, in their sovereign's name, to transfer their allegiance from himself to Philip, his son and rightful heir.

After a pause, Charles rose to address a few parting words to his subjects. He stood with apparent difficulty, and rested his right hand on the shoulder of the Prince of Orange, intimating, by this preference on so distinguished an occasion, the high favour in which he held the young nobleman. In the other hand he held a paper, containing some hints for his discourse, and occasionally cast his eyes on it, to refresh his memory. He spoke in the French language.

He was unwilling, he said, to part from his people without a few words from his own lips. It was now forty years since he had been intrusted with the sceptre of the Netherlands. He was soon after called to take charge of a still more extensive empire, both in Spain and in Germany, involving a heavy responsibility for one so young. He had, however, endeavored earnestly to do his duty to the best of his abilities. He had been ever mindful of the interests of the dear land of his birth, but, above all, of the great interests of Christianity. His first object had been to maintain these inviolate against the infidel. In this he had been thwarted, partly by the jealousy of neighboring powers, and partly by the factions of the heretical princes of Germany.

In the performance of his great work, he had never consulted his ease. His expeditions, in war and in peace, to France, England, Germany, Italy, Spain, and Flanders, had amounted to no less than forty. Four times he had crossed the Spanish seas, and eight times the Mediterranean. He had shrunk from no toil, while he had the strength to endure it. But a cruel malady had deprived him of that strength. Conscious of his inability to discharge the duties of his station, he had long since come to the resolution to relinquish it. From this he had been diverted only by the situation of his unfortunate parent, and by the inexperience of his son. These objections no longer existed; and he should not stand excused, in the eye of Heaven or of the world, if he should insist on still holding the reins of government when he was incapable of managing them,—when every year his incapacity must become more obvious.

He begged them to believe that this, and no other motive, induced him to resign the sceptre which he had so long swayed. They had been to him dutiful and loving subjects; and such, he doubted not, they would prove to his successor. Above all things, he besought them to maintain the purity of the faith. If any one, in these licentious times, had admitted doubts into his bosom, let such doubts be extirpated at once. "I know well," he concluded,{7} "that, in my long administration, I have fallen into many errors, and committed some wrongs, but it was from ignorance; and, if there be any here whom I have wronged, they will believe that it was not intended, and grant me their forgiveness."[7]

While the emperor was speaking, a breathless silence pervaded the whole audience. Charles had ever been dear to the people of the Netherlands,—the land of his birth. They took a national pride in his achievements, and felt that his glory reflected a peculiar lustre on themselves. As they now gazed for the last time on that revered form, and listened to the parting admonitions from his lips, they were deeply affected, and not a dry eye was to be seen in the assembly.

After a short interval, Charles, turning to Philip, who, in an attitude of deep respect, stood awaiting his commands, he thus addressed him:—"If the vast possessions which are now bestowed on you had come by inheritance, there would be abundant cause for gratitude. How much more, when they come as a free gift in the lifetime of your father! But, however large the debt, I shall consider it all repaid, if you only discharge your duty to your subjects. So rule over them, that men shall commend, and not censure me for the part I am now acting. Go on as you have begun. Fear God; live justly; respect the laws; above all, cherish the interests of religion; and may the Almighty bless you with a son, to whom, when old and stricken with disease, you may be able to resign your kingdom with the same good-will with which I now resign mine to you."

As he ceased, Philip, much affected, would have thrown himself at his father's feet, assuring him of his intention to do all in his power to merit such goodness; but Charles, raising his son, tenderly embraced him, while the tears flowed fast down his cheeks. Every one, even the most stoical, was touched by this affecting scene; "and nothing," says one who was present, "was to be heard, throughout the hall, but sobs and ill-suppressed moans." Charles, exhausted by his efforts, and deadly pale, sank back upon his seat; while, with feeble accents, he exclaimed, as he gazed on his people, "God bless you! God bless you!"[8]

After these emotions had somewhat subsided, Philip arose, and, delivering himself in French, briefly told the deputies of the regret which he felt at not{8} being able to address them in their native language, and to assure them of the favor and high regard in which he held them. This would be done for him by the bishop of Arras.

This was Antony Perennot, better known as Cardinal Granvelle, son of the famous minister of Charles the Fifth, and destined himself to a still higher celebrity as the minister of Philip the Second. In clear and fluent language, he gave the deputies the promise of their new sovereign to respect the laws and liberties of the nation; invoking them, on his behalf, to aid him with their counsels, and, like royal vassals, to maintain the authority of the law in his dominions. After a suitable response from the deputies, filled with sentiments of regret for the loss of their late monarch, and with those of loyalty to their new one, the Regent Mary formally abdicated her authority, and the session closed. So ended a ceremony, which, considering the importance of its consequences, the character of the actors, and the solemnity of the proceedings, is one of the most remarkable in history. That the crown of the monarch is lined with thorns, is a trite maxim; and it requires no philosophy to teach us that happiness does not depend on station. Yet, numerous as are the instances of those who have waded to a throne through seas of blood, there are but few who, when they have once tasted the sweets of sovereignty, have been content to resign them; still fewer who, when they have done so, have had the philosophy to conform to their change of condition, and not to repent it. Charles, as the event proved, was one of these few.

On the sixteenth day of January, 1556, in the presence of such of the Spanish nobility as were at the court, he executed the deeds by which he ceded the sovereignty of Castile and Aragon, with their dependencies, to Philip.[9]

The last act that remained for him to perform was to resign the crown of Germany in favor of his brother Ferdinand. But this he consented to defer some time longer, at the request of Ferdinand himself, who wished to prepare the minds of the electoral college for this unexpected transfer of the imperial sceptre. But, while Charles consented to retain for the present the title of Emperor, the real power and the burden of sovereignty would remain with Ferdinand.[10]

At the time of abdicating the throne of the Netherlands, Charles was still at war with France. He had endeavored to negotiate a permanent peace with that country; and, although he failed in this, he had the satisfaction, on the fifth of February, 1556, to arrange a truce for five years, which left both powers in the possession of their respective conquests. In the existing state of these conquests, the truce was by no means favorable to Spain. But Charles would have made even larger concessions, rather than leave the legacy of a war to his less experienced successor.

Having thus completed all his arrangements, by which the most powerful prince of Europe descended to the rank of a private gentleman, Charles had{9} no longer reason to defer his departure, and he proceeded to the place of embarkation. He was accompanied by a train of Flemish courtiers, and by the foreign ambassadors, to the latter of whom he warmly commended the interests of his son. A fleet of fifty-six sail was riding at anchor in the port of Flushing, ready to transport him and his retinue to Spain. From the imperial household, consisting of seven hundred and sixty-two persons, he selected a hundred and fifty as his escort; and accompanied by his sisters, after taking an affectionate farewell of Philip, whose affairs detained him in Flanders, on the thirteenth of September he sailed from the harbor of Flushing.

The passage was a boisterous one; and Charles, who suffered greatly from his old enemy, the gout, landed, in a feeble state, at Laredo, in Biscay, on the twenty-eighth of the month. Scarcely had he left the vessel, when a storm fell with fury on the fleet, and did some mischief to the shipping in the harbor. The pious Spaniard saw in this the finger of Providence, which had allowed no harm to the squadron till its royal freight had been brought safely to the shore.[11]

On landing, Charles complained, and with some reason, of the scanty preparations that had been made for him. Philip had written several times to his sister, the regent, ordering her to have everything ready for the emperor on his arrival.[12] Joanna had accordingly issued her orders to that effect. But promptness and punctuality are not virtues of the Spaniard. Some apology may be found for their deficiency in the present instance; as Charles himself had so often postponed his departure from the Low Countries, that, when he did come, the people were, in a manner, taken by surprise. That the neglect was not intentional is evident from their subsequent conduct.[13]

Charles, whose infirmities compelled him to be borne in a litter, was greeted, everywhere on the road, like a sovereign returning to his dominions. It was evening when he reached the ancient city of Burgos; and, as he passed through its illuminated streets the bells rang merrily, to give him welcome. He remained there three days, experiencing the hospitalities of the great constable, and receiving the homage of the northern lords, as well as of the people, who thronged the route by which he was to pass. At Torquemada, among those who came to pay their respects to their former master was Gasca, the good president of Peru. He had been sent to America to suppress the insurrection of Gonzalo Pizarro, and restore tranquillity to the country. In the execution of this delicate mission, he succeeded so well, that the emperor, on his return, had raised him to the see of Plasencia; and the excellent man now lived in his diocese, where, in the peaceful discharge of his episcopal functions,{10} he probably enjoyed far greater contentment than he could have derived from the dazzling, but difficult post of an American viceroy.

From Torquemada, Charles slowly proceeded to Valladolid, where his daughter, the Regent Joanna, was then holding her court. Preparations were made for receiving him in a manner suited to his former rank. But Charles positively declined these honours, reserving them for his two sisters, the dowager queens of France and Hungary, who accordingly made their entrance into the capital in great state, on the day following that on which their royal brother had entered it with the simplicity of a private citizen.

He remained here some time, in order to recover from the fatigue of his journey; and, although he took little part in the festivities of the court, he gave audience to his ancient ministers, and to such of the Castilian grandees as were eager to render him their obeisance. At the court he had also the opportunity of seeing his grandson Carlos, the heir of the monarchy; and his quick eye, it is said, in this short time, saw enough in the prince's deportment to fill him with ominous forebodings.

Charles prolonged his stay fourteen days in Valladolid, during which time his health was much benefited by the purity and the dryness of the atmosphere. On his departure, his royal sisters would have borne him company, and even have fixed their permanent residence near his own. But to this he would not consent; and, taking a tender farewell of every member of his family,—as one who was never to behold them again,—he resumed his journey.

The place he had chosen for his retreat was the monastery of Yuste, in the province of Estremadura, not many miles from Plasencia. On his way thither he halted near three months at Jarandilla, the residence of the count of Oropesa, waiting there for the completion of some repairs that were going on in the monastery, as well as for the remittance of a considerable sum of money, which he was daily expecting. This he required chiefly to discharge the arrears due to some of his old retainers; and the failure of the remittance has brought some obloquy on Philip, who could so soon show himself unmindful of his obligations to his father. But the blame should rather be charged on Philip's ministers than on Philip, absent as he was at that time from the country, and incapable of taking personal cognizance of the matter. Punctuality in his pecuniary engagements was a virtue to which neither Charles nor Philip—the masters of the Indies—could at any time lay claim. But the imputation of parsimony, or even indifference, on the part of the latter, in his relations with his father, is fully disproved by the subsequent history of that monarch at the convent of Yuste.[14]{11}

This place, it is said, had attracted his eye many years before, when on a visit to that part of the country, and he marked it for his future residence. The convent was tenanted by monks of the strictest order of Saint Jerome. But, however strict in their monastic rule, the good fathers showed much taste in the selection of their ground, as well as in the embellishment of it. It lay in a wild, romantic country, embosomed among hills that stretch along the northern confines of Estremadura. The building, which was of great antiquity, had been surrounded by its inmates with cultivated gardens, and with groves of orange, lemon, and myrtle, whose fragrance was tempered by the refreshing coolness of the waters that gushed forth in abundance from the rocky sides of the hills. It was a delicious retreat, and, by its calm seclusion and the character of its scenery, was well suited to withdraw the mind from the turmoil of the world, and dispose it to serious meditation. Here the monarch, after a life of restless ambition, proposed to spend the brief remainder of his days, and dedicate it to the salvation of his soul. He could not, however, as the event proved, close his heart against all sympathy with mankind, nor refuse to take some part in the great questions which then agitated the world. Charles was not master of that ignoble philosophy which enabled Diocletian to turn with contentment from the cares of an empire to those of a cabbage-garden.—In this retirement we must now leave the royal recluse, while we follow the opening career of the prince whose reign is the subject of the present history.

CHAPTER II.

Birth of Philip the Second.—His Education.—Intrusted with the Regency.—Marries Mary of Portugal.—Visit to Flanders.—Public Festivities.—Ambitious Schemes.—Returns to Spain.

Philip the Second was born at Valladolid, on the twenty-first of May, 1527. His mother was the Empress Isabella, daughter of Emanuel the Great of Portugal. By his father he was descended from the ducal houses of Burgundy and Austria. By both father and mother he claimed a descent from Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic of Spain. As by blood he was half a Spaniard, so by temperament and character he proved to be wholly so.

The ceremony of his baptism was performed with all due solemnity, by Tavera, archbishop of Toledo, on the twenty-fifth of June, when the royal infant received the name of Philip, after his paternal grandfather, Philip the Handsome, whose brief reign—for which he was indebted to his union with Joanna, queen-proprietor of Castile—has hardly secured him a place in the line of Castilian sovereigns.

The birth of a son—the heir of so magnificent an empire—was hailed with delight both by Charles and by the whole nation, who prepared to celebrate it in a style worthy of the event, when tidings reached them of the capture of Pope Clement the Seventh and the sack of Rome by the Spanish troops under{12} the constable de Bourbon. The news of this event, and the cruelties inflicted by the conquerors, filled all Europe with consternation. Even the Protestants, who had no superfluous sympathy to spare for the sufferings of the pope, were shocked by the perpetration of atrocities compared with which the conduct of Attila and Alaric might almost be deemed merciful. Whatever responsibility may attach to Charles on the score of the expedition, it would be injustice to him to suppose that he did not share in the general indignation at the manner in which it was conducted. At all events, he could hardly venture to outrage the feelings of Christendom so far as to take the present moment for one of public rejoicing. Orders were instantly issued to abandon the intended festivities, greatly to the discontent of the people, whose sympathy for the pope did not by any means incline them to put this restraint on the expression of their loyalty; and they drew from the disappointment an uncomfortable augury that the reign of the young prince boded no good to the Catholic religion.[15]

It was not long, however, before the people of Castile had an opportunity for the full display of their enthusiasm, on the occasion of Philip's recognition as rightful heir to the crown. The ceremony was conducted with great pomp and splendor in the cortes at Madrid, on the nineteenth of April, 1528, when he was but eleven months old. The prince was borne in the arms of his mother, who, with the emperor, was present on the occasion; while the nobles, the clergy, and the commons took the oath of allegiance to the royal infant, as successor to the crown of Castile. The act of homage was no sooner published, than the nation, as if by way of compensation for the past, abandoned itself to a general jubilee. Illuminations and bonfires were lighted up in all the towns and villages; while everywhere were to be seen dancing, bull-fights, tilts of reeds, and the other national games of that chivalrous and romantic land.

Soon after this, Charles was called by his affairs to other parts of his far-extended empire, and he left his infant son to the care of a Portuguese lady, Doña Leonor Mascareñas, or rather to that of the Empress Isabella, in whose prudence and maternal watchfulness he could safely confide. On the emperor's return to Spain, when his son was hardly seven years old, he formed for him a separate establishment, and selected two persons for the responsible office of superintending his education.[16]

One of these personages was Juan Martinez Siliceo, at that time professor in the College of Salamanca. He was a man of piety and learning, of an accommodating temper,—too accommodating, it appears from some of Charles's letters, for the good of his pupil, though not, as it would seem, for his own good, since he found such favor with the prince, that, from an humble ecclesiastic, he was subsequently preferred to the highest dignities of the Church.{13}

Under him Philip was instructed in the ancient classics, and made such progress in Latin, that he could write it, and did write it frequently in after life, with ease and correctness. He studied, also, Italian and French. He seems to have had little knowledge of the former, but French he could speak indifferently well, though he was rarely inclined to venture beyond his own tongue. He showed a more decided taste for science, especially the mathematics. He made a careful study of the principles of architecture; and the fruits of this study are to be seen in some of the noblest monuments erected in that flourishing period of the arts. In sculpture and painting he also made some proficiency, and became, in later life, no contemptible critic,—at least for a sovereign.

The other functionary charged with Philip's education was Don Juan de Zuñiga, commendador mayor of Castile. He taught his pupil to fence, to ride, to take his part at the tilts and tourneys, and, in short, to excel in the chivalrous exercises familiar to cavaliers of his time. He encouraged Philip to invigorate his constitution by the hardy pleasures of the chase, to which, however, he was but little addicted as he advanced in years.

But, besides these personal accomplishments, no one was better qualified than Zuñiga to instruct his people in the duties belonging to his royal station. He was a man of ancient family, and had passed much of his life in courts. But he had none of the duplicity or of the suppleness which often marks the character of the courtier. He possessed too high a sentiment of honor to allow him to trifle with truth. He spoke his mind plainly, too plainly sometimes for the taste of his pupil. Charles, who understood the character of Zuñiga, wrote to his son to honor and to cherish him. "If he deals plainly with you," he said, "it is for the love he bears you. If he were to flatter you, and be only solicitous of ministering to your wishes, he would be like all the rest of the world, and you would have no one near to tell you the truth;—and a worse thing cannot happen to any man, old or young; but most of all to the young, from their want of experience to discern truth from error." The wise emperor, who knew how rarely it is that truth is permitted to find its way to royal ears, set a just value on the man who had the courage to speak it.[17]

Under the influence of these teachers, and, still more, of the circumstances in which he was placed,—the most potent teachers of all,—Philip grew in years, and slowly unfolded the peculiar qualities of his disposition. He seemed cautious and reserved in his demeanor, and slow of speech; yet what he said had a character of thought beyond his age. At no time did he discover that buoyancy of spirit, or was he betrayed into those sallies of temper, which belong to a bold and adventurous, and often to a generous nature. His deportment was marked by a seriousness that to some might seem to savor of melancholy. He was self-possessed, so that even as a boy he was rarely off his guard.[18]

The emperor, whose affairs called him away from Spain much the greater part of his time, had not the power of personally superintending the education of his son. Unfortunately for the latter, his excellent mother died when{14} he was but twelve years old. Charles, who loved his wife as much as a man is capable of loving whose soul is filled with schemes of boundless ambition, was at Madrid when he received tidings of her illness. He posted in all haste to Toledo, where the queen then was, but arrived there only in time to embrace her cold remains before they were consigned to the sepulchre. The desolate monarch abandoned himself to an agony of grief, and was with difficulty withdrawn from the apartment by his attendants, to indulge his solitary regrets in the neighboring monastery of La Sisla.

Isabella well deserved to be mourned by her husband. She was a woman from all accounts, possessed of many high and generous qualities. Such was her fortitude, that, at the time of her confinement, she was never heard to utter a groan. She seemed to think any demonstration of suffering a weakness, and had the chamber darkened that her attendants might not see the distress painted on her countenance.[19] With this constancy of spirit, she united many feminine virtues. The palace, under her rule, became a school of industry. Instead of wasting her leisure hours in frivolous pleasures, she might be seen busily occupied, with her maidens, in the elegant labors of the loom; and, like her ancestor, the good Queen Isabella the Catholic, she sent more than one piece of tapestry, worked by her own hands, to adorn the altars of Jerusalem. These excellent qualities were enhanced by manners so attractive, that her effigy was struck on a medal, with a device of the three Graces on the reverse side, bearing the motto, Has Habet et superat.[20]

Isabella was but thirty-six years old at the time of her death. Charles was not forty. He never married again. Yet the bereavement seems to have had little power to soften his nature, or incline him to charity for the misconduct, or compassion for the misfortunes of others. It was but a few months after the death of his wife, that, on occasion of the insurrection of Ghent, he sought a passage through the territory of his ancient enemy of France, descended on the offending city, and took such vengeance on its wretched inhabitants as made all Europe ring with his cruelty.[21]

Philip was too young at this time to take part in the administration of the kingdom during his father's absence. But he was surrounded by able statesmen, who familiarized him with ideas of government, by admitting him to see the workings of the machinery which he was one day to direct. Charles was desirous that the attention of his son, even in boyhood, should be turned to those affairs which were to form the great business of his future life. It seems even thus early—at this period of mental depression—the emperor cherished the plan of anticipating the natural consequence of his decease, by resigning his dominions into the hands of Philip so soon as he should be qualified to rule them.

No event occurred to disturb the tranquillity of Spain during the emperor's absence from that country, to which he returned in the winter of 1541. It was after his disastrous expedition against Algiers,—the most disastrous of any that he had yet undertaken. He there saw his navy sunk or scattered by the tempest, and was fortunate in finding a shelter, with its shattered remnants, in the port of Carthagena. Soon after landing, he received a letter from Philip, condoling with him on his losses, and striving to cheer him with the reflection, that they had been caused by the elements, not by his enemies. With this tone of philosophy were mingled expressions of sympathy; and Charles may have been gratified with the epistle,—if he could believe it the composition{15} of his son.[22] Philip soon after this made a journey to the south; and, in the society of one who was now the chief object of his affections, the emperor may have found the best consolation in his misfortunes.

The French had availed themselves of the troubled state of Charles's affairs to make a descent upon Roussillon; and the Dauphin now lay in some strength before the gates of Perpignan. The emperor considered this a favorable moment for Philip to take his first lesson in war. The prince accordingly posted to Valladolid. A considerable force was quickly mustered; and Philip, taking the command, and supported by some of the most experienced of his father's generals, descended rapidly towards the coast. But the Dauphin did not care to wait for his approach; and, breaking up his camp, he retreated, without striking a blow, in all haste, across the mountains. Philip entered the town in triumph, and soon after returned, with the unstained laurels of victory, to receive his father's congratulations. The promptness of his movements on this occasion gained him credit with the Spaniards; and the fortunate result seemed to furnish a favorable augury for the future.

On his return, the prince was called to preside over the cortes at Monzon,—a central town, where the deputies of Aragon, Catalonia, and Valencia continued to assemble separately, long after those provinces had been united to Castile. Philip, with all the forms prescribed by the constitution, received the homage of the representatives assembled, as successor to the crown of Aragon.

The war with France, which, after a temporary suspension, had broken out with greater violence than ever, did not permit the emperor long to protract his stay in the Peninsula. Indeed, it seemed to his Spanish subjects that he rarely visited them, except when his exchequer required to be replenished for carrying on his restless enterprises, and that he stayed no longer than was necessary to effect this object. On leaving the country, he intrusted the regency to Philip, under the general direction of a council consisting of the duke of Alva, Cardinal Tavera, and the Commendador Cobos. Some time after this, while still lingering in Catalonia, previous to his embarkation, Charles addressed a letter to his son, advising him as to his political course, and freely criticising the characters of the great lords associated with him in the government. The letter, which is altogether a remarkable document, contains, also, some wholesome admonitions on Philip's private conduct. "The duke of Alva," the emperor emphatically wrote, "is the ablest statesman and the best soldier I have in my dominions. Consult him, above all, in military affairs; but do not depend upon him entirely in these or in any other matters. Depend on no one but yourself. The grandees will be too happy to secure your favor, and through you to govern the land. But, if you are thus governed, it will be your ruin. The mere suspicion of it will do you infinite prejudice. Make use of all; but lean exclusively on none. In your perplexities, ever trust in your Maker. Have no care but for him." The emperor then passes some strictures on the Commendador Cobos, as too much inclined to pleasure, at the same time admonishing Philip of the consequences of a libertine career, fatal alike, he tells him, to both soul and body. There seems to have been some ground for this admonition, as the young prince had shown a disposition to gallantry, which did not desert him in later life. "Yet, on the whole," says the monarch, "I will admit I have much reason to be satisfied with your behavior. But I would have you perfect; and, to speak frankly, whatever other persons may tell you, you have some things to mend yet. Your confessor," he continues, "is now your old preceptor, the bishop{16} of Carthagena,"—to which see the worthy professor had been recently raised. "He is a good man, as all the world knows; but I hope he will take better care of your conscience than he did of your studies, and that he will not show quite so accommodating a temper in regard to the former as he did with the latter."[23]

On the cover of this curious epistle the emperor indorsed a direction to his son, to show it to no living person; but if he found himself ill at any time, to destroy the letter, or seal it up under cover to him. It would, indeed, have edified those courtiers, who fancied they stood highest in the royal favor, to see how, to their very depths, their characters were sounded, and how clearly their schemes of ambition were revealed to the eye of their master. It was this admirable perception of character which enabled Charles, so generally, to select the right agent for the execution of his plans, and thus to insure their success.

The letter from Palamos is one among many similar proofs of the care with which, even from a distance, Charles watched over his son's course, and endeavored to form his character. The experienced navigator would furnish a chart to the youthful pilot, by which, without other aid, he might securely steer through seas strange and unknown to him. Yet there was little danger in the navigation, at this period; for Spain lay in a profound tranquillity, unruffled by a breath from the rude tempest, that, in other parts of Europe, was unsettling princes on their thrones.

A change was now to take place in Philip's domestic relations. His magnificent expectations made him, in the opinion of the world, the best match in Europe. His father had long contemplated the event of his son's marrying. He had first meditated an alliance for him with Margaret, daughter of Francis the First, by which means the feud with his ancient rival might be permanently healed. But Philip's inclination was turned to an alliance with Portugal. This latter was finally adopted by Charles; and, in December, 1542, Philip was betrothed to the Infanta Mary, daughter of John the Third and of Catharine, the emperor's sister. She was, consequently, cousin-german to Philip. At the same time, Joanna, Charles's youngest daughter, was affianced to the eldest son of John the Third, and heir to his crown. The intermarriages of the royal houses of Castile and Portugal were so frequent, that the several members stood in multiplied and most perplexing degrees of affinity with one another.

Joanna was eight years younger than her brother. Charles had one other child, Mary, born the year after Philip. She was destined to a more splendid fortune than her sister, as bride of the future emperor of Germany. Since Philip and the Portuguese princess were now both more than sixteen years old, being nearly of the same age, it was resolved that their marriage should no longer be deferred. The place appointed for the ceremony was the ancient city of Salamanca.

In October, 1543, the Portuguese infanta quitted her father's palace in Lisbon, and set out for Castile. She was attended by a numerous train of nobles, with the archbishop of Lisbon at their head. A splendid embassy was sent to meet her on the borders, and conduct her to Salamanca. At its head was the duke of Medina Sidonia, chief of the Guzmans, the wealthiest and most powerful lord in Andalusia. He had fitted up his palace at Badajoz in the most costly and sumptuous style, for the accommodation of the princess. The hangings were of cloth of gold; the couches, the sideboards, and some of {17}the other furniture, of burnished silver. The duke himself rode in a superb litter, and the mules which carried it were shod with gold. The members of his household and his retainers swelled to the number of three thousand, well mounted, wearing the liveries and cognizance of their master. Among them was the duke's private band, including several natives of the Indies,—then not a familiar sight in Spain,—displaying on their breasts broad silver escutcheons, on which were emblazoned the arms of the Guzmans. The chronicler is diffuse in his account of the infanta's reception, from which a few particulars may be selected for such as take an interest in the Spanish costume and manners of the sixteenth century.

The infanta was five months younger than Philip. She was of the middle size, with a good figure, though somewhat inclined to embonpoint, and was distinguished by a graceful carriage and a pleasing expression of countenance. Her dress was of cloth of silver, embroidered with flowers of gold. She wore a capa, or Castilian mantle, of violet-colored velvet, figured with gold, and a hat of the same materials, surmounted by a white and azure plume. The housings of the mule were of rich brocade, and Mary rode on a silver saddle.

As she approached Salamanca, she was met by the rector and professors of the university, in their academic gowns. Next followed the judges and regidores of the city, in their robes of office, of crimson velvet, with hose and shoes of spotless white. After these came the military,—horse and foot,—in their several companies, making a brilliant show with their gay uniforms; and, after going through their various evolutions, they formed into an escort for the princess. In this way, amidst the sound of music and the shouts of the multitude, the glittering pageant entered the gates of the capital.

The infanta was there received under a superb canopy, supported by the magistrates of the city. The late ambassador to Portugal, Don Luis Sarmiento, who had negotiated the marriage treaty, held the bridle of her mule; and in this state she arrived at the palace of the duke of Alva, destined for her reception in Salamanca. Here she was received with all honour by the duchess, in the presence of a brilliant company of cavaliers and noble ladies. Each of the ladies was graciously permitted by the infanta to kiss her hand; but the duchess, the chronicler is careful to inform us, she distinguished by the honor of an embrace.

All the while, Philip had been in the presence of the infanta, unknown to herself. Impatient to see his destined bride, the young prince had sallied out, with a few attendants, to the distance of five or six miles from the city, all in the disguise of huntsmen. He wore a slouched velvet hat on his head, and his face was effectually concealed under a gauze mask, so that he could mingle in the crowd by the side of the infanta, and make his own scrutiny, unmarked by any one. In this way he accompanied the procession during the five hours which it lasted, until the darkness had set in; "if darkness could be spoken of," says the chronicler, "where the blaze of ten thousand torches shed a light stronger than day."

The following evening, November the twelfth, was appointed for the marriage. The duke and duchess of Alva stood as sponsors, and the nuptial ceremony was performed by Tavera, archbishop of Toledo. The festivities were prolonged through another week. The saloons were filled with the beauty of Castile. The proudest aristocracy in Europe vied with each other in the display of magnificence at the banquet and the tourney: and sounds of merriment succeeded to the tranquillity which had so long reigned in the cloistered shades of Salamanca.

On the nineteenth of the month the new-married pair transferred their residence to Valladolid,—a city at once fortunate and fatal to the princess. Well might the chronicler call it "fatal;" for, in less than two years, July 8th,{18} 1545, she there gave birth to a son, the celebrated Don Carlos, whose mysterious fate has furnished so fruitful a theme for speculation. Mary survived the birth of her child but a few days. Had her life been spared, a mother's care might perhaps have given a different direction to his character, and, through this, to his fortunes. The remains of the infanta, first deposited in the cathedral of Granada, were afterwards removed to the Escorial, that magnificent mausoleum prepared by her husband for the royalty of Spain.[24]

In the following year died Tavera, archbishop of Toledo. He was an excellent man, and greatly valued by the emperor; who may be thought to have passed a sufficient encomium on his worth when he declared, that "by his death Philip had suffered a greater loss than by that of Mary; for he could get another wife, but not another Tavera." His place was filled by Siliceo, Philip's early preceptor, who, after having been raised to the archiepiscopal see of Toledo, received a cardinal's hat from Rome. The accommodating spirit of the good ecclesiastic had doubtless some influence in his rapid advancement from the condition of a poor teacher in Salamanca to the highest post,—as the see of Toledo, with its immense revenues and authority, might be considered,—next to the papacy, in the Christian Church.

For some years, no event of importance occurred to disturb the repose of the Peninsula. But the emperor was engaged in a stormy career abroad, in which his arms were at length crowned with success by the decisive battle of Muhlberg.

This victory, which secured him the person of his greatest enemy, placed him in a position for dictating terms to the Protestant princes of Germany. He had subsequently withdrawn to Brussels, where he received an embassy from Philip, congratulating him on the success of his arms. Charles was desirous to see his son, from whom he had now been separated nearly six years. He wished, moreover, to introduce him to the Netherlands, and make him personally acquainted with the people over whom he was one day to rule. He sent instructions, accordingly, to Philip, to repair to Flanders, so soon as the person appointed to relieve him in the government should arrive in Castile.

The individual selected by the emperor for this office was Maximilian, the son of his brother Ferdinand. He was a young man of good parts, correct judgment, and popular manners,—well qualified, notwithstanding his youth, for the post assigned to him. He was betrothed, as already mentioned, to the emperor's eldest daughter, his cousin Mary; and the regency was to be delivered into his hands on the marriage of the parties.

Philip received his father's commands while presiding at the cortes of Monzon. He found the Aragonese legislature by no means so tractable as the Castilian. The deputies from the mountains of Aragon and from the sea-coast of Catalonia were alike sturdy in their refusal to furnish further supplies for those ambitious enterprises, which, whatever glory they might bring to their sovereign, were of little benefit to them. The independent people of these provinces urged their own claims with a pertinacity, and criticized the conduct of their rulers with a bluntness, that was little grateful to the ear of majesty. The convocation of the Aragonese cortes was, in the view of the{19} king of Spain, what the convocation of a general council was in that of the pope,—a measure not to be resorted to but from absolute necessity.

On the arrival of Maximilian in Castile, his marriage with the Infanta Mary was immediately celebrated. The ceremony took place, with all the customary pomp, in the courtly city of Valladolid. Among the festivities that followed may be noticed the performance of a comedy of Ariosto,—a proof that the beautiful Italian literature, which had exercised a visible influence on the compositions of the great Castilian poets of the time, had now commended itself, in some degree, to the popular taste.

Before leaving the country, Philip, by his father's orders, made a change in his domestic establishment, which he formed on the Burgundian model. This was more ceremonious, and far more costly, than the primitive usage of Castile. A multitude of new offices was created, and the most important were filled by grandees of the highest class. The duke of Alva was made mayor-domo mayor; Antonio de Toledo, his kinsman, master of the horse; Figueroa, count of Feria, captain of the body-guard. Among the chamberlains was Ruy Gomez de Silva, prince of Eboli, one of the most important members of the cabinet under Philip. Even the menial offices connected with the person and table of the prince were held by men of rank. A guard was lodged in the palace. Philip dined in public in great state, attended by his kings-at-arms, and by a host of minstrels and musicians. One is reminded of the pompous etiquette of the court of Louis the Fourteenth. All this, however, was distasteful to the Spaniards, who did not comprehend why the prince should relinquish the simple usages of his own land for the fashions of Burgundy. Neither was it to the taste of Philip himself; but it suited that of his father, who was desirous that his son should flatter the Flemings by the assumption of a state to which they had been accustomed in their Burgundian princes.[25]

Philip, having now completed his arrangements, and surrendered the regency into the hands of his brother-in-law, had no reason longer to postpone his journey. He was accompanied by the duke of Alva, Enriquez, high-admiral of Castile, Ruy Gomez, prince of Eboli, and a long train of persons of the highest rank. There was, besides, a multitude of younger cavaliers of family. The proudest nobles of the land contended for the honor of having their sons take part in the expedition. The number was still further augmented by a body of artists and men of science. The emperor was desirous that Philip should make an appearance that would dazzle the imaginations of the people among whom he passed.

With this brilliant company, Philip began his journey in the autumn of 1548. He took the road to Saragossa, made an excursion to inspect the fortifications of Perpignan, offered up his prayers at the shrine of Our Lady of Montserrat, passed a day or two at Barcelona, enjoying the fête prepared for him in the pleasant citron-gardens of the cardinal of Trent, and thence proceeded to the port of Rosas, where a Genoese fleet, over which proudly waved the imperial banner, was riding at anchor, and awaiting his arrival. It consisted of fifty-eight vessels, furnished by Genoa, Sicily, and Naples, and commanded by the veteran of a hundred battles, the famous Andrew Doria.

Philip encountered some rough weather on his passage to Genoa. The doge and the principal senators came out of port in a magnificent galley to receive him. The prince landed, amidst the roar of cannon from the walls and the adjacent fortifications, and was forthwith conducted to the mansion{20} of the Dorias, preëminent, even in this city of palaces, for its architectural splendor.

During his stay in Genoa, Philip received all the attentions which an elegant hospitality could devise. But his hours were not wholly resigned to pleasure. He received, every day, embassies from the different Italian states, one of which came from the pope, Paul the Third, with his nephew, Ottavio Farnese, at its head. Its especial object was to solicit the prince's interest with his father, for the restitution of Parma and Placentia to the Holy See. Philip answered in terms complimentary, indeed, says the historian, "but sufficiently ambiguous as to the essential."[26] He had already learned his first lesson in kingcraft. Not long after, the pope sent him a consecrated sword, and the hat worn by his holiness on Christmas eve, accompanied by an autograph letter, in which, after expatiating on the mystic import of his gift, he expressed his confidence that in Philip he was one day to find the true champion of the Church.

At the end of a fortnight, the royal traveller resumed his journey. He crossed the famous battle-field of Pavia, and was shown the place where Francis the First surrendered himself a prisoner, and where the Spanish ambuscade sallied out and decided the fortune of the day. His bosom swelled with exultation, as he rode over the ground made memorable by the most brilliant victory achieved by his father,—a victory which opened the way to the implacable hatred of his vanquished rival, and to oceans of blood.

From Pavia he passed on to Milan, the flourishing capital of Lombardy,—the fairest portion of the Spanish dominions in Italy. Milan was, at that time, second only to Naples in population. It was second to no city in the elegance of its buildings, the splendor of its aristocracy, the opulence and mechanical ingenuity of its burghers. It was renowned, at the same time, for its delicate fabrics of silk, and its armor, curiously wrought and inlaid with gold and silver. In all the arts of luxury and material civilization, it was unsurpassed by any of the capitals of Christendom.

As the prince approached the suburbs, a countless throng of people came forth to greet him. For fifteen miles before he entered the city, the road was spanned by triumphal arches, garlanded with flowers and fruits, and bearing inscriptions, both in Latin and Italian, filled with praises of the father and prognostics of the future glory of the son. Amidst the concourse were to be seen the noble ladies of Milan, in gay, fantastic cars, shining in silk brocade, and with sumptuous caparisons for their horses. As he drew near the town, two hundred mounted gentlemen came out to escort him into the place. They were clothed in complete mail of the fine Milanese workmanship, and were succeeded by fifty pages in gaudy livery, devoted to especial attendance on the prince's person, during his residence in Milan.

Philip entered the gates under a canopy of state, with the cardinal of Trent on his right hand, and Philibert, prince of Piedmont, on his left. He was received, at the entrance, by the governor of the place, attended by the members of the senate, in their robes of office. The houses which lined the long street through which the procession passed were hung with tapestries, and with paintings of the great Italian masters. The balconies and verandahs were crowded with spectators, eager to behold their future sovereign, and rending the air with their acclamations. The ceremony of reception was closed, in the evening, by a brilliant display of fireworks,—in which the Milanese excelled,—and by a general illumination of the city.

Philip's time glided away, during his residence at Milan, in a succession of{21} banquets, fêtes, and spectacles of every description which the taste and ingenuity of the people could devise for the amusement of their illustrious guest. With none was he more pleased than with the theatrical entertainments, conducted with greater elegance and refinement in Italy than in any of the countries beyond the Alps. Nor was he always a passive spectator at these festivities. He was especially fond of dancing, in which his light and agile figure fitted him to excel. In the society of ladies he lost much of his habitual reserve; and the dignified courtesy of his manners seems to have made a favorable impression on the fair dames of Italy, who were probably not less pleased by the display of his munificence. To the governor's wife, who had entertained him at a splendid ball, he presented a diamond ring worth five thousand ducats; and to her daughter he gave a necklace of rubies worth three thousand. Similar presents, of less value, he bestowed on others of the court, extending his liberality even to the musicians and inferior persons who had contributed to his entertainment. To the churches he gave still more substantial proofs of his generosity. In short, he showed, on all occasions, a munificent spirit worthy of his royal station.

He took some pains, moreover, to reciprocate the civilities he had received, by entertaining his hosts in return. He was particularly fortunate in exhibiting to them a curious spectacle, which, even with this pleasure-loving people, had the rare merit of novelty. This was the graceful tourney introduced into Castile from the Spanish Arabs. The highest nobles in his suite took the lead in it. The cavaliers were arranged in six quadrilles, or factions, each wearing its distinctive livery and badges, with their heads protected by shawls, or turbans, wreathed around them in the Moorish fashion. They were mounted à la gineta, that is, on the light jennet of Andalusia,—a cross of the Arabian. In their hands they brandished their slender lances, with long streamers attached to them, of some gay color, that denoted the particular faction of the cavalier. Thus lightly equipped and mounted, the Spanish knights went through the delicate manœuvres of the Moorish tilt of reeds, showing an easy horsemanship, and performing feats of agility and grace, which delighted the Italians, keenly alive to the beautiful, but hitherto accustomed only to the more ponderous and clumsy exercises of the European tourney.[27]

After some weeks, Prince Philip quitted the hospitable walls of Milan, and set out for the north. Before leaving the place, he was joined by a body of two hundred mounted arquebusiers, wearing his own yellow uniform, and commanded by the duke of Arschot. They had been sent to him as an escort by his father. He crossed the Tyrol, then took the road by the way of Munich, Trent, and Heidelberg, and so on towards Flanders. On all the route, the royal party was beset by multitudes of both sexes, pressing to catch a glimpse of the young prince who was one day to sway the mightiest sceptre in Europe. The magistrates of the cities through which he passed welcomed him with complimentary addresses, and with presents, frequently in the form of silver urns, or goblets, filled with golden ducats. Philip received the donatives with a gracious condescension; and, in truth, they did not come amiss in this season of lavish expenditure. To the addresses, the duke of Alva, who rode by the prince's side, usually responded. The whole of the long journey was performed on horseback,—the only sure mode of conveyance in a country where the roads were seldom practicable for carriages.

At length, after a journey of four months, the royal cavalcade drew near{22} the city of Brussels. Their approach to a great town was intimated by the crowds who came to welcome them; and Philip was greeted with a tumultuous enthusiasm, which made him feel that he was now indeed in the midst of his own people. The throng was soon swelled by bodies of the military; and with this loyal escort, amidst the roar of artillery and the ringing of bells, which sent forth a merry peal from every tower and steeple, Philip made his first entrance into the capital of Belgium.

The Regent Mary held her court there, and her brother, the emperor, was occupying the palace with her. It was not long before the father had again the satisfaction of embracing his son, from whom he had been separated so many years. He must have been pleased with the alteration which time had wrought in Philip's appearance. He was now twenty-one years of age, and was distinguished by a comeliness of person, remarked upon by more than one who had access to his presence. Their report is confirmed by the portraits of him from the pencil of Titian,—taken before the freshness of youth had faded into the sallow hue of disease, and when care and anxiety had not yet given a sombre, perhaps sullen, expression, to his features.

He had a fair, and even delicate complexion. His hair and beard were of a light yellow. His eyes were blue, with the eyebrows somewhat too closely knit together. His nose was thin and aquiline. The principal blemish in his countenance was his thick Austrian lip. His lower jaw protruded even more than that of his father. To his father, indeed, he bore a great resemblance in his lineaments, though those of Philip were of a less intellectual cast. In stature he was somewhat below the middle height, with a slight, symmetrical figure and well-made limbs. He was attentive to his dress, which was rich and elegant, but without any affectation of ornament. His demeanor was grave with that ceremonious observance which marked the old Castilian, and which may be thought the natural expression of Philip's slow and phlegmatic temperament.[28]

During his long residence in Brussels, Charles had the opportunity of superintending his son's education in one department in which it was deficient,—the science of government. And, surely, no instructor could have been found with larger experience than the man who had been at the head of all the great political movements in Europe for the last quarter of a century. Philip passed some time, every day, in his father's cabinet, conversing with him on public affairs, or attending the sessions of the council of state. It can hardly be doubted that Charles, in his private instruction, inculcated on his son two principles so prominent throughout Philip's administration,—to maintain the royal authority in its full extent, and to enforce a strict conformity to the Roman Catholic Communion. It is probable that he found his son an apt and docile scholar. Philip acquired, at least, such habits of patient application, and of watching over the execution of his own plans, as have been possessed by few princes.[29]{23}

The great object of Philip's visit to the Low Countries had been, to present himself to the people of the different provinces, to study their peculiar characters on their own soil, and obtain their recognition as their future sovereign. After a long residence at Brussels, he set out on a tour through the provinces. He was accompanied by the queen-regent, and by the same splendid retinue as on his entrance into the country, with the addition of a large number of the nobles.

The Netherlands had ever been treated by Charles with particular favor, and, under his royal patronage, although the country did not develop its resources as under its own free institutions of a later period, it had greatly prospered. It was more thickly studded with trading towns than any country of similar extent in Europe; and its flourishing communities held the first rank in wealth, industry, and commercial enterprise, as well as in the splendid way of living maintained by the aristocracy. On the present occasion, these communities vied with one another in their loyal demonstrations towards the prince, and in the splendor of the reception which they gave him. A work was compiled by one of the royal suite, setting forth the manifold honors paid to Philip through the whole of the tour, which, even more than his former journey, had the aspect of a triumphal progress. The book grew, under the hands of its patriotic author, to the size of a bulky folio, which, however interesting to his contemporaries, would have but slender attraction for the present generation.[30] The mere inscriptions emblazoned on the triumphal arches, and on the public buildings, spread over a multitude of pages. They were both in Latin and in the language of the country, and they augured the happy days in store for the nation, when, under the benignant sceptre of Philip, it should enjoy the sweets of tranquillity and freedom. Happy auguries! which showed that the prophet was not gifted with the spirit of prophecy.[31]

In these solemnities, Antwerp alone expended fifty thousand pistoles. But no place compared with Brussels in the costliness and splendor of its festivities, the most remarkable of which was a tournament. Under their Burgundian princes the Flemings had been familiar with these chivalrous pageants. The age of chivalry was, indeed, fast fading away before the use of gunpowder and other improvements in military science. But it was admitted that no tourney had been maintained with so much magnificence and knightly prowess since the days of Charles the Bold. The old chronicler's narrative of the event, like the pages of Froissart, seems instinct with the spirit of a feudal age. I will give a few details, at the hazard of appearing trivial to those who may think we have dwelt long enough on the pageants of the courts of Castile and Burgundy. But such pageants form part of the natural accompaniment of a picturesque age, and the illustrations they afford of the manners of the time may have an interest for the student of history.{24}

The tourney was held in a spacious square, inclosed for the purpose, in front of the great palace of Brussels. Four knights were prepared to maintain the field against all comers, and jewels of price were to be awarded as the prize of the victors. The four challengers were Count Mansfeldt, Count Hoorne, Count Aremberg, and the Sieur de Hubermont; among the judges was the duke of Alva; and in the list of the successful antagonists we find the names of Prince Philip of Spain, Emanuel Philibert, duke of Savoy, and Count Egmont. These are names famous in history. It is curious to observe how the men who were soon to be at a deadly feud with one another were thus sportively met to celebrate the pastimes of chivalry.

The day was an auspicious one, and the lists were crowded with the burghers of Brussels, and the people of the surrounding country. The galleries which encompassed the area were graced with the rank and beauty of the capital. A canopy, embroidered with the imperial arms in crimson and gold, indicated the place occupied by Charles the Fifth and his sisters, the regent of the Netherlands, and the dowager queen of France.

For several hours the field was gallantly maintained by the four challengers against every knight who was ambitious to prove his prowess in the presence of so illustrious an assembly. At length the trumpets sounded, and announced the entrance of four cavaliers, whose brilliant train of followers intimated them to be persons of high degree. The four knights were Prince Philip, the duke of Savoy, Count Egmont, and Juan Manriquez de Lara, major-domo of the emperor. They were clothed in complete mail, over which they wore surcoats of violet-colored velvet, while the caparisons of their horses were of cloth of gold.

Philip ran the first course. His antagonist was the Count Mansfeldt, a Flemish captain of great renown. At the appointed signal, the two knights spurred against each other, and met in the centre of the lists with a shock that shivered their lances to the very grasp. Both knights reeled in their saddles, but neither lost his seat. The arena resounded with the plaudits of the spectators, not the less hearty that one of the combatants was the heir apparent.

The other cavaliers then tilted, with various success. A general tournament followed, in which every knight eager to break a lance on this fair occasion took part; and many a feat of arms was performed, doubtless long remembered by the citizens of Brussels. At the end of the seventh hour a flourish of trumpets announced the conclusion of the contest, and the assembly broke up in admirable order, the knights retiring to change their heavy panoplies for the lighter vestments of the ball-room. A banquet was prepared by the municipality, in a style of magnificence worthy of their royal guests. The emperor and his sisters honored it with their presence, and witnessed the distribution of the prizes. Among these, a brilliant ruby, the prize awarded for the lança de las damas,—the "ladies' lance," in the language of chivalry,—was assigned by the loyal judges to Prince Philip of Spain.

Dancing succeeded to the banquet; and the high-bred courtesy of the prince was as much commended in the ball-room as his prowess had been in the lists. Maskers mingled with the dancers in Oriental costume, some in the Turkish, others in the Albanian fashion. The merry revels were not prolonged beyond the hour of midnight, when the company broke up, loudly commending, as they withdrew, the good cheer afforded them by the hospitable burghers of Brussels.[32]{25}

Philip won the prize on another occasion, when he tilted against a valiant knight, named Quiñones. He was not so fortunate in an encounter with the son of his old preceptor, Zuñiga, in which he was struck with such force on the head, that, after being carried some distance by his horse, he fell senseless from the saddle. The alarm was great, but the accident passed away without serious consequences.[33]

There were those who denied him skill in the management of his lance. Marillac, the French ambassador at the imperial court, speaking of a tourney given by Philip in honor of the princess of Lorraine, at Augsburg, says he never saw worse lance-playing in his life. At another time he remarks, that the Spanish prince could not even hit his antagonist.[34] It must have been a very palpable hit to be noticed by a Frenchman. The French regarded the Spaniards of that day in much the same manner as they regarded the English at an earlier period, or as they have continued to regard them at a later. The long rivalry of the French and Spanish monarchs had infused into the breasts of their subjects such feelings of mutual aversion, that the opinions of either nation in reference to the other, in the sixteenth century, must be received with the greatest distrust.

But, whatever may have been Philip's success in these chivalrous displays, it is quite certain they were not to his taste. He took part in them only to conform to his father's wishes, and to the humor of the age. Though in his youth he sometimes hunted, he was neither fond of field-sports nor of the athletic exercises of chivalry. His constitution was far from robust. He sought to invigorate it less by exercise than by diet. He confined himself almost wholly to meat, as the most nutritious food, abstaining even from fish; as well as from fruit.[35] Besides his indisposition to active exercises, he had no relish for the gaudy spectacles so fashionable in that romantic age. The part he had played in the pageants, during his long tour, had not been of his own seeking. Though ceremonious, and exacting deference from all who approached him, he was not fond of the pomp and parade of a court life. He preferred to pass his hours in the privacy of his own apartment, where he took pleasure in the conversation of a few whom he honored with his regard. It was with difficulty that the emperor could induce him to leave his retirement and present himself in the audience-chamber, or accompany him on visits of ceremony.[36]{26}

These reserved and quiet tastes of Philip by no means recommended him to the Flemings, accustomed as they were to the pomp and profuse magnificence of the Burgundian court. Their free and social tempers were chilled by his austere demeanor. They contrasted it with the affable deportment of his father, who could so well conform to the customs of the different nations under his sceptre, and who seemed perfectly to comprehend their characters,—the astute policy of the Italian, the home-bred simplicity of the German, and the Castilian propriety and point of honor.[37] With the latter only of these had Philip anything in common. He was in everything a Spaniard. He talked of nothing, seemed to think of nothing, but Spain.[38] The Netherlands were to him a foreign land, with which he had little sympathy. His counsellors and companions were wholly Spanish. The people of Flanders felt, that, under his sway, little favor was to be shown to them; and they looked forward to the time when all the offices of trust in their own country would be given to Castilians, in the same manner as those of Castile, in the early days of Charles the Fifth, had been given to Flemings.[39]

Yet the emperor seemed so little aware of his son's unpopularity, that he was at this very time making arrangements for securing to him the imperial crown. He had summoned a meeting of the electors and great lords of the empire, to be held at Augsburg, in August, 1550. There he proposed to secure Philip's election as king of the Romans, so soon as he had obtained his brother Ferdinand's surrender of that dignity. But Charles did not show, in all this, his usual knowledge of human nature. The lust of power on his son's account—ineffectual for happiness as he had found the possession of it in his own case—seems to have entirely blinded him.

He repaired with Philip to Augsburg, where they were met by Ferdinand and the members of the German diet. But it was in vain that Charles solicited his brother to waive his claim to the imperial succession in favor of his nephew. Neither solicitations nor arguments, backed by the entreaties, even the tears, it is said, of their common sister, the Regent Mary, could move Ferdinand to forego the splendid inheritance. Charles was not more successful when he changed his ground, and urged his brother to acquiesce in Philip's election as his successor in the dignity of king of the Romans; or, at least, in his being associated in that dignity—a thing unprecedented—with his cousin Maximilian, Ferdinand's son, who, it was understood, was destined by the electors to succeed his father.

This young prince, who meanwhile had been summoned to Augsburg, was as little disposed as Ferdinand had been to accede to the proposals of his too grasping father-in-law; though he courteously alleged, as the ground of his refusal, that he had no right to interfere with the decision of the electors. He might safely rest his cause on their decision. They had no desire to perpetuate the imperial sceptre in the line of Castilian monarchs. They had suffered enough from the despotic temper of Charles the Fifth; and this temper they had no reason to think would be mitigated in the person of Philip.

They desired a German to rule over them,—one who would understand the German character, and enter heartily into the feelings of the people. Maximilian's directness of purpose and kindly nature had won largely on the affections of his countrymen, and proved him, in their judgment, worthy of the throne.[40]

Philip, on the other hand, was even more distasteful to the Germans than he was to the Flemings. It was in vain that, at their banquets, he drank twice or thrice as much as he was accustomed to do, until the cardinal of Trent assured him that he was fast gaining in the good graces of the people.[41] The natural haughtiness of his temper showed itself on too many occasions to be mistaken. When Charles returned to his palace, escorted, as he usually was, by a train of nobles and princes of the empire, he would courteously take them by the hand, and raise his hat, as he parted from them. But Philip, it was observed, on like occasions, walked directly into the palace, without so much as turning round, or condescending in any way to notice the courtiers who had accompanied him. This was taking higher ground even than his father had done. In fact, it was said of him, that he considered himself greater than his father, inasmuch as the son of an emperor was greater than the son of a king![42]—a foolish vaunt, not the less indicative of his character, that it was made for him, probably, by the Germans. In short, Philip's manners, which, in the language of a contemporary, had been little pleasing to the Italians, and positively displeasing to the Flemings, were altogether odious to the Germans.[43]

Nor was the idea of Philip's election at all more acceptable to the Spaniards themselves. That nation had been long enough regarded as an appendage to the empire. Their pride had been wounded by the light in which they were held by Charles, who seemed to look on Spain as a royal domain, valuable chiefly for the means it afforded him for playing his part on the great theatre of Europe. The haughty Castilian of the sixteenth century, conscious of his superior pretensions, could ill brook this abasement. He sighed for a prince born and bred in Spain, who would be content to pass his life in Spain, and would have no ambition unconnected with her prosperity and glory. The Spaniards were even more tenacious on this head than the Germans. Their remote situation made them more exclusive, mere strictly national, and less tolerant of foreign influence. They required a Spaniard to rule over them. Such was Philip; and they anticipated the hour when Spain should be divorced from the empire, and, under the sway of a patriotic prince, rise to her just preëminence among the nations.

Yet Charles, far from yielding, continued to press the point with such pertinacity, that it seemed likely to lead to an open rupture between the different branches of his family. For a time Ferdinand kept his apartment, and had no intercourse with Charles or his sister.[44] Yet in the end the genius or the{28} obstinacy of Charles so far prevailed over his brother, that he acquiesced in a private compact, by which, while he was to retain possession of the imperial crown, it was agreed that Philip should succeed him as king of the Romans, and that Maximilian should succeed Philip.[45] Ferdinand hazarded little by concessions which could never be sanctioned by the electoral college. The reverses which befell the emperor's arms in the course of the following year destroyed whatever influence he might have possessed in that body; and he seems never to have revived his schemes for aggrandizing his son by securing to him the succession to the empire.

Philip had now accomplished the great object of his visit. He had presented himself to the people of the Netherlands, and had received their homage as heir to the realm. His tour had been, in some respects, a profitable one. It was scarcely possible that a young man, whose days had hitherto been passed within the narrow limits of his own country, for ever under the same local influences, should not have his ideas greatly enlarged by going abroad and mingling with different nations. It was especially important to Philip to make himself familiar, as none but a resident can be, with the character and institutions of those nations over whom he was one day to preside. Yet his visit to the Netherlands had not been attended with the happiest results. He evidently did not make a favorable impression on the people. The more they saw of him, the less they appeared to like him. Such impressions are usually reciprocal; and Philip seems to have parted from the country with little regret. Thus, in the first interview between the future sovereign and his subjects, the symptoms might already be discerned of that alienation which was afterwards to widen into a permanent and irreparable breach.

Philip, anxious to reach Castile, pushed forward his journey, without halting to receive the civilities that were everywhere tendered to him on his route. He made one exception at Trent, where the ecclesiastical council was holding the memorable session that occupies so large a share in Church annals. On his approach to the city, the cardinal legate, attended by the mitred prelates and other dignitaries of the council, came out in a body to receive him. During his stay there, he was entertained with masks, dancing, theatrical exhibitions, and jousts, contrived to represent scenes in Ariosto.[46] These diversions of the reverend fathers formed a whimsical contrast, perhaps a welcome relief, to their solemn occupation of digesting a creed for the Christian world.

From Trent Philip pursued his way, with all expedition, to Genoa, where he embarked, under the flag of the veteran Doria, who had brought him from Spain. He landed at Barcelona, on the twelfth day of July, 1551, and proceeded at once to Valladolid, where he resumed the government of the kingdom. He was fortified by a letter from his father, dated at Augsburg, which contained ample instructions as to the policy he was to pursue, and freely discussed both the foreign and domestic relations of the country. The letter, which is very long, shows that the capacious mind of Charles, however{29} little time he could personally give to the affairs of the monarchy, fully comprehended its internal condition and the extent of its resources.[47]

The following years were years of humiliation to Charles; years marked by the flight from Innsbruck, and the disastrous siege of Metz,—when, beaten by the Protestants, foiled by the French, the reverses of the emperor pressed heavily on his proud heart, and did more, probably, than all the homilies of his ghostly teachers, to disgust him with the world and its vanities.

Yet these reverses made little impression on Spain. The sounds of war died away before they reached the foot of the Pyrenees. Spain, it is true, sent forth her sons, from time to time, to serve under the banners of Charles; and it was in that school that was perfected the admirable system of discipline and tactics which, begun by the Great Captain, made the Spanish infantry the most redoubtable in Europe. But the great body of the people felt little interest in the success of these distant enterprises, where success brought them no good. Not that the mind of Spain was inactive, or oppressed with the lethargy which stole over it in a later age. There was, on the contrary, great intellectual activity. She was excluded, by an arbitrary government, from pushing her speculations in the regions of theological or political science. But this, to a considerable extent, was the case with most of the neighboring nations; and she indemnified herself for this exclusion by a more diligent cultivation of elegant literature. The constellation of genius had already begun to show itself above the horizon, which was to shed a glory over the meridian and the close of Philip's reign. The courtly poets in the reign of his father had confessed the influence of Italian models, derived through the recent territorial acquisitions in Italy. But the national taste was again asserting its supremacy; and the fashionable tone of composition was becoming more and more accommodated to the old Castilian standard.

It would be impossible that any departure from a national standard should be long tolerated in Spain, where the language, the manners, the dress, the usages of the country, were much the same as they had been for generations,—as they continued to be for generations, long after Cervantes held up the mirror of fiction, to reflect the traits of the national existence more vividly than is permitted to the page of the chronicler. In the rude romances of the fourteenth and the fifteenth century, the Castilian of the sixteenth might see his way of life depicted with tolerable accuracy. The amorous cavalier still thrummed his guitar, by moonlight, under the balcony of his mistress, or wore her favors at the Moorish tilt of reeds. The common people still sung their lively seguidillas, or crowded to the fiestas de toros,—the cruel bull-fights,—or to the more cruel autos da fé. This last spectacle, of comparatively recent origin,—in the time of Ferdinand and Isabella,—was the legitimate consequence of the long wars with the Moslems, which made the Spaniard intolerant of religious infidelity. Atrocious as it seems in a more humane and enlightened age, it was regarded by the ancient Spaniard as a sacrifice grateful to Heaven, at which he was to rekindle the dormant embers of his own religious sensibilities.

The cessation of the long Moorish wars by the fall of Granada, made the most important change in the condition of the Spaniards. They, however, found a vent for their chivalrous fanaticism, in a crusade against the heathen of the New World. Those who returned from their wanderings brought back to Spain little of foreign usages and manners; for the Spaniard was the only civilized man whom they found in the wilds of America.{30}

Thus passed the domestic life of the Spaniard, in the same unvaried circle of habits, opinions, and prejudices, to the exclusion, and probably contempt of everything foreign. Not that these habits did not differ in the different provinces, where their distinctive peculiarities were handed down, with traditional precision, from father to son. But, beneath these, there was one common basis of the national character. Never was there a people, probably, with the exception of the Jews, distinguished by so intense a nationality. It was among such a people, and under such influences, that Philip was born and educated. His temperament and his constitution of mind peculiarly fitted him for the reception of these influences; and the Spaniards, as he grew in years, beheld, with pride and satisfaction, in their future sovereign, the most perfect type of the national character.

CHAPTER III.

Condition of England.—Character of Mary.—Philip's Proposals of Marriage.—Marriage Articles.—Insurrection in England.

In the summer of 1553, three years after Philip's return to Spain, occurred an event which was to exercise a considerable influence on his fortunes. This was the death of Edward the Sixth of England,—after a brief but important reign. He was succeeded by his sister Mary, that unfortunate princess, whose sobriquet of "Bloody" gives her a melancholy distinction among the sovereigns of the house of Tudor.

The reign of her father, Henry the Eighth, had opened the way to the great revolution in religion, the effects of which were destined to be permanent. Yet Henry himself showed his strength rather in unsettling ancient institutions than in establishing new ones. By the abolition of the monasteries, he broke up that spiritual militia which was a most efficacious instrument for maintaining the authority of Rome; and he completed the work of independence by seating himself boldly in the chair of St. Peter, and assuming the authority of head of the Church. Thus, while the supremacy of the pope was rejected, the Roman Catholic religion was maintained in its essential principles unimpaired. In other words, the nation remained Catholics, but not Papists.

The impulse thus given under Henry was followed up to more important consequences under his son, Edward the Sixth. The opinions of the German Reformers, considerably modified, especially in regard to the exterior forms and discipline of worship, met with a cordial welcome from the ministers of the young monarch. Protestantism became the religion of the land; and the Church of England received, to a great extent, the peculiar organization which it has preserved to the present day. But Edward's reign was too brief to allow the new opinions to take deep root in the hearts of the people. The greater part of the aristocracy soon showed that, whatever religious zeal they had affected, they were not prepared to make any sacrifice of their temporal interests. On the accession of a Catholic queen to the throne, a reaction soon became visible. Some embarrassment to a return to the former faith was found in the restitution which it might naturally involve of the confiscated{31} property of the monastic orders. But the politic concessions of Rome dispensed with this severe trial of the sincerity of its new proselytes; and England, after repudiating her heresies, was received into the fold of the Roman Catholic Church, and placed once more under the jurisdiction of its pontiff.

After the specimens given of the ready ductility with which the English of that day accommodated their religious creeds to the creed of their sovereign, we shall hardly wonder at the caustic criticism of the Venetian ambassador, resident at the court of London, in Queen Mary's time. "The example and authority of the sovereign," he says, "are everything with the people of this country in matters of faith. As he believes, they believe; Judaism or Mahometanism,—it is all one to them. They conform themselves easily to his will, at least so far as the outward show is concerned; and most easily of all where it concurs with their own pleasure and profit."[48]

The ambassador, Giovanni Micheli, was one of that order of merchant-princes employed by Venice in her foreign missions; men whose acquaintance with affairs enabled them to comprehend the resources of the country to which they were sent, as well as the intrigues of its court. Their observations were digested into elaborate reports, which, on their return to Venice, were publicly read before the doge and the senate. The documents thus prepared form some of the most valuable and authentic materials for the history of Europe in the sixteenth century. Micheli's report is diffuse on the condition of England under the reign of Queen Mary; and some of his remarks will have interest for the reader of the present day, as affording a standard of comparison with the past.[49]

London he eulogizes, as one of the noblest capitals in Europe, containing, with its suburbs, about a hundred and eighty thousand souls.[50] The great lords, as in France and Germany, passed most of their time on their estates in the country.

The kingdom was strong enough, if united, to defy any invasion from abroad. Yet its navy was small, having dwindled, from neglect and an ill-judged economy, to not more than forty vessels of war. But the mercantile{32} marine could furnish two thousand more, which, at a short notice, could be well equipped and got ready for sea. The army was particularly strong in artillery, and provided with all the munitions of war. The weapon chiefly in repute was the bow, to which the English people were trained from early youth. In their cavalry they were most defective. Horses were abundant, but wanted bottom. They were, for the most part, light, weak, and grass-fed.[51] The nation was, above all, to be envied for the lightness of the public burdens. There were no taxes on wine, beer, salt, cloth, nor, indeed, on any of the articles that in other countries furnished the greatest sources of revenue.[52] The whole revenue did not usually exceed two hundred thousand pounds. Parliaments were rarely summoned, except to save the king trouble or to afford a cloak to his designs. No one ventured to resist the royal will; servile the members came there, and servile they remained.[53]—An Englishman of the nineteenth century may smile at the contrast presented by some of these remarks to the condition of the nation at the present day; though in the item of taxation the contrast may be rather fitted to provoke a sigh.

The portrait of Queen Mary is given by the Venetian minister, with a coloring somewhat different from that in which she is commonly depicted by English historians. She was about thirty-six years of age at the time of her accession. In stature, she was of rather less than the middle size,—not large, as was the case with both her father and mother,—and exceedingly well made. "The portraits of her," says Micheli, "show that in her youth she must have been not only good-looking, but even handsome;—though her countenance, when he saw her, exhibited traces of early trouble and disease."[54] But whatever she had lost in personal attractions was fully made up by those of the mind. She was quick of apprehension, and, like her younger sister, Elizabeth, was mistress of several languages, three of which, the French, Spanish, and Latin, she could speak; the last with fluency.[55] But in these accomplishments she was surpassed by her sister, who knew the Greek well, {33}and could speak Italian with ease and elegance. Mary, however, both spoke and wrote her own language in a plain, straightforward manner, that forms a contrast to the ambiguous phrase and cold conceits in which Elizabeth usually conveyed, or rather concealed, her sentiments.

Mary had the misfortune to labour under a chronic infirmity, which confined her for weeks, and indeed months, of every year to her chamber, and which, with her domestic troubles, gave her an air of melancholy, that in later years settled into a repulsive austerity. The tones of her voice were masculine, says the Venetian, and her eyes inspired a feeling, not merely of reverence, but of fear, wherever she turned them. Her spirit he adds, was lofty and magnanimous, never discomposed by danger, showing in all things a blood truly royal.[56]

Her piety, he continues, and her patience under affliction, cannot be too greatly admired. Sustained, as she was, by a lively faith and conscious innocence, he compares her to a light which the fierce winds have no power to extinguish, but which still shines on with increasing lustre.[57] She waited her time, and was plainly reserved by Providence for a great destiny.—We are reading the language of the loyal Catholic, grateful for the services which Mary had rendered to the faith.

Yet it would be uncharitable not to believe that Mary was devout, and most earnest in her devotion. The daughter of Katharine of Aragon, the granddaughter of Isabella of Castile, could hardly have been otherwise. The women of that royal line were uniformly conspicuous for their piety, though this was too often tinctured with bigotry. In Mary, bigotry degenerated into fanaticism, and fanaticism into the spirit of persecution. The worst evils are probably those that have flowed from fanaticism. Yet the amount of the mischief does not necessarily furnish us with the measure of guilt in the author of it. The introduction of the Inquisition into Spain must be mainly charged on Isabella. Yet the student of her reign will not refuse to this great queen the praise of tenderness of conscience and a sincere desire to do the right. Unhappily, the faith in which she, as well as her royal granddaughter, was nurtured, taught her to place her conscience in the keeping of ministers less scrupulous than herself; and on those ministers may fairly rest much of the responsibility of measures on which they only were deemed competent to determine.

Mary's sincerity in her religious professions was placed beyond a doubt by the readiness with which she submitted to the sacrifice of her personal interests whenever the interests of religion seemed to demand it. She burned her translation of a portion of Erasmus, prepared with great labor, at the suggestion of her confessor. An author will readily estimate the value of such a sacrifice. One more important, and intelligible to all, was the resolute manner in which she persisted in restoring the Church property which had been confiscated{34} to the use of the crown. "The crown is too much impoverished to admit of it," remonstrated her ministers. "I would rather lose ten crowns," replied the high-minded queen, "than place my soul in peril."[58]

Yet it cannot be denied, that Mary had inherited, in full measure, some of the sterner qualities of her father, and that she was wanting in that sympathy for human suffering which is so graceful in a woman. After a rebellion, the reprisals were terrible. London was converted into a charnel-house; and the squares and principal streets were garnished with the unsightly trophies of the heads and limbs of numerous victims who had fallen by the hand of the executioner.[59] This was in accordance with the spirit of the age. But the execution of the unfortunate Lady Jane Grey—the young, the beautiful, and the good—leaves a blot on the fame of Mary, which finds no parallel but in the treatment of the ill-fated queen of Scots by Elizabeth.

Mary's treatment of Elizabeth has formed another subject of reproach, though the grounds of it are not sufficiently made out; and, at all events, many circumstances may be alleged in extenuation of her conduct. She had seen her mother, the noble-minded Katharine, exposed to the most cruel indignities, and compelled to surrender her bed and her throne to an artful rival, the mother of Elizabeth. She had heard herself declared illegitimate, and her right to the succession set aside in favor of her younger sister. Even after her intrepid conduct had secured to her the crown, she was still haunted by the same gloomy apparition. Elizabeth's pretensions were constantly brought before the public; and Mary might well be alarmed by the disclosure of conspiracy after conspiracy, the object of which, it was rumored, was to seat her sister on the throne. As she advanced in years, Mary had the further mortification of seeing her rival gain on those affections of the people which had grown cool to her. Was it wonderful that she should regard her sister, under these circumstances, with feelings of distrust and aversion? That she did so regard her is asserted by the Venetian minister; and it is plain that, during the first years of Mary's reign, Elizabeth's life hung upon a thread. Yet Mary had strength of principle sufficient to resist the importunities of Charles the Fifth and his ambassador, to take the life of Elizabeth, as a thing indispensable to her own safety and that of Philip. Although her sister was shown to be privy, though not openly accessory, to the grand rebellion under Wyatt, Mary would not constrain the law from its course to do her violence. This was something, under the existing circumstances, in an age so unscrupulous. After this storm had passed over, Mary, whatever restraint she imposed on her real feelings, treated Elizabeth, for the most part, with a show of kindness, though her name still continued to be mingled, whether with or without cause, with more than one treasonable plot.[60] Mary's last act—perhaps the only one in which she openly resisted the will of her husband—was to refuse to compel her sister to accept the hand of Philibert of Savoy. Yet this act would have relieved her of the presence of her rival; and by it Elizabeth would have forfeited her independent possession of the crown,—perhaps the possession of it altogether. It may be doubted whether Elizabeth, under similar circumstances, would have shown the like tenderness to the interests of her successor.{35}

But, however we may be disposed to extenuate the conduct of Mary, and in spiritual matters, more especially, to transfer the responsibility of her acts from herself to her advisers, it is not possible to dwell on this reign of religious persecution without feelings of profound sadness. Not that the number of victims compares with what is recorded of many similar periods of persecution. The whole amount, falling probably short of three hundred who perished at the stake, was less than the number who fell by the hand of the executioner, or by violence, during the same length of time under Henry the Eighth. It was not much greater than might sometimes be found at a single Spanish auto da fé. But Spain was the land in which this might be regarded as the national spectacle,—as much so as the fiesta de toros, or any other of the popular exhibitions of the country. In England, a few examples had not sufficed to steel the hearts of men against these horrors. The heroic company of martyrs, condemned to the most agonizing of deaths for asserting the rights of conscience, was a sight strange and shocking to Englishmen. The feelings of that day have been perpetuated to the present. The reign of religious persecution stands out by itself, as something distinct from the natural course of events; and the fires of Smithfield shed a melancholy radiance over this page of the national history, from which the eye of humanity turns away in pity and disgust.—But it is time to take up the narrative of events which connected for a brief space the political interests of Spain with those of England.

Charles the Fifth had always taken a lively interest in the fortunes of his royal kinswoman. When a young man he had paid a visit to England, and while there had been induced by his aunt, Queen Katharine, to contract a marriage with the Princess Mary,—then only six years old,—to be solemnized on her arriving at the suitable age. But the term was too remote for the constancy of Charles, or, as it is said, for the patience of his subjects, who earnestly wished to see their sovereign wedded to a princess who might present him with an heir to the monarchy. The English match was, accordingly, broken off, and the young emperor gave his hand to Isabella of Portugal.[61]

Mary, who, since her betrothal, had been taught to consider herself as the future bride of the emperor, was at the time but eleven years old. She was old enough, however, to feel something like jealousy, it is said, and to show some pique at this desertion by her imperial lover. Yet this circumstance did not prevent the most friendly relations from subsisting between the parties in after years; and Charles continued to watch over the interests of his kinswoman, and interposed, with good effect, in her behalf, on more than one occasion, both during the reign of Henry the Eighth and of his son, Edward the Sixth. On the death of the latter monarch, he declared himself ready to assist Mary in maintaining her right to the succession;[62] and, when{36} this was finally established, the wary emperor took the necessary measures for turning it to his own account.[63]

He formed a scheme for uniting Philip with Mary, and thus securing to his son the possession of the English crown, in the same manner as that of Scotland had been secured by marriage to the son of his rival, Henry the Second of France. It was, doubtless, a great error to attempt to bring under one rule nations so dissimilar in every particular, and having interests so incompatible as the Spaniards and the English. Historians have regarded it as passing strange, that a prince, who had had such large experience of the difficulties attending the government of kingdoms remote from each other, should seek so to multiply these difficulties on the head of his inexperienced son. But the love of acquisition is a universal principle; nor is it often found that the appetite for more is abated by the consideration that the party is already possessed of more then he can manage.

It was a common opinion, that Mary intended to bestow her hand on her young and handsome kinsman, Courtenay, earl of Devonshire, whom she had withdrawn from the prison in which he had languished for many years, and afterwards treated with distinguished favor. Charles, aware of this, instructed Renard, his minister at the court of London, a crafty, intriguing politician,[64] to sound the queen's inclinations on the subject, but so as not to alarm her. He was to dwell, particularly, on the advantages Mary would derive from a connection with some powerful foreign prince, and to offer his master's counsel, in this or any other matter in which she might desire it. The minister was to approach the subject of the earl of Devonshire with the greatest caution; remembering that, if the queen had a fancy for her cousin, and was like other women, she would not be turned from it by anything that he might say, nor would she readily forgive any reflection upon it.[65] Charles seems to have been as well read in the characters of women as of men; and, as a natural consequence, it may be added, had formed a high estimate of the capacity of the sex. In proof of which, he not only repeatedly committed{37} the government of his states to women, but intrusted them with some of his most delicate political negotiations.

Mary, if she had ever entertained the views imputed to her in respect to Courtenay, must have soon been convinced that his frivolous disposition would ill suit the seriousness of hers. However this may be, she was greatly pleased when Renard hinted at her marriage,—"laughing," says the envoy, "not once, but several times, and giving me a significant look, which showed that the idea was very agreeable to her, plainly intimating at the same time that she had no desire to marry an Englishman."[66] In a subsequent conversation, when Renard ventured to suggest that the prince of Spain was a suitable match, Mary broke in upon him, saying that "she had never felt the smart of what people called love, nor had ever so much as thought of being married, until Providence had raised her to the throne; and that, if she now consented to it, it would be in opposition to her own feelings, from a regard to the public good;" but she begged the envoy to assure the emperor of her wish to obey and to please him in everything, as she would her own father; intimating, however, that she could not broach the subject of her marriage to her council; the question could only be opened by a communication from him.[67]

Charles, who readily saw through Mary's coquetry, no longer hesitated to prefer the suit of Philip. After commending the queen's course in regard to Courtenay, he presented to her the advantages that must arise from such a foreign alliance as would strengthen her on the throne. He declared, in a tone of gallantry rather amusing, that, if it were not for his age and increasing infirmities, he should not hesitate to propose himself as her suitor.[68] The next best thing was to offer her the person dearest to his heart,—his son, the prince of Asturias. He concluded by deprecating the idea that any recommendation of his should interfere, in the least degree, with the exercise of her better judgment.[69]{38}

Renard was further to intimate to the queen the importance of secrecy in regard to this negotiation. If she were disinclined to the proposed match, it would be obviously of no advantage to give it publicity. If, on the other hand, as the emperor had little doubt, she looked on it favorably, but desired to advise with her council before deciding, Renard was to dissuade her from the latter step, and advise her to confide in him.[70] The wary emperor had a twofold motive for these instructions. There was a negotiation on foot at this very time for a marriage of Philip to the infanta of Portugal, and Charles wished to be entirely assured of Mary's acquiescence, before giving such publicity to the affair as might defeat the Portuguese match, which would still remain for Philip, should he not succeed with the English queen.[71] In case Mary proved favorable to his son's suit, Charles, who knew the abhorrence in which foreigners were held by the English beyond all other nations,[72] wished to gain time before communicating with Mary's council. With some delay, he had no doubt that he had the means of winning over a sufficient number of that body to support Philip's pretensions.[73]

These communications could not be carried on so secretly but that some rumor of them reached the ears of Mary's ministers, and of Noailles, the French ambassador at the court of London.[74] This person was a busy and{39} unscrupulous politician, who saw with alarm the prospect of Spain strengthening herself by this alliance with England, and determined, accordingly, in obedience to instructions from home, to use every effort to defeat it. The queen's ministers, with the chancellor, Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, at their head, felt a similar repugnance to the Spanish match. The name of the Spaniards had become terrible from the remorseless manner in which their wars had been conducted during the present reign, especially in the New World. The ambition and the widely-extended dominions of Charles the Fifth made him the most formidable sovereign in Europe. The English looked with apprehension on so close an alliance with a prince who had shown too little regard for the liberties of his own land to make it probable that he or his son would respect those of another. Above all, they dreaded the fanaticism of the Spaniards; and the gloomy spectre of the Inquisition moving in their train made even the good Catholic shudder at the thought of the miseries that might ensue from this ill-omened union.

It was not difficult for Noailles and the chancellor to communicate their own distrust to the members of the parliament, then in session. A petition to the queen was voted in the lower house, in which the commons preferred an humble request that she would marry for the good of the realm, but besought her, at the same time, not to go abroad for her husband, but to select him among her own subjects.[75]

Mary's ministers did not understand her character so well as Charles the Fifth did, when he cautioned his agent not openly to thwart her. Opposition only fixed her more strongly in her original purpose. In a private interview with Renard, she told him that she was apprised of Gardiner's intrigues, and that Noailles, too, was doing the impossible to prevent her union with Philip. "But I will be a match for them," she added. Soon after, taking the ambassador, at midnight, into her oratory, she knelt before the host, and, having repeated the hymn Veni Creator, solemnly pledged herself to take no other man for her husband than the prince of Spain.[76]

This proceeding took place on the thirtieth of October. On the seventeenth of the month following, the commons waited on the queen at her palace of Whitehall, to which she was confined by indisposition, and presented their address. Mary, instead of replying by her chancellor, as was usual, answered them in person. She told them, that from God she held her crown, and that to him alone should she turn for counsel in a matter so important;[77] she had not yet made up her mind to marry; but since they considered{40} it so necessary for the weal of the kingdom, she would take it into consideration. It was a matter in which no one was so much interested as herself. But they might be assured that, in her choice, she would have regard to the happiness of her people, full as much as to her own. The commons, who had rarely the courage to withstand the frown of their Tudor princes, professed themselves contented with this assurance; and, from this moment, opposition ceased from that quarter.

Mary's arguments were reinforced by more conciliatory, but not less efficacious persuasives, in the form of gold crowns, gold chains, and other compliments of the like nature, which were distributed pretty liberally by the Spanish ambassador among the members of her council.[78]

In the following December, a solemn embassy left Brussels, to wait on Mary and tender her the hand of Philip. It was headed by Lamoral, Count Egmont, the Flemish noble so distinguished in later years by his military achievements, and still more by his misfortunes. He was attended by a number of Flemish lords and a splendid body of retainers. He landed in Kent, where the rumor went abroad that it was Philip himself; and so general was the detestation of the Spanish match among the people, that it might have gone hard with the envoy, had the mistake not been discovered. Egmont sailed up the Thames, and went ashore at Tower Wharf, on the second of January, 1554. He was received with all honor by Lord William Howard and several of the great English nobles, and escorted in much state to Westminster, where his table was supplied at the charge of the city. Gardiner entertained the embassy at a sumptuous banquet; and the next day Egmont and his retinue proceeded to Hampton Court, "where they had great cheer," says an old chronicler, "and hunted the deer, and were so greedy of their destruction, that they gave them not fair play for their lives; for," as he peevishly complains, "they killed rag and tag, with hands and swords."[79]

On the twelfth, the Flemish count was presented to the queen, and tendered her proposals of marriage in behalf of Prince Philip. Mary, who probably thought she had made advances enough, now assumed a more reserved air. "It was not for a maiden queen," she said, "thus publicly to enter on so delicate a subject as her own marriage. This would be better done by her ministers, to whom she would refer him. But this she would have him understand," she added, as she cast her eyes on the ring on her finger, "her realm was her first husband, and none other should induce her to violate the oath which she had pledged at her coronation."

Notwithstanding this prudery of Mary, she had already manifested such a prepossession for her intended lord as to attract the notice of her courtiers, one of whom refers it to the influence of a portrait of Philip, of which she had become "greatly enamored."[80] That such a picture was sent to her appears from a letter of Philip's aunt, the regent of the Netherlands, in which she tells the English queen that she has sent her a portrait of the prince,{41} from the pencil of Titian, which she was to return so soon as she was in possession of the living original. It had been taken some three years before, she said, and was esteemed a good likeness, though it would be necessary, as in the case of other portraits by this master, to look at it from a distance in order to see the resemblance.[81]

The marriage treaty was drawn up with great circumspection, under the chancellor's direction. It will be necessary to notice only the most important provisions. It was stipulated that Philip should respect the laws of England, and leave every man in the full enjoyment of his rights and immunities. The power of conferring titles, honors, emoluments, and offices of every description, was to be reserved to the queen. Foreigners were to be excluded from office. The issue of the marriage, if a son, was to succeed to the English crown and to the Spanish possessions in Burgundy and the Low Countries. But in case of the death of Don Carlos, Philip's son, the issue of the present marriage was to receive, in addition to the former inheritance, Spain and her dependencies. The queen was never to leave her own kingdom without her express desire. Her children were not to be taken out of it without the consent of the nobles. In case of Mary's death, Philip was not to claim the right of taking part in the government of the country. Further it was provided that Philip should not entangle the nation in his wars with France, but should strive to maintain the same amicable relations that now subsisted between the two countries.[82]

Such were the cautious stipulations of this treaty, which had more the aspect of a treaty for defence against an enemy than a marriage contract. The instrument was worded with a care that reflected credit on the sagacity of its framers. All was done that parchment could do to secure the independence of the crown, as well as the liberties of the people. "But if the bond be violated," asked one of the parliamentary speakers on the occasion, "who is there to sue the bond?" Every reflecting Englishman must have felt the inefficacy of any guaranty that could be extorted from Philip, who, once united to Mary, would find little difficulty in persuading a fond and obedient wife to sanction his own policy, prejudicial though it might be to the true interests of the kingdom.

No sooner was the marriage treaty made public, than the popular discontent, before partially disclosed, showed itself openly throughout the country. Placards were put up, lampoons were written, reviling the queen's ministers and ridiculing the Spaniards; ominous voices were heard from old, dilapidated buildings, boding the ruin of the monarchy. Even the children became infected with the passions of their fathers. Games were played in which the English were represented contending with the Spaniards; and in one of these an unlucky urchin, who played the part of Philip, narrowly escaped with his life from the hands of his exasperated comrades.[83]

But something more serious than child's play showed itself, in three several insurrections which broke out in different quarters of the kingdom. The most{42} formidable of them was the one led by Sir Thomas Wyatt, son of the celebrated poet of that name. It soon gathered head, and the number of the insurgents was greatly augmented by the accession of a considerable body of the royal forces, who deserted their colours, and joined the very men against whom they had been sent. Thus strengthened, Wyatt marched on London. All there were filled with consternation,—all but their intrepid queen, who showed as much self-possession and indifference to danger as if it were only an ordinary riot.

Proceeding at once into the city, she met the people at Guildhall, and made them a spirited address, which has been preserved in the pages of Holinshed. It concludes in the following bold strain, containing an allusion to the cause of the difficulties:—"And certainly, if I did either know or think that this marriage should either turn to the danger or loss of any of you, my loving subjects, or to the detriment or impairing of any part or parcel of the royal estate of this realm of England, I would never consent thereunto, neither would I ever marry while I lived. And on the word of a queen, I promise and assure you, that, if it shall not probably appear before the nobility and commons, in the high court of parliament, that this marriage shall be for the singular benefit and commodity of all the whole realm, that then I will abstain, not only from this marriage, but also from any other whereof peril may ensue to this most noble realm. Wherefore now as good and faithful subjects pluck up your hearts, and like true men stand fast with your lawful prince against these rebels, both our enemies and yours, and fear them not; for I assure you that I fear them nothing at all!"[84] The courageous spirit of their queen communicated itself to her audience, and in a few hours twenty thousand citizens enrolled themselves under the royal banner.

Meanwhile, the rebel force continued its march, and reports soon came that Wyatt was on the opposite bank of the Thames; then, that he had crossed the river. Soon his presence was announced by the flight of a good number of the royalists, among whom was Courtenay, who rode off before the enemy at a speed that did little credit to his valor. All was now confusion again. The lords and ladies in attendance gathered round the queen in Whitehall, as if to seek support from her more masculine nature. Her ministers went down on their knees, to implore her to seek refuge in the Tower, as the only place of safety. Mary smiled with contempt at the pusillanimous proposal, and resolved to remain where she was, and abide the issue.

It was not long in coming. Wyatt penetrated as far as Ludgate, with desperate courage, but was not well seconded by his followers. The few who proved faithful were surrounded and overwhelmed by numbers. Wyatt was made prisoner, and the whole rebel rout discomfited and dispersed. By this triumph over her enemies, Mary was seated more strongly than ever on the throne. Henceforward the Spanish match did not meet with opposition from the people, any more than from the parliament.

Still the emperor, after this serious demonstration of hostility to his son, felt a natural disquietude in regard to his personal safety, which made him desirous of obtaining some positive guaranty before trusting him among the turbulent islanders. He wrote to his ambassador to require such security from the government. But no better could be given than the royal promise that everything should be done to insure the prince's safety. Renard was much perplexed. He felt the responsibility of his own position. He declined to pledge himself for the quiet deportment of the English; but he thought matters had already gone too far to leave it in the power of Spain to recede.

He wrote, moreover, both to Charles and to Philip, recommending that the prince should not bring over with him a larger retinue of Spaniards than was necessary, and that the wives of his nobles—for he seems to have regarded the sex as the source of evil—should not accompany them.[85] Above all, he urged Philip and his followers to lay aside the Castilian hauteur, and to substitute the conciliatory manners which might disarm the jealousy of the English.[86]

CHAPTER IV.

Mary's Betrothal.—Joanna Regent of Castile.—Philip embarks for England.—His splendid Reception.—Marriage of Philip and Mary.—Royal Entertainments.—Philip's Influence.—The Catholic Church restored.—Philip's Departure.

In the month of March, 1554, Count Egmont arrived in England, on a second embassy, for the purpose of exchanging the ratifications of the marriage treaty. He came in the same state as before, and was received by the queen in the presence of her council. The ceremony was conducted with great solemnity. Mary, kneeling down, called God to witness, that, in contracting this marriage, she had been influenced by no motive of a carnal or worldly nature, but by the desire of securing the welfare and tranquillity of the kingdom. To her kingdom her faith had first been plighted; and she hoped that Heaven would give her strength to maintain inviolate the oath she had taken at her coronation.

This she said with so much grace, that the bystanders, says Renard,—who was one of them,—were all moved to tears. The ratifications were then exchanged, and the oaths taken, in presence of the host, by the representatives of Spain and England; when Mary, again kneeling, called on those present to unite with her in prayer to the Almighty, that he would enable her faithfully to keep the articles of the treaty, and would make her marriage a happy one.

Count Egmont then presented to the queen a diamond ring which the emperor had sent her. Mary, putting it on her finger, showed it to the company; "and assuredly," exclaims the Spanish minister, "the jewel was a precious one, and well worthy of admiration." Egmont, before departing for Spain, inquired of Mary whether she would intrust him with any message to Prince Philip. The queen replied, that "he might tender to the prince her most affectionate regards, and assure him that she should be always ready to vie with him in such offices of kindness as became a loving and obedient wife." When asked if she would write to him, she answered, "Not till he had begun the correspondence."[87]{44}

This lets us into the knowledge of a little fact, very significant. Up to this time Philip had neither written, nor so much as sent a single token of regard to his mistress. All this had been left to his father. Charles had arranged the marriage, had wooed the bride, had won over her principal advisers,—in short, had done all the courtship. Indeed, the inclinations of Philip, it is said, had taken another direction, and he would have preferred the hand of his royal kinswoman, Mary of Portugal.[88] However this may be, it is not probable that he felt any great satisfaction in the prospect of being united to a woman who was eleven years older than himself, and whose personal charms, whatever they might once have been, had long since faded, under the effects of disease and a constitutional melancholy. But he loved power; and whatever scruples he might have entertained on his own account were silenced before the wishes of his father.[89] "Like another Isaac," exclaims Sandoval, in admiration of his conduct, "he sacrificed himself on the altar of filial duty."[90] The same implicit deference which Philip showed his father in this delicate matter, he afterwards, under similar circumstances, received from his own son.

After the marriage articles had been ratified, Philip sent a present of a magnificent jewel to the English queen, by a Spanish noble of high rank, the Marquis de las Nayas.[91] The marquis, who crossed from Biscay with a squadron of four ships, landed at Plymouth, and, as he journeyed towards London, was met by the young Lord Herbert, son of the earl of Pembroke, who conducted him, with an escort of four hundred mounted gentlemen, to his family seat in Wiltshire. "And as they rode together to Wilton," says Lord Edmund Dudley, one of the party, "there were certain courses at the hare, which was so pleasant that the marquis much delighted in finding the course so readily appointed. As for the marquis's great cheer, as well that night at supper as otherwise at his breakfast the next day, surely it was so abundant, that it was not a little marvel to consider that so great a preparation could be made in so small a warning.... Surely it was not a little{45} comfort to my heart to see all things so honorably used for the honor and service of the queen's majesty."[92]

Meanwhile, Philip was making his arrangements for leaving Spain, and providing a government for the country during his absence. It was decided by the emperor to intrust the regency to his daughter, the Princess Joanna. She was eight years younger than Philip. About eighteen months before, she had gone to Portugal as the bride of the heir of that kingdom. But the fair promise afforded by this union was blasted by the untimely death of her consort, which took place on the second of January, 1554. Three weeks afterwards, the unhappy widow gave birth to a son, the famous Don Sebastian, whose Quixotic adventures have given him a wider celebrity than is enjoyed by many a wiser sovereign. After the cruel calamity which had befallen her, it was not without an effort that Joanna resigned herself to her father's wishes, and consented to enter on the duties of public life. In July, she quitted Lisbon,—the scene of early joys, and of hopes for ever blighted,—and, amidst the regrets of the whole court, returned, under a princely escort, to Castile. She was received on the borders by the king, her brother, who conducted her to Valladolid. Here she was installed, with due solemnity, in her office of regent. A council of state was associated with her in the government. It consisted of persons of the highest consideration, with the archbishop of Seville at their head. By this body Joanna was to be advised, and indeed to be guided in all matters of moment. Philip, on his departure, left his sister an ample letter of instructions as to the policy to be pursued by the administration, especially in affairs of religion.[93]

Joanna seems to have been a woman of discretion and virtue,—qualities which belonged to the females of her line. She was liberal in her benefactions to convents and colleges; and their cloistered inmates showed their gratitude by the most lavish testimony to her deserts. She had one rather singular practice. She was in the habit of dropping her veil, when giving audience to foreign ambassadors. To prevent all doubts as to her personal identity, she began the audience by raising her veil, saying, "Am I not the princess?" She then again covered her face, and the conference was continued without her further exposing her features. "It was not necessary," says her biographer, in an accommodating spirit, "to have the face uncovered in order to hear."[94] Perhaps Joanna considered this reserve as suited to the season of her mourning, intending it as a mark of respect to the memory of her deceased lord. In any other view, we might suspect that there entered into her constitution a{46} vein of the same madness which darkened so large a part of the life of her grandmother and namesake, Joanna of Castile.

Before leaving Valladolid, Philip formed a separate establishment for his son, Don Carlos, and placed his education under the care of a preceptor, Luis de Vives, a scholar not to be confounded with his namesake, the learned tutor of Mary of England. Having completed his arrangements, Philip set out for the place of his embarkation in the north. At Compostella he passed some days, offering up his devotions to the tutelar saint of Spain, whose shrine, throughout the Middle Ages, had been the most popular resort of pilgrims from the western parts of Christendom.

While at Compostella, Philip subscribed the marriage treaty, which had been brought over from England by the earl of Bedford. He then proceeded to Corunna, where a fleet of more than a hundred sail was riding at anchor, in readiness to receive him. It was commanded by the admiral of Castile, and had on board, besides its complement of seamen, four thousand of the best troops of Spain. On the eleventh of July, Philip embarked, with his numerous retinue, in which, together with the Flemish Counts Egmont and Hoorne, were to be seen the dukes of Alva and Medina Cœli, the prince of Eboli,—in short, the flower of the Castilian nobility. They came attended by their wives and vassals, minstrels and mummers, and a host of idle followers, to add to the splendor of the pageant and do honor to their royal master. Yet the Spanish ambassador at London had expressly recommended to Philip that his courtiers should leave their ladies at home, and should come in as simple guise as possible, so as not to arouse the jealousy of the English.[95]

After a pleasant run of a few days, the Spanish squadron came in sight of the combined fleets of England and Flanders, under the command of the Lord Admiral Howard, who was cruising in the channel in order to meet the prince and convoy him to the English shore. The admiral seems to have been a blunt sort of man, who spoke his mind with more candor than courtesy. He greatly offended the Flemings by comparing their ships to muscle-shells.[96] He is even said to have fired a gun as he approached Philip's squadron, in order to compel it to lower its topsails in acknowledgment of the supremacy of the English in the "narrow seas." But this is probably the patriotic vaunt of an English writer, since it is scarcely possible that the haughty Spaniard of that day would have made such a concession, and still less so that the British commander would have been so discourteous as to exact it on this occasion.

On the nineteenth of July, the fleets came to anchor in the port of Southampton. A number of barges were soon seen pushing off from the shore; one of which, protected by a rich awning and superbly lined with cloth of gold, was manned by sailors, whose dress of white and green intimated the royal livery. It was the queen's barge, intended for Philip; while the other boats, all gaily ornamented, received his nobles and their retinues.

The Spanish prince was welcomed, on landing, by a goodly company of English lords, assembled to pay him their obeisance. The earl of Arundel presented him, in the queen's name, with the splendid insignia of the order of the Garter.[97] Philip's dress, as usual, was of plain black velvet, with a{47} berret cap, ornamented, after the fashion of the time, with gold chains. By Mary's orders, a spirited Andalusian jennet had been provided for him, which the prince instantly mounted. He was a good rider, and pleased the people by his courteous bearing, and the graceful manner in which he managed his horse.

The royal procession then moved forward to the ancient church of the Holy Rood, where mass was said, and thanks were offered up for their prosperous voyage. Philip, after this, repaired to the quarters assigned to him during his stay in the town. They were sumptuously fitted up, and the walls of the principal apartment hung with arras, commemorating the doings of that royal polemic, Henry the Eighth. Among other inscriptions in honor of him might be seen one proclaiming him "Head of the Church," and "Defender of the Faith;"—words which, as they were probably in Latin, could not have been lost on the Spaniards.[98]

The news of Philip's landing was received in London with every demonstration of joy. Guns were fired, bells were rung, processions were made to the churches, bonfires were lighted in all the principal streets, tables were spread in the squares laden with good cheer, and wine and ale flowed freely as water for all comers.[99] In short, the city gave itself up to a general jubilee, as if it were celebrating some victorious monarch returned to his dominions, and not the man whose name had lately been the object of such general execration. Mary gave instant orders that the nobles of her court should hold themselves in readiness to accompany her to Winchester, where she was to receive the prince; and on the twenty-first of July she made her entry, in great state, into that capital, and established her residence in the episcopal palace.

During the few days that Philip stayed at Southampton, he rode constantly abroad, and showed himself frequently to the people. The information he had received, before his voyage, of the state of public feeling, had suggested to him some natural apprehensions for his safety. He seems to have resolved, from the first, therefore, to adopt such a condescending, and indeed affable demeanor, as would disarm the jealousy of the English, and if possible conciliate their good-will. In this he appears to have been very successful, although some of the more haughty of the aristocracy did take exception at his neglecting to raise his cap to them. That he should have imposed the degree of restraint which he seems to have done on the indulgence of his natural disposition, is good proof of the strength of his apprehensions.[100]

The favor which Philip showed the English gave umbrage to his own nobles. They were still more disgusted by the rigid interpretation of one of the marriage articles, by which some hundreds of their attendants were prohibited, as foreigners, from landing, or, after landing, were compelled to reembark, and return to Spain.[101] Whenever Philip went abroad he was accompanied{48} by Englishmen. He was served by Englishmen at his meals. He breakfasted and dined in public, a thing but little to his taste. He drank healths, after the manner of the English, and encouraged his Spanish followers to imitate his example, as he quaffed the strong ale of the country.[102]

On the twenty-third of the month, the earl of Pembroke arrived, with a brilliant company of two hundred mounted gentlemen, to escort the prince to Winchester. He was attended, moreover, by a body of English archers, whose tunics of yellow cloth, striped with bars of red velvet, displayed the gaudy-colored livery of the house of Aragon. The day was unpropitious. The rain fell heavily, in such torrents as might have cooled the enthusiasm of a more ardent lover than Philip. But he was too gallant a cavalier to be daunted by the elements. The distance, not great in itself, was to be travelled on horseback,—the usual mode of conveyance at a time when roads were scarcely practicable for carriages.

Philip and his retinue had not proceeded far, when they were encountered by a cavalier, riding at full speed, and bringing with him a ring which Mary had sent her lover, with the request that he would not expose himself to the weather, but postpone his departure to the following day. The prince, not understanding the messenger, who spoke in English, and suspecting that it was intended by Mary to warn him of some danger in his path, instantly drew up by the road-side, and took counsel with Alva and Egmont as to what was to be done. One of the courtiers, who perceived his embarrassment, rode up and acquainted the prince with the real purport of the message. Relieved of his alarm, Philip no longer hesitated, but, with his red felt cloak wrapped closely about him and a broad beaver slouched over his eyes, manfully pushed forward, in spite of the tempest.

As he advanced, his retinue received continual accessions from the neighboring gentry and yeomanry, until it amounted to some thousands before he reached Winchester. It was late in the afternoon when the cavalcade, soiled with travel and thoroughly drenched with rain, arrived before the gates of the city. The mayor and aldermen, dressed in their robes of scarlet, came to welcome the prince, and, presenting the keys of the city, conducted him to his quarters.

That evening Philip had his first interview with Mary. It was private, and he was taken to her residence by the chancellor, Gardiner, bishop of Winchester. The royal pair passed an hour or more together; and, as Mary spoke the Castilian fluently, the interview must have been spared much of the embarrassment that would otherwise have attended it.[103]{49}

On the following day the parties met in public. Philip was attended by the principal persons of his suite, of both sexes; and as the procession, making a goodly show, passed through the streets on foot, the minstrelsy played before them till they reached the royal residence. The reception-room was the great hall of the palace. Mary, stepping forward to receive her betrothed, saluted him with a loving kiss before all the company. She then conducted him to a sort of throne, where she took her seat by his side, under a stately canopy. They remained there for an hour or more, conversing together, while their courtiers had leisure to become acquainted with one another, and to find ample food, doubtless, for future criticism, in the peculiarities of national costume and manners. Notwithstanding the Spanish blood in Mary's veins, the higher circles of Spain and England had personally almost as little intercourse with one another at that period, as England and Japan have at the present.

The ensuing day, the festival of St. James, the patron saint of Spain, was the one appointed for the marriage. Philip exchanged his usual simple dress for the bridal vestments provided for him by his mistress. They were of spotless white, as the reporter is careful to inform us, satin and cloth of gold, thickly powdered with pearls and precious stones. Round his neck he wore the superb collar of the Golden Fleece, the famous Burgundian order; while the brilliant riband below his knee served as the badge of the no less illustrious order of the Garter. He went on foot to the cathedral, attended by all his nobles, vying with one another in the ostentatious splendor of their retinues.

Half an hour elapsed before Philip was joined by the queen at the entrance of the cathedral. Mary was surrounded by the lords and ladies of her court. Her dress, of white satin and cloth of gold, like his own, was studded and fringed with diamonds of inestimable price, some of them, doubtless, the gift of Philip, which he had sent to her by the hands of the prince of Eboli, soon after his landing. Her bright-red slippers, and her mantle of black velvet, formed a contrast to the rest of her apparel, and, for a bridal costume, would hardly suit the taste of the present day. The royal party then moved up the nave of the cathedral, and were received in the choir by the bishop of Winchester, supported by the great prelates of the English Church. The greatest of all, Cranmer, the primate of all England, who should have performed the ceremony, was absent,—in disgrace and a prisoner.

Philip and Mary took their seats under a royal canopy, with an altar between them. The queen was surrounded by the ladies of her court; whose beauty, says an Italian writer, acquired additional lustre by contrast with the shadowy complexions of the south.[104] The aisles and spacious galleries were crowded with spectators of every degree, drawn together from the most distant quarters to witness the ceremony.

The silence was broken by Figueroa, one of the imperial council, who read aloud an instrument of the emperor, Charles the Fifth. It stated that this marriage had been of his own seeking; and he was desirous that his beloved son should enter into it in a manner suitable to his own expectations and the{50} dignity of his illustrious consort. He therefore resigned to him his entire right and sovereignty over the kingdom of Naples and the duchy of Milan. The rank of the parties would thus be equal, and Mary, instead of giving her hand to a subject, would wed a sovereign like herself.

Some embarrassment occurred as to the person who should give the queen away,—a part of the ceremony not provided for. After a brief conference, it was removed by the marquis of Winchester and the earls of Pembroke and Derby, who took it on themselves to give her away in the name of the whole realm; at which the multitude raised a shout that made the old walls of the cathedral ring again. The marriage service was then concluded by the bishop of Winchester. Philip and Mary resumed their seats, and mass was performed, when the bridegroom, rising, gave his consort the "kiss of peace," according to the custom of the time. The whole ceremony occupied nearly four hours. At the close of it Philip, taking Mary by the hand, led her from the church. The royal couple were followed by the long train of prelates and nobles, and were preceded by the earls of Pembroke and Derby, each bearing aloft a naked sword, the symbol of sovereignty. The effect of the spectacle was heightened by the various costumes of the two nations,—the richly-tinted and picturesque dresses of the Spaniards, and the solid magnificence of the English and Flemings, mingling together in gay confusion. The glittering procession moved slowly on, to the blithe sounds of festal music, while the air was rent with the loyal acclamations of the populace, delighted, as usual, with the splendor of the pageant.

In the great hall of the episcopal palace, a sumptuous banquet was prepared for the whole company. At one end of the apartment was a dais, on which, under a superb canopy, a table was set for the king and queen; and a third seat was added for Bishop Gardiner, the only one of the great lords who was admitted to the distinction of dining with royalty.

Below the dais, the tables were set on either side through the whole length of the hall, for the English and Spanish nobles, all arranged—a perilous point of etiquette—with due regard to their relative rank. The royal table was covered with dishes of gold. A spacious beaufet, rising to the height of eight stages, or shelves, and filled with a profusion of gold and silver vessels, somewhat ostentatiously displayed the magnificence of the prelate, or of his sovereign. Yet this ostentation was rather Spanish than English; and was one of the forms in which the Castilian grandee loved to display his opulence.[105]

At the bottom of the hall was an orchestra, occupied by a band of excellent performers, who enlivened the repast by their music. But the most interesting part of the show was that of the Winchester boys, some of whom were permitted to enter the presence, and recite in Latin their epithalamiums in honor of the royal nuptials, for which they received a handsome guerdon from the queen.

After the banquet came the ball, at which, if we are to take an old English authority, "the Spaniards were greatly out of countenance when they saw the English so far excel them."[106] This seems somewhat strange, considering that dancing is, and always has been, the national pastime of Spain. Dancing is to the Spaniard what music is to the Italian,—the very condition of his{51} social existence.[107] It did not continue late on the present occasion, and, at the temperate hour of nine, the bridal festivities closed for the evening.[108]

Philip and Mary passed a few days in this merry way of life, at Winchester, whence they removed, with their court, to Windsor. Here a chapter of the order of the Garter was held, for the purpose of installing King Philip. The herald, on this occasion, ventured to take down the arms of England, and substitute those of Spain, in honor of the new sovereign,—an act of deference which roused the indignation of the English lords, who straightway compelled the functionary to restore the national escutcheon to its proper place.[109]

On the twenty-eighth of August, Philip and Mary made their public entry into London. They rode in on horseback, passing through the borough of Southwark, across London Bridge. Every preparation was made by the loyal citizens to give them a suitable reception. The columns of the buildings were festooned with flowers, triumphal arches spanned the streets, the walls were hung with pictures or emblazoned with legends in commemoration of the illustrious pair, and a genealogy was traced for Philip, setting forth his descent from John of Gaunt,—making him out, in short, as much of an Englishman as possible.

Among the paintings was one in which Henry the Eighth was seen holding in his hand a Bible. This device gave great scandal to the chancellor, Gardiner, who called the painter sundry hard names, rating him roundly for putting into King Harry's hand the sacred volume, which should rather have been given to his daughter, Queen Mary, for her zeal to restore the primitive worship of the Church. The unlucky artist lost no time in repairing his error by brushing out the offending volume, and did it so effectually, that he brushed out the royal fingers with it, leaving the old monarch's mutilated stump held up, like some poor mendicant's, to excite the compassion of the spectators.[110]

But the sight which, more than all these pageants, gave joy to the hearts of the Londoners, was an immense quantity of bullion, which Philip caused to be paraded through the city on its way to the Tower, where it was deposited{52} in the royal treasury. The quantity was said to be so great, that, on one occasion, the chests containing it filled twenty carts. On another, two wagons were so heavily laden with the precious metal as to require to be drawn by nearly a hundred horses.[111] The good people, who had looked to the coming of the Spaniards as that of a swarm of locusts which was to consume their substance, were greatly pleased to see their exhausted coffers so well replenished from the American mines.

From London the royal pair proceeded to the shady solitudes of Hampton Court, and Philip, weary of the mummeries in which he had been compelled to take part, availed himself of the indisposition of his wife to indulge in that retirement and repose which were more congenial to his taste. This way of life in his pleasant retreat, however, does not appear to have been so well suited to the taste of his English subjects. At least, an old chronicler peevishly complains that "the hall-door within the court was continually shut, so that no man might enter unless his errand were first known; which seemed strange to Englishmen that had not been used thereto."[112]

Yet Philip, although his apprehensions for his safety had doubtless subsided, was wise enough to affect the same conciliatory manners as on his first landing,—and not altogether in vain. "He discovered," says the Venetian ambassador, in his report to the senate, "none of that sosiego—the haughty indifference of the Spaniards—which distinguished him when he first left home for Italy and Flanders.[113] He was, indeed, as accessible as any one could desire, and gave patient audience to all who asked it. He was solicitous," continues Micheli, "to instruct himself in affairs, and showed a taste for application to business,"—which, it may be added, grew stronger with years. "He spoke little. But his remarks, though brief, were pertinent. In short," he concludes, "he is a prince of an excellent genius, a lively apprehension, and a judgment ripe beyond his age."

Philip's love of business, however, was not such as to lead him to take part prematurely in the management of affairs. He discreetly left this to the queen and her ministers, to whose judgment he affected to pay the greatest deference. He particularly avoided all appearance of an attempt to interfere with the administration of justice, unless it were to obtain some act of grace. Such interference only served to gain him the more credit with the people.[114]{53}

That he gained largely on their good-will may be inferred from the casual remarks of more than one contemporary writer. They bear emphatic testimony to the affability of his manners, so little to have been expected from the popular reports of his character. "Among other things," writes Wotton, the English minister at the French court, "one I have been right glad to hear of is, that the king's highness useth himself so gently and lovingly to all men. For, to tell you the truth, I have heard some say, that, when he came out of Spain into Italy, it was by some men wished that he had showed a somewhat more benign countenance to the people than it was said he then did."[115] Another contemporary, in a private letter, written soon after the king's entrance into London, after describing his person as "so well proportioned that Nature cannot work a more perfect pattern," concludes with commending him for his "pregnant wit and most gentle nature."[116]

Philip, from the hour of his landing, had been constant in all his religious observances. "He was as punctual," says Micheli, "in his attendance at mass, and his observance of all the forms of devotion, as any monk;—more so, as some people thought, than became his age and station. The ecclesiastics," he adds, "with whom Philip had constant intercourse, talked loudly of his piety."[117]

Yet there was no hypocrisy in this. However willing Philip may have been that his concern for the interests of religion might be seen of men, it is no less true that, as far as he understood these interests, his concern was perfectly sincere. The actual state of England may have even operated as an inducement with him to overcome his scruples as to the connection with Mary. "Better not reign at all," he often remarked, "than reign over heretics." But what triumph more glorious than that of converting these heretics, and bringing them back again into the bosom of the Church? He was most anxious to prepare the minds of his new subjects for an honorable reception of the papal legate, Cardinal Pole, who was armed with full authority to receive the submission of England to the Holy See. He employed his personal influence with the great nobles, and enforced it occasionally by liberal drafts on those Peruvian ingots which he had sent to the Tower. At least, it is asserted that he gave away yearly pensions, to the large amount of between fifty and sixty thousand gold crowns, to sundry of the queen's ministers. It was done on the general plea of recompensing their loyalty to their mistress.[118]

Early in November, tidings arrived of the landing of Pole. He had been detained some weeks in Germany, by the emperor, who felt some distrust—not ill-founded, as it seems—of the cardinal's disposition in regard to the{54} Spanish match. Now that this difficulty was obviated, he was allowed to resume his journey. He came up the Thames in a magnificent barge, with a large silver cross, the emblem of his legatine authority, displayed on the prow. The legate, on landing, was received by the king, the queen, and the whole court, with a reverential deference which argued well for the success of his mission.

He was the man, of all others, best qualified to execute it. To a natural kindness of temper he united an urbanity and a refinement of manners, derived from familiar intercourse with the most polished society of Europe, his royal descent entitled him to mix on terms of equality with persons of the highest rank, and made him feel as much at ease in the court as in the cloister. His long exile had opened to him an acquaintance with man as he is found in various climes, while, as a native-born Englishman, he perfectly understood the prejudices and peculiar temper of his own countrymen. "Cardinal Pole," says the Venetian minister, "is a man of unblemished nobility, and so strict in his integrity, that he grants nothing to the importunity of friends. He is so much beloved, both by prince and people, that he may well be styled the king where all is done by his authority."[119] An English cardinal was not of too frequent occurrence in the sacred college. That one should have been found at the present juncture, with personal qualities, moreover, so well suited to the delicate mission to England, was a coincidence so remarkable, that Philip and Mary might well be excused for discerning in it the finger of Providence.

On the seventeenth of the month, parliament, owing to the queen's indisposition, met at Whitehall; and Pole made that celebrated speech in which he recapitulated some of the leading events of his own life, and the persecutions he had endured for conscience' sake. He reviewed the changes in religion which had taken place in England, and implored his audience to abjure their spiritual errors, and to seek a reconciliation with the Catholic Church. He assured them of his plenary power to grant absolution for the past; and—what was no less important—to authorize the present proprietors to retain possession of the abbey lands which had been confiscated under King Henry. This last concession, which had been extorted with difficulty from the pope, reconciling, as it did, temporal with spiritual interests, seems to have dispelled whatever scruples yet lingered in the breasts of the legislature. There were few, probably, in that goodly company, whose zeal would have aspired to the crown of martyrdom.

The ensuing day, parliament, in obedience to the royal summons, again assembled at Whitehall. Philip took his seat on the left of Mary, under the same canopy, while Cardinal Pole sat at a greater distance on her right.[120]

The chancellor, Gardiner, then presented a petition in the name of the lords and commons, praying for reconciliation with the papal see. Absolution was solemnly pronounced by the legate, and the whole assembly received his benediction on their bended knees. England, purified from her heresy, was once more restored to the communion of the Roman Catholic Church.

Philip instantly despatched couriers, with the glad tidings, to Rome, Brussels, and other capitals of Christendom. Everywhere the event was celebrated with public rejoicings, as if it had been some great victory over the Saracens. As Philip's zeal for the faith was well known, and as the great change had taken place soon after his arrival in England, much of the credit of it was ascribed to him.[121] Thus, before ascending the throne of Spain, he had vindicated his claim to the title of Catholic, so much prized by the Spanish monarchs. He had won a triumph greater than that which his father had been able to win after years of war, over the Protestants of Germany; greater than any which had been won by the arms of Cortés or Pizarro in the New World. Their contest had been with the barbarian; the field of Philip's labors was one of the most potent and civilized countries of Europe.

The work of conversion was speedily followed by that of persecution. To what extent Philip's influence was exerted in this is not manifest. Indeed, from anything that appears, it would not be easy to decide whether his influence was employed to promote or to prevent it. One fact is certain, that, immediately after the first martyrs suffered at Smithfield, Alfonso de Castro, a Spanish friar, preached a sermon in which he bitterly inveighed against these proceedings. He denounced them as repugnant to the true spirit of Christianity, which was that of charity and forgiveness, and which enjoined its ministers not to take vengeance on the sinner, but to enlighten him as to his errors, and bring him to repentance.[122] This bold appeal had its effect, even in that season of excitement. For a few weeks the arm of persecution seemed to be palsied. But it was only for a few weeks. Toleration was not the virtue of the sixteenth century. The charitable doctrines of the good friar fell on hearts withered by fanaticism; and the spirit of intolerance soon rekindled the fires of Smithfield into a fiercer glow than before.

Yet men wondered at the source whence these strange doctrines had proceeded. The friar was Philip's confessor. It was argued that he would not have dared to speak thus boldly, had it not been by the command of Philip, or, at least, by his consent. That De Castro should have thus acted at the suggestion of his master is contradicted by the whole tenor of Philip's life. Hardly four years elapsed before he countenanced by his presence an auto da fé in Valladolid, where fourteen persons perished at the stake; and the burning of heretics in England could have done no greater violence to his feelings than the burning of heretics in Spain. If the friar did indeed act in obedience to Philip, we may well suspect that the latter was influenced less by motives of humanity than of policy; and that the disgust manifested{56} by the people at the spectacle of these executions may have led him to employ this expedient to relieve himself of any share in the odium which attached to them.[123]

What was the real amount of Philip's influence, in this or other matters, it is not possible to determine. It is clear that he was careful not to arouse the jealousy of the English by any parade of it.[124] One obvious channel of it lay in the queen, who seems to have doated on him with a fondness that one would hardly have thought a temper cold and repulsive, like that of Philip, capable of exciting. But he was young and good-looking. His manners had always been found to please the sex, even where he had not been so solicitous to please as he was in England. He was Mary's first and only love; for the emperor was too old to have touched aught but her vanity, and Courtenay was too frivolous to have excited any other than a temporary feeling. This devotion to Philip, according to some accounts, was ill requited by his gallantries. The Venetian ambassador says of him, that "he well deserved the tenderness of his wife, for he was the most loving and the best of husbands." But it seems probable that the Italian, in his estimate of the best of husbands, adopted the liberal standard of his own country.[125]

About the middle of November, parliament was advised that the queen was in a state of pregnancy. The intelligence was received with the joy usually manifested by loyal subjects on like occasions. The emperor seems to have been particularly pleased with this prospect of an heir, who, by the terms of the marriage treaty, would make a division of that great empire which it had been the object of its master's life to build up and consolidate under one sceptre. The commons, soon after, passed an act empowering Philip, in case it should go otherwise than well with the queen at the time of her confinement, to assume the regency, and take charge of the education of her child during its minority. The regency was to be limited by the provisions{57} of the marriage treaty. But the act may be deemed evidence that Philip had gained on the confidence of his new subjects.

The symptoms continued to be favorable; and, as the time approached for Mary's confinement, messengers were held in readiness to bear the tidings to the different courts. The loyal wishes of the people ran so far ahead of reality, that the rumor went abroad of the actual birth of a prince. Bells were rung, bonfires lighted; Te Deum was sung in some of the churches; and one of the preachers "took upon him to describe the proportions of the child, how fair, how beautiful and great a prince it was, as the like had not been seen!" "But for all this great labor," says the caustic chronicler, "for their yoong maister long looked for coming so surely into the world, in the end appeared neither yoong maister nor yoong maistress, that any man to this day can hear of."[126]

The queen's disorder proved to be a dropsy. But, notwithstanding the mortifying results of so many prognostics and preparations, and the ridicule which attached to it, Mary still cherished the illusion of one day giving an heir to the crown. Her husband did not share in this illusion; and, as he became convinced that she had no longer prospect of issue, he found less inducement to protract his residence in a country which, on many accounts, was most distasteful to him. Whatever show of deference might be paid to him, his haughty spirit could not be pleased by the subordinate part which he was compelled to play, in public, to the queen. The parliament had never so far acceded to Mary's wishes as to consent to his coronation as king of England. Whatever weight he may have had in the cabinet, it had not been such as to enable him to make the politics of England subservient to his own interests, or, what was the same thing, to those of his father. Parliament would not consent to swerve so far from the express provisions of the marriage treaty as to become a party in the emperor's contest with France.[127]

Nor could the restraint constantly imposed on Philip, by his desire to accommodate himself to the tastes and habits of the English, be otherwise than irksome to him. If he had been more successful in this than might have been expected, yet it was not possible to overcome the prejudices, the settled antipathy, with which the Spaniards were regarded by the great mass of the people, as was evident from the satirical shafts, which, from time to time, were launched by pamphleteers and ballad-makers, both against the king and his followers.

These latter were even more impatient than their master of their stay in a country where they met with so many subjects of annoyance. If a Spaniard bought anything, complains one of the nation, he was sure to be charged an exorbitant price for it.[128] If he had a quarrel with an Englishman, says{58} another writer, he was to be tried by English law, and was very certain to come off the worst.[129] Whether right or wrong, the Spaniards could hardly fail to find abundant cause of irritation and disgust. The two nations were too dissimilar for either of them to comprehend the other. It was with no little satisfaction, therefore, that Philip's followers learned that their master had received a summons from his father to leave England, and join him in Flanders.

The cause of this sudden movement was one that filled the Castilians, as it did all Europe, with astonishment,—the proposed abdication of Charles the Fifth. It was one that might seem to admit of neither doubt nor delay on Philip's part. But Mary, distressed by the prospect of separation, prevailed on her husband to postpone his departure for several weeks. She yielded, at length, to the necessity of the case. Preparations were made for Philip's journey, and Mary, with a heavy heart, accompanied her royal consort down the Thames to Greenwich. Here they parted; and Philip, taking an affectionate farewell, and commending the queen and her concerns to the care of Cardinal Pole, took the road to Dover.

After a short detention there by contrary winds, he crossed over to Calais, and on the fourth of September made his entry into that strong place, the last remnant of all their continental acquisitions that still belonged to the English.

Philip was received by the authorities of the city with the honors due to his rank. He passed some days there receiving the respectful courtesies of the inhabitants, and, on his departure, rejoiced the hearts of the garrison by distributing among them a thousand crowns of gold. He resumed his journey, with his splendid train of Castilian and English nobles, among whom were the earls of Arundel, Pembroke, Huntington, and others of the highest station in the realm. On the road, he was met by a military escort sent by his father; and towards the latter part of September, 1555, Philip, with his gallant retinue, made his entry into the Flemish capital, where the emperor and his court were eagerly awaiting his arrival.[130]{59}

CHAPTER V.

Empire of Philip.—Paul the Fourth.—Court of France.—League against Spain.—The Duke of Alva.—Preparations for War.—Victorious Campaign.

Soon after Philip's arrival in Brussels took place that memorable scene of the abdication of Charles the Fifth, which occupies the introductory pages of our narrative. By this event, Philip saw himself master of the most widely extended and powerful monarchy in Europe. He was king of Spain, comprehending under that name Castile, Aragon, and Granada, which, after surviving as independent states for centuries, had been first brought under one sceptre in the reign of his father, Charles the Fifth. He was king of Naples and Sicily, and duke of Milan, which important possessions enabled him to control, to a great extent, the nicely balanced scales of Italian politics. He was lord of Franche Comté, and of the Low Countries, comprehending the most flourishing and populous provinces in Christendom, whose people had made the greatest progress in commerce, husbandry, and the various mechanic arts. As titular king of England, he eventually obtained an influence, which, as we shall see, enabled him to direct the counsels of that country to his own purposes. In Africa he possessed the Cape de Verd Islands and the Canaries, as well as Tunis, Oran, and some other important places on the Barbary coast. He owned the Philippines and the Spice Islands in Asia. In America, besides his possessions in the West Indies, he was master of the rich empires of Mexico and Peru, and claimed a right to a boundless extent of country, that offered an inexhaustible field to the cupidity and enterprise of the Spanish adventurer. Thus the dominions of Philip stretched over every quarter of the globe. The flag of Castile was seen in the remotest latitudes,—on the Atlantic, the Pacific, and the far-off Indian seas,—passing from port to port, and uniting by commercial intercourse the widely scattered members of her vast colonial empire.

The Spanish army consisted of the most formidable infantry in Europe; veterans who had been formed under the eye of Charles the Fifth and of his generals, who had fought on the fields of Pavia and of Muhlberg, or who, in the New World, had climbed the Andes with Almagro and Pizarro, and helped these bold chiefs to overthrow the dynasty of the Incas. The navy of Spain and Flanders combined far exceeded that of any other power in the number and size of its vessels; and if its supremacy might be contested by England on the "narrow seas," it rode the undisputed mistress of the ocean. To supply the means for maintaining this costly establishment, as well as the general machinery of government, Philip had at his command the treasures of the New World; and if the incessant enterprises of his father had drained the exchequer, it was soon replenished by the silver streams that flowed in from the inexhaustible mines of Zacatecas and Potosí.

All this vast empire, with its magnificent resources, was placed at the disposal of a single man. Philip ruled over it with an authority more absolute than that possessed by any European prince since the days of the Cæsars. The Netherlands, indeed, maintained a show of independence under the shadow of their ancient institutions. But they consented to supply the necessities of the crown by a tax larger than the revenues of America. Naples and Milan were ruled by Spanish viceroys. Viceroys, with delegated{60} powers scarcely less than those of their sovereign, presided over the American colonies, which received their laws from the parent country. In Spain itself, the authority of the nobles was gone. First assailed under Ferdinand and Isabella, it was completely broken down under Charles the Fifth. The liberties of the commons were crushed at the fatal battle of Villalar, in the beginning of that monarch's reign. Without nobles, without commons, the ancient cortes had faded into a mere legislative pageant, with hardly any other right than that of presenting petitions, and of occasionally raising an ineffectual note of remonstrance against abuses. It had lost the power to redress them. Thus all authority vested in the sovereign. His will was the law of the land. From his palace at Madrid he sent forth the edicts which became the law of Spain and of her remotest colonies. It may well be believed that foreign nations watched with interest the first movements of a prince who seemed to hold in his hands the destinies of Europe; and that they regarded with no little apprehension the growth of that colossal power which had already risen to a height that cast a shadow over every other monarchy.

From his position, Philip stood at the head of the Roman Catholic princes. He was in temporal matters what the pope was in spiritual. In the existing state of Christendom, he had the same interest as the pope in putting down that spirit of religious reform which had begun to show itself, in public or in private, in every corner of Europe. He was the natural ally of the pope. He understood this well, and would have acted on it. Yet, strange to say, his very first war, after his accession, was with the pope himself. It was a war not of Philip's seeking.

The papal throne was at that time filled by Paul the Fourth, one of those remarkable men, who, amidst the shadowy personages that have reigned in the Vatican, and been forgotten, have vindicated to themselves a permanent place in history. He was a Neapolitan by birth, of the noble family of the Caraffas. He was bred to the religious profession, and early attracted notice by his diligent application and the fruits he gathered from it. His memory was prodigious. He was not only deeply read in theological science, but skilled in various languages, ancient and modern, several of which he spoke with fluency. His rank, sustained by his scholarship, raised him speedily to high preferment in the Church. In 1513, when thirty-six years of age, he went as nuncio to England. In 1525, he resigned his benefices, and, with a small number of his noble friends, he instituted a new religious order, called the Theatins.[131] The object of the society was, to combine, to some extent, the contemplative habits of the monk with the more active duties of the secular clergy. The members visited the sick, buried the dead, and preached frequently in public, thus performing the most important functions of the priesthood.{61} For this last vocation, of public speaking, Caraffa was peculiarly qualified by a flow of natural eloquence, which, if it did not always convince, was sure to carry away the audience by its irresistible fervor.[132] The new order showed itself particularly zealous in enforcing reform in the Catholic clergy, and in stemming the tide of heresy which now threatened to inundate the Church. Caraffa and his associates were earnest to introduce the Inquisition. A life of asceticism and penance too often extinguishes sympathy with human suffering, and leads its votaries to regard the sharpest remedies as the most effectual for the cure of spiritual error.

From this austere way of life Caraffa was called, in 1536, to a situation which engaged him more directly in worldly concerns. He was made cardinal by Paul the Third. He had, as far back as the time of Ferdinand the Catholic, been one of the royal council of Naples. The family of Caraffa, however, was of the Angevine party, and regarded the house of Aragon in the light of usurpers. The cardinal had been educated in this political creed, and, even after his elevation to his new dignity, he strongly urged Paul the Third to assert the claims of the holy see to the sovereignty of Naples. This conduct, which came to the ears of Charles the Fifth, so displeased that monarch that he dismissed Caraffa from the council. Afterwards, when the cardinal was named by the pope, his unfailing patron, to the archbishopric of Naples, Charles resisted the nomination, and opposed all the obstacles in his power to the collection of the episcopal revenues. These indignities sank deep into the cardinal's mind, naturally tenacious of affronts; and what, at first, had been only a political animosity, was now sharpened into personal hatred of the most implacable character.[133]

Such was the state of feeling when, on the death of Marcellus the Second, in 1555, Cardinal Caraffa was raised to the papal throne. His election, as was natural, greatly disgusted the emperor, and caused astonishment throughout Europe; for he had not the conciliatory manners which win the favor and the suffrages of mankind. But the Catholic Church stood itself in need of a reformer, to enable it to resist the encroaching spirit of Protestantism. This was well understood not only by the highest, but by the humblest ecclesiastics; and in Caraffa they saw the man whose qualities precisely fitted him to effect such a reform. He was, moreover, at the time of his election, in his eightieth year; and age and infirmity have always proved powerful arguments with the sacred college, as affording the numerous competitors the best guaranties for a speedy vacancy. Yet it has more than once happened that the fortunate candidate, who has owed his election mainly to his infirmities, has been miraculously restored by the touch of the tiara.

Paul the Fourth—for such was the name assumed by the new pope, in gratitude to the memory of his patron—adopted a way of life, on his accession, for which his brethren of the college were not at all prepared. The austerity and self-denial of earlier days formed a strong contrast to the pomp of his present establishment and the profuse luxury of his table. When asked how he would be served, "How but as a great prince?" he answered. He usually passed three hours at his dinner, which consisted of numerous courses of the most refined and epicurean dishes. No one dined with him, though one or more of the cardinals were usually present, with whom he freely conversed; and as he accompanied his meals with large draughts of the thick, black wine of Naples, it no doubt gave additional animation to his discourse.[134] At such{62} times, his favorite theme was the Spaniards, whom he denounced as the scum of the earth, a race accursed of God, heretics and schismatics, the spawn of Jews and of Moors. He bewailed the humiliation of Italy, galled by the yoke of a nation so abject. But the day had come, he would thunder out, when Charles and Philip were to be called to a reckoning for their ill-gotten possessions, and be driven from the land![135]

Yet Paul did not waste all his hours in this idle vaporing, nor in the pleasures of the table. He showed the same activity as ever in the labors of the closet, and in attention to business. He was irregular in his hours, sometimes prolonging his studies through the greater part of the night, and at others rising long before the dawn. When thus engaged, it would not have been well for any one of his household to venture into his presence, without a summons.

Paul seemed to be always in a state of nervous tension. "He is all nerve," the Venetian minister, Navagero, writes of him; "and when he walks, it is with a free, elastic step, as if he hardly touched the ground."[136] His natural arrogance, was greatly increased by his elevation to the first dignity in Christendom. He had always entertained the highest ideas of the authority of the sacerdotal office; and now that he was in the chair of St. Peter, he seemed to have entire confidence in his own infallibility. He looked on the princes of Europe, not so much as his sons—the language of the Church—as his servants, bound to do his bidding. Paul's way of thinking would have better suited the twelfth century than the sixteenth. He came into the world at least three centuries too late. In all his acts he relied solely on himself. He was impatient of counsel from any one, and woe to the man who ventured to oppose any remonstrance, still more any impediment to the execution of his plans. He had no misgivings as to the wisdom of these plans. An idea that had once taken possession of his mind lay there, to borrow a cant phrase of the day, like "a fixed fact,"—not to be disturbed by argument or persuasion. We occasionally meet with such characters, in which strength of will and unconquerable energy in action pass for genius with the world. They, in fact, serve as the best substitute for genius, by the ascendancy which such qualities secure their possessors over ordinary minds. Yet there were ways of approaching the pontiff, for those who understood his character, and who, by condescending to flatter his humors, could turn them to their own account. Such was the policy pursued by some of Paul's kindred, who, cheered by his patronage, now came forth from their obscurity to glitter in the rays of the meridian sun.{63}

Paul had all his life declaimed against nepotism as an opprobrious sin in the head of the Church. Yet no sooner did he put on the tiara than he gave a glaring example of the sin he had denounced, in the favors which he lavished on three of his own nephews. This was the more remarkable, as they were men whose way of life had given scandal even to the Italians, not used to be too scrupulous in their judgments.

The eldest, who represented the family, he raised to the rank of duke, providing him with an ample fortune from the confiscated property of the Colonnas,—which illustrious house was bitterly persecuted by Paul, for its attachment to the Spanish interests.

Another of his nephews he made a cardinal,—a dignity for which he was indifferently qualified by his former profession, which was that of a soldier, and still less fitted by his life, which was that of a libertine. He was a person of a busy, intriguing disposition, and stimulated his uncle's vindictive feelings against the Spaniards, whom he himself hated, for some affront which he conceived had been put upon him while in the emperor's service.[137]

But Paul needed no prompter in this matter. He very soon showed that, instead of ecclesiastical reform, he was bent on a project much nearer to his heart,—the subversion of the Spanish power in Naples. Like Julius the Second, of warlike memory, he swore to drive out the barbarians from Italy. He seemed to think that the thunders of the Vatican were more than a match for all the strength of the empire and of Spain. But he was not weak enough to rely wholly on his spiritual artillery in such a contest. Through the French ambassador at his court, he opened negotiations with France, and entered into a secret treaty with that power, by which each of the parties agreed to furnish a certain contingent of men and money to carry on the war for the recovery of Naples. The treaty was executed on the sixteenth of December, 1555.[138]

In less than two months after this event, on the fifth of February, 1556, the fickle monarch of France, seduced by the advantageous offers of Charles, backed, moreover, by the ruinous state of his own finances, deserted his new ally, and signed the treaty of Vaucelles, which secured a truce for five years between his dominions and those of Philip.

Paul received the news of this treaty while surrounded by his courtiers. He treated the whole with scepticism, but expressed the pious hope, that such a peace might be in store for the nations of Christendom. In private he was not so temperate. But without expending his wrath in empty menaces, he took effectual means to bring things back to their former state,—to induce the French king to renew the treaty with himself, and at once to begin hostilities. He knew the vacillating temper of the monarch he had to deal with. Cardinal Caraffa was accordingly despatched on a mission to Paris, fortified with ample powers for the arrangement of a new treaty, and with such tempting promises on the part of his holiness as might insure its acceptance by the monarch and his ministers.

The French monarchy was, at that time, under the sceptre of Henry the Second, the son of Francis the First, to whose character his own bore no resemblance;{64} or rather the resemblance consisted in those showy qualities which lie too near the surface to enter into what may be called character. He affected a chivalrous vein, excelled in the exercises of the tourney, and indulged in vague aspirations after military renown. In short, he fancied himself a hero, and seems to have imposed on some of his own courtiers so far as to persuade them that he was designed for one. But he had few of the qualities which enter into the character of a hero. He was as far from being a hero as he was from being a good Christian, though he thought to prove his orthodoxy by persecuting the Protestants, who were now rising into a formidable sect in the southern parts of his kingdom. He had little reliance on his own resources, leading a life of easy indulgence, and trusting the direction of his affairs to his favorites and his mistresses.

The most celebrated of these was Diana of Poictiers, created by Henry duchess of Valentinois, who preserved her personal charms and her influence over her royal lover to a much later period than usually happens. The persons of his court in whom the king most confided were the Constable Montmorency and the duke of Guise.

Anne de Montmorency, constable of France, was one of the proudest of the French nobility,—proud alike of his great name, his rank, and his authority with his sovereign. He had grown gray in the service of the court, and Henry, accustomed to his society from boyhood, had learned to lean on him for the execution of his measures. Yet his judgments, though confidently given, were not always sound. His views were far from being enlarged; and though full of courage, he showed little capacity for military affairs. A consciousness of this, perhaps, may have led him to recommend a pacific policy, suited to his own genius. He was a stanch Catholic, extremely punctilious in all the ceremonies of devotion, and, if we may credit Brantôme, would strangely mingle together the military and the religious. He repeated his Pater-Noster at certain fixed hours, whatever might be his occupation at the time. He would occasionally break off to give his orders, calling out, "Cut me down such a man!" "Hang up another!" "Run those fellows through with your lances!" "Set fire to that village!"—and so on; when, having thus relieved the military part of his conscience, he would go on with his Pater-Nosters as before.[139]

A very different character was that of his younger rival, Francis, duke of Guise, uncle to Mary, queen of Scots, and brother to the regent. Of a bold, aspiring temper, filled with the love of glory, brilliant and popular in his address, he charmed the people by his manners and the splendor of his equipage and dress. He came to court, attended usually by three or four hundred cavaliers, who formed themselves on Guise as their model. His fine person was set off by the showy costume of the time,—a crimson doublet and cloak of spotless ermine, and a cap ornamented with a scarlet plume. In this dress he might often be seen, mounted on his splendid charger and followed by a gay retinue of gentlemen, riding at full gallop through the streets of Paris, and attracting the admiration of the people.

But his character was not altogether made up of such vanities. He was sagacious in counsel, and had proved himself the best captain of France. It{65} was he who commanded at the memorable siege of Metz, and foiled the efforts of the imperial forces under Charles and the duke of Alva. Caraffa found little difficulty in winning him over to his cause, as he opened to the ambitious chief the brilliant perspective of the conquest of Naples. The arguments of the wily Italian were supported by the duchess of Valentinois. It was in vain that the veteran Montmorency reminded the king of the ruinous state of the finances, which had driven him to the shameful expedient of putting up public offices to sale. The other party represented that the condition of Spain, after her long struggle, was little better; that the reins of government had now been transferred from the wise Charles to the hands of his inexperienced son; and that the coöperation of Rome afforded a favorable conjunction of circumstances, not to be neglected. Henry was further allured by Caraffa's assurance that his uncle would grant to the French monarch the investiture of Naples for one of his younger sons, and bestow Milan on another. The offer was too tempting to be resisted.

One objection occurred, in certain conscientious scruples as to the violation of the recent treaty of Vaucelles. But for this the pope, who had anticipated the objection, readily promised absolution. As the king also intimated some distrust lest the successor of Paul, whose advanced age made his life precarious, might not be inclined to carry out the treaty, Caraffa was authorized to assure him that this danger should be obviated by the creation of a batch of French cardinals, or of cardinals in the French interest.

All the difficulties being thus happily disposed of, the treaty was executed in the month of July, 1556. The parties agreed each to furnish about twelve thousand infantry, five hundred men-at-arms, and the same number of light horse. France was to contribute three hundred and fifty thousand ducats to the expenses of the war, and Rome one hundred and fifty thousand. The French troops were to be supplied with provisions by the pope, for which they were to reimburse his holiness. It was moreover agreed, that the crown of Naples should be settled on a younger son of Henry, that a considerable tract on the northern frontier should be transferred to the papal territory, and that ample estates should be provided from the new conquests for the three nephews of his holiness. In short, the system of partition was as nicely adjusted as if the quarry were actually in their possession, ready to be cut up and divided among the parties.[140]

Finally, it was arranged that Henry should invite the Sultan Solyman to renew his former alliance with France, and make a descent with his galleys on the coast of Calabria. Thus did his most Christian majesty, with the pope for one of his allies and the Grand Turk for the other, prepare to make war on the most Catholic prince in Christendom![141]

Meanwhile, Paul the Fourth, elated by the prospect of a successful negotiation, threw off the little decency he had hitherto preserved in his deportment. He launched out into invectives more bitter than ever against Philip, and in a tone of defiance told such of the Spanish cardinals as were present that they might repeat his sayings to their master. He talked of instituting a legal process against the king for the recovery of Naples, which he had forfeited by omitting to pay the yearly tribute to the holy see. The pretext was ill-founded, as the pope well knew. But the process went on with suitable gravity, and a sentence of forfeiture was ultimately pronounced against the Spanish monarch.{66}

With these impotent insults, Paul employed more effectual means of annoyance. He persecuted all who showed any leaning to the Spanish interest. He set about repairing the walls of Rome, and strengthening the garrisons on the frontier. His movements raised great alarm among the Romans, who had too vivid a recollection of their last war with Spain, under Clement the Seventh, to wish for another. Garcilasso de la Vega, who had represented Philip, during his father's reign, at the papal court, wrote a full account of these doings to the viceroy of Naples. Garcilasso was instantly thrown into prison. Taxis, the Spanish director of the posts, was both thrown into prison and put to the torture. Saria, the imperial ambassador, after in vain remonstrating against these outrages, waited on the pope to demand his passport, and was kept standing a full hour at the gate of the Vatican, before he was admitted.[142]

Philip had full intelligence of all these proceedings. He had long since descried the dark storm that was mustering beyond the Alps. He had provided for it at the close of the preceding year, by committing the government of Naples to the man most competent to such a crisis. This was the duke of Alva, at that time governor of Milan, and commander-in-chief of the army in Italy. As this remarkable person is to occupy a large space in the subsequent pages of this narrative, it may be well to give some account of his earlier life.

Fernando Alvarez de Toledo was descended from an illustrious house in Castile, whose name is associated with some of the most memorable events in the national history. He was born in 1508, and while a child had the misfortune to lose his father, who perished in Africa, at the siege of Gelves. The care of the orphan devolved on his grandfather, the celebrated conqueror of Navarre. Under this veteran teacher the young Fernando received his first lessons in war, being present at more than one skirmish when quite a boy. This seems to have sharpened his appetite for a soldier's life, for we find him at the age of sixteen, secretly leaving his home and taking service under the banner of the Constable Velasco, at the siege of Fontarabia. He was subsequently made governor of that place. In 1527, when not twenty years of age, he came, by his grandfather's death, into possession of the titles and large patrimonial estates of the house of Toledo.

The capacity which he displayed, as well as his high rank, soon made him an object of attention; and as Philip grew in years, the duke of Alva was placed near his person, formed one of his council, and took part in the regency of Castile. He accompanied Philip on his journeys from Spain, and, as we have seen, made one of his retinue both in Flanders and in England. The duke was of too haughty and imperious a temper to condescend to those arts which are thought to open the most ready avenues to the favor of the sovereign. He met with rivals of a finer policy and more accommodating disposition. Yet Philip perfectly comprehended his character. He knew the strength of his understanding, and did full justice to his loyalty; and he showed his confidence in his integrity by placing him in offices of the highest responsibility.

The emperor, with his usual insight into character, had early discerned the military talents of the young nobleman. He took Alva along with him on his campaigns in Germany, where from a subordinate station he rapidly rose to the first command in the army. Such was his position at the unfortunate{67} siege of Metz, where the Spanish infantry had nearly been sacrificed to the obstinacy of Charles.

In his military career the duke displayed some of the qualities most characteristic of his countrymen. But they were those qualities which belong to a riper period of life. He showed little of that romantic and adventurous spirit of the Spanish cavalier, which seemed to court peril for its own sake, and would hazard all on a single cast. Caution was his prominent trait, in which he was a match for any graybeard in the army;—a caution carried to such a length as sometimes to put a curb on the enterprising spirit of the emperor. Men were amazed to see so old a head on so young shoulders.

Yet this caution was attended by a courage which dangers could not daunt, and by a constancy which toil, however severe, could not tire. He preferred the surest, even though the slowest, means to attain his object. He was not ambitious of effect; he never sought to startle by a brilliant coup-de-main. He would not have compromised a single chance in his own favor by appealing to the issue of a battle. He looked steadily to the end, and he moved surely towards it by a system of operations planned with the nicest forecast. The result of these operations was almost always success. Few great commanders have been more uniformly successful in their campaigns. Yet it was rare that these campaigns were marked by what is so dazzling to the imagination of the young aspirant for glory,—a great and decisive victory.—Such were some of the more obvious traits in the military character of the chief to whom Philip, at this crisis, confided the post of viceroy of Naples.[143]

Before commencing hostilities against the Church, the Spanish monarch determined to ease his conscience, by obtaining, if possible, a warrant for his proceedings from the Church itself. He assembled a body composed of theologians from Salamanca, Alcalá, Valladolid, and some other places, and of jurists from his several councils, to resolve certain queries which he propounded. Among the rest, he inquired whether, in case of a defensive war with the pope, it would not be lawful to sequestrate the revenues of those persons, natives or foreigners, who had benefices in Spain, but who refused obedience to the orders of its sovereign;—whether he might not lay an embargo on all revenues of the Church, and prohibit any remittance of moneys to Rome;—whether a council might not be convoked to determine the validity{68} of Paul's election, which, in some particulars, was supposed to have been irregular;—whether inquiry might not be made into the gross abuses of ecclesiastical patronage by the Roman see, and effectual measures taken to redress them. The suggestion of an ecclesiastical council was a menace that grated unpleasantly on the pontifical ear, and was used by European princes as a sort of counterblast to the threat of excommunication. The particular objects for which this council was to be summoned were not of a kind to soothe the irritable nerves of his holiness. The conclave of theologians and jurists made as favorable responses as the king had anticipated to his several interrogatories; and Philip, under so respectable a sanction, sent orders to his viceroy to take effectual measures for the protection of Naples.[144]

Alva had not waited for these orders, but had busily employed himself in mustering his resources, and in collecting troops from the Abruzzi and other parts of his territory. As hostilities were inevitable, he determined to strike the first blow, and carry the war into the enemy's country, before he had time to cross the Neapolitan frontier. Like his master, however, the duke was willing to release himself, as far as possible, from personal responsibility before taking up arms against the head of the Church. He accordingly addressed a manifesto to the pope and the cardinals, setting forth in glowing terms the manifold grievances of his sovereign; the opprobrious and insulting language of Paul; the indignities offered to Philip's agents, and to the imperial ambassador; the process instituted for depriving his master of Naples; and, lastly, the warlike demonstrations of the pope along the frontier, which left no doubt as to his designs. He conjured his holiness to pause before he plunged his country into war. As the head of the Church, it was his duty to preserve peace, not to bring war into Christendom. He painted the inevitable evils of war, and the ruin and devastation which it must bring on the fair fields of Italy. If this were done, it would be the pope's doing, and his would be the responsibility. On the part of Naples, the war would be a war of defence. For himself, he had no alternative. He was placed there to maintain the possessions of his sovereign; and, by the blessing of God, he would maintain them to the last drop of his blood.[145]

Alva, while making this appeal to the pope, invoked the good offices of the Venetian government in bringing about a reconciliation between Philip and the Vatican. His spirited manifesto to the pope was intrusted to a special messenger, a person of some consideration in Naples. The only reply which the hot-headed pontiff made to it was to throw the envoy into prison, and, as some state, to put him to the torture.

Meanwhile, Alva, who had not placed much reliance on the success of his appeal, had mustered a force, amounting in all to twelve thousand infantry,{69} fifteen hundred horse, and a train of twelve pieces of artillery. His infantry was chiefly made up of Neapolitans, some of whom had seen but little service. The strength of his army lay in his Spanish veterans, forming one third of his force. The place of rendezvous was San Germano, a town on the northern frontier of the kingdom. On the first of September, 1556, Alva, attended by a gallant band of cavaliers, left the capital, and on the fourth arrived at the place appointed. The following day he crossed the borders at the head of his troops, and marched on Pontecorvo. He met with no resistance from the inhabitants, who at once threw open their gates to him. Several other places followed the example of Pontecorvo; and Alva, taking possession of them, caused a scutcheon displaying the arms of the sacred college to be hung up in the principal church of each town, with a placard announcing that he held it only for the college, until the election of a new pontiff. By this act he proclaimed to the Christian world that the object of the war, as far as Spain was concerned, was not conquest, but defence. Some historians find in it a deeper policy,—that of exciting feelings of distrust between the pope and the cardinals.[146]

Anagni, a place of some strength, refused the duke's summons to surrender. He was detained three days before his guns had opened a practicable breach in the walls. He then ordered an assault. The town was stormed and delivered up to sack,—by which phrase is to be understood the perpetration of all those outrages which the ruthless code of war allowed, in that age, on the persons and property of the defenceless inhabitants, without regard to sex or age.[147]

One or two other places which made resistance shared the fate of Anagni; and the duke of Alva, having garrisoned his new conquests with such forces as he could spare, led his victorious legions against Tivoli,—a town strongly situated on elevated ground, commanding the eastern approaches to the capital. The place surrendered without attempting a defence; and Alva, willing to give his men some repose, made Tivoli his head-quarters; while his army spread over the suburbs and adjacent country, which afforded good forage for his cavalry.

The rapid succession of these events, the fall of town after town, and, above all, the dismal fate of Anagni, filled the people of Rome with terror. The women began to hurry out of the city; many of the men would have followed but for the interference of Cardinal Caraffa. The panic was as great as if the enemy had been already at the gates of the capital. Amidst this general consternation, Paul seemed to be almost the only person who retained his self-possession. Navagero, the Venetian minister, was present when he received tidings of the storming of Anagni, and bears witness to the composure with which he went through the official business of the morning, as if nothing had happened.[148] This was in public; but the shock was sufficiently strong to strike out some sparkles of his fiery temper, as those found who met him that day in private. To the Venetian agent who had come to Rome{70} to mediate a peace, and who had pressed him to enter into some terms of accommodation with the Spaniards, he haughtily replied, that Alva must first recross the frontier, and then, if he had aught to solicit, prefer his petition like a dutiful son of the Church. This course was not one very likely to be adopted by the victorious general [149]

In an interview with two French gentlemen, who, as he had reason to suppose, were interesting themselves in the affair of a peace, he exclaimed: "Whoever would bring me into a peace with heretics is a servant of the Devil. Heaven will take vengeance on him. I will pray that God's curse may fall on him. If I find that you intermeddle in any such matter, I will cut your heads off your shoulders. Do not think this an empty threat. I have an eye in my back on you,"—quoting an Italian proverb,—"and if I find you playing me false, or attempting to entangle me a second time in an accursed truce, I swear to you by the eternal God, I will make your heads fly from your shoulders, come what may come of it!" "In this way," concludes the narrator, one of the parties, "his holiness continued for nearly an hour, walking up and down the apartment, and talking all the while of his own grievances and of cutting off our heads, until he had talked himself quite out of breath."[150]

But the valor of the pope did not expend itself in words. He instantly set about putting the capital in the best state of defence. He taxed the people to raise funds for his troops, drew in the garrisons from the neighboring places, formed a body-guard of six or seven hundred horse, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing his Roman levies, amounting to six thousand infantry, well equipped for the war. They made a brave show, with their handsome uniforms and their banners richly emblazoned with the pontifical arms. As they passed in review before his holiness, who stood at one of the windows of his palace, he gave them his benediction. But the edge of the Roman sword, according to an old proverb, was apt to be blunt; and these holiday troops were soon found to be no match for the hardy veterans of Spain.

Among the soldiers at the pope's disposal was a body of German mercenaries, who followed war as a trade, and let themselves out to the highest bidder. They were Lutherans, with little knowledge of the Roman Catholic religion, and less respect for it. They stared at its rites as mummeries, and made a jest of its most solemn ceremonies, directly under the eyes of the pope. But Paul, who at other times would have punished offences like these with the gibbet and the stake, could not quarrel with his defenders, and was obliged to digest his mortification as he best might. It was remarked that the times were sadly out of joint, when the head of the Church had heretics for his allies and Catholics for his enemies.[151]

Meanwhile the duke of Alva was lying at Tivoli. If he had taken advantage of the panic caused by his successes, he might, it was thought, without much difficulty, have made himself master of the capital. But this did not suit his policy, which was rather to bring the pope to terms than to ruin him. He was desirous to reduce the city by cutting off its supplies. The possession of Tivoli, as already noticed, enabled him to command the eastern approaches to Rome, and he now proposed to make himself master of Ostia and thus destroy the communications with the coast.{71}

Accordingly, drawing together his forces, he quitted Tivoli, and directed his march across the Campagna, south of the Roman capital. On his way he made himself master of some places belonging to the holy see, and in the early part of November arrived before Ostia, and took up a position on the banks of the Tiber, where it spread into two branches, the northern one of which was called the Fiumicino, or little river. The town, or rather village, consisted of only a few straggling houses, very different from the proud Ostia, whose capacious harbor was once filled with the commerce of the world. It was protected by a citadel of some strength, garrisoned by a small but picked body of troops, so indifferently provided with military stores, that it was clear the government had not anticipated an attack in this quarter.

The duke ordered a number of boats to be sent round from Nettuno, a place on the coast, of which he had got possession. By means of these he formed a bridge, over which he passed a small detachment of his army, together with his battering train of artillery. The hamlet was easily taken, but, as the citadel refused to surrender, Alva laid regular siege to it. He constructed two batteries, on which he planted his heavy guns, commanding opposite quarters of the fortress. He then opened a lively cannonade on the outworks, which was returned with great spirit by the garrison.

Meanwhile he detached a considerable body of horse, under Colonna, who swept the country to the very walls of Rome. A squadron of cavalry, whose gallant bearing had filled the heart of the old pope with exultation, sallied out against the marauders. An encounter took place not far from the city. The Romans bore themselves up bravely to the shock; but, after splintering their lances, they wheeled about, and, without striking another blow, abandoned the field to the enemy, who followed them up to the gates of the capital. They were so roughly handled in their flight, that the valiant troopers could not be induced again to leave their walls, although Cardinal Caraffa—who had a narrow escape from the enemy—sallied out with a handful of his followers, to give them confidence.[152]

During this time Alva was vigorously pressing the siege of Ostia; but though more than a week had elapsed, the besieged showed no disposition to surrender. At length, the Spanish commander, on the seventeenth of November, finding his ammunition nearly expended and his army short of provisions, determined on a general assault. Early on the following morning, after hearing mass as usual, the duke mounted his horse, and, riding among the ranks to animate the spirits of his soldiers, gave orders for the attack. A corps of Italians was first detached, to scale the works; but they were repulsed with considerable loss. It was found impossible for their officers to rally them, and bring them back to the assault. A picked body of Spanish infantry was then despatched on this dangerous service. With incredible difficulty they succeeded in scaling the ramparts, under a storm of combustibles and other missiles hurled down by the garrison, and effected an entrance into the place. But here they were met with a courage as dauntless as their own. The struggle was long and desperate. There had been no such fighting in the course of the campaign. At length, the duke, made aware of the severe loss sustained by his men, and of the impracticability of the attempt, as darkness was setting in, gave the signal for retreat. The assailants had doubtless the worst of it in the conflict; but the besieged, worn out with fatigue, with their ammunition nearly exhausted, and almost without food, did not feel themselves in condition to sustain another assault on the following day. On the nineteenth of November, therefore, the morning after the{72} conflict, the brave garrison capitulated, and were treated with honor as prisoners of war.[153]

The fate of the campaign seemed now to be decided. The pope, with, his principal towns in the hands of the enemy, his communications cut off both with the country and the coast, may well have felt his inability to contend thus single-handed against the power of Spain. At all events, his subjects felt it, and they were not deterred by his arrogant bearing from clamoring loudly against the continuance of this ruinous war. But Paul would not hear of a peace. However crippled by his late reverses, he felt confident of repairing them all on the arrival of the French, who, as he now learned with joy, were in full march across the territory of Milan. He was not so disinclined to a truce, which might give time for their coming.

Cardinal Caraffa, accordingly, had a conference with the duke of Alva, and entered into negotiations with him for a suspension of arms. The proposal was not unwelcome to the duke, who, weakened by losses of every kind, was by no means in condition at the end of an active campaign to contend with a fresh army under the command of so practised a leader as the duke of Guise. He did not care to expose himself a second time to an encounter with the French general, under disadvantages nearly as great as those which had foiled him at Metz.

With these amiable dispositions, a truce was soon arranged between the parties, to continue forty days. The terms were honorable to Alva, since they left him in possession of all his conquests. Having completed these arrangements, the Spanish commander broke up his camp on the southern bank of the Tiber, recrossed the frontier, and in a few days made his triumphant entry, at the head of his battalions, into the city of Naples.[154]

So ended the first campaign of the war with Rome. It had given a severe lesson, that might have shaken the confidence and humbled the pride of a pontiff less arrogant than Paul the Fourth. But it served only to deepen his hatred of the Spaniards, and to stimulate his desire for vengeance.{73}

CHAPTER VI.

Guise enters Italy.—Operations in the Abruzzi.—Siege of Civitella.—Alva drives out the French.—Rome menaced by the Spaniards.—Paul consents to Peace.—Paul's subsequent Career.

While the events recorded in the preceding pages were passing in Italy, the French army, under the duke of Guise, had arrived on the borders of Piedmont. That commander, on leaving Paris, found himself at the head of a force consisting of twelve thousand infantry, of which five thousand were Swiss, and the rest French, including a considerable number of Gascons. His cavalry amounted to two thousand, and he was provided with twelve pieces of artillery. In addition to this, Guise was attended by a gallant body of French gentlemen, young for the most part, and eager to win laurels under the renowned defender of Metz.

The French army met with no opposition in its passage through Piedmont. The king of Spain had ordered the government of Milan to strengthen the garrisons of the fortresses, but to oppose no resistance to the French, unless the latter began hostilities.[155] Some of the duke's counsellors would have persuaded him to do so. His father-in-law, the duke of Ferrara, in particular, who had brought him a reinforcement of six thousand troops, strongly pressed the French general to make sure of the Milanese before penetrating to the south; otherwise he would leave a dangerous enemy in his rear. The Italian urged, moreover, the importance of such a step in giving confidence to the Angevine faction in Naples, and in drawing over to France those states which hesitated as to their policy, or which had but lately consented to an alliance with Spain.

France, at this time, exercised but little influence in the counsels of the Italian powers. Genoa, after an ineffectual attempt at revolution, was devoted to Spain. The coöperation of Cosmo de'Medici, then lord of Tuscany, had been secured by the cession of Sienna. The duke of Parma, who had coquetted for some time with the French monarch, was won over to Spain by the restoration of Placentia, of which he had been despoiled by Charles the Fifth. His young son, Alexander Farnese, was sent as a hostage, to be educated under Philip's eye, at the court of Madrid,—the fruits of which training were to be gathered in the war of the Netherlands, where he proved himself the most consummate captain of his time. Venice, from her lonely watch-tower on the Adriatic, regarded at a distance the political changes of Italy, prepared to profit by any chances in her own favor. Her conservative policy, however, prompted her to maintain things as far as possible in their present position. She was most desirous that the existing equilibrium should not be disturbed by the introduction of any new power on the theatre of Italy; and she had readily acquiesced in the invitation of the duke of Alva, to mediate an accommodation between the contending parties. This pacific temper found little encouragement from the belligerent pontiff who had brought the war upon Italy.

The advice of the duke of Ferrara, however judicious in itself, was not relished by his son-in-law, the duke of Guise, who was anxious to press forward{74} to Naples as the proper scene of his conquests. The pope, too, called on him, in the most peremptory terms, to hasten his march, as Naples was the object of the expedition. The French commander had the address to obtain instructions to the same effect from his own court, by which he affected to be decided. His Italian father-in-law was so much disgusted by this determination, that he instantly quitted the camp, and drew off his six thousand soldiers, declaring that he needed all he could muster to protect his own states against the troops of Milan.[156]

Thus shorn of his Italian reinforcement, the duke of Guise resumed his march, and, entering the States of the Church, followed down the shores of the Adriatic, passing through Ravenna and Rimini; then, striking into the interior, he halted at Gesi, where he found good accommodations for his men and abundant forage for the horses.

Leaving his army in their pleasant quarters, he soon after repaired to Rome, in order to arrange with the pope the plan of the campaign. He was graciously received by Paul, who treated him with distinguished honor as the loyal champion of the Church. Emboldened by the presence of the French army in his dominions, the pope no longer hesitated to proclaim the renewal of the war against Spain. The Roman levies, scattered over the Campagna, assaulted the places but feebly garrisoned by the Spaniards. Most of them, including Tivoli and Ostia, were retaken; and the haughty bosom of the pontiff swelled with exultation as he anticipated the speedy extinction of the Spanish rule in Italy.

After some days consumed in the Vatican, Guise rejoined his army at Gesi. He was fortified by abundant assurances of aid from his holiness, and he was soon joined by one of Paul's nephews, the duke of Montebello, with a slender reinforcement. It was determined to cross the Neapolitan frontier at once, and to begin operations by the siege of Campli.

This was a considerable place, situated in the midst of a fruitful territory. The native population had been greatly increased by the influx of people from the surrounding country, who had taken refuge in Campli as a place of security. But they did little for its defence. It did not long resist the impetuosity of the French, who carried the town by storm. The men—all who made resistance—were put to the sword. The women were abandoned to the licentious soldiery. The houses, first pillaged, were then fired; and the once flourishing place was soon converted into a heap of smouldering ruins. The booty was great, for the people of the neighborhood had brought their effects thither for safety, and a large amount of gold and silver was found in the dwellings. The cellars, too, were filled with delicate wines; and the victors abandoned themselves to feasting and wassail, while the wretched citizens wandered like spectres amidst the ruins of their ancient habitations.[157]

The fate of Italy, in the sixteenth century, was hard indeed. She had advanced far beyond the age in most of the arts which belong to a civilized community. Her cities, even her smaller towns, throughout the country, displayed the evidences of architectural taste. They were filled with stately temples and elegant mansions; the squares were ornamented with fountains of elaborate workmanship; the rivers were spanned by arches of solid masonry. The private as well as public edifices were furnished with costly works of art, of which the value was less in the material than in the execution. A generation had scarcely passed since Michael Angelo and Raphael{75} had produced their miracles of sculpture and of painting; and now Correggio, Paul Veronese, and Titian were filling their country with those immortal productions which have been the delight and the despair of succeeding ages. Letters kept pace with art. The magical strains of Ariosto had scarcely died away when a greater bard had arisen in Tasso, to take up the tale of Christian chivalry. This extraordinary combination of elegant art and literary culture was the more remarkable, from the contrast presented by the condition of the rest of Europe, then first rising into the light of a higher civilization. But, with all this intellectual progress, Italy was sadly deficient in some qualities found among the hardier sons of the north, and which seem indispensable to a national existence. She could boast of her artists, her poets, her politicians; but of few real patriots, few who rested their own hopes on the independence of their country. The freedom of the old Italian republics had passed away. There was scarcely one that had not surrendered its liberties to a master. The principle of union for defence against foreign aggression was as little understood as the principle of political liberty at home. The states were jealous of one another. The cities were jealous of one another, and were often torn by factions within themselves. Thus their individual strength was alike ineffectual, whether for self-government or self-defence. The gift of beauty which Italy possessed in so extraordinary a degree only made her a more tempting prize to the spoiler, whom she had not the strength or the courage to resist. The Turkish corsair fell upon her coasts, plundered her maritime towns, and swept off their inhabitants into slavery. The Europeans, scarcely less barbarous, crossed the Alps, and, striking into the interior, fell upon the towns and hamlets that lay sheltered among the hills and in the quiet valleys, and converted them into heaps of ruins. Ill fares it with the land which, in an age of violence, has given itself up to the study of the graceful and the beautiful, to the neglect of those hardy virtues which can alone secure a nation's independence.

From the smoking ruins of Campli, Guise led his troops against Civitella, a town but a few miles distant. It was built round a conical hill, the top of which was crowned by a fortress well lined with artillery. It was an important place for the command of the frontier, and the duke of Alva had thrown into it a garrison of twelve hundred men under the direction of an experienced officer, the marquis of Santa Fiore. The French general considered that the capture of this post, so soon following the sack of Campli, would spread terror among the Neapolitans, and encourage those of the Angevine faction to declare openly in his favor.

As the place refused to surrender, he prepared to besiege it in form, throwing up intrenchments, and only waiting for his heavy guns to begin active hostilities. He impatiently expected their arrival for some days, when he caused four batteries to be erected, to operate simultaneously against four quarters of the town. After a brisk cannonade, which was returned by the besieged with equal spirit, and with still greater loss to the enemy, from his exposed position, the duke, who had opened a breach in the works, prepared for a general assault. It was conducted with the usual impetuosity of the French, but was repulsed with courage by the Italians. More than once the assailants were brought up to the breach, and as often driven back with slaughter. The duke, convinced that he had been too precipitate, was obliged to sound a retreat, and again renewed the cannonade from his batteries, keeping it up night and day, though, from the vertical direction of the fire, with comparatively little effect. The French camp offered a surer mark to the guns of Civitella.

The women of the place displayed an intrepidity equal to that of the men. Armed with buckler and cuirass, they might be seen by the side of their husbands and brothers, in the most exposed situations on the ramparts; and, as{76} one was shot down, another stepped forward to take the place of her fallen comrade.[158] The fate of Campli had taught them to expect no mercy from the victor, and they preferred death to dishonor.

As day after day passed on in the same monotonous manner, Guise's troops became weary of their inactive life. The mercurial spirits of the French soldier, which overleaped every obstacle in his path, were often found to evaporate in the tedium of protracted operations, where there was neither incident nor excitement. Such a state of things was better suited to the patient and persevering Spaniard. The men began openly to murmur against the pope, whom they regarded as the cause of their troubles. They were led by priests, they said, "who knew much more of praying than of fighting."[159]

Guise himself had causes of disgust with the pontiff which he did not care to conceal. For all the splendid promises of his holiness, he had received few supplies either of men, ammunition, or money; and of the Angevine lords not one had ventured to declare in his favor or to take service under his banner. He urged all this with much warmth on the pope's nephew, the duke of Montebello. The Italian, recriminated as warmly, till the dialogue was abruptly ended, it is said, by the duke of Guise throwing a napkin, or, according to some accounts, a dish, at the head of his ally.[160] However this may be, Montebello left the camp in disgust and returned to Rome. But the defender of the Church was too important a person to quarrel with, and Paul deemed it prudent, for the present, at least, to stifle his resentment.

Meanwhile heavy rains set in, causing great annoyance to the French troops in their quarters, spoiling their provisions, and doing great damage to their powder. The same rain did good service to the besieged, by filling their cisterns. "God," exclaimed the profane Guise, "must have turned Spaniard."[161]

While these events were taking place in the north of Naples, the duke of Alva, in the south, was making active preparations for the defence of the kingdom. He had seen with satisfaction the time consumed by his antagonist, first at Gesi, and afterwards at the siege of Civitella; and he had fully profited by the delay. On reaching the city of Naples, he had summoned a parliament of the great barons, had clearly exposed the necessities of the state, and demanded an extraordinary loan of two millions of ducats. The loyal nobles readily responded to the call; but as not more than one third of the whole amount could be instantly raised, an order was obtained from the council, requiring the governors of the several provinces to invite the great ecclesiastics in their districts to advance the remaining two thirds of the loan. In case they did not consent with a good grace, they were to be forced to comply by the seizure of their revenues.[162]

By another decree of the council, the gold and silver plate belonging to the monasteries and churches, throughout the kingdom, after being valued, was to be taken for the use of the government. A quantity of it, belonging to a city in the Abruzzi, was in fact put up to be sent to Naples; but it caused such a tumult among the people, that it was found expedient to suspend proceedings in the matter for the present.

The viceroy still further enlarged his resources by the sequestration of the revenues belonging to such ecclesiastics as resided in Rome. By these various expedients the duke of Alva found himself in possession of sufficient funds,{77} for carrying on the war as he desired. He mustered a force of twenty-two, or, as some accounts state, twenty-five thousand men. Of these three thousand only were Spanish veterans, five thousand were Germans, and the remainder Italians, chiefly from the Abruzzi,—for the most part raw recruits, on whom little reliance was to be placed. He had besides seven hundred men-at-arms and fifteen hundred light horse. His army, therefore, though, as far as the Italians were concerned, inferior in discipline to that of his antagonist, was greatly superior in numbers.[163]

In a council of war that was called, some were of opinion that the viceroy should act on the defensive, and await the approach of the enemy in the neighborhood of the capital. But Alva looked on this as a timid course, arguing distrust in himself, and likely to infuse distrust into his followers. He determined to march at once against the enemy, and prevent his gaining a permanent foothold in the kingdom.

Pescara, on the Adriatic, was appointed as the place of rendezvous for the army, and Alva quitted the city of Naples for that place on the eleventh of April, 1557. Here he concentrated his whole strength, and received his artillery and military stores, which were brought to him by water. Having reviewed his troops, he began his march to the north. On reaching Rio Umano, he detached a strong body of troops to get possession of Giulia Nuova, a town of some importance lately seized by the enemy. Alva supposed, and it seems correctly, that the French commander had secured this as a good place of retreat in case of his failure before Civitella, since its position was such as would enable him readily to keep up his communications with the sea. The French garrison sallied out against the Spaniards, but were driven back with loss; and, as Alva's troops followed in their rear, the enemy fled in confusion through the streets of the city, and left it in the hands of the victors. In this commodious position, the viceroy for the present took up his quarters.

On the approach of the Spanish army, the duke of Guise saw the necessity of bringing his operations against Civitella to a decisive issue. He accordingly, as a last effort, prepared for a general assault. But, although it was conducted with great spirit, it was repulsed with still greater by the garrison; and the French commander, deeply mortified at his repeated failures, saw the necessity of abandoning the siege. He could not effect even this without sustaining some loss from the brave defenders of Civitella, who sallied out on his rear, as he drew off his discomfited troops to the neighboring valley of Nireto. Thus ended the siege of Civitella, which, by the confidence it gave to the loyal Neapolitans throughout the country as well as by the leisure it afforded to Alva for mustering his resources, may be said to have decided the fate of the war. The siege lasted twenty-two days, during fourteen of which the guns from the four batteries of the French had played incessantly on the beleaguered city. The viceroy was filled with admiration at the heroic conduct of the inhabitants; and, in token of respect for it, granted some important immunities, to be enjoyed for ever by the citizens of Civitella. The women, too, came in for their share of the honors, as whoever married a maiden of Civitella was to be allowed the same immunities, from whatever part of the country he might come.[164]

The two armies were now quartered within a few miles of each other. Yet no demonstration was made, on either side, of bringing matters to the issue of{78} a battle. This was foreign to Alva's policy, and was not to be expected from Guise, so inferior in strength to his antagonist. On the viceroy's quitting Giulia Nuova, however, to occupy a position somewhat nearer the French quarters, Guise did not deem it prudent to remain there any longer, but, breaking up his camp, retreated, with his whole army, across the Tronto, and, without further delay, evacuated the kingdom of Naples.

The Spanish general made no attempt to pursue, or even to molest his adversary in his retreat. For this he has been severely criticized, more particularly as the passage of a river offers many points of advantage to an assailant. But, in truth, Alva never resorted to fighting when he could gain his end without it. In an appeal to arms, however favorable may be the odds, there must always be some doubt as to the result. But the odds here were not so decisively on the side of the Spaniards as they appeared. The duke of Guise carried off his battalions in admirable order, protecting his rear with the flower of his infantry and with his cavalry, in which last he was much superior to his enemy. Thus the parts of the hostile armies likely to have been brought into immediate conflict would have afforded no certain assurance of success to the Spaniards. Alva's object had been, not so much to defeat the French as to defend Naples. This he had now achieved, with but little loss; and rather than incur the risk of greater, he was willing, in the words of an old proverb, to make a bridge of silver for the flying foe.[165] In the words of Alva himself, "he had no idea of staking the kingdom of Naples against the embroidered coat of the duke of Guise."[166]

On the retreat of the French, Alva laid siege at once to two or three places, of no great note, in the capture of which he and his lieutenants were guilty of the most deliberate cruelty; though, in the judgment of the chronicler, it was not cruelty, but a wholesome severity, designed as a warning to such petty places not to defy the royal authority.[167] Soon after this, Alva himself crossed the Tronto, and took up a position not far removed from the French, who lay in the neighborhood of Ascoli. Although the two armies were but a few miles asunder, there was no attempt at hostilities, with the exception of a skirmish in which but a small number on either side were engaged, and which terminated in favor of the Spaniards. This state of things was at length ended by a summons from the pope to the French commander to draw nearer to Rome, as he needed his presence for the protection of the capital. The duke, glad, no doubt, of so honorable an apology for his retreat, and satisfied with having so long held his ground against a force superior to his own, fell back, in good order, upon Tivoli, which, as it commanded the great avenues to Rome on the east, and afforded good accommodations for his troops, he made his head quarters for the present. The manner in which the duke of Alva adhered to the plan of defensive operations settled at the beginning of the campaign, and that, too, under circumstances which would have tempted most men to depart from such a plan, is a remarkable proof of his perseverance and inflexible spirit. It proves, moreover, the empire which he held over the minds of his followers, that, under such circumstances, he could maintain implicit obedience to his orders.

The cause of the pope's alarm was the rapid successes of Alva's confederate,{79} Mark Antony Colonna, who had defeated the papal levies, and taken one place after another in the Campagna, till the Romans began to tremble for their capital. Colonna was now occupied with the siege of Segni, a place of considerable importance; and the duke of Alva, relieved of the presence of the French, resolved to march to his support. He accordingly recrossed the Tronto, and, passing through the Neapolitan territory, halted for some days at Sora. He then traversed the frontier, but had not penetrated far into the Campagna when he received tidings of the fall of Segni. That strong place, after a gallant defence, had been taken by storm. All the usual atrocities were perpetrated by the brutal soldiery. Even the sanctity of the convents did not save them from pollution. It was in vain that Colonna interfered to prevent these excesses. The voice of authority was little heeded in the tempest of passion.—It mattered little, in that age, into whose hands a captured city fell; Germans, French, Italians, it was all the same. The wretched town, so lately flourishing, it might be, in all the pride of luxury and wealth, was claimed as the fair spoil of the victors. It was their prize-money, which served in default of payment of their long arrears,—usually long in those days; and it was a mode of payment as convenient for the general as for his soldiers.[168]

The fall of Segni caused the greatest consternation in the capital. The next thing, it was said, would be to assault the capital itself. Paul the Fourth, incapable of fear, was filled with impotent fury. "They have taken Segni," he said in a conclave of the cardinals; "they have murdered the people, destroyed their property, fired their dwellings. Worse than this, they will next pillage Palliano. Even this will not fill up the measure of their cruelty. They will sack the city of Rome itself; nor will they respect even my person. But, for myself, I long to be with Christ, and await without fear the crown of martyrdom."[169] Paul the Fourth, after having brought this tempest upon Italy, began to consider himself a martyr!

Yet even in this extremity, though urged on all sides to make concessions, he would abate nothing of his haughty tone. He insisted, as a sine qua non, that Alva should forthwith leave the Roman territory and restore his conquests. When these conditions were reported to the duke, he coolly remarked, that "his holiness seemed to be under the mistake of supposing that his own army was before Naples, instead of the Spanish army being at the gates of Rome."[170]

After the surrender of Segni, Alva effected a junction with the Italian forces, and marched to the town of Colona, in the Campagna, where for the present he quartered his army. Here he formed the plan of an enterprise, the adventurous character of which it seems difficult to reconcile with his habitual caution. This was a night assault on Rome. He did not communicate his whole purpose to his officers, but simply ordered them to prepare to march on the following night, the twenty-sixth of August, against a neighboring city, the name of which he did not disclose. It was a wealthy place, he said, but he was most anxious that no violence should be offered to the inhabitants, in either their persons or property. The soldiers should be forbidden{80} even to enter the dwellings; but he promised that the loss of booty should be compensated by increase of pay. The men were to go lightly armed, without baggage, and with their shirts over their mail, affording the best means of recognizing one another in the dark.

The night was obscure, but unfortunately a driving storm of rain set in, which did such damage to the roads as greatly to impede the march, and the dawn was nigh at hand when the troops reached the place of destination. To their great surprise, they then understood that the object of attack was Rome itself.

Alva halted at a short distance from the city, in a meadow, and sent forward a small party to reconnoitre the capital, which seemed to slumber in quiet. But, on a nearer approach, the Spaniards saw a great light, as if occasioned by a multitude of torches, that seemed glancing to and fro within the walls, inferring some great stir among the inhabitants of that quarter. Soon after this, a few horsemen were seen to issue from one of the gates, and ride off in the direction of the French camp at Tivoli. The duke, on receiving the report, was satisfied that the Romans had, in some way or other, got notice of his design; that the horsemen had gone to give the alarm to the French in Tivoli; and that he should soon find himself between two enemies. Not relishing this critical position, he at once abandoned his design, and made a rapid countermarch on the place he had left the preceding evening.

In his conjectures the duke was partly in the right and partly in the wrong. The lights which were seen glancing within the town were owing to the watchfulness of Caraffa, who, from some apprehensions of an attack, in consequence of information he had received of preparations in the Spanish camp, was patrolling this quarter before daybreak to see that all was safe; but the horsemen who left the gates at that early hour in the direction of the French camp were far from thinking that hostile battalions lay within gunshot of their walls.[171]

Such is the account we have of this strange affair. Some historians assert that it was not the duke's design to attack Rome, but only to make a feint, and, by the panic which he would create, to afford the pope a good pretext for terminating the war. In support of this, it is said that he told his son Ferdinand, just before his departure, that he feared it would be impossible to prevent the troops from sacking the city, if they once set foot in it.[172] Other accounts state that it was no feint, but a surprise meditated in good earnest, and defeated only by the apparition of the lights and the seeming state of preparation in which the place was found. Indeed, one writer asserts that he saw the scaling-ladders, brought by a corps of two hundred arquebusiers, who were appointed to the service of mounting the walls.[173]

The Venetian minister, Navagero, assures us that Alva's avowed purpose was to secure the person of his holiness, which, he thought, must bring the war at once to a close. The duke's uncle, the cardinal of Sangiacomo, had warned his nephew, according to the same authority, not to incur the fate of their countrymen who had served under the Constable de Bourbon, at the sack of Rome, all of whom, sooner or later, had come to a miserable end.[174]

This warning may have made some impression on the mind of Alva, who, however inflexible by nature, had conscientious scruples of his own, and was, no doubt, accessible, as others of his time, to arguments founded on superstition.

We cannot but admit that the whole affair,—the preparations for the assault, the counsel to the officers, and the sudden retreat on suspicion of a discovery,—all look very much like earnest. It is quite possible that the duke, as the Venetian asserts, may have intended nothing beyond the seizure of the pope. But that the matter would have stopped there, no one will believe. Once fairly within the walls, even the authority of Alva would have been impotent to restrain the licence of the soldiery; and the same scenes might have been acted over again as at the taking of Rome under the Constable de Bourbon, or on the capture of the ancient capital by the Goths.

When the Romans, on the following morning, learned the peril they had been in during the night, and that the enemy had been prowling round, like wolves about a sheepfold, ready to rush in upon their sleeping victims, the whole city was seized with a panic. All the horrors of the sack by the Constable de Bourbon rose up to their imaginations,—or rather memories, for many there were who were old enough to remember that terrible day. They loudly clamored for peace before it was too late; and they pressed the demand in a manner which showed that the mood of the people was a dangerous one. Strozzi, the most distinguished of the Italian captains, plainly told the pope that he had no choice but to come to terms with the enemy at once.[175]

Paul was made more sensible of this by finding now, in his greatest need, the very arm withdrawn from him on which he most leaned for support. Tidings had reached the French camp of the decisive victory gained by the Spaniards at St. Quentin, and they were followed by a summons from the king to the duke of Guise, to return with his army, as speedily as possible, for the protection of Paris. The duke, who was probably not unwilling to close a campaign which had been so barren of laurels to the French, declared that "no chains were strong enough to keep him in Italy." He at once repaired to the Vatican, and there laid before his holiness the commands of his master. The case was so pressing, that Paul could not in reason oppose the duke's departure. But he seldom took counsel of reason, and in a burst of passion exclaimed to Guise, "Go, then; and take with you the consciousness of having done little for your king, still less for the Church, and nothing for your own honor."[176]

Negotiations were now opened for an accommodation between the belligerents, at the town of Cavi. Cardinal Caraffa appeared in behalf of his uncle, the pope, and the duke of Alva for the Spaniards. Through the mediation of Venice, the terms of the treaty were finally settled, on the fourteenth of September, although the inflexible pontiff still insisted on concessions nearly as extravagant as those he had demanded before. It was stipulated in a preliminary article, that the duke of Alva should publicly ask pardon, and receive absolution, for having borne arms against the holy see. "Sooner than surrender this point," said Paul, "I would see the whole world perish; and this, not so much for my own sake as for the honor of Jesus Christ."[177]

It was provided by the treaty, that the Spanish troops should be immediately{82} withdrawn from the territory of the Church, that all the places taken from the Church should be at once restored, and that the French army should be allowed a free passage to their own country. Philip did not take so good care of his allies as Paul did of his. Colonna, who had done the cause such good service, was not even reinstated in the possessions of which the pope had deprived him. But a secret article provided that his claims should be determined hereafter by the joint arbitration of the pontiff and the king of Spain.[178]

The treaty was, in truth, one which, as Alva bitterly remarked, "seemed to have been dictated by the vanquished rather than by the victor." It came hard to the duke to execute it, especially the clause relating to himself. "Were I the king," said he haughtily, "his holiness should send one of his nephews to Brussels, to sue for my pardon, instead of my general's suing for his."[179] But Alva had no power to consult his own will in the matter. The orders from Philip were peremptory, to come to some terms, if possible, with the pope. Philip had long since made up his own mind, that neither profit nor honor was to be derived from a war with the Church,—a war not only repugnant to his own feelings, but which placed him in a false position, and one most prejudicial to his political interests.

The news of peace filled the Romans with a joy great in proportion to their former consternation. Nor was this joy much diminished by a calamity which at any other time would have thrown the city into mourning. The Tiber, swollen by the autumnal rains, rose above its banks, sweeping away houses and trees in its fury, drowning men and cattle, and breaking down a large piece of the wall that surrounded the city. It was well that this accident had not occurred a few days earlier, when the enemy was at the gates.[180]

On the twenty-seventh of September, 1557, the duke of Alva made his public entrance into Rome. He was escorted by the papal guard, dressed in its gay uniform. It was joined by the other troops in the city, who, on this holiday service, did as well as better soldiers. On entering the gates, the concourse was swelled by thousands of citizens, who made the air ring with their acclamations, as they saluted the Spanish general with the titles of Defender and Liberator of the capital. The epithets might be thought an indifferent compliment to their own government. In this state the procession moved along, like the triumph of a conqueror returned from his victorious campaigns to receive the wreath of laurel in the capitol.

On reaching the Vatican, the Spanish commander fell on his knees before the pope, and asked his pardon for the offence of bearing arms against the Church. Paul, soothed by this show of concession, readily granted absolution. He paid the duke the distinguished honor of giving him a seat at his own table; while he complimented the duchess by sending her the consecrated golden rose, reserved only for royal persons and illustrious champions of the Church.[181]{83}

Yet the haughty spirit of Alva saw in all this more of humiliation than of triumph. His conscience, like that of his master, was greatly relieved by being discharged from the responsibilities of such a war. But he had also a military conscience, which seemed to be quite as much scandalized by the conditions of the peace. He longed to be once more at Naples, where the state of things imperatively required his presence. When he returned there, he found abundant occupation in reforming the abuses which had grown out of the late confusion, and especially in restoring, as far as possible, the shattered condition of the finances,—a task hardly less difficult than that of driving out the French from Naples.[182]

Thus ended the war with Paul the Fourth,—a war into which that pontiff had plunged without preparation, which he had conducted without judgment, and terminated without honor. Indeed, it brought little honor to any of the parties concerned in it, but, on the other hand, a full measure of those calamities which always follow in the train of war.

The French met with the same fate which uniformly befell them, when, lured by the phantom of military glory, they crossed the Alps to lay waste the garden of Italy,—in the words of their own proverb, "the grave of the French." The duke of Guise, after a vexatious campaign, in which it was his greatest glory that he had sustained no actual defeat, thought himself fortunate in being allowed a free passage, with the shattered remnant of his troops, back to his own country. Naples, besides the injuries she had sustained on her borders, was burdened with a debt which continued to press heavily for generations to come. Nor were her troubles ended by the peace. In the spring of the following year, 1558, a Turkish squadron appeared off Calabria; and, running down the coast, the Moslems made a landing on several points, sacked some of the principal towns, butchered the inhabitants, or swept them off into hopeless slavery.[183] Such were some of the blessed fruits of the alliance between the grand seignior and the head of the Catholic Church. Solyman had come into the league at the invitation of the Christian princes. But it was not found so easy to lay the spirit of mischief as it had been to raise it.

The weight of the war, however, fell, as was just, most heavily on the author of it. Paul, from his palace of the Vatican, could trace the march of the enemy by the smoking ruins of the Campagna. He saw his towns sacked, his troops scattered, his very capital menaced, his subjects driven by ruinous taxes to the verge of rebellion. Even peace, when it did come, secured to him none of the objects for which he had contended, while he had the humiliating consciousness that he owed this peace, not to his own arms, but to the forbearance—or the superstition of his enemies. One lesson he might have learned,—that the thunders of the Vatican could no longer strike terror into the hearts of princes, as in the days of the Crusades.

In this war Paul had called in the French to aid him in driving out the Spaniards. The French, he said, might easily be dislodged hereafter; "but the Spaniards were like dog-grass, which is sure to strike root wherever it is cast."—This was the last great effort that was made to overturn the Spanish{84} power in Naples; and the sceptre of that kingdom continued to be transmitted in the dynasty of Castile, with as little opposition as that of any other portion of its broad empire.

Being thus relieved of his military labors, Paul set about those great reforms, the expectation of which had been the chief inducement to his election. But first he gave a singular proof of self-command, in the reforms which he introduced into his own family. Previously to his election, no one, as we have seen, had declaimed more loudly than Paul against nepotism,—the besetting sin of his predecessors, who, most of them old men and without children, naturally sought a substitute for these in their nephews and those nearest of kin. Paul's partiality for his nephews was made the more conspicuous by the profligacy of their characters. Yet the real bond which held the parties together was hatred of the Spaniards. When peace came, and this bond of union was dissolved, Paul readily opened his ears to the accusations against his kinsmen. Convinced at length of their unworthiness, and of the flagrant manner in which they had abused his confidence, he deprived the Caraffas of all their offices, and banished them to the farthest part of his dominions. By the sterner sentence of his successor, two of the brothers, the duke and the cardinal, perished by the hand of the public executioner.[184]

After giving this proof of mastery over his own feelings, Paul addressed himself to those reforms which had engaged his attention in early life. He tried to enforce a stricter discipline and greater regard for morals, both in the religious orders and the secular clergy. Above all, he directed his efforts against the Protestant heresy, which had begun to show itself in the head of Christendom, as it had long since done in the extremities. The course he adopted was perfectly characteristic. Scorning the milder methods of argument and persuasion, he resorted wholly to persecution. The Inquisition, he declared, was the true battery with which to assail the defences of the heretic. He suited the action so well to the word, that in a short time the prisons of the Holy Office were filled with the accused. In the general distrust no one felt himself safe; and a panic was created, scarcely less than that felt by the inhabitants when the Spaniards were at their gates.

Happily, their fears were dispelled by the death of Paul, which took place suddenly, from a fever, on the eighteenth of August, 1559, in the eighty-third year of his age, and fifth of his pontificate. Before the breath was out of his body, the populace rose en masse, broke open the prisons of the Inquisition, and liberated all who were confined there. They next attacked the house of the grand-inquisitor, which they burned to the ground; and that functionary narrowly escaped with his life. They tore down the scutcheons, bearing the arms of the family of Caraffa, which were affixed to the public edifices. They wasted their rage on the senseless statue of the pope, which they overturned, and, breaking off the head, rolled it, amidst the groans and execrations of the by-standers, into the Tiber. Such was the fate of the reformer, who, in his reforms, showed no touch of humanity, no sympathy with the sufferings of his species.[185]

Yet, with all its defects, there is something in the character of Paul the Fourth that may challenge our admiration. His project—renewing that of Julius the Second—of driving out the barbarians from Italy, was nobly conceived, though impracticable. "Whatever others may feel, I at least will have some care for my country," he once said to the Venetian ambassador.

"If my voice is unheeded, it will at least be a consolation to me to reflect, that it has been raised in such a cause; and that it will one day be said that an old Italian, on the verge of the grave, who might be thought to have nothing better to do than to give himself up to repose, and weep over his sins, had his soul filled with this lofty design."[186]

CHAPTER VII.

England joins in the War.—Philip's Preparations.—Siege of St. Quentin.—French Army routed.—Storming of St. Quentin.—Successes of the Spaniards.

While the events related in the preceding chapter were passing in Italy, the war was waged on a larger scale, and with more important results, in the northern provinces of France. As soon as Henry had broken the treaty, and sent his army across the Alps, Philip lost no time in assembling his troops, although in so quiet a manner as to attract as little attention as possible. His preparations were such as enabled him, not merely to defend the frontier of the Netherlands, but to carry the war into the enemy's country.

He despatched his confidential minister, Ruy Gomez, to Spain, for supplies both of men and money; instructing him to visit his father, Charles the Fifth, and, after acquainting him with the state of affairs, to solicit his aid in raising the necessary funds.[187]

Philip had it much at heart to bring England into the war. During his stay in the Low Countries, he was in constant communication with the English cabinet, and took a lively interest in the government of the kingdom. The minutes of the privy council were regularly sent to him, and as regularly returned with his remarks, in his own handwriting, on the margin. In this way he discussed and freely criticized every measure of importance; and, on one occasion, we find him requiring that nothing of moment should be brought before parliament until it had first been submitted to him.[188]

In March, 1557, Philip paid a second visit to England, where he was received by his fond queen in the most tender and affectionate manner. In her letters she had constantly importuned him to return to her. On that barren eminence which placed her above the reach of friendship, Mary was dependent{86} on her husband for sympathy and support. But if the channel of her affections was narrow, it was deep.

Philip found no difficulty in obtaining the queen's consent to his wishes with respect to the war with France. She was induced to this, not merely by her habitual deference to her husband, but by natural feelings of resentment at the policy of Henry the Second. She had put up with affronts, more than once, from the French ambassador, in her own court; and her throne had been menaced by repeated conspiracies, which, if not organized, had been secretly encouraged by France. Still, it was not easy to bring the English nation to this way of thinking. It had been a particular proviso of the marriage treaty, that England should not be made a party to the war against France; and subsequent events had tended to sharpen the feeling of jealousy rather towards the Spaniards than towards the French.

The attempted insurrection of Stafford, who crossed over from the shores of France at this time, did for Philip what possibly neither his own arguments nor the authority of Mary could have done. It was the last of the long series of indignities which had been heaped on the country from the same quarter; and parliament now admitted that it was no longer consistent with its honor to keep terms with a power which persisted in fomenting conspiracies to overturn the government and plunge the nation into civil war. On the seventh of June, a herald was despatched, with the formality of ancient and somewhat obsolete usages, to proclaim war against the French king in the presence of his court and in his capital. This was done in such a bold tone of defiance, that the hot old constable, Montmorency, whose mode of proceeding, as we have seen, was apt to be summary, strongly urged his master to hang up the envoy on the spot.[189]

The state of affairs imperatively demanded Philip's presence in the Netherlands, and, after a residence of less than four months in London, he bade a final adieu to his disconsolate queen, whose excessive fondness may have been as little to his taste as the coldness of her subjects.

Nothing could be more forlorn than the condition of Mary. Her health wasting under a disease that cheated her with illusory hopes, which made her ridiculous in the eyes of the world; her throne, her very life, continually menaced by conspiracies, to some of which even her own sister was supposed to be privy; her spirits affected by the consciousness of the decline of her popularity under the gloomy system of persecution into which she had been led by her ghostly advisers; without friends, without children, almost it might be said without a husband,—she was alone in the world, more to be commiserated than the meanest subject in her dominions. She has had little commiseration, however, from Protestant writers, who paint her in the odious colors of a fanatic. This has been compensated, it may be thought, by the Roman Catholic historians, who have invested the English queen with all the glories of the saint and the martyr. Experience may convince us that public acts do not always furnish a safe criterion of private character,—especially when these acts are connected with religion. In the Catholic Church the individual might seem to be relieved, in some measure, of his moral responsibility, by the system of discipline which intrusts his conscience to the keeping of his spiritual advisers. If the lights of the present day allow no man to plead so humiliating an apology, this was not the case in the first half of the sixteenth century,—the age of Mary,—when the Reformation had not yet diffused that spirit of independence in religious speculation, which, in some{87} degree at least, has now found its way to the darkest corner of Christendom.

A larger examination of contemporary documents, especially of the queen's own correspondence, justifies the inference, that, with all the infirmities of a temper soured by disease, and by the difficulties of her position, she possessed many of the good qualities of her illustrious progenitors, Katharine of Aragon and Isabella of Castile; the same conjugal tenderness and devotion, the same courage in times of danger, the same earnest desire, misguided as she was, to do her duty,—and, unfortunately, the same bigotry. It was, indeed, most unfortunate, in Mary's case, as in that of the Catholic queen, that this bigotry, from their position as independent sovereigns, should have been attended with such fatal consequences as have left an indelible blot on the history of their reigns.[190]

On his return to Brussels, Philip busied himself with preparations for the campaign. He employed the remittances from Spain to subsidize a large body of German mercenaries. Germany was the country which furnished, at this time, more soldiers of fortune than any other; men who served indifferently under the banner that would pay them best. They were not exclusively made up of infantry, like the Swiss, but, besides pikemen,—lanzknechts,—they maintained a stout array of cavalry, reiters, as they were called,—"riders,"—who, together with the cuirass and other defensive armor, carried pistols, probably of rude workmanship, but which made them formidable from the weapon being little known in that day. They were, indeed, the most dreaded troops of their time. The men-at-arms, encumbered with their unwieldy lances, were drawn up in line, and required an open plain to manœuvre to advantage, being easily discomposed by obstacles; and once broken, they could hardly rally. But the reiters, each with five or six pistols in his belt, were formed into columns of considerable depth, the size of their weapons allowing them to go through all the evolutions of light cavalry, in which they were perfectly drilled. Philip's cavalry was further strengthened by a fine corps of Burgundian lances, and by a great number of nobles and cavaliers from Spain, who had come to gather laurels in the fields of France, under the eye of their young sovereign. The flower of his infantry, too, was drawn from Spain; men who, independently of the indifference to danger, and wonderful endurance, which made the Spanish soldier inferior to none of the time, were animated by that loyalty to the cause which foreign mercenaries could not feel. In addition to these, the king expected, and soon after received, a reinforcement of eight thousand English under the earl of Pembroke. They might well fight bravely on the soil where the arms of England had won two of the most memorable victories in her history.

The whole force, exclusive of the English, amounted to thirty-five thousand foot and twelve thousand horse, besides a good train of battering artillery.[191] The command of this army was given to Emanuel Philibert, prince of Piedmont,{88} better known by his title of duke of Savoy. No man had a larger stake in the contest, for he had been stripped of his dominions by the French, and his recovery of them depended on the issue of the war. He was at this time but twenty-nine years of age; but he had had large experience in military affairs, and had been intrusted by Charles the Fifth, who had early discerned his capacity, with important commands. His whole life may be said to have trained him for the profession of arms. He had no taste for effeminate pleasures, but amused himself, in seasons of leisure, with the hardy exercise of the chase. He strengthened his constitution, naturally not very robust, by living as much as possible in the open air. Even when conversing, or dictating to his secretaries, he preferred to do so walking in his garden. He was indifferent to fatigue. After hunting all day he would seem to require no rest, and in a campaign had been known, like the knights-errant of old, to eat, drink, and sleep in his armor for thirty days together.

He was temperate in his habits, eating little, and drinking water. He was punctual in attention to business, was sparing of his words, and, as one may gather from the piquant style of his letters, had a keen insight into character, looking below the surface of men's actions into their motives.[192]

His education had not been neglected. He spoke several languages fluently, and, though not a great reader, was fond of histories. He was much devoted to mathematical science, which served him in his profession, and he was reputed an excellent engineer.[193] In person the duke was of the middle size; well-made, except that he was somewhat bow-legged. His complexion was fair, his hair light, and his deportment very agreeable.

Such is the portrait of Emanuel Philibert, to whom Philip now intrusted the command of his forces, and whose pretensions he warmly supported as the suitor of Elizabeth of England. There was none more worthy of the royal maiden. But the duke was a Catholic; and Elizabeth, moreover, had seen the odium which her sister had incurred by her marriage with a foreign sovereign. Philip, who would have used some constraint in the matter, pressed it with such earnestness on the queen as proved how much importance he attached to the connection. Mary's conduct on the occasion was greatly to her credit; and, while she deprecated the displeasure of her lord, she honestly told him that she could not in conscience do violence to the inclinations of her sister.[194]

The plan of the campaign, as determined by Philip's cabinet,[195] was that the duke should immediately besiege some one of the great towns on the northern borders of Picardy, which in a manner commanded the entrance into the Netherlands. Rocroy was the first selected. But the garrison, who were well provided with ammunition, kept within their defences, and maintained so lively a cannonade on the Spaniards, that the duke, finding the siege was likely to consume more time than it was worth, broke up his camp, and resolved to march against St. Quentin. This was an old frontier town of Picardy, important in time of peace as an entrepôt for the trade that was carried on between France and the Low Countries. It formed a convenient place of deposit, at the present period, for such booty as marauding parties from time to time brought back from Flanders. It was well protected by its{89} natural situation, and the fortifications had been originally strong; but, as in many of the frontier towns, they had been of late years much neglected.

Before beginning operations against St. Quentin, the duke of Savoy, in order to throw the enemy off his guard, and prevent his introducing supplies into the town, presented himself before Guise, and made a show of laying siege to that place. After this demonstration he resumed his march, and suddenly sat down before St. Quentin, investing it with his whole army.

Meanwhile the French had been anxiously watching the movements of their adversary. Their forces were assembled on several points in Picardy and Champagne. The principal corps was under the command of the duke of Nevers, governor of the latter province, a nobleman of distinguished gallantry, and who had seen some active service. He now joined his forces to those under Montmorency, the constable of France, who occupied a central position in Picardy, and who now took the command, for which his rash and impetuous temper but indifferently qualified him. As soon as the object of the Spaniards was known, it was resolved to reinforce the garrison of St. Quentin, which otherwise, it was understood, could not hold out a week. This perilous duty was assumed by Gaspard de Coligni, admiral of France.[196] This personage, the head of an ancient and honored house, was one of the most remarkable men of his time. His name had gained a mournful celebrity in the page of history, as that of the chief martyr in the massacre of St. Bartholomew. He embraced the doctrines of Calvin, and by his austere manners and the purity of his life well illustrated the doctrines he embraced. The decent order of his household, and their scrupulous attention to the services of religion, formed a striking contrast to the licentious conduct of too many of the Catholics, who, however, were as prompt as Coligni to do battle in defence of their faith. In early life he was the gay companion of the duke of Guise.[197] But as the Calvinists, or Huguenots, were driven by persecution to an independent and even hostile position, the two friends, widely separated by opinion and by interest, were changed into mortal foes. That hour had not yet come. But the heresy that was soon to shake France to its centre was silently working under ground.

As the admiral was well instructed in military affairs, and was possessed of an intrepid spirit and great fertility of resource, he was precisely the person to undertake the difficult office of defending St. Quentin. As governor of Picardy he felt this to be his duty. Without loss of time, he put himself at the head of some ten or twelve hundred men, horse and foot, and used such despatch that he succeeded in entering the place before it had been entirely invested. He had the mortification, however, to be followed only by seven hundred of his men, the remainder having failed through fatigue, or mistaken the path.

The admiral found the place in even worse condition than he had expected. The fortifications were much dilapidated; and in many parts of the wall the masonry was of so flimsy a character, that it must have fallen before the first{90} discharge of the enemy's cannon. The town was victualled for three weeks, and the magazines were tolerably well supplied with ammunition. But there were not fifty arquebuses fit for use.

St. Quentin stands on a gentle eminence, protected on one side by marshes, or rather a morass of great extent, through which flows the river Somme, or a branch of it. On the same side of the river with St. Quentin lay the army of the besiegers, with their glittering lines extending to the very verge of the morass. A broad ditch defended the outer wall. But this ditch was commanded by the houses of the suburbs, which had already been taken possession of by the besiegers. There was, moreover, a thick plantation of trees close to the town, which would afford an effectual screen for the approach of an enemy.

One of the admiral's first acts was to cause a sortie to be made. The ditch was crossed, and some of the houses were burned to the ground. The trees on the banks were then levelled, and the approach to the town was laid open. Every preparation was made for a protracted defence. The exact quantity of provision was ascertained, and the rations were assigned for each man's daily consumption. As the supplies were inadequate to support the increased population for any length of time, Coligni ordered that all except those actively engaged in the defence of the place should leave it without delay. Many, under one pretext or another, contrived to remain, and share the fortunes of the garrison. But by this regulation he got rid of seven hundred useless persons, who, if they had staid, must have been the victims of famine; and "their dead bodies," the admiral coolly remarked, "would have bred a pestilence among the soldiers."[198]

He assigned to his men their several posts, talked boldly of maintaining himself against all the troops of Spain, and by his cheerful tone endeavored to inspire a confidence in others which he was far from feeling himself. From one of the highest towers he surveyed the surrounding country, tried to ascertain the most practicable fords in the morass, and sent intelligence to Montmorency, that, without relief, the garrison could not hold out more than a few days.[199]

That commander, soon after the admiral's departure, had marched his army to the neighborhood of St. Quentin, and established it in the towns of La Fère and Ham, together with the adjoining villages, so as to watch the movements of the Spaniards, and coöperate, as occasion served, with the besieged. He at once determined to strengthen the garrison, if possible, by a reinforcement of two thousand men under Dandelot, a younger brother of the admiral, and not inferior to him in audacity and enterprise. But the expedition miserably failed. Through the treachery or the ignorance of the guide, the party mistook the path, came on one of the enemy's outposts, and, disconcerted by the accident, were thrown into confusion, and many of them cut to pieces or drowned in the morass. Their leader, with the remainder, succeeded, under cover of the night, in making his way back to La Fère.

The constable now resolved to make another attempt, and in the open day. He proposed to send a body, under the same commander, in boats across the Somme, and to cover the embarkation in person with his whole army. His{91} force was considerably less than that of the Spaniards, amounting in all to about eighteen thousand foot and six thousand horse, besides a train of artillery consisting of sixteen guns.[200] His levies, like those of his antagonist, were largely made up of German mercenaries. The French peasantry, with the exception of the Gascons, who formed a fine body of infantry, had long since ceased to serve in war. But the chivalry of France was represented by as gallant an array of nobles and cavaliers as ever fought under the banner of the lilies.

On the ninth of August, 1557, Montmorency put his whole army in motion; and on the following morning, the memorable day of St. Lawrence, by nine o'clock, he took up a position on the bank of the Somme. On the opposite side, nearest the town, lay the Spanish force, covering the ground, as far as the eye could reach, with their white pavilions; while the banners of Spain, of Flanders, and of England, unfurled in the morning breeze, showed the various nations from which the motley host had been gathered.[201]

On the constable's right was a windmill, commanding a ford of the river which led to the Spanish quarters. The building was held by a small detachment of the enemy. Montmorency's first care was to get possession of the mill, which he did without difficulty; and, by placing a garrison there, under the prince of Condé, he secured himself from surprise in that quarter. He then profited by a rising ground to get his guns in position, so as to sweep the opposite bank, and at once opened a brisk cannonade on the enemy. The march of the French had been concealed by some intervening hills, so that, when they suddenly appeared on the farther side of the Somme, it was as if they had dropped from the clouds; and the shot which fell among the Spaniards threw them into great disorder. There was hurrying to and fro, and some of the balls striking the duke of Savoy's tent, he had barely time to escape with his armor in his hand. It was necessary to abandon his position, and he marched some three miles down the river, to the quarters occupied by the commander of the cavalry, Count Egmont.[202]

Montmorency, as much elated with this cheap success as if it had been a victory, now set himself about passing his troops across the water. It was attended with more difficulty than he had expected. There were no boats in readiness, and two hours were wasted in procuring them. After all, only four or five could be obtained, and these so small that it would be necessary to cross and recross the stream many times to effect the object. The boats, crowded with as many as they could carry, stuck fast in the marshy banks, or rather quagmire, on the opposite side; and when some of the soldiers jumped out to lighten the load, they were swallowed up and suffocated in the mud.[203] To{92} add to these distresses, they were galled by the incessant fire of a body of troops which the Spanish general had stationed on an eminence that commanded the landing.

While, owing to these causes, the transportation of the troops was going slowly on, the duke of Savoy had called a council of war, and determined that the enemy, since he had ventured so near, should not be allowed to escape without a battle. There was a practicable ford in the river, close to Count Egmont's quarters; and that officer received orders to cross it at the head of his cavalry, and amuse the enemy until the main body of the Spanish army, under the duke, should have time to come up.

Lamoral, Count Egmont, and prince of Gavre, a person who is to occupy a large space in our subsequent pages, was a Flemish noble of an ancient and illustrious lineage. He had early attracted the notice of the emperor, who had raised him to various important offices, both civil and military, in which he had acquitted himself with honor. At this time, when thirty-five years old, he held the post of lieutenant-general of the horse, and that of governor of Flanders.

Egmont was of a lofty and aspiring nature, filled with dreams of glory, and so much elated by success, that the duke of Savoy was once obliged to rebuke him, by reminding him that he was not the commander-in-chief of the army.[204] With these defects he united some excellent qualities, which not unfrequently go along with them. In his disposition he was frank and manly, and, though hasty in temper, had a warm and generous heart. He was distinguished by a chivalrous bearing, and a showy, imposing address, which took with the people, by whom his name was held dear in later times for his devotion to the cause of freedom. He was a dashing officer, prompt and intrepid, well fitted for a brilliant coup-de-main, or for an affair like the present, which required energy and despatch; and he eagerly undertook the duty assigned him.

The light horse first passed over the ford, the existence of which was known to Montmorency; and he had detached a corps of German pistoleers, of whom there was a body in the French service, to defend the passage. But the number was too small, and the Burgundian horse, followed by the infantry, advanced, in face of the fire, as coolly and in as good order as if they had been on parade.[205] The constable soon received tidings that the enemy had begun to cross; and, aware of his mistake, he reinforced his pistoleers with a squadron of horse under the duc de Nevers. It was too late; when the French commander reached the ground, the enemy had already crossed in such strength that it would have been madness to attack him. After a brief consultation with his officers, Nevers determined, by as speedy a countermarch as possible, to join the main body of the army.

The prince of Condé, as has been mentioned, occupied the mill which commanded the other ford, on the right of Montmorency. From its summit he could descry the movements of the Spaniards, and their battalions debouching on the plain, with scarcely any opposition from the French. He advised the constable of this at once, and suggested the necessity of an immediate retreat. The veteran did not relish advice from one so much younger than himself, and testily replied, "I was a soldier before the prince of Condé was born; and, by the blessing of Heaven, I trust to teach him some good lessons{93} in war for many a year to come." Nor would he quit the ground while a man of the reinforcement under Dandelot remained to cross.[206]

The cause of this fatal confidence was information he had received that the ford was too narrow to allow more than four or five persons to pass abreast, which would give him time enough to send over the troops, and then secure his own retreat to La Fère. As it turned out, unfortunately, the ford was wide enough to allow fifteen or twenty men to go abreast.

The French, meanwhile, who had crossed the river, after landing on the opposite bank, were many of them killed or disabled by the Spanish arquebusiers; others were lost in the morass; and of the whole number not more than four hundred and fifty, wet, wounded, and weary, with Dandelot at their head, succeeded in throwing themselves into St. Quentin. The constable, having seen the last boat put off, gave instant orders for retreat. The artillery was sent forward in the front, then followed the infantry, and, last of all, he brought up the rear with the horse, of which he took command in person. He endeavored to make up for the precious time he had lost by quickening his march, which, however, was retarded by the heavy guns in the van.

The duc de Nevers, as we have seen, declining to give battle to the Spaniards who had crossed the stream, had prepared to retreat on the main body of the army. On reaching the ground lately occupied by his countrymen, he found it abandoned; and joining Condé, who still held the mill, the two officers made all haste to overtake the constable.

Meanwhile, Count Egmont, as soon as he was satisfied that he was in sufficient strength to attack the enemy, gave orders to advance, without waiting for more troops to share with him the honors of victory. Crossing the field lately occupied by the constable, he took the great road to La Fère. But the rising ground which lay between him and the French prevented him from seeing the enemy until he had accomplished half a league or more. The day was now well advanced, and the Flemish captain had some fears that, notwithstanding his speed, the quarry had escaped him. But, as he turned the hill, he had the satisfaction to descry the French columns in full retreat. On their rear hung a body of sutlers and other followers of the camp, who, by the sudden apparition of the Spaniards, were thrown into a panic, which they had wellnigh communicated to the rest of the army.[207] To retreat before an enemy is in itself a confession of weakness sufficiently dispiriting to the soldier. Montmorency, roused by the tumult, saw the dark cloud gathering along the heights, and knew that it must soon burst on him. In this emergency, he asked counsel of an old officer near him as to what he should do. "Had you asked me," replied the other, "two hours since, I could have told you; it is now too late."[208] It was indeed too late, and there was nothing to be done but to face about and fight the Spaniards. The constable, accordingly, gave the word to halt, and made dispositions to receive his assailants.{94}

Egmont, seeing him thus prepared, formed his own squadron into three divisions. One, which was to turn the left flank of the French, he gave to the prince of Brunswick and to Count Hoorne,—a name afterwards associated with his own on a sadder occasion than the present. Another, composed chiefly of Germans, he placed under Count Mansfeldt, with orders to assail the centre. He himself, at the head of his Burgundian lances, rode on the left against Montmorency's right flank. Orders were then given to charge, and, spurring forward their horses, the whole column came thundering on against the enemy. The French met the shock like well-trained soldiers, as they were; but the cavalry fell on them with the fury of a torrent sweeping everything before it, and for a few moments it seemed as if all were lost. But the French chivalry was true to its honor, and, at the call of Montmorency, who gallantly threw himself into the thick of the fight, it rallied, and, returning the charge, compelled the assailants to give way in their turn. The struggle, now continued on more equal terms, grew desperate; man against man, horse against horse,—it seemed to be a contest of personal prowess, rather than of tactics or military science. So well were the two parties matched, that for a long time the issue was doubtful; and the Spaniards might not have prevailed in the end, but for the arrival of reinforcements, both foot and heavy cavalry, who came up to their support. Unable to withstand this accumulated force, the French cavaliers, overpowered by numbers, not by superior valor, began to give ground. Hard pressed by Egmont, who cheered on his men to renewed efforts, their ranks were at length broken. The retreat became a flight; and, scattered over the field in all directions, they were hotly pursued by their adversaries, especially the German schwarzreiters,—those riders "black as devils,"[209]—who did such execution with their fire-arms as completed the discomfiture of the French.

Amidst this confusion, the Gascons, the flower of the French infantry, behaved with admirable coolness.[210] Throwing themselves into squares, with the pikemen armed with their long pikes in front, and the arquebusiers in the centre, they presented an impenetrable array, against which the tide of battle raged and chafed in impotent fury. It was in vain that the Spanish horse rode round the solid masses bristling with steel, if possible, to force an entrance, while an occasional shot, striking a trooper from his saddle, warned them not to approach too near.

It was in this state of things that the duke of Savoy, with the remainder of the troops, including the artillery, came on the field of action. His arrival could not have been more seasonable. The heavy guns were speedily turned on the French squares, whose dense array presented an obvious mark to the Spanish bullets. Their firm ranks were rent asunder; and, as the brave men tried in vain to close over the bodies of their dying comrades, the horse took advantage of the openings to plunge into the midst of the phalanx. Here the long spears of the pikemen were of no avail, and, striking right and left, the cavaliers dealt death on every side. All now was confusion and irretrievable ruin. No one thought of fighting, or even of self-defence. The only thought was of flight. Men overturned one another in their eagerness to escape. They were soon mingled with the routed cavalry, who rode down their own countrymen. Horses ran about the field without riders. Many of the soldiers threw away their arms, to fly the more quickly. All strove to escape from the terrible pursuit which hung on their rear. The artillery and ammunition{95}-wagons choked up the road, and obstructed the flight of the fugitives. The slaughter was dreadful. The best blood of France flowed like water.

Yet mercy was shown to those who asked it. Hundreds and thousands threw down their arms, and obtained quarter. Nevers, according to some accounts, covered the right flank of the French army. Others state that he was separated from it by a ravine or valley. At all events, he fared no better than his leader. He was speedily enveloped by the cavalry of Hoorne and Brunswick, and his fine corps of light horse cut to pieces. He himself, with the prince of Condé, was so fortunate as to make his escape, with the remnant of his forces, to La Fère.

Had the Spaniards followed up the pursuit, few Frenchmen might have been left that day to tell the story of the rout of St. Quentin. But the fight had already lasted four hours; evening was setting in; and the victors, spent with toil and sated with carnage, were content to take up their quarters on the field of battle.

The French, in the mean time, made their way, one after another, to La Fère, and, huddling together in the public squares, or in the quarters they had before occupied, remained like a herd of panic-struck deer, in whose ears the sounds of the chase are still ringing. But the loyal cavaliers threw off their panic, and recovered heart, when a rumor reached them that their commander, Montmorency, was still making head, with a body of stout followers, against the enemy. At the tidings, faint and bleeding as they were, they sprang to the saddles which they had just quitted, and were ready again to take the field.[211]

But the rumor was without foundation. Montmorency was a prisoner in the hands of the Spaniards. The veteran had exposed his own life throughout the action, as if willing to show that he would not shrink in any degree from the peril into which he had brought his followers. When he saw that the day was lost, he threw himself into the hottest of the battle, holding life cheap in comparison with honor. A shot from the pistol of a schwarzreiter, fracturing his thigh, disabled him from further resistance; and he fell into the hands of the Spaniards, who treated him with the respect due to his rank. The number of prisoners was very large,—according to some accounts, six thousand, of whom six hundred were said to be gentlemen and persons of condition. The number of the slain is stated, as usual, with great discrepancy, varying from three to six thousand. A much larger proportion of them than usual were men of family. Many a noble house in France went into mourning for that day. Among those who fell was Jean de Bourbon, count d'Enghien, a prince of the blood. Mortally wounded, he was carried to the tent of the duke of Savoy, where he soon after expired, and his body was sent to his countrymen at La Fère for honorable burial. To balance this bloody roll, no account states the loss of the Spaniards at over a thousand men.[212]

More than eighty standards, including those of the cavalry, fell into the{96} hands of the victors, together with all the artillery, ammunition-wagons, and baggage of the enemy. France had not experienced such a defeat since the battle of Agincourt.[213]

King Philip had left Brussels, and removed his quarters to Cambray, that he might be near the duke of Savoy, with whom he kept up daily communication throughout the siege. Immediately after the battle, on the eleventh of August, he visited the camp in person. At the same time, he wrote to his father, expressing his regret that he had not been there to share the glory of the day.[214] The emperor seems to have heartily shared this regret.[215] It is quite certain, if Charles had had the direction of affairs, he would not have been absent. But Philip had not the bold, adventurous spirit of his father. His talent lay rather in meditation than in action; and his calm, deliberate forecast better fitted him for the council than the camp. In enforcing levies, in raising supplies, in superintending the organization of the army, he was indefatigable. The plan of the campaign was determined under his own eye; and he was most sagacious in the selection of his agents. But to those agents he prudently left the conduct of the war, for which he had no taste, perhaps no capacity, himself. He did not, like his rival, Henry the Second, fancy himself a great captain because he could carry away the prizes of a tourney.

Philip was escorted to the camp by his household troops. He appeared on this occasion armed cap-à-pie,—a thing by no means common with him. It seems to have pleased his fancy to be painted in military costume. At least, there are several portraits of him in complete mail,—one from the pencil of Titian. A picture taken at the present time was sent by him to Queen Mary, who, in this age of chivalry, may have felt some pride in seeing her lord in the panoply of war.

On the king's arrival at the camp, he was received with all the honors of a victor; with flourishes of trumpets, salvos of artillery, and the loud shouts of the soldiery. The duke of Savoy laid at his feet the banners and other trophies of the fight, and, kneeling down, would have kissed Philip's hand; but the king, raising him from the ground, and embracing him as he did so, said that the acknowledgments were due from himself to the general who had won him such a victory. At the same time, he paid a well-deserved compliment to the brilliant part which Egmont and his brave companions had borne in the battle.[216]

The first thing to be done was to dispose of the prisoners, whose number embarrassed the conquerors. Philip dismissed all those of the common file, on the condition that they should not bear arms for six months against the Spaniards. The condition did no great detriment to the French service, as the men, on their return, were sent to garrison some distant towns, and their{97} places in the army filled by the troops whom they had relieved. The cavaliers and persons of condition were lodged in fortresses, where they could be securely detained till the amount of their respective ransoms was determined. These ransoms formed an important part of the booty of the conqueror. How important, may be inferred from the sum offered by the constable on his own account and that of his son,—no less, it is said, than a hundred and sixty-five thousand gold crowns.[217] The soldier of that day, when the penalty was loss of fortune as well as of freedom, must be confessed to have fought on harder conditions than at present.

A council of war was next called, to decide on further operations. When Charles the Fifth received tidings of the victory of St. Quentin, the first thing he asked, as we are told, was "whether Philip were at Paris."[218] Had Charles been in command, he would doubtless have followed up the blow by presenting himself at once before the French capital. But Philip was not of that sanguine temper which overlooks, or at least overleaps, the obstacles in its way. Charles calculated the chances of success; Philip, those of failure. Charles's character opened the way to more brilliant achievements, but exposed him also to severer reverses. His enterprising spirit was more favorable to building up a great empire; the cautious temper of Philip was better fitted to preserve it. Philip came in the right time; and his circumspect policy was probably better suited to his position, as well as to his character, than the bolder policy of the emperor.

When the duke of Savoy urged, as it is said, the expediency of profiting by the present panic to march at once on the French capital, Philip looked at the dangers of such a step. Several strong fortresses of the enemy would be left in his rear. Rivers must be crossed, presenting lines of defence which could easily be maintained against a force even superior to his own. Paris was covered by formidable works, and forty thousand citizens could be enrolled, at the shortest notice, for its protection. It was not wise to urge the foe to extremity, to force a brave and loyal people, like the French, to rise en masse, as they would do for the defence of their capital. The emperor, his father, had once invaded France with a powerful army, and laid siege to Marseilles. The issue of that invasion was known to everybody. "The Spaniards," it was tauntingly said, "had come into the country feasting on turkeys; they were glad to escape from it feeding on roots!"[219] Philip determined, therefore, to abide by his original plan of operations, and profit by the late success of his arms to press the siege of St. Quentin with his whole force.—It would not be easy for any one, at this distance of time, to pronounce on the wisdom of his decision. But subsequent events tend considerably to strengthen our confidence in it.

Preparations were now made to push the siege with vigor. Besides the cannon already in the camp, and those taken in the battle, a good number of{98} pieces were brought from Cambray to strengthen the battering-train of the besiegers. The river was crossed; and the Faubourg d'Ile was carried by the duke, after a stout resistance on the part of the French, who burned the houses in their retreat. The Spanish commander availed himself of his advantage to establish batteries close to the town, which kept up an incessant cannonade, that shook the old walls and towers to their foundation. The miners also carried on their operations, and galleries were excavated almost to the centre of the place.

The condition of the besieged, in the mean time, was forlorn in the extreme; not so much from want of food, though their supplies were scanty, as from excessive toil and exposure. Then it was that Coligni displayed all the strength of his character. He felt the importance of holding out as long as possible, that the nation might have time to breathe, as it were, and recover from the late disaster. He endeavored to infuse his own spirit into the hearts of his soldiers, toiling with the meanest of them, and sharing all their privations. He cheered the desponding, by assuring them of speedy relief from their countrymen. Some he complimented for their bravery; others he flattered by asking their advice. He talked loudly of the resources at his command. If any should hear him so much as hint at a surrender, he gave them leave to tie him hand and foot, and throw him into the moat. If he should hear one of them talk of it, the admiral promised to do as much by him.[220]

The duc de Nevers, who had established himself, with the wreck of the French army and such additional levies as he could muster, in the neighborhood of St. Quentin, contrived to communicate with the admiral. On one occasion he succeeded in throwing a reinforcement of a hundred and twenty arquebusiers into the town, though it cost him thrice that number, cut to pieces by the Spaniards in the attempt. Still the number of the garrison was altogether inadequate to the duties imposed on it. With scanty refreshment, almost without repose, watching and fighting by turns, the day passed in defending the breaches which the night was not long enough to repair. No frame could be strong enough to endure it.

Coligni had, fortunately, the services of a skilful engineer, named St. Rémy, who aided him in repairing the injuries inflicted on the works by the artillery, and by the scarcely less destructive mines of the Spaniards. In the want of solid masonry, every material was resorted to for covering up the breaches. Timbers were thrown across; and boats filled with earth, laid on the broken rampart, afforded a good bulwark for the French musketeers. But the time was come when neither the skill of the engineer nor the courage of the garrison could further avail. Eleven practicable breaches had been opened, and St. Rémy assured the admiral that he could not engage to hold out four-and-twenty hours longer.[221]

The duke of Savoy also saw that the time had come to bring the siege to a close by a general assault. The twenty-seventh of August was the day assigned for it. On that preceding he fired three mines, which shook down some fragments of the wall, but did less execution than was expected. On the morning of the twenty-seventh, his whole force was under arms. The duke divided it into as many corps as there were breaches, placing these{99} corps under his best and bravest officers. He proposed to direct the assault in person.

Coligni made his preparations also with consummate coolness. He posted a body of troops at each of the breaches, while he and his brother Dandelot took charge of the two which, still more exposed than the others, might be considered as the post of danger. He had the satisfaction to find, in this hour of trial, that the men, as well as their officers, seemed to be animated with his own heroic spirit.

Before proceeding to storm the place, the duke of Savoy opened a brisk cannonade, in order to clear away the barricades of timber, and other temporary defences, which had been thrown across the breaches. The fire continued for several hours, and it was not till afternoon that the signal was given for the assault. The troops rushed forward,—Spaniards, Flemings, English, and Germans,—spurred on by feelings of national rivalry. A body of eight thousand brave Englishmen had joined the standard of Philip in the early part of the campaign;[222] and they now eagerly coveted the opportunity for distinction which had been denied them at the battle of St. Quentin, where the fortune of the day was chiefly decided by cavalry. But no troops felt so keen a spur to their achievements as the Spaniards, fighting as they were under the eye of their sovereign, who from a neighboring eminence was spectator of the combat.

The obstacles were not formidable in the path of the assailants, who soon clambered over the fragments of masonry and other rubbish which lay scattered below the ramparts, and, in the face of a steady fire of musketry, presented themselves before the breaches. The brave men stationed to defend them were in sufficient strength to occupy the open spaces; their elevated position gave them some advantage over the assailants, and they stood to their posts with the resolution of men prepared to die rather than surrender. A fierce conflict now ensued along the whole extent of the ramparts; and the French, sustained by a dauntless spirit, bore themselves as stoutly in the fight as if they had been in training for it of late, instead of being enfeebled by scanty subsistence and excessive toil. After a severe struggle, which lasted nearly an hour, the Spaniards were driven back at all points. Not a breach was won; and, broken and dispirited, the assailants were compelled to retire on their former position.

After this mortifying repulse, the duke did not give them a long time to breathe, before he again renewed the assault. This time he directed the main attack against a tower where the resistance had been weakest. In fact, Coligni had there placed the troops on whom he had least reliance, trusting to the greater strength of the works. But a strong heart is worth all the defences in the world. After a sharp but short struggle, the assailants succeeded in carrying the tower. The faint-hearted troops gave way; and the Spaniards, throwing themselves on the rampart, remained masters of one of the breaches. A footing once gained, the assailants poured impetuously into the opening, Spaniards, Germans, and English streaming like a torrent along the ramparts, and attacking the defenders on their flank. Coligni, meanwhile, and his brother Dandelot, had rushed, with a few followers, to the spot, in the hope, if possible, to arrest the impending ruin. But they were badly supported. Overwhelmed by numbers, they were trodden down, disarmed, and made prisoners. Still the garrison, at the remaining breaches, continued to make a desperate stand. But, with one corps pressing them on flank, and another in front, they were speedily cut to pieces, or disabled and{100} taken. In half an hour resistance had ceased along the ramparts. The town was in possession of the Spaniards.[223]

A scene of riot and wild uproar followed, such as made the late conflict seem tame in comparison. The victorious troops spread over the town in quest of plunder, perpetrating those deeds of ruthless violence, usual, even in this enlightened age, in a city taken by storm. The wretched inhabitants fled before them; the old and the helpless, the women and children, taking refuge in garrets, cellars, and any other corner where they could hide themselves from their pursuers. Nothing was to be heard but the groans of the wounded and the dying, the cries of women and children,—"so pitiful," says one present, "that they would grieve any Christian heart,"[224]—mingled, with the shouts of the victors, who, intoxicated with liquor, and loaded with booty, now madly set fire to several of the buildings, which soon added the dangers of conflagration to the other horrors of the scene. In a short time, the town would have been reduced to ashes, and the place which Philip had won at so much cost would have been lost to him by the excesses of his own soldiers.

The king had now entered the city in person. He had never been present at the storming of a place, and the dreadful spectacle which he witnessed touched his heart. Measures were instantly taken to extinguish the flames, and orders were issued that no one, under pain of death, should offer any violence to the old and infirm, to the women and children, to the ministers of religion, to religious edifices, or, above all, to the relics of the blessed St. Quentin. Several hundred of the poor people, it is said, presented themselves before Philip, and claimed his protection. By his command they were conducted, under a strong escort, to a place of safety.[225]

It was not possible, however, to prevent the pillage of the town. It would have been as easy to snatch the carcass from the tiger that was rending it. The pillage of a place taken by storm was regarded as the perquisite of the soldier, on which he counted as regularly as on his pay. Those who distinguished themselves most, in this ruthless work, were the German mercenaries. Their brutal rapacity filled even their confederates with indignation. The latter seem to have been particularly disgusted with the unscrupulous manner in which the schwarzreiters appropriated not only their own share of the plunder, but that of both English and Spaniards.[226]{101}

Thus fell the ancient town of St. Quentin, after a defence which reflects equal honor on the courage of the garrison, and on the conduct of their commander. With its fortifications wretchedly out of repair, its supplies of arms altogether inadequate, the number of its garrison at no time exceeding a thousand, it still held out for near a month against a powerful army, fighting under the eyes of its sovereign, and led by one of the best captains of Europe.[227]

Philip, having taken measures to restore the fortifications of St. Quentin, placed it under the protection of a Spanish garrison, and marched against the neighboring town of Catelet. It was a strong place, but its defenders, unlike their valiant countrymen at St. Quentin, after a brief show of resistance, capitulated on the sixth of September. This was followed by the surrender of Ham, once renowned through Picardy for the strength of its defences. Philip then led his victorious battalions against Noyon and Chaulny, which last town was sacked by the soldiers. The French were filled with consternation, as one strong place after another, on the frontier, fell into the hands of an enemy who seemed as if he were planting his foot permanently on their soil. That Philip did not profit by his success to push his conquests still further, is to be attributed not to remissness on his part, but to the conduct, or rather the composition, of his army, made up, as it was, of troops, who, selling their swords to the highest bidder, cared little for the banner under which they fought. Drawn from different countries, the soldiers, gathered into one camp, soon showed all their national rivalries and animosities. The English quarrelled with the Germans, and neither could brook the insolent bearing of the Spaniards. The Germans complained that their arrears were not paid,—a complaint probably well founded, as, notwithstanding his large resources, Philip, on an emergency, found the difficulty in raising funds, which every prince in that day felt, when there was no such thing known as a well-arranged system of taxation. Tempted by the superior offers of Henry the Second, the schwarzreiters left the standard of Philip in great numbers, to join that of his rival.

The English were equally discontented. They had brought from home the aversion for the Spaniards which had been festering there since the queen's marriage. The sturdy islanders were not at all pleased with serving under Philip. They were fighting, not the battles of England, they said, but of Spain. Every new conquest was adding to the power of a monarch far too powerful already. They had done enough, and insisted on being allowed to return to their own country. The king, who dreaded nothing so much as a rupture between his English and his Spanish subjects, to which he saw the state of things rapidly tending, was fain to consent.

By this departure of the English force, and the secession of the Germans, Philip's strength was so much impaired, that he was in no condition to make conquests, hardly to keep the field. The season was now far advanced, for{102} it was the end of October. Having, therefore, garrisoned the conquered places, and put them in the best posture of defence, he removed his camp to Brussels, and soon after put his army into winter-quarters.[228]

Thus ended the first campaign of Philip the Second; the first, and, with the exception of the following, the only campaign in which he was personally present. It had been eminently successful. Besides the important places which he had gained on the frontier of Picardy, he had won a signal victory in the field.

But the campaign was not so memorable for military results as in a moral view. It showed the nations of Europe that the Spanish sceptre had passed into the hands of a prince who was as watchful as his predecessor had been over the interests of the state; and who, if he were not so actively ambitious as Charles the Fifth, would be as little likely to brook any insult from his neighbors. The victory of St. Quentin, occurring at the commencement of his reign, reminded men of the victory won at Pavia by his father, at a similar period of his career, and, like that, furnished a brilliant augury for the future. Philip, little given to any visible expression of his feelings, testified his joy at the success of his arms, by afterwards raising the magnificent pile of the Escorial, in honor of the blessed martyr St. Lawrence, on whose day the battle was fought, and to whose interposition with Heaven he attributed the victory.

CHAPTER VIII.

Extraordinary Efforts of France.—Calais surprised by Guise.—The French invade Flanders.—Bloody Battle of Gravelines.—Negotiations for Peace.—Mary's Death.—Accession of Elizabeth.—Treaty of Cateau-Cambresis.

The state of affairs in France justified Philip's conclusions in respect to the loyalty of the people. No sooner did Henry the Second receive tidings of the fatal battle of St. Quentin, than he despatched couriers in all directions, summoning his chivalry to gather round his banner, and calling on the towns for aid in his extremity. The nobles and cavaliers promptly responded to the call, flocking in with their retainers; and not only the large towns, but those of inferior size, cheerfully submitted to be heavily taxed for the public service. Paris nobly set the example. She did not exhaust her zeal in processions of the clergy, headed by the queen and the royal family, carrying with them relics from the different churches. All the citizens capable of bearing arms enrolled themselves for the defence of the capital; and large appropriations were made for strengthening Montmartre, and for defraying the expenses of the war.[229]

With these and other resources at his command, Henry was speedily enabled to subsidize a large body of Swiss and German mercenaries. The native troops serving abroad were ordered home. The veteran Marshal{103} Termes came, with a large corps, from Tuscany, and the duke of Guise returned, with the remnant of his battalions, from Rome. This popular commander was welcomed with enthusiasm. The nation seemed to look to him as to the deliverer of the country. His late campaign in the kingdom of Naples was celebrated as if it had been a brilliant career of victory. He was made lieutenant-general of the army, and the oldest captains were proud to take service under so renowned a chief.

The government was not slow to profit by the extraordinary resources thus placed at its disposal. Though in the depth of winter, it was resolved to undertake some enterprise that should retrieve the disasters of the late campaign, and raise the drooping spirits of the nation. The object proposed was the recovery of Calais, that strong place, which for more than two centuries had remained in possession of the English.

The French had ever been keenly sensible to the indignity of an enemy thus planting his foot immovably, as it were, on their soil. They had looked to the recovery of Calais with the same feelings with which the Spanish Moslems, when driven into Africa, looked to the recovery of their ancient possessions in Granada. They showed how constantly this was in their thoughts, by a common saying respecting any commander whom they held lightly, that he was "not a man to drive the English out of France."[230] The feelings they entertained, however, were rather those of desire than of expectation. The place was so strong, so well garrisoned, and so accessible to the English, that it seemed impregnable. These same circumstances, and the long possession of the place, had inspired the English, on the other hand, with no less confidence, as was pretty well intimated by an inscription on the bronze gates of the town,—"When the French besiege Calais, lead and iron will swim like cork."[231] This confidence, as it often happens, proved their ruin.

The bishop of Acqs, the French envoy to England, on returning home, a short time before this, had passed through Calais, and gave a strange report of the decay of the works, and the small number of the garrison, in short, of the defenceless condition of the place. Guise, however, as cautious as he was brave, was unwilling to undertake so hazardous an enterprise without more precise information. When satisfied of the fact, he entered on the project with his characteristic ardor. The plan adopted was said to have been originally suggested by Coligni. In order to deceive the enemy, the duke sent the largest division of the army, under Nevers, in the direction of Luxemburg. He then marched with the remainder into Picardy, as if to menace one of the places conquered by the Spaniards. Soon afterwards the two corps united, and Guise, at the head of his whole force, by a rapid march, presented himself before the walls of Calais.

The town was defended by a strong citadel, and by two forts. One of these, commanding the approach by water, the duke stormed and captured on the second of January, 1558. The other, which overlooked the land, he carried on the following day. Possessed of these two forts, he felt secure from any annoyance by the enemy, either by land or by water. He then turned his powerful battering-train against the citadel, keeping up a furious cannonade by day and by night. On the fifth, as soon as a breach was opened, the{104} victorious troops poured in, and, overpowering the garrison, planted the French colors on the walls. The earl of Wentworth, who commanded in Calais, unable, with his scanty garrison, to maintain the place now that the defences were in the hands of the enemy, capitulated on the eighth. The fall of Calais was succeeded by that of Guisnes and of Hames. Thus, in a few days the English were stripped of every rood of the territory which they had held in France since the time of Edward the Third.

The fall of Calais caused the deepest sensation on both sides of the Channel. The English, astounded by the event, loudly inveighed against the treachery of the commander. They should rather have blamed the treachery of their own government, who had so grossly neglected to provide for the defence of the place. Philip, suspecting the designs of the French, had intimated his suspicions to the English government, and had offered to strengthen the garrison by a reinforcement of his own troops. But his allies, perhaps distrusting his motives, despised his counsel, or at least failed to profit by it.[232] After the place was taken, he made another offer to send a strong force to recover it, provided the English would support him with a sufficient fleet. This also, perhaps from the same feeling of distrust, though on the plea of inability to meet the expense, was declined, and the opportunity for the recovery of Calais was lost for ever.[233]

Yet, in truth, it was no great loss to the nation. Like more than one, probably, of the colonial possessions of England at the present day, Calais cost every year more than it was worth. Its chief value was the facility it afforded for the invasion of France. Yet such a facility for war with their neighbors, always too popular with the English before the time of Philip the Second, was of questionable value. The real injury from the loss of Calais was the wound which it inflicted on the national honor.

The exultation of the French was boundless. It could not well have been greater, if the duke of Guise had crossed the Channel and taken London itself. The brilliant and rapid manner in which the exploit had been performed, the gallantry with which the young general had exposed his own person in the assault, the generosity with which he had divided his share of the booty among the soldiers, all struck the lively imagination of the French; and he became more than ever the idol of the people.

Yet, during the remainder of the campaign, his arms were not crowned with such distinguished success. In May he marched against the strong town of Thionville, in Luxemburg. After a siege of twenty days, the place surrendered. Having taken one or two other towns of less importance, the French army wasted nearly three weeks in a state of inaction, unless, indeed, we take into account the activity caused by intestine troubles of the army itself. It is difficult to criticize fairly the conduct of a commander of that age, when his levies were made up so largely of foreign mercenaries, who felt so little attachment to the service in which they were engaged, that they were ready to quarrel with it on the slightest occasion. Among these the German schwarzreiters were the most conspicuous, manifesting too often a degree of insolence and insubordination that made them hardly less dangerous as friends than as enemies. The importance they attached to their own services made them exorbitant in their demands of pay. When this, as was too frequently the case, was in arrears, they took the matter into their own hands, by pillaging the friendly country in which they were quartered, or by breaking out into open mutiny. A German baron, on one occasion, went so far as to level his pistol at the head of the duke of Guise. So widely did this{105} mutinous spirit extend, that it was only by singular coolness and address that this popular chieftain could bring these adventurers into anything like subjection to his authority. As it was, the loss of time caused by these troubles was attended with most disastrous consequences.

The duke had left Calais garrisoned by a strong force, under Marshal Termes. He had since ordered that veteran to take command of a body of fifteen hundred horse and five thousand foot, drawn partly from the garrison itself, and to march into West Flanders. Guise proposed to join him there with his own troops, when they would furnish such occupation to the Spaniards as would effectually prevent them from a second invasion of Picardy.

The plan was well designed, and the marshal faithfully executed his part of it. Taking the road by St. Omer, he entered Flanders in the neighborhood of Dunkirk, laid siege to that flourishing town, stormed and gave it up to pillage. He then penetrated as far as Nieuport, when the fatigue and the great heat of the weather brought on an attack of gout, which entirely disabled him. The officer on whom the command devolved allowed the men to spread themselves over the country, where they perpetrated such acts of rapacity and violence as were not sanctioned even by the code of that unscrupulous age. The wretched inhabitants, driven from their homes, called loudly on Count Egmont, their governor, to protect them. The duke of Savoy lay with his army, at this time, at Maubeuge, in the province of Namur; but he sent orders to Egmont to muster such forces as he could raise in the neighboring country, and to intercept the retreat of the French, until the duke could come to his support and chastise the enemy.

Egmont, indignant at the wrongs of his countrymen, and burning with the desire of revenge, showed the greatest alacrity in obeying these orders. Volunteers came in from all sides, and he soon found himself at the head of an army consisting of ten or twelve thousand foot and two thousand horse. With these he crossed the borders at once, and sent forward a detachment to occupy the great road by which De Termes had penetrated into Flanders.

The French commander, advised too late of these movements, saw that it was necessary to abandon at once his present quarters, and secure, if possible, his retreat. Guise was at a distance, occupied with the troubles of his own camp. The Flemings had possession of the route by which the marshal had entered the country. One other lay open to him along the sea-shore, in the neighborhood of Gravelines, where the Aa pours its waters into the ocean. By taking advantage of the ebb, the river might be forded, and a direct road to Calais would be presented.

Termes saw that no time was to be lost. He caused himself to be removed from his sick-bed to a litter, and began his retreat at once. On leaving Dunkirk, he fired the town, where the houses were all that remained to the wretched inhabitants of their property. His march was impeded by his artillery, by his baggage, and especially by the booty which he was conveying back from the plundered provinces. He however succeeded in crossing the Aa at low water, and gained the sands on the opposite side. But the enemy was there before him.[234]

Egmont, on getting tidings of the marshal's movements, had crossed the river higher up, where the stream was narrower. Disencumbering himself of artillery, and even of baggage, in order to move the lighter, he made a rapid{106} march to the sea-side, and reached it in time to intercept the enemy. There was no choice left for Termes but to fight his way through the Spaniards or surrender.

Ill as he was, the marshal mounted his horse, and addressed a few words to his troops. Pointing in the direction of the blazing ruins of Dunkirk, he told them that they could not return there. Then turning towards Calais, "There is your home," he said, "and you must beat the enemy before you can gain it." He determined, however, not to begin the action, but to secure his position as strongly as he could, and wait the assault of the Spaniards.

He placed his infantry in the centre, and flanked it on either side by his cavalry. In the front he established his artillery, consisting of six or seven falconets,—field-pieces of smaller size. He threw a considerable body of Gascon pikemen in the rear, to act as a reserve wherever their presence should be required. The river Aa, which flowed behind his troops, formed also a good protection in that quarter. His left wing he covered by a barricade made of the baggage and artillery wagons. His right, which rested on the ocean, seemed secure from any annoyance on that side.

Count Egmont, seeing the French thus preparing to give battle, quickly made his own dispositions. He formed his cavalry into three divisions. The centre he proposed to lead in person. It was made up chiefly of the heavy men-at-arms and some Flemish horse. On the right he placed his light cavalry, and on the left wing rode the Spanish. His infantry he drew up in such a manner as to support the several divisions of horse. Having completed his arrangements, he gave orders to the centre and the right wing to charge, and rode at full gallop against the enemy.

Though somewhat annoyed by the heavy guns in their advance, the battalions came on in good order, and fell with such fury on the French left and centre, that horse and foot were borne down by the violence of the shock. But the French gentlemen who formed the cavalry were of the same high mettle as those who fought at St. Quentin. Though borne down for a moment, they were not overpowered; and, after a desperate struggle, they succeeded in rallying and in driving back the assailants. Egmont returned to the charge, but was forced back with greater loss than before. The French, following up their advantage, compelled the assailants to retreat on their own lines. The guns, at the same time, opening on the exposed flank of the retreating troopers, did them considerable mischief. Egmont's horse was killed under him, and he had nearly been run over by his own followers. In the mean while, the Gascon reserve, armed with their long spears, pushed on to the support of the cavalry, and filled the air with their shouts of "Victory!"[235]

The field seemed to be already lost; when the left wing of Spanish horse, which had not yet come into action, seeing the disorderly state of the French, as they were pressing on, charged them briskly on the flank. This had the effect to check the tide of pursuit, and give the fugitives time to rally. Egmont, meanwhile, was mounted on a fresh horse, and, throwing himself into the midst of his followers, endeavored to reanimate their courage and reform their disordered ranks. Then, cheering them on by his voice and example, he cried out, "We are conquerors! Those who love glory and their fatherland, follow me!"[236] and spurred furiously against the enemy.

The French, hard pressed both on front and on flank, fell back in their turn, and continued to retreat till they had gained their former position. At the{107} same time, the lanzknechts in Egmont's service, marched up, in defiance of the fire of the artillery, and got possession of the guns, running the men who had charge of them through with their lances.[237] The fight now became general; and, as the combatants were brought into close quarters, they fought as men fight where numbers are nearly balanced, and each one seems to feel that his own arm may turn the scale of victory. The result was brought about by an event which neither party could control, and neither have foreseen.

An English squadron of ten or twelve vessels lay at some distance, but out of sight of the combatants. Attracted by the noise of the firing, its commander drew near the scene of action, and, ranging along shore, opened his fire on the right wing of the French, nearest the sea.[238] The shot, probably, from the distance of the ships, did no great execution, and is even said to have killed some of the Spaniards. But it spread a panic among the French, as they found themselves assailed by a new enemy, who seemed to have risen from the depths of the ocean. In their eagerness to extricate themselves from the fire, the cavalry on the right threw themselves on the centre, trampling down their own comrades, until all discipline was lost, and horse and foot became mingled together in wild disorder. Egmont profited by the opportunity to renew his charge; and at length, completely broken and dispirited, the enemy gave way in all directions. The stout body of Gascons who formed the reserve alone held their ground for a time, until, vigorously charged by the phalanx of Spanish spearmen, they broke, and were scattered like the rest.

The rout was now general, and the victorious cavalry rode over the field, trampling and cutting down the fugitives on all sides. Many who did not fall under their swords perished in the waters of the Aa, now swollen by the rising tide. Others were drowned in the ocean. No less than fifteen hundred of those who escaped from the field are said to have been killed by the peasantry, who occupied the passes, and thus took bloody revenge for the injuries inflicted on their country.[239] Two thousand French are stated to have fallen on the field, and not more than five hundred Spaniards, or rather Flemings, who composed the bulk of the army. The loss fell most severely on the French cavalry; severely indeed, if, according to some accounts, not very credible, they were cut to pieces almost to a man.[240] The number of prisoners was three thousand. Among them was Marshal Termes himself, who had been disabled by a wound in the head. All the baggage, the ammunition, and the rich spoil gleaned by the foray into Flanders, became the prize of the victors.—Although not so important for the amount of forces engaged, the victory of Gravelines was as complete as that of St. Quentin.[241]{108}

Yet the French, who had a powerful army on foot, were in better condition to meet their reverses than on that day. The duke of Guise, on receiving the tidings, instantly marched with his whole force, and posted himself strongly behind the Somme, in order to cover Picardy from invasion. The duke of Savoy, uniting his forces with those of Count Egmont, took up a position along the line of the Authie, and made demonstrations of laying siege to Dourlens. The French and Spanish monarchs both took the field. So well appointed and large a force as that led by Henry had not been seen in France for many a year; yet that monarch might justly be mortified by the reflection that the greater part of this force was made up of foreign mercenaries, amounting, it is said, to forty thousand. Philip was in equal strength, and the length of the war had enabled him to assemble his best captains around him. Among them was Alva, whose cautious councils might serve to temper the bolder enterprise of the duke of Savoy.

A level ground, four leagues in breadth, lay between the armies. Skirmishes took place occasionally between the light troops on either side, and a general engagement might be brought on at any moment. All eyes were turned to the battle-field, where the two greatest princes of Europe might so soon contend for mastery with each other. Had the fathers of these princes, Charles the Fifth and Francis the First, been in the field, such very probably would have been the issue. But Philip was not disposed to risk the certain advantages he had already gained by a final appeal to arms. And Henry was still less inclined to peril all—his capital, perhaps his crown—on the hazard of a single cast.

There were many circumstances which tended to make both monarchs prefer a more peaceful arbitrament of their quarrel, and to disgust them with the war. Among these was the ruinous state of their finances.[242] When Ruy Gomez de Silva, as has been already stated, was sent to Spain by Philip, he was commanded to avail himself of every expedient that could be devised to raise money. Offices were put up for sale to the highest bidder. The public revenues were mortgaged. Large sums were obtained from merchants at exorbitant rates of interest. Forced loans were exacted from individuals, especially from such as were known to have received large returns by the late arrivals from the New World. Three hundred thousand ducats were raised on the security of the coming fair at Villalon. The Regent Joanna was persuaded to sell her yearly pension, assigned her on the alcavala, for a downright sum{109} to meet the exigencies of the state. Goods were obtained from the king of Portugal, in order to be sent to Flanders for the profit to be raised on the sale.[243] Such were the wretched devices by which Philip, who inherited this policy of temporizing expedients from his father, endeavored to replenish his exhausted treasury. Besides the sums drawn from Castile, the king obtained also no less than a million and a half of ducats, as an extraordinary grant from the states of the Netherlands.[244] Yet these sums, large as they were, were soon absorbed by the expense of keeping armies on foot in France and in Italy. Philip's correspondence with his ministers teems with representations of the low state of his finances, of the arrears due to his troops, and the necessity of immediate supplies to save him from bankruptcy. The prospects the ministers hold out to him in return are anything but encouraging.[245]

Another circumstance which made both princes desire the termination of the war was the disturbed state of their own kingdoms. The Protestant heresy had already begun to rear its formidable crest in the Netherlands; and the Huguenots were beginning to claim the notice of the French government. Henry the Second, who was penetrated, as much as Philip himself, with the spirit of the Inquisition, longed for leisure to crush the heretical doctrines in the bud. In this pious purpose he was encouraged by Paul the Fourth, who, now that he was himself restrained from levying war against his neighbors, seemed resolved that no one else should claim that indulgence. He sent legates to both Henry and Philip, conjuring them, instead of warring with each other, to turn their arms against the heretics in their dominions, who were sapping the foundations of the Church.[246]

The pacific disposition of the two monarchs was, moreover, fostered by the French prisoners, and especially by Montmorency, whose authority had been such at court, that Charles the Fifth declared "his capture was more important than would have been that of the king himself."[247] The old constable was most anxious to return to his own country, where he saw with uneasiness the ascendancy which his absence and the prolongation of the war were giving to his rival, Guise, in the royal counsels. Through him negotiations were opened with the French court, until, Henry the Second thinking, with good reason, that these negotiations would be better conducted by a regular congress than by prisoners in the custody of his enemies, commissioners were appointed on both sides, to arrange the terms of accommodation.[248] Montmorency{110} and his fellow-captive, Marshal St. André, were included in the commission. But the person of most importance in it, on the part of France, was the cardinal of Lorraine, brother of the duke of Guise, a man of a subtle, intriguing temper, and one who, like the rest of his family, notwithstanding his pacific demonstrations, may be said to have represented the war party in France [249]

On the part of Spain the agents selected were the men most conspicuous for talent and authority in the kingdom; the names of some of whom, whether for good or for evil report, remain immortal on the page of history. Among these were the duke of Alva and his great antagonist,—as he became afterwards in the Netherlands,—William of Orange. But the principal person in the commission, the man who in fact directed it, was Anthony Perrenot, bishop of Arras, better known by his later title of Cardinal Granvelle. He was son of the celebrated chancellor of that name under Charles the Fifth, by whom he was early trained, not so much to the duties of the ecclesiastical profession as of public life. He profited so well by the instruction, that, in the emperor's time, he succeeded his father in the royal confidence, and surpassed him in his talent for affairs. His accommodating temper combined with his zeal for the interests of Philip to recommend Granvelle to the favor of that monarch; and his insinuating address and knowledge of character well qualified him for conducting a negotiation where there were so many jarring feelings to be brought into concord, so many hostile and perplexing interests to be reconciled.

As a suspension of hostilities was agreed on during the continuance of the negotiations, it was decided to remove the armies from the neighborhood of each other, where a single spark might at any time lead to a general explosion. A still stronger earnest was given of their pacific intentions, by both the monarchs disbanding part of their foreign mercenaries, whose services were purchased at a ruinous cost, that made one of the great evils of the war.

The congress met on the fifteenth of October, 1558, at the abbey of Cercamps, near Cambray. Between parties so well disposed, it might be thought that some general terms of accommodation would soon be settled. But the war, which ran back pretty far into Charles the Fifth's time, had continued so long, that many territories had changed masters during the contest, and it was not easy to adjust the respective claims to them. The duke of Savoy's dominions, for example, had passed into the hands of Henry the Second, who, moreover, asserted an hereditary right to them through his grandmother. Yet it was not possible for Philip to abandon his ally, the man whom he had placed at the head of his armies. But the greatest obstacle was Calais. "If we return without the recovery of Calais," said the English envoys, who also took part in this congress, "we shall be stoned to death by the people."[250]{111}

Philip supported the claim of England; and yet it was evident that France would never relinquish a post so important to herself, which, after so many years of hope deferred, had at last come again into her possession. While engaged in the almost hopeless task of adjusting these differences, an event occurred which suspended the negotiations for a time, and exercised an important influence on the affairs of Europe. This was the death of one of the parties to the war, Queen Mary of England.

Mary's health had been fast declining of late, under the pressure of both mental and bodily disease. The loss of Calais bore heavily on her spirits, as she thought of the reproach it would bring on her reign, and the increased unpopularity it would draw upon herself. "When I die," she said, in the strong language since made familiar to Englishmen by the similar expression of their great admiral, "Calais will be found written on my heart."[251]

Philip, who was not fully apprised of the queen's low condition, early in November sent the count, afterwards duke, of Feria as his envoy to London, with letters for Mary. This nobleman, who had married one of the queen's maids of honor, stood high in the favor of his master. With courtly manners, and a magnificent way of living, he combined a shrewdness and solidity of judgment, that eminently fitted him for his present mission. The queen received with great joy the letters which he brought her, though too ill to read them. Feria, seeing the low state of Mary's health, was earnest with the council to secure the succession for Elizabeth.

He had the honor of supping with the princess at her residence in Hatfield, about eighteen miles from London. The Spaniard enlarged, in the course of conversation, on the good-will of his master to Elizabeth, as shown in the friendly offices he had rendered her during her imprisonment, and his desire to have her succeed to the crown. The envoy did not add that this desire was prompted not so much by the king's concern for the interests of Elizabeth as by his jealousy of the French, who seemed willing to countenance the pretensions of Mary Stuart, the wife of the dauphin, to the English throne.[252] The princess acknowledged the protection she had received from Philip in her troubles. "But for her present prospects," she said, "she was indebted neither to the king nor to the English lords, however much these latter might vaunt their fidelity. It was to the people that she owed them, and on the people she relied."[253] This answer of Elizabeth furnishes the key to her success.

The penetrating eye of the envoy soon perceived that the English princess was under evil influences. The persons most in her confidence, he wrote, were understood to have a decided leaning to the Lutheran heresy, and he augured most unfavorably for the future prospects of the kingdom.{112}

On the seventeenth of November, 1558, after a brief, but most disastrous reign, Queen Mary died. Her fate had been a hard one. Unimpeachable in her private life, and, however misguided, with deeply-seated religious principles, she has yet left a name held in more general execration than any other on the roll of English sovereigns. One obvious way of accounting for this, doubtless, is by the spirit of persecution which hung like a dark cloud over her reign. And this not merely on account of the persecution; for that was common with the line of Tudor; but because it was directed against the professors of a religion which came to be the established religion of the country. Thus the blood of the martyr became the seed of a great and powerful church, ready through all after time to bear testimony to the ruthless violence of its oppressor.

There was still another cause of Mary's unpopularity. The daughter of Katharine of Aragon could not fail to be nurtured in a reverence for the illustrious line from which she was descended. The education begun in the cradle was continued in later years. When the young princess was betrothed to her cousin, Charles the Fifth, it was stipulated that she should be made acquainted with the language and the institutions of Castile, and should even wear the costume of the country. "And who," exclaimed Henry the Eighth, "is so well fitted to instruct her in all this as the queen, her mother?" Even after the match with her imperial suitor was broken off by his marriage with the Portuguese infanta, Charles still continued to take a lively interest in the fortunes of his young kinswoman; while she, in her turn, naturally looked to the emperor, as her nearest relative, for counsel and support. Thus drawn towards Spain by the ties of kindred, by sympathy, and by interest, Mary became in truth more of a Spanish than an English woman; and when all this was completed by the odious Spanish match, and she gave her hand to Philip the Second, the last tie seemed to be severed which had bound her to her native land. Thenceforth she remained an alien in the midst of her own subjects.—Very different was the fate of her sister and successor, Elizabeth, who ruled over her people like a true-hearted English queen, under no influence, and with no interests distinct from theirs. She was requited for it by the most loyal devotion on their part; while round her throne have gathered those patriotic recollections which, in spite of her many errors, still render her name dear to Englishmen.

On the death of her sister, Elizabeth, without opposition, ascended the throne of her ancestors. It may not be displeasing to the reader to see the portrait of her sketched by the Venetian minister at this period, or rather two years earlier, when she was twenty-three years of age. "The princess," he says, "is as beautiful in mind as she is in body; though her countenance is rather pleasing from its expression, than beautiful.[254] She is large and well-made; her complexion clear, and of an olive tint; her eyes are fine, and her hands, on which she prides herself, small and delicate. She has an excellent genius, with much address and self-command, as was abundantly shown in the severe trials to which she was exposed in the earlier part of her life. In her temper she is haughty and imperious, qualities inherited from her father, King Henry the Eighth, who, from her resemblance to himself, is said to have regarded her with peculiar fondness."[255]—He had, it must be owned, an uncommon way of showing it.

One of the first acts of Elizabeth was to write an elegant Latin epistle to Philip, in which she acquainted him with her accession to the crown, and expressed the hope that they should continue to maintain "the same friendly relations as their ancestors had done, and, if possible, more friendly."

Philip received the tidings of his wife's death at Brussels, where her obsequies were celebrated, with great solemnity, on the same day with her funeral in London. All outward show of respect was paid to her memory. But it is doing no injustice to Philip to suppose that his heart was not very deeply touched by the loss of a wife so many years older than himself, whose temper had been soured, and whose personal attractions, such as they were, had long since faded under the pressure of disease. Still, it was not without feelings of deep regret that the ambitious monarch saw the sceptre of England—barren though it had proved to him—thus suddenly snatched from his grasp.

We have already seen that Philip, during his residence in the country, had occasion more than once to interpose his good offices in behalf of Elizabeth. It was perhaps the friendly relation in which he thus stood to her, quite as much as her personal qualities, that excited in the king a degree of interest which seems to have provoked something like jealousy in the bosom of his queen.[256] However this may be, motives of a very different character from those founded on sentiment now determined him to retain, if possible, his hold on England, by transferring to Elizabeth the connection which had subsisted with Mary.

A month had not elapsed since Mary's remains were laid in Westminster Abbey, when the royal widower made direct offers, through his ambassador, Feria, for the hand of her successor. Yet his ardor did not precipitate him into any unqualified declaration of his passion; on the contrary, his proposals were limited by some very prudent conditions.

It was to be understood that Elizabeth must be a Roman Catholic, and, if not one already, must repudiate her errors and become one. She was to obtain a dispensation from the pope for the marriage. Philip was to be allowed to visit Spain, whenever he deemed it necessary for the interests of that kingdom;—a provision which seems to show that Mary's over-fondness, or her jealousy, must have occasioned him some inconvenience on that score. It was further to be stipulated, that the issue of the marriage should not, as was agreed in the contract with Mary, inherit the Netherlands, which were to pass to his son Don Carlos, the prince of Asturias.

Feria was directed to make these proposals by word of mouth, not in writing, "although," adds his considerate master, "it is no disgrace for a man to have his proposals rejected, when they are founded, not on worldly considerations, but on zeal for his Maker and the interests of religion."

Elizabeth received the offer of Philip's hand, qualified as it was, in the most gracious manner. She told the ambassador, indeed, that, "in a matter of this kind, she could take no step without consulting her parliament. But his master might rest assured, that, should she be induced to marry, there{114} was no man she should prefer to him."[257] Philip seems to have been contented with the encouragement thus given, and shortly after he addressed Elizabeth a letter, written with his own hand, in which he endeavored to impress on her how much he had at heart the successes of his ambassador's mission.

The course of events in England, however, soon showed that such success was not to be relied on, and that Feria's prognostics in regard to the policy of Elizabeth were well founded. Parliament soon entered on the measures which ended in the subversion of the Roman Catholic, and the restoration of the Reformed religion. And it was very evident that these measures, if not originally dictated by the queen, must at least have received her sanction.

Philip, in consequence, took counsel with two of his ministers, on whom he most relied, as to the expediency of addressing Elizabeth on the subject, and telling her plainly, that, unless she openly disavowed the proceedings of parliament, the marriage could not take place.[258] Her vanity should be soothed by the expressions of his regret at being obliged to relinquish the hopes of her hand. But, as her lover modestly remarked, after this candid statement of all the consequences before her, whatever the result might be, she would have no one to blame but herself.[259] His sage advisers, probably not often called to deliberate on questions of this delicate nature, entirely concurred in opinion with their master. In any event, they regarded it as impossible that he should wed a Protestant.

What effect this frank remonstrance had on the queen we are not told. Certain it is, Philip's suit no longer sped so favorably as before. Elizabeth, throwing off all disguise, plainly told Feria, when pressed on the matter, that she felt great scruples as to seeking a dispensation from the pope;[260] and soon after she openly declared in parliament, what she was in the habit of repeating so often, that she had no other purpose but to live and die a maid.[261]—It can hardly be supposed that Elizabeth entertained serious thoughts, at any time, of marrying Philip. If she encouraged his addresses, it was only until she felt herself so securely seated on the throne, that she was independent of the ill-will she would incur by their rejection. It was a game in which the heart, probably, formed no part of the stake on either side. In this game, it must be confessed, the English queen showed herself the better player of the two.

Philip bore his disappointment with great equanimity. He expressed his regret to Elizabeth that she should have decided in a way so contrary to what the public interests seemed to demand. But since it appeared to her otherwise,{115} he should acquiesce, and only hoped that the same end might be attained by the continuance of their friendship.[262] With all this philosophy, we may well believe that, with a character like that of Philip, some bitterness must have remained in the heart; and that, very probably, feelings of a personal nature mingled with those of a political in the long hostilities which he afterwards carried on with the English queen.

In the month of February, the conferences for the treaty of peace had been resumed, and the place of meeting changed from the abbey of Cercamps to Cateau-Cambresis. The negotiations were urged forward with greater earnestness than before, as both the monarchs were more sorely pressed by their necessities. Philip, in particular, was so largely in arrears to his army, that he frankly told his ministers "he was on the brink of ruin, from which nothing but a peace could save him."[263] It might be supposed that, in this state of things, he would be placed in a disadvantageous attitude for arranging terms with his adversary. But Philip and his ministers put the best face possible on their affairs, affecting a confidence in their resources, before their allies as well as their enemies, which they were far from feeling; like some half-famished garrison, which makes a brave show of its scanty stock of supplies, in order to win better terms from the besiegers.[264]

All the difficulties were at length cleared away, except the vexed question of Calais. The English queen, it was currently said in the camp, would cut off the head of any minister who abandoned it. Mary, the young queen of Scots, had just been married to the French dauphin, afterwards Francis the Second. It was proposed that the eldest daughter born of this union should be united to the eldest son of Elizabeth, and bring with her Calais as a dowry. In this way, the place would be restored to England without dishonor to France.[265] Such were the wild expedients to which the parties resorted in the hope of extricating themselves from their embarrassment!

At length, seeing the absolute necessity of bringing the matter to an issue, Philip ordered the Spanish plenipotentiaries to write his final instructions to Feria, his minister in London. The envoy was authorized to say, that,{116} although England had lost Calais through her own negligence, yet Philip would stand faithfully by her for the recovery of it. But, on the other hand, she must be prepared to support him with her whole strength by land and by sea, and that not for a single campaign, but for the war so long as it lasted. The government should ponder well whether the prize would be worth the cost. Feria must bring the matter home to the queen, and lead her, if possible, to the desired conclusion; but so that she might appear to come to it by her own suggestion rather than by his. The responsibility must be left with her.[266] The letter of the plenipotentiaries, which is a very long one, is a model in its way, and shows that, in some particulars, the science of diplomacy has gained little since the sixteenth century.

Elizabeth needed no argument to make her weary of a war which hung like a dark cloud on the morning of her reign. Her disquietude had been increased by the fact of Scotland having become a party to the war; and hostilities, with little credit to that country, had broken out along the borders. Her own kingdom was in no condition to allow her to make the extraordinary efforts demanded by Philip. Yet it was plain if she did not make them, or consent to come into the treaty, she must be left to carry on the war by herself. Under these circumstances, the English government at last consented to an arrangement, which, if it did not save Calais, so far saved appearances that it might satisfy the nation. It was agreed that Calais should be restored at the end of eight years. If France failed to do this, she was to pay five hundred thousand crowns to England, whose claims to Calais would not, however, be affected by such a payment. Should either of the parties, or their subjects, during that period, do anything in contravention of this treaty, or in violation of the peace between the two countries, the offending party should forfeit all claim to the disputed territory.[267] It was not very probable that eight years would elapse without affording some plausible pretext to France, under such a provision, for keeping her hold on Calais.

The treaty with England was signed on the second of April, 1559. On the day following was signed that between France and Spain. By the provisions of this treaty, the allies of Philip, Savoy, Mantua, Genoa, were reinstated in the possession of the territories of which they had been stripped in the first years of the war. Four or five places of importance in Savoy were alone reserved, to be held as guaranties by the French king, until his claim to the inheritance of that kingdom was determined.

The conquests made by Philip in Picardy were to be exchanged for those gained by the French in Italy and the Netherlands. The exchange was greatly for the benefit of Philip. In the time of Charles the Fifth, the Spanish arms had experienced some severe reverses, and the king now received more than two hundred towns in return for the five places he held in Picardy.[268]

Terms so disadvantageous to France roused the indignation of the duke of Guise, who told Henry plainly, that a stroke of his pen would cost the country{117} more than thirty years of war. "Give me the poorest of the places you are to surrender," said he, "and I will undertake to hold it against all the armies of Spain!"[269] But Henry sighed for peace, and for the return of his friend, the constable. He affected much deference to the opinions of the duke. But he wrote to Montmorency that the Guises were at their old tricks,[270]—and he ratified the treaty.

The day on which the plenipotentiaries of the three great powers had completed their work, they went in solemn procession to the church, and returned thanks to the Almighty for the happy consummation of their labors. The treaty was then made public; and, notwithstanding the unfavorable import of the terms to France, the peace, if we except some ambitious spirits, who would have found their account in the continuance of hostilities, was welcomed with joy by the whole nation. In this sentiment all the parties to the war participated. The more remote, like Spain, rejoiced to be delivered from a contest which made such large drains on their finances; while France had an additional reason for desiring peace, now that her own territory had become the theatre of war.

The reputation which Philip had acquired by his campaigns was greatly heightened by the result of his negotiations. The whole course of these negotiations—long and intricate as it was—is laid open to us in the correspondence fortunately preserved among the papers of Granvelle; and the student who explores these pages may probably rise from them with the conviction that the Spanish plenipotentiaries showed an address, a knowledge of the men they had to deal with, and a consummate policy, in which neither their French nor English rivals were a match for them. The negotiation all passed under the eyes of Philip. Every move in the game, if not by his suggestion, had been made at least with his sanction. The result placed him in honorable contrast to Henry the Second, who, while Philip had stood firmly by his allies, had, in his eagerness for peace, abandoned those of France to their fate.

The early campaigns of Philip had wiped away the disgrace caused by the closing campaigns of Charles the Fifth; and by the treaty he had negotiated, the number of towns which he lost was less than that of provinces which he gained.[271] Thus he had shown himself as skilful in counsel as he had been successful in the field. Victorious in Picardy and in Naples, he had obtained the terms of a victor from the king of France, and humbled the arrogance of Rome, in a war to which he had been driven in self-defence.[272] Faithful to his allies and formidable to his foes, there was probably no period of Philip's life{118} in which he possessed so much real consideration in the eyes of Europe, as at the time of signing the treaty of Cateau-Cambresis.

In order to cement the union between the different powers, and to conciliate the good-will of the French nation to the treaty by giving it somewhat of the air of a marriage contract, it was proposed that an alliance should take place between the royal houses of France and Spain. It was first arranged that the hand of Henry's daughter, the Princess Elizabeth, should be given to Carlos, the son and heir of Philip. The parties were of nearly the same age, being each about fourteen years old. Now that all prospect of the English match had vanished, it was thought to be a greater compliment to the French to substitute the father for the son, the monarch himself for the heir apparent, in the marriage treaty. The disparity of years between Philip and Elizabeth was not such as to present any serious objection. The proposition was said to have come from the French negotiators. The Spanish envoys replied, that, notwithstanding their master's repugnance to entering again into wedlock, yet, from his regard to the French monarch, and his desire for the public weal, he would consent to waive his scruples, and accept the hand of the French princess, with the same dowry which had been promised to his son Don Carlos.[273]

Queen Elizabeth seems to have been not a little piqued by the intelligence that Philip had so soon consoled himself for the failure of his suit to her. "Your master," said she, in a petulant tone, to Feria, "must have been much in love with me not to be able to wait four months!" The ambassador answered somewhat bluntly, by throwing the blame of the affair on the queen herself. "Not so," she retorted, "I never gave your king a decided answer." "True," said Feria, "the refusal was only implied, for I would not urge your highness to a downright 'No,' lest it might prove a cause of offence between so great princes."[274]

In June, 1559, the duke of Alva entered France for the purpose of claiming the royal bride, and espousing her in the name of his master. He was accompanied by Ruy Gomez, count of Melito,—better known by his title of prince of Eboli,—by the prince of Orange, the Count Egmont, and other noblemen, whose high rank and character might give lustre to the embassy. He was received in great state by Henry, who, with his whole court, seemed anxious to show to the envoy every mark of respect that could testify their satisfaction with the object of his mission. The duke displayed all the stately demeanor of a true Spanish hidalgo. Although he conformed to the French usage by saluting the ladies of the court, he declined taking this liberty with his future queen, or covering himself, as repeatedly urged, in her presence,—a piece of punctilio greatly admired by the French, as altogether worthy of the noble Castilian breeding.[275]

On the twenty-fourth of June, the marriage of the young princess was celebrated in the church of St. Mary. King Henry gave his daughter away. The duke of Alva acted as his sovereign's proxy. At the conclusion of the ceremony, the prince of Eboli placed on the finger of the princess, as a memento from her lord, a diamond ring of inestimable value; and the beautiful Elizabeth, the destined bride of Don Carlos, became the bride of the king his father. It was an ominous union, destined, in its mysterious consequences, to supply a richer theme for the pages of romance than for those of history.

The wedding was followed by a succession of brilliant entertainments, the chief of which was the tournament,—the most splendid pageant of that spectacle-loving age. Henry was, at that time, busily occupied with the work of exterminating the Protestant heresy, which, as already noticed, had begun to gather formidable head in the capital of his dominions.[276] On the evening of the fifteenth of June, he attended a session of the parliament, and arrested some of its principal members for the boldness of their speech in his presence. He ordered them into confinement, deferring their sentence till the termination of the engrossing business of the tourney.

The king delighted in these martial exercises, in which he could display his showy person and matchless horsemanship in the presence of the assembled beauty and fashion of his court.[277] He fully maintained his reputation on this occasion, carrying off one prize after another, and bearing down all who encountered his lance. Towards evening, when the games had drawn to a close, he observed the young count of Montgomery, a Scotch noble, the captain of his guard, leaning on his lance, as yet unbroken. The king challenged the cavalier to run a course with him for his lady's sake. In vain the queen, with a melancholy boding of some disaster, besought her lord to remain content with the laurels he had already won. Henry obstinately urged his fate, and compelled the count, though extremely loth, to take the saddle. The champions met with a furious shock in the middle of the lists. Montgomery was a rude jouster. He directed his lance with such force against the helmet of his antagonist, that the bars of the visor gave way. The lance splintered; a fragment struck the king with such violence on the temple as to lay bare the eye. The unhappy monarch reeled in his saddle, and would have fallen but for the assistance of the constable, the duke of Guise, and other nobles, who bore him in their arms senseless from the lists. Henry's wound was mortal.{120} He lingered ten days in great agony, and expired on the ninth of July, in the forty-second year of his age, and the thirteenth of his reign. It was an ill augury for the nuptials of Elizabeth.[278]

The tidings of the king's death were received with demonstrations of sorrow throughout the kingdom. He had none of those solid qualities which make either a great or a good prince. But he had the showy qualities which are perhaps more effectual to secure the affections of a people as fond of show as the nation whom Henry governed.[279] There were others in the kingdom, however,—that growing sect of the Huguenots,—who looked on the monarch's death with very different eyes,—who rejoiced in it as a deliverance from persecution. They had little cause to rejoice. The sceptre passed into the hands of a line of imbecile princes, or rather of their mother, the famous Catherine de Medicis, who reigned in their stead, and who ultimately proved herself the most merciless foe the Huguenots ever encountered.

CHAPTER IX.

Charles at Yuste.—His Mode of Life.—Interest in Public Affairs.—Celebrates his Obsequies.—Last Illness.—Death and Character.

While the occurrences related in the preceding chapter were passing, an event took place which, had it happened earlier, would have had an important influence on the politics of Europe, and the news of which, when it did happen, was everywhere received with the greatest interest. This event was the death of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, in his monastic retreat at Yuste. In the earlier pages of our narrative, we have seen how that monarch, after his abdication of the throne, withdrew to the Jeronymite convent among the hills of Estremadura. The reader may now feel some interest in following him thither, and in observing in what manner he accommodated himself to the change, and passed the closing days of his eventful life. The picture I am enabled to give of it will differ in some respects from those of former historians, who wrote when the Archives of Simancas, which afford the most authentic records for the narrative, were inaccessible to the scholar, native as well as foreign.[280]

Charles, as we have seen, had early formed the determination to relinquish{121} at some future time the cares of royalty, and devote himself, in some lonely retreat to the good work of his salvation. His consort, the Empress Isabella, as appears from his own statement at Yuste, had avowed the same pious purpose.[281] She died, however, too early to execute her plan; and Charles was too much occupied with his ambitious enterprises to accomplish his object until the autumn of 1555, when, broken in health and spirits, and disgusted with the world, he resigned the sceptre he had held for forty years, and withdrew to a life of obscurity and repose.

The spot he had selected for his residence was situated about seven leagues from the city of Plasencia, on the slopes of the mountain chain that traverses the province of Estremadura. There, nestling among the rugged hills, clothed with thick woods of chestnut and oak, the Jeronymite convent was sheltered from the rude breezes of the north. Towards the south, the land sloped by a gradual declivity, till it terminated in a broad expanse, the Vera of Plasencia, as it was called, which, fertilized by the streams of the sierra, contrasted strongly in its glowing vegetation with the wild character of the mountain scenery. It was a spot well fitted for such as would withdraw themselves from commerce with the world, and consecrate their days to prayer and holy meditation. The Jeronymite fraternity had prospered in this peaceful abode. Many of the monks had acquired reputation for sanctity, and some of them for learning, the fruits of which might be seen in a large collection of manuscripts preserved in the library of the monastery. Benefactions were heaped on the brotherhood. They became proprietors of considerable tracts of land in the neighborhood, and they liberally employed their means in dispensing alms to the poor who sought it at the gate of the convent. Not long before Charles took up his residence among them, they had enlarged their building by an extensive quadrangle, which displayed some architectural elegance in the construction of its cloisters.

Three years before the emperor repaired thither, he sent a skilful architect to provide such accommodations as he had designed for himself. These were very simple. A small building, containing eight rooms, four on each floor, was raised against the southern wall of the monastery. The rooms were low, and of a moderate size. They were protected by porticos, which sheltered them on two sides from the rays of the sun, while an open gallery, which passed through the centre of the house, afforded means for its perfect ventilation. But Charles, with his gouty constitution, was more afraid of the cold damps than of heat; and he took care to have the apartments provided with fire-places, a luxury little known in this temperate region.

A window opened from his chamber directly into the chapel of the monastery; and through this, when confined to his bed, and too ill to attend mass, he could see the elevation of the host. The furniture of the dwelling—according to an authority usually followed—was of the simplest kind; and Charles, we are told, took no better care of his gouty limbs than to provide himself with an arm-chair, or rather half a chair, which would not have brought four reals at auction.[282] The inventory of the furniture of Yuste tells{122} a very different story. Instead of "half an arm-chair," we find, besides other chairs lined with velvet, two arm-chairs especially destined to the emperor's service. One of these was of a peculiar construction, and was accommodated with no less than six cushions and a footstool, for the repose of his gouty limbs. His wardrobe showed a similar attention to his personal comfort. For one item we find no less than sixteen robes of silk and velvet, lined with ermine or eider-down, or the soft hair of the Barbary goat. The decorations of his apartment were on not merely a comfortable, but a luxurious scale;—canopies of velvet; carpets from Turkey and Alcaraz; suits of tapestry, of which twenty-five pieces are specified, richly wrought with figures of flowers and animals. Twelve hangings, of the finest black cloth, were for the emperor's bed-chamber, which, since his mother's death, had been always dressed in mourning. Among the ornaments of his rooms were four large clocks of elaborate workmanship. He had besides a number of pocket-watches, then a greater rarity than at present. He was curious in regard to his timepieces, and took care to provide for their regularity by bringing the manufacturer of them in his train to Yuste. Charles was served on silver. Even the meanest utensils for his kitchen and his sleeping apartment were of the same costly material, amounting to nearly fourteen thousand ounces in weight.[283]

The inventory contains rather a meagre show of books, which were for the most part of a devotional character. But Charles's love of art was visible in a small but choice collection of paintings, which he brought with him to adorn the walls of his retreat. Nine of these were from the pencil of Titian. Charles held the works of the great Venetian in the highest honor, and was desirous that by his hand his likeness should be transmitted to posterity. The emperor had brought with him to Yuste four portraits of himself and the empress by Titian; and among the other pieces by the same master were some of his best pictures. One of these was the famous "Gloria," in which Charles and the empress appear, in the midst of the celestial throng, supported by angels, and in an attitude of humble adoration.[284] He had the painting hung at the foot of his bed, or according to another account, over the great altar in the chapel. It is said, he would gaze long and fondly on this picture, which filled him with the most tender recollections; and as he dwelt on the image of one who had been so dear to him on earth, he may have looked forward to his reunion with her in the heavenly mansions, as the artist had here depicted him.[285]{123}

A stairway, or rather an inclined plane, suited to the weakness of Charles's limbs, led from the gallery of his house to the gardens below. These were surrounded by a high wall, which completely secluded him from observation from without. The garden was filled with orange, citron, and fig trees, and various aromatic plants that grew luxuriantly in the genial soil. The emperor had a taste for horticulture, and took much pleasure in tending the young plants and pruning his trees. His garden afforded him also the best means for taking exercise; and in fine weather he would walk along an avenue of lofty chestnut-trees, that led to a pretty chapel in the neighboring woods, the ruins of which may be seen at this day. Among the trees, one is pointed out,—an overgrown walnut, still throwing its shade far and wide over the ground,—under whose branches the pensive monarch would sit and meditate on the dim future, or perhaps on the faded glories of the past.

Charles had once been the most accomplished horseman of his time. He had brought with him to Yuste a pony and a mule, in the hope of being able to get some exercise in the saddle. But the limbs that had bestrode day after day, without fatigue, the heavy war-horse of Flanders and the wildest genet of Andalusia, were unable now to endure the motion of a poor palfrey; and, after a solitary experiment in the saddle on his arrival at Yuste, when he nearly fainted, he abandoned it for ever.[286]

There are few spots that might now be visited with more interest, than that which the great emperor had selected as his retreat from the thorny cares of government. And until within a few years the traveller would have received from the inmates of the convent the same hospitable welcome which they had always been ready to give to the stranger. But in 1809 the place was sacked by the French; and the fierce soldiery of Soult converted the pile, with its venerable cloisters, into a heap of blackened ruins. Even the collection of manuscripts, piled up with so much industry by the brethren, did not escape the general doom. The palace of the emperor, as the simple monks loved to call his dwelling, had hardly a better fate, though it came from the hands of Charles's own countrymen, the liberals of Cuacos. By these patriots the lower floor of the mansion was turned into stables for their horses. The rooms above were used as magazines for grain. The mulberry-leaves were gathered from the garden to furnish material for the silkworm, who was permitted to wind his cocoon in the deserted chambers of royalty. Still the great features of nature remain the same as in Charles's day. The bald peaks of the sierra still rise above the ruins of the monastery. The shaggy sides of the hills still wear their wild forest drapery. Far below, the eye of the traveller ranges over the beautiful Vera of Plasencia, which glows in the same exuberant vegetation as of yore; and the traveller, as he wanders among the ruined porticos and desolate arcades of the palace, drinks in the odors of a thousand{124} aromatic plants and wild-flowers that have shot up into a tangled wilderness, where once was the garden of the imperial recluse.[287]

Charles, though borne across the mountains in a litter, had suffered greatly in his long and laborious journey from Valladolid. He passed some time in the neighboring village of Xarandilla, and thence, after taking leave of the greater part of his weeping retinue, he proceeded with the remainder to the monastery of Yuste. It was on the third of February, 1557, that he entered the abode which was to prove his final resting-place.[288] The monks of Yuste had been much flattered by the circumstance of Charles having shown such a preference for their convent. As he entered the chapel, Te Deum was chanted by the whole brotherhood; and when the emperor had prostrated himself before the altar, the monks gathered round him, anxious to pay him their respectful obeisance. Charles received them graciously, and, after examining his quarters, professed himself well pleased with the accommodations prepared for him. His was not a fickle temper. Slow in forming his plans, he was slower in changing them. To the last day of his residence at Yuste,—whatever may have been said to the contrary,—he seems to have been well satisfied with the step he had taken and with the spot he had selected.

From the first, he prepared to conform, as far as his health would permit, to the religious observances of the monastery. Not that he proposed to limit himself to the narrow circumstances of an ordinary friar. The number of his retinue that still remained with him was at least fifty, mostly Flemings;[289] a number not greater, certainly, than that maintained by many a private gentleman of the country. But among these we recognize those officers of state who belong more properly to a princely establishment than to the cell of the recluse. There was the major-domo, the almoner, the keeper of the wardrobe, the keeper of the jewels, the chamberlains, two watchmakers, several secretaries, the physician, the confessor, besides cooks, confectioners, bakers, brewers, game-keepers, and numerous valets. Some of these followers seem not to have been quite so content as their master with their secluded way of life, and to have cast many a longing look to the pomps and vanities of the world they had left behind them. At least such were the feelings of Quixada, the emperor's major-domo, in whom he placed the greatest confidence, and who had the charge of his household. "His majesty's bedroom," writes the{125} querulous functionary, "is good enough; but the view from it is poor,—barren mountains, covered with rocks and stunted oaks; a garden of moderate size, with a few straggling orange-trees; the roads scarcely passable, so steep and stony; the only water, a torrent rushing from the mountains; a dreary solitude!" The low, cheerless rooms, he predicts, must necessarily be damp, boding no good to the emperor's infirmity.[290] "As to the friars," observes the secretary, Gaztelu, in the same amiable mood, "please God that his majesty may be able to tolerate them,—which will be no easy matter; for they are an importunate race."[291] It is evident that Charles's followers would have been very willing to exchange the mortifications of the monastic life for the good cheer and gaiety of Brussels.

The worthy prior of the convent, in addressing Charles, greeted him with the title of paternidad, till one of the fraternity suggested to him the propriety of substituting that of magestad.[292] Indeed, to this title Charles had good right, for he was still emperor. His resignation of the imperial crown, which, as we have seen, so soon followed that of the Spanish, had not taken effect, in consequence of the diet not being in session at the time when his envoy, the prince of Orange, was to have presented himself at Ratisbon, in the spring of 1557. The war with France made Philip desirous that his father should remain lord of Germany for some time longer. It was not, therefore, until more than a year after Charles's arrival at Yuste, that the resignation was accepted by the diet, at Frankfort, on the twenty-eighth of February, 1558. Charles was still emperor, and continued to receive the imperial title in all his correspondence.[293]

We have pretty full accounts of the manner in which the monarch employed his time. He attended mass every morning in the chapel, when his health permitted. Mass was followed by dinner, which he took early and alone, preferring this to occupying a seat in the refectory of the convent. He was fond of carving for himself, though his gouty fingers were not always in the best condition for this exercise.[294] His physician was usually in attendance during the repast, and might, at least, observe how little his patient, who had not the virtue of abstinence, regarded his prescriptions. The Fleming, Van Male, the emperor's favorite gentleman of the chamber, was{126} also not unfrequently present. He was a good scholar; and his discussions with the doctor served to beguile the tediousness of their master's solitary meal. The conversation frequently turned on some subject of natural history, of which the emperor was fond; and when the parties could not agree, the confessor, a man of learning, was called in to settle the dispute.

After dinner,—an important meal, which occupied much time with Charles,—he listened to some passages from a favorite theologian. In his worldly days, the book he most affected is said to have been Comines's Life of Louis the Eleventh,[295]—a prince whose maxim, "Qui nescit dissimulare, nescit regnare," was too well suited to the genius of the emperor. He now, however, sought a safer guide for his spiritual direction, and would listen to a homily from the pages of St. Bernard, or more frequently St. Augustine, in whom he most delighted.[296] Towards evening, he heard a sermon from one of his preachers. Three or four of the most eloquent of the Jeronymite order had been brought to Yuste for his especial benefit. When he was not in condition to be present at the discourse, he expected to hear a full report of it from the lips of his confessor, Father Juan de Regla. Charles was punctual in his attention to all the great fasts and festivals of the Church. His infirmities, indeed, excused him from fasting, but he made up for it by the severity of his flagellation. In Lent, in particular, he dealt with himself so sternly, that the scourge was found stained with his blood; and this precious memorial of his piety was ever cherished, we are told, by Philip, and by him bequeathed as an heirloom to his son.[297]

Increasing vigilance in his own spiritual concerns made him more vigilant as to those of others,—as the weaker brethren sometimes found to their cost. Observing that some of the younger friars spent more time than was seemly in conversing with the women who came on business to the door of the convent, Charles procured an order to be passed, that any woman who ventured to approach within two bowshots of the gate should receive a hundred stripes.[298] On another occasion, his officious endeavor to quicken the diligence of one of the younger members of the fraternity is said to have provoked the latter testily to exclaim, "Cannot you be contented with having so long turned the world upside down, without coming here to disturb the quiet of a poor convent?"

He derived an additional pleasure, in his spiritual exercises, from his fondness{127} for music, which enters so largely into those of the Romish Church. He sung well himself, and his clear, sonorous voice might often be heard through the open casement of his bedroom, accompanying the chant of the monks in the chapel. The choir was made up altogether of brethren of the order, and Charles would allow no intrusion from any other quarter. His ear was quick to distinguish any strange voice, as well as any false note in the performance,—on which last occasion he would sometimes pause in his devotions, and, in half-suppressed tones, give vent to his anger by one of those scurrilous epithets, which, however they may have fallen in with the habits of the old campaigner, were but indifferently suited to his present way of life.[299]

Such time as was not given to his religious exercises was divided among various occupations, for which he had always had a relish, though hitherto but little leisure to pursue them. Besides his employments in his garden, he had a decided turn for mechanical pursuits. Some years before, while in Germany, he had invented an ingenious kind of carriage for his own accommodation.[300] He brought with him to Yuste an engineer named Torriano, famous for the great hydraulic works he constructed in Toledo. With the assistance of this man, a most skilful mechanician, Charles amused himself by making a variety of puppets representing soldiers, who went through military exercises. The historian draws largely on our faith, by telling us also of little wooden birds which the ingenious pair contrived, so as to fly in and out of the window before the admiring monks![301] But nothing excited their astonishment so much as a little hand-mill, used for grinding wheat, which turned out meal enough in a single day to support a man for a week or more. The good fathers thought this savored of downright necromancy; and it may have furnished an argument against the unfortunate engineer in the persecution which he afterwards underwent from the Inquisition.

Charles took, moreover, great interest in the mechanism of timepieces. He had a good number of clocks and watches ticking together in his apartments; and a story has obtained credit, that the difficulty he found in making any two of them keep the same time drew from him an exclamation on the folly of attempting to bring a number of men to think alike in matters of religion, when he could not regulate any two of his timepieces so as to make them agree with each other; a philosophical reflection for which one will hardly give credit to the man who, with his dying words, could press on his son the maintenance of the Inquisition as the great bulwark of the Catholic faith. In the gardens of Yuste there is still, or was lately, to be seen, a sun-dial constructed by Torriano to enable his master to measure more accurately the lapse of time as it glided away in the monotonous routine of the monastery.[302]{128}

Though averse to visits of curiosity or idle ceremony,[303] Charles consented to admit some of the nobles whose estates lay in the surrounding country, and who, with feelings of loyal attachment to their ancient master, were anxious to pay their respects to him in his retirement. But none who found their way into his retreat appear to have given him so much satisfaction as Francisco Borja, duke of Gandia, in later times placed on the roll of her saints by the Roman Catholic Church. Like Charles, he had occupied a brilliant eminence in the world, and like him had found the glory of this world but vanity. In the prime of life, he withdrew from the busy scenes in which he had acted, and entered a college of Jesuits. By the emperor's invitation, Borja made more than one visit to Yuste; and Charles found much consolation in his society, and in conversing with his early friend on topics of engrossing interest to both. The result of their conferences was to confirm them both in the conviction, that they had done wisely in abjuring the world, and in dedicating themselves to the service of Heaven.

The emperor was also visited by his two sisters, the dowager queens of France and Hungary, who had accompanied their brother, as we have seen, on his return to Spain. But the travelling was too rough, and the accommodations at Yuste too indifferent, to encourage the royal matrons to prolong their stay, or, with one exception on the part of the queen of Hungary, to repeat their visit.

But an object of livelier interest to the emperor than either of his sisters was a boy, scarcely twelve years of age, who resided in the family of his major-domo, Quixada, in the neighboring village of Cuacos. This was Don John of Austria, as he was afterwards called, the future hero of Lepanto. He was the natural son of Charles, a fact known to no one during the father's lifetime, except Quixada, who introduced the boy into the convent as his own page. The lad, at this early age, showed many gleams of that generous spirit by which he was afterwards distinguished,—thus solacing the declining years of his parent, and affording a hold for those affections which might have withered in the cold atmosphere of the cloister.

Strangers were sure to be well received who, coming from the theatre of war, could furnish the information he so much desired respecting the condition of things abroad. Thus we find him in conference with an officer arrived from the Low Countries, named Spinosa, and putting a multitude of questions respecting the state of the army, the organization and equipment of the different corps, and other particulars, showing the lively interest taken by Charles in the conduct of the campaign.[304]

It has been a common opinion, that the emperor, after his retirement to Yuste, remained as one buried alive, totally cut off from intercourse with the world;—"as completely withdrawn from the business of the kingdom and the concerns of government," says one of his biographers, "as if he had never taken part in them;"[305]—"so entirely abstracted in his solitude," says another{129} contemporary, "that neither revolutions nor wars, nor gold arriving in heaps from the Indies, had any power to affect his tranquillity."[306]

So far from this being the case, that not only did the emperor continue to show an interest in public affairs, but he took a prominent part, even from the depths of his retreat, in the management of them.[307] Philip, who had the good sense to defer to the long experience and the wisdom of his father, consulted him, constantly, on great questions of public policy. And so far was he from the feeling of jealousy often imputed to him, that we find him on one occasion, when the horizon looked particularly, dark, imploring the emperor to leave his retreat, and to aid him not only by his counsels, but by his presence and authority.[308] The emperor's daughter Joanna, regent of Castile, from her residence at Valladolid, only fifty leagues from Yuste, maintained a constant correspondence with her father, soliciting his advice in the conduct of the government. However much Charles may have felt himself relieved from responsibility for measures, he seems to have been as anxious for the success of Philip's administration as if it had been his own. "Write more fully," says one of his secretaries in a letter to the secretary of the regent's council; "the emperor is always eager to hear more particulars of events."[309] He showed the deepest concern in the conduct of the Italian war. He betrayed none of the scruples manifested by Philip, but boldly declared that the war with the pope was a just war, in the sight of both God and man.[310] When letters came from abroad, he was even heard to express his regret that they brought no tidings of Paul's death, or Caraffa's![311] He was sorely displeased with the truce which Alva granted to the pontiff, intimating a regret that he had not the reins still in his own hand. He was yet more discontented with the peace, and the terms of it, both public and private; and when Alva talked of leaving Naples, his anger, as his secretary quaintly remarks, was "more than was good for his health."[312]{130}

The same interest he showed in the French war. The loss of Calais filled him with the deepest anxiety. But in his letters on the occasion, instead of wasting his time in idle lament, he seems intent only on devising in what way he can best serve Philip in his distress.[313] In the same proportion he was elated by the tidings of the victory of St. Quentin. His thoughts turned upon Paris, and he was eager to learn what road his son had taken after the battle.[314] According to Brantôme, on hearing the news, he abruptly asked, "Is Philip at Paris?"—He judged of Philip's temper by his own.[315]

At another time, we find him conducting negotiations with Navarre;[316] and then, again, carrying on a correspondence with his sister, the regent of Portugal, for the purpose of having his grandson, Carlos, recognized as heir to the crown, in case of the death of the young king, his cousin. The scheme failed, for it would be as much as her life was worth, the regent said, to engage in it. But it was a bold one, that of bringing under the same sceptre these two nations, which, by community of race, language, and institutions, would seem by nature to have been designed for one. It was Charles's comprehensive idea; and it proves that, even in the cloister, the spirit of ambition had not become extinct in his bosom. How much would it have rejoiced that ambitious spirit, could he have foreseen that the consummation so much desired by him would be attained under Philip![317]{131}

But the department which especially engaged Charles's attention in his retirement, singularly enough, was the financial. "It has been my constant care," he writes to Philip, "in all my letters to your sister, to urge the necessity of providing you with funds,—since I can be of little service to you in any other way."[318] His interposition, indeed, seems to have been constantly invoked to raise supplies for carrying on the war. This fact may be thought to show that those writers are mistaken who accuse Philip of withholding from his father the means of maintaining a suitable establishment at Yuste. Charles, in truth, settled the amount of his own income; and in one of his letters we find him fixing this at twenty thousand ducats, instead of sixteen thousand, as before, to be paid quarterly and in advance.[319] That the payments were not always punctually made may well be believed, in a country where punctuality would have been a miracle.

Charles had more cause for irritation in the conduct of some of those functionaries with whom he had to deal in his financial capacity. Nothing appears to have stirred his bile so much at Yuste as the proceedings of some members of the board of trade at Seville. "I have deferred sending to you," he writes to his daughter, the regent, "in order to see if, with time, my wrath would not subside. But, far from it, it increases, and will go on increasing till I learn that those who have done wrong have atoned for it. Were it not for my infirmities," he adds, "I would go to Seville myself, and find out the authors of this villany, and bring them to a summary reckoning."[320] "The emperor orders me," writes his secretary, Gaztelu, "to command that the offenders be put in irons, and in order to mortify them the more, that they be carried, in broad daylight, to Simancas, and there lodged, not in towers or chambers, but in a dungeon. Indeed, such is his indignation, and such are the violent and bloodthirsty expressions he commands me to use, that you will pardon me if my language is not so temperate as it might be."[321] It had been customary for the board of trade to receive the gold imported from the Indies, whether on public or private account, and hold it for the use of the government, paying to the merchants interested an equivalent in government bonds. The merchants, naturally enough, not relishing this kind of security so well as the gold, by a collusion with some of the members of the board of trade, had been secretly allowed to remove their own property. In this way the government was defrauded—as the emperor regarded it—of a large sum on which it had calculated. This, it would seem, was the offence which had roused the royal indignation to such a pitch. Charles's phlegmatic temperament had ever been liable to be ruffled by these{132} sudden gusts of passion; and his conventual life does not seem to have had any very sedative influence on him in this particular.

For the first ten months after his arrival at Yuste, the emperor's health, under the influence of a temperate climate, the quiet of monastic life, and more than all, probably, his exemption from the cares of state, had generally improved.[322] His attacks of gout had been less frequent and less severe than before. But in the spring of 1558, the old malady returned with renewed violence. "I was not in a condition," he writes to Philip, "to listen to a single sermon during Lent."[323] For months he was scarcely able to write a line with his own hand. His spirits felt the pressure of bodily suffering, and were still further depressed by the death of his sister Eleanor, the queen-dowager of France and Portugal, which took place in February, 1558.

A strong attachment seems to have subsisted between the emperor and his two sisters. Queen Eleanor's sweetness of disposition had particularly endeared her to her brother, who now felt her loss almost as keenly as that of one of his own children. "She was a good Christian," he said to his secretary, Gaztelu; and, as the tears rolled down his cheeks, he added, "We have always loved each other. She was my elder by fifteen months; and before that period has passed I shall probably be with her."[324] Before half that period, the sad augury was fulfilled.

At this period—as we shall see hereafter—the attention of the government was called to the Lutheran heresy, which had already begun to disclose itself in various quarters of the country. Charles was possessed of a full share of the spirit of bigotry which belonged to the royal line of Castile, from which he was descended. While on the throne, this feeling was held somewhat in check by a regard for his political interests. But in the seclusion of the monastery he had no interests to consult but those of religion; and he gave free scope to the spirit of intolerance which belonged to his nature. In a letter addressed, the third of May, 1558, to his daughter Joanna, he says: "Tell the grand-inquisitor from me to be at his post, and lay the axe at the root of the evil before it spreads further. I rely on your zeal for bringing the guilty to punishment, and for having them punished, without favor to any one, with all the severity which their crimes demand."[325] In another letter to his daughter, three weeks later, he writes: "If I had not entire confidence that you would do your duty, and arrest the evil at once by chastising{133} the guilty in good earnest, I know not how I could help leaving the monastery, and taking the remedy into my own hands."[326] Thus did Charles make his voice heard from his retreat among the mountains, and by his efforts and influence render himself largely responsible for the fiery persecution which brought woe upon the land after he himself had gone to his account.

About the middle of August, the emperor's old enemy, the gout, returned on him with uncommon force. It was attended with symptoms of an alarming kind, intimating, indeed, that his strong constitution was giving way. These were attributed to a cold which he had taken, though it seems there was good reason for imputing them to his intemperate living; for he still continued to indulge his appetite for the most dangerous dishes, as freely as in the days when a more active way of life had better enabled him to digest them. It is true, the physician stood by his side, as prompt as Sancho Panza's doctor, in his island domain, to remonstrate against his master's proceedings. But, unhappily, he was not armed with the authority of that functionary; and an eel-pie, a well-spiced capon, or any other savory abomination, offered too great a fascination for Charles to heed the warnings of his physician.

The declining state of the emperor's health may have inspired him with a presentiment of his approaching end, to which, we have seen, he gave utterrance some time before this, in his conversation with Gaztelu. It may have been the sober reflections which such a feeling would naturally suggest that led him, at the close of the month of August, to conceive the extraordinary idea of preparing for the final scene by rehearsing his own funeral. He consulted his professor on the subject, and was encouraged by the accommodating father to consider it as a meritorious act. The chapel was accordingly hung in black, and the blaze of hundreds of wax-lights was not sufficient to dispel the darkness. The monks in their conventual dresses, and all the emperor's household, clad in deep mourning, gathered round a huge catafalque, shrouded also in black, which had been raised in the centre of the chapel. The service for the burial of the dead was then performed; and amidst the dismal wail of the monks, the prayers ascended for the departed spirit, that it might be received into the mansions of the blessed. The sorrowful attendants were melted to tears, as the image of their master's death was presented to their minds, or they were touched, it may be, with compassion for this pitiable display of his weakness. Charles, muffled in a dark mantle, and bearing a lighted candle in his hand, mingled with his household, the spectator of his own obsequies; and the doleful ceremony was concluded by his placing the taper in the hands of the priest, in sign of his surrendering up his soul to the Almighty.

Such is the account of this melancholy farce given us by the Jeronymite chroniclers of the cloister life of Charles the Fifth, and which has since been repeated—losing nothing in the repetition—by every succeeding historian, to the present time.[327] Nor does there seem to have been any distrust of its correctness till the historical scepticism of our own day had subjected the{134} narrative to a more critical scrutiny. It was then discovered that no mention of the affair was to be discerned in the letters of any one of the emperor's household residing at Yuste, although there are letters extant written by Charles's physician, his major-domo, and his secretary, both on the thirty-first of August, the day of the funeral, and on the first of September. With so extraordinary an event fresh in their minds, their silence is inexplicable.

One fact is certain, that, if the funeral did take place, it could not have been on the date assigned to it; for on the thirty-first the emperor was laboring under an attack of fever, of which his physician has given full particulars, and from which he was destined never to recover. That the writers, therefore, should have been silent in respect to a ceremony which must have had so bad an effect on the nerves of the patient, is altogether incredible.

Yet the story of the obsequies comes from one of the Jeronymite brethren then living at Yuste, who speaks of the emotions which he felt, in common with the rest of the convent, at seeing a man thus bury himself alive, as it were, and perform his funeral rites before his death.[328] It is repeated by another of the fraternity, the prior of Escorial, who had ample means of conversing with eye-witnesses.[329] And finally, it is confirmed by more than one writer near enough to the period to be able to assure himself of the truth.[330] Indeed, the parties from whom the account is originally derived were so situated that, if the story be without foundation, it is impossible to explain its existence by misapprehension on their part. It must be wholly charged on a wilful misstatement of facts. It is true, the monkish chronicler is not always{135} quite so scrupulous in this particular as would be desirable,—especially where the honor of his order is implicated. But what interest could the Jeronymite fathers have had in so foolish a fabrication as this? The supposition is at variance with the respectable character of the parties, and with the air of simplicity and good faith that belongs to their narratives.[331]

We may well be staggered, it is true, by the fact that no allusion to the obsequies appears in any of the letters from Yuste; while the date assigned for them, moreover, is positively disproved. Yet we may consider that the misstatement of a date is a very different thing from the invention of a story; and that chronological accuracy, as I have more than once had occasion to remark, was not the virtue of the monkish, or indeed of any other historian of the sixteenth century. It would not be a miracle if the obsequies should have taken place some days before the period assigned to them. It so happens that we have no letters from Yuste between the eighteenth and twenty-eighth of August. At least, I have none myself, and have seen none cited by others. If any should hereafter come to light, written during that interval, they may be found possibly to contain some allusion to the funeral. Should no letters have been written during the period, the silence of the parties who wrote at the end of August and the beginning of September may be explained by the fact, that too long a time had elapsed since the performance of the emperor's obsequies, for them to suppose it could have any connection with his illness, which formed the subject of their correspondence. Difficulties will present themselves, whichever view we take of the matter. But the reader may think it quite as reasonable to explain those difficulties by the supposition of involuntary error, as by that of sheer invention.

Nor is the former supposition rendered less probable by the character of Charles the Fifth. There was a taint of insanity in the royal blood of Castile, which was most fully displayed in the emperor's mother, Joanna. Some traces of it, however faint, may be discerned in his own conduct, before he took refuge in the cloisters of Yuste. And though we may not agree with Paul the Fourth in regarding this step as sufficient evidence of his madness,[332] we may yet find something in his conduct, on more than one occasion, while there, which is near akin to it. Such, for example, was the morbid relish which he discovered for performing the obsequies, not merely of his kindred, but of any one whose position seemed to him to furnish an apology for it. Not a member of the toison died, but he was prepared to commemorate the event with solemn funeral rites. These, in short, seemed to be the festivities of Charles's cloister life. These lugubrious ceremonies had a fascination for him, that may remind one of the tenacity with which his mother, Joanna, clung to the dead body of her husband, taking it with her wherever she went. It was after celebrating the obsequies of his parents and his wife, which occupied several successive days, that he conceived, as we are told, the idea of rehearsing his own funeral,—a piece of extravagance which becomes the more credible when we reflect on the state of morbid excitement to which his mind may have been brought by dwelling so long on the dreary apparatus of death.

But whatever be thought of the account of the mock funeral of Charles, it appears that on the thirtieth of August he was affected by an indisposition which on the following day was attended with most alarming symptoms. Here also we have some particulars from his Jeronymite biographers which{136} we do not find in the letters. On the evening of the thirty-first, according to their account, Charles ordered a portrait of the empress, his wife, of whom, as we have seen, he had more than one in his collection, to be brought to him. He dwelt a long while on its beautiful features, "as if," says the chronicler, "he were imploring her to prepare a place for him in the celestial mansions to which she had gone."[333] He then passed to the contemplation of another picture,—Titian's "Agony in the Garden," and from this to that immortal production of his pencil, the "Gloria," as it is called, which is said to have hung over the high altar at Yuste, and which, after the emperor's death, followed his remains to the Escorial.[334] He gazed so long and with such rapt attention on the picture, as to cause apprehension in his physician, who, in the emperor's debilitated state, feared the effects of such excitement on his nerves. There was good reason for apprehension; for Charles, at length, rousing from his reverie, turned to the doctor, and complained that he was ill. His pulse showed him to be in a high fever. As the symptoms became more unfavorable, his physician bled him, but without any good effect.[335] The Regent Joanna, on learning her father's danger, instantly despatched her own physician from Valladolid to his assistance. But no earthly remedies could avail. It soon became evident that the end was approaching.[336]

Charles received the intelligence, not merely with composure, but with cheerfulness. It was what he had long desired, he said. His first care was to complete some few arrangements respecting his affairs. On the ninth of September, he executed a codicil to his will. The will, made a few years previous, was of great length, and the codicil had not the merit of brevity. Its principal object was to make provision for those who had followed him to Yuste. No mention is made in the codicil of his son Don John of Austria. He seems to have communicated his views in regard to him to his major-domo, Quixada, who had a private interview of some length with his master a few days before his death. Charles's directions on the subject appear to have been scrupulously regarded by Philip.[337]

One clause in the codicil deserves to be noticed. The emperor conjures his son most earnestly, by the obedience he owes him, to follow up and bring to justice every heretic in his dominions; and this without exception, and without favor or mercy to any one. He conjures Philip to cherish the Holy Inquisition,{137} as the best instrument for accomplishing this good work. "So," he concludes, "shall you have my blessing, and the Lord shall prosper all your undertakings."[338] Such were the last words of the dying monarch to his son. They did not fall on a deaf ear; and the parting admonition of his father served to give a keener edge to the sword of persecution which Philip had already begun to wield.

On the nineteenth of September, Charles's strength had declined so much that it was thought proper to administer extreme unction to him. He preferred to have it in the form adopted by the friars, which, comprehending a litany, the seven penitential psalms, and sundry other passages of Scripture, was much longer and more exhausting than the rite used by the laity. His strength did not fail under it, however; and the following day he desired to take the communion, as he had frequently done during his illness. On his confessor's representing that, after the sacrament of extreme unction, this was unnecessary, he answered, "Perhaps so, but it is good provision for the long journey I am to set out upon."[339] Exhausted as he was, he knelt a full quarter of an hour in his bed during the ceremony, offering thanks to God for his mercies, and expressing the deepest contrition for his sins, with an earnestness of manner that touched the hearts of all present.[340]

Throughout his illness he had found consolation in having passages of Scripture, especially the Psalms, read to him. Quixada, careful that his master should not be disquieted in his last moments, would allow very few persons to be present in his chamber. Among the number was Bartolomé de Carranza, who had lately been raised to the archiepiscopal see of Toledo. He had taken a prominent part in the persecution in England under Mary. For the remainder of his life he was to be the victim of persecution himself, from a stronger arm than his, that of the Inquisition. Even the words of consolation which he uttered in this chamber of death were carefully treasured up by Charles's confessor, and made one of the charges against him in his impeachment for heresy.

On the twenty-first of September, St. Matthew's day, about two hours after midnight, the emperor, who had remained long without speaking, feeling that his hour had come, exclaimed, "Now it is time!" The holy taper was placed lighted in his right hand, as he sat up leaning on the shoulder of the faithful Quixada. With his left he endeavored to clasp a silver crucifix. It had comforted the empress, his wife, in her dying hour; and Charles had ordered Quixada to hold it in readiness for him on the like occasion.[341] It had lain for some time on his breast; and as it was now held up before his glazing eye by the archbishop of Toledo, Charles fixed his gaze long and earnestly on the sacred symbol,—to him the memento of earthly love as well as heavenly. The archbishop was repeating the psalm De Profundis,—"Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord!"—when the dying man, making a feeble effort to embrace the crucifix, exclaimed, in tones so audible as to be heard in the adjoining room, "Ay Jesus!" and sinking back on the pillow, expired without a struggle.[342] He had always prayed—perhaps fearing the{138} hereditary taint of insanity—that he might die in possession of his faculties.[343] His prayer was granted.

The emperor's body, after being embalmed, and placed in its leaden coffin, lay in state in the chapel for three days, during which three discourses were pronounced over it by the best preachers in the convent. It was then consigned to the earth, with due solemnity, amidst the prayers and tears of the brethren and of Charles's domestics, in presence of a numerous concourse of persons from the surrounding country.

The burial did not take place, however, without some difficulty. Charles had requested by his will that he might be laid partially under the great altar, in such a manner that his head and the upper part of his body might come under the spot where the priest stood when he performed the service. This was dictated in all humility by the emperor; but it raised a question among the scrupulous ecclesiastics as to the propriety of permitting any bones save those of a saint to occupy so holy a place as that beneath the altar. The dispute waxed somewhat warmer than was suited to the occasion; till the momentous affair was finally adjusted by having an excavation made in the wall, within which the head was introduced, so as to allow the feet to touch the verge of the hallowed ground.[344] The emperor's body did not long abide in its resting-place at Yuste. Before many years had elapsed, it was transported, by command of Philip the Second, to the Escorial, and in that magnificent mausoleum it has continued to repose, beside that of the Empress Isabella.

The funeral obsequies of Charles were celebrated with much pomp by the court of Rome, by the Regent Joanna at Valladolid, and, with yet greater magnificence, by Philip the Second at Brussels. Philip was at Arras when he learned the news of his father's death. He instantly repaired to a monastery in the neighborhood of Brussels, where he remained secluded for several weeks. Meanwhile he ordered the bells in all the churches and convents throughout the Netherlands to be tolled thrice a day for four mouths, and during that time that no festivals or public rejoicings of any kind should take place. On the twenty-eighth of December the king entered Brussels by night, and on the following day, before the hour of vespers, a procession was formed to the church of St. Gudule, which still challenges the admiration of the traveller as one of the noblest monuments of mediæval architecture in the Netherlands.

The procession consisted of the principal clergy, the members of the different religious houses, bearing lighted tapers in their hands, the nobles and cavaliers about the court, the great officers of state and the royal household, all clad in deep mourning. After these came the knights of the Golden Fleece, wearing the insignia and the superb dress of the order. The marquis{139} of Aguilar bore the imperial sceptre, the duke of Villahermosa the sword, and the prince of Orange carried the globe and the crown of the empire. Philip came on foot, wrapped in a sable mantle, with his head buried in a deep cowl. His train was borne by Ruy Gomez de Silva, the favorite minister. Then followed the duke of Savoy, walking also alone, with his head covered, as a prince of the blood. Files of the Spanish and German guard, in their national uniforms, formed an escort to the procession, as it took its way through the principal streets, which were illumined with a blaze of torchlight, that dispelled the gathering shadows of evening.

A conspicuous part of the procession was a long train of horses led each by two gentlemen, and displaying on their splendid housings, and the banners which they carried, the devices and arms of the several states over which the emperor presided.

But no part of the pageant attracted so much notice from the populace as a stately galley, having its sides skilfully painted with battle-pieces suggested by different actions in which Charles had been engaged; while its sails of black silk were covered with inscriptions in letters of gold, that commemorated the triumphs of the hero.

Although the palace was at no great distance from St. Gudule's, the procession occupied two hours in passing to the church. In the nave of the edifice stood a sort of chapel, constructed for the occasion. Its roof, or rather canopy, displaying four crowns embroidered in gold, rested on four Ionic pillars curiously wrought. Within lay a sarcophagus covered with a dark pall of velvet, surmounted by a large crimson cross. The imperial crown, together with the globe and sceptre, was deposited in this chapel, which was lighted up with three thousand wax tapers.

In front of it was a scaffolding covered with black, on which a throne was raised for Philip. The nobles and great officers of the crown occupied the seats, or rather steps, below. Drapery of dark velvet and cloth of gold, emblazoned with the imperial arms, was suspended across the arches of the nave; above which ran galleries, appropriated to the duchess of Lorraine and the ladies of the court.[345]

The traveller who at this time visits this venerable pile, where Charles the Fifth was wont to hold the chapters of the Golden Fleece, while he gazes on the characteristic effigy of that monarch, as it is displayed on the superb windows of painted glass, may call to mind the memorable day when the people of Flanders, and the rank and beauty of its capital, were gathered together to celebrate the obsequies of the great emperor; when, amidst clouds of incense and the blaze of myriads of lights, the deep tones of the organ, vibrating through the long aisles, mingled with the voices of the priests, as they chanted their sad requiem to the soul of their departed sovereign.[346]{140}

I have gone somewhat into detail in regard to the latter days of Charles the Fifth, who exercised, in his retirement, too important an influence on public affairs for such an account of him to be deemed an impertinent episode to the history of Philip the Second. Before parting from him for ever, I will take a brief view of some peculiarities in his personal, rather than his political character, which has long since been indelibly traced by a hand abler than mine.

Charles, at the time of his death, was in the fifty-eighth year of his age. He was older in constitution than in years. So much shaken had he been, indeed, in mind as well as body, that he may be said to have died of premature old age. Yet his physical development had been very slow. He was nearly twenty-one years old before any beard was to be seen on his chin.[347] Yet by the time he was thirty-six, gray hairs began to make their appearance on his temples. At forty the gout had made severe inroads on a constitution originally strong; and before he was fifty, the man who could keep the saddle day and night in his campaigns, who seemed to be insensible to fatigue as he followed the chase among the wild passes of the Alpuxarras, was obliged to be carried in a litter, like a poor cripple, at the head of his armies.[348]

His mental development was equally tardy with his bodily. So long as Chievres lived,—the Flemish noble who had the care of his early life,—Charles seemed to have no will of his own. During his first visit to Spain, where he came when seventeen years old, he gave so little promise, that those who approached him nearest could discern no signs of his future greatness. Yet the young prince seems to have been conscious that he had the elements of greatness within him, and he patiently bided his time. "Nondum"—"Not yet"—was the motto which he adopted for his maiden shield, when but eighteen years old, at a tournament at Valladolid.

But when the death of the Flemish minister had released the young monarch from this state of dependence, he took the reins into his own hands, as Louis the Fourteenth did on the death of Mazarin. He now showed himself in an entirely new aspect. He even displayed greater independence than his predecessors had done. He no longer trusted everything, like them, to a council of state. He trusted only to himself; and if he freely communicated with some one favorite minister, like the elder Granvelle, and the cardinal,{141} his son, it was in order to be counselled, not to be controlled by their judgments. He patiently informed himself of public affairs; and when foreign envoys had their audiences of him, they were surprised to find him possessed of everything relating to their own courts and the objects of their mission.

Yet he did not seem to be quick of apprehension, or, to speak more correctly, he was slow in arriving at his results. He would keep the courier waiting for days before he could come to a decision. When he did come to it, no person on earth could shake it. Talking one day with the Venetian Contarini about this habit of his mind, the courtly minister remarked, that "it was not obstinacy to adhere to sound opinions." "True," said Charles, "but I sometimes adhere to those that are unsound."[349]

His indefatigable activity both of mind and body formed a strong contrast to the lethargy of early years. His widely scattered empire, spreading over the Low Countries, Spain, Germany, and the New World, presented embarrassments which most princes would have found it impossible to overcome. At least they would have been compelled to govern, in a great measure, by deputy,—to transact their business by agents. But Charles chose to do everything himself,—to devise his own plans, and to execute them in person. The number of his journeys by land and by water, as noticed in his farewell address, is truly wonderful; for that was not the day of steamboats and railways. He seemed to lead the life of a courier. But it was for no trivial object that he made these expeditions. He knew where his presence was needed; and his promptness and punctuality brought him, at the right time, on the right spot. No spot in his broad empire was far removed from him. He seemed to possess the power of ubiquity.

The consciousness of his own strength roused to a flame the spark of ambition which had hitherto slept in his bosom. His schemes were so vast, that it was a common opinion he aspired to universal monarchy. Like his grandfather, Ferdinand, and his own son, Philip, he threw over his schemes the cloak of religion. Or, to deal with him more fairly, religious principle probably combined with personal policy to determine his career. He seemed always ready to do battle for the Cross. He affected to identify the cause of Spain with the cause of Christendom. He marched against the Turks, and stayed the tide of Ottoman inroad in Hungary. He marched against the Protestants, and discomfited their armies in the heart of Germany. He crossed the Mediterranean, and humbled the Crescent at Algiers. He threw himself on the honor of Francis, and travelled through France to take vengeance on the rebels of Flanders. He twice entered France as an enemy, and marched up to the gates of Paris. Instead of the modest legend on his maiden shield; he now assumed the proud motto, "Plus ultra;" and he vindicated his right to it, by sending his fleets across the ocean, and by planting the banner of Castile on the distant shores of the Pacific. In these enterprises he was generally successful. His success led him to rely still more on himself. "Myself and the lucky moment," was his favorite saying. The "star of Austria," was still a proverb. It was not till the evening of life that he complained of the fickleness of fortune; that his star, as it descended to the horizon, was obscured by clouds and darkness.

Thus Charles's nerves were kept in a state of perpetual excitement. No wonder that his health should have sunk under it; like a plant forced by extraordinary stimulants to an unnatural production at the expense of its own vitality.{142}

His habits were not all of them the most conducive to health. He slept usually only four hours; too short a time to repair the waste caused by incessant toil.[350] His phlegmatic temperament did not incline him to excess. Yet there was one excess of which he was guilty,—the indulgence of his appetite to a degree most pernicious to his health. A Venetian contemporary tells us, that, before rising in the morning, potted capon was usually served to him, dressed with sugar, milk, and spices. At noon he dined on a variety of dishes. Soon after vespers he took another meal; and later in the evening supped heartily on anchovies, or some other gross and savory food of which he was particularly fond.[351] On one occasion, complaining to his maître d'hôtel that the cook sent him nothing but dishes too insipid and tasteless to be eaten, the perplexed functionary, knowing Charles's passion for timepieces, replied, that "he did not know what he could do, unless it were to serve his majesty a ragout of watches!" The witticism had one good effect, that of provoking a hearty laugh from the emperor,—a thing rarely witnessed in his latter days.[352]

It was in vain that Cardinal Loaysa, his confessor, remonstrated, with an independence that does him credit, against his master's indulgence of his appetite, assuring him that resistance here would do more for his soul than any penance with the scourge.[353] It seems a pity that Charles, considering his propensities, should have so easily obtained absolution from fasts, and that he should not, on the contrary, have transferred some of the penance which he inflicted on his back to the offending part. Even in the monastery of Yuste he still persevered in the same pernicious taste. Anchovies, frogs' legs, and eel-pasties were the dainty morsels with which he chose to be regaled, even before the eyes of his physician. It would not have been amiss for him to have exchanged his solitary repast more frequently for the simpler fare of the refectory.

With these coarser tastes Charles combined many others of a refined and intellectual character. We have seen his fondness for music, and the delight he took in the sister art of design,—especially in the works of Titian. He was painted several times by this great master, and it was by his hand, as we have seen, that he desired to go down to posterity. The emperor had, moreover,{143} another taste, perhaps talent, which, with a different training and in a different sphere of life, might have led him to the craft of authorship.

A curious conversation is reported as having been held by him with Borja, the future saint, during one of the visits paid by the Jesuit to Yuste. Charles inquired of his friend whether it were wrong for a man to write his autobiography, provided he did so honestly, and with no motive of vanity. He said that he had written his own memoirs, not from the desire of self-glorification, but to correct manifold mistakes which had been circulated of his doings, and to set his conduct in a true light.[354] One might be curious to know the answer, which is not given, of the good father to this question. It is to be hoped that it was not of a kind to induce the emperor to destroy the manuscript, which has never come to light.

However this may be, there is no reason to doubt that at one period of his life he had compiled a portion of his autobiography. In the imperial household, as I have already noticed, was a Flemish scholar, William Van Male, or Malinæus, as he is called in Latin, who, under the title of gentleman of the chamber, wrote many a long letter for Charles, while standing by his bedside, and read many a weary hour to him after the monarch had gone to rest,—not, as it would seem, to sleep.[355] This personage tells us that Charles, when sailing on the Rhine, wrote an account of his expeditions to as late a date as 1550.[356] This is not very definite. Any account written under such circumstances, and in so short a time, could be nothing but a sketch of the most general kind. Yet Van Male assures us that he had read the manuscript, which he commends for its terse and elegant diction; and he proposes to make a Latin version of it, the style of which should combine the separate merits of Tacitus, Livy, Suetonius, and Cæsar![357] The admiring chamberlain laments that, instead of giving it to the world, Charles should keep it jealously secured under lock and key.[358]

The emperor's taste for authorship showed itself also in another form. This was by the translation of the "Chevalier Délibéré," a French poem then popular, celebrating the court of his ancestor, Charles the Bold of Burgundy.{144} Van Male, who seems to have done for Charles the Fifth what Voltaire did for Frederick, when he spoke of himself as washing the king's dirty linen, was employed also to overlook this translation, which he pronounces to have possessed great merit in regard to idiom and selection of language. The emperor then gave it to Acuña, a good poet of the court, to be done into Castilian verse. Thus metamorphosed, he proposed to give the copy to Van Male. A mischievous wag, Avila the historian, assured the emperor that it could not be worth less than five hundred gold crowns to that functionary. "And William is well entitled to them," said the monarch, "for he has sweat much over the work."[359] Two thousand copies were forthwith ordered to be printed of the poem, which was to come out anonymously. Poor Van Male, who took a very different view of the profits, and thought that nothing was certain but the cost of the edition, would have excused himself from this proof of his master's liberality. It was all in vain; Charles was not to be balked in his generous purpose; and, without a line to propitiate the public favor, by stating in the preface the share of the royal hand in the composition, it was ushered into the world.[360]

Whatever Charles may have done in the way of an autobiography, he was certainly not indifferent to posthumous fame. He knew that the greatest name must soon pass into oblivion, unless embalmed in the song of the bard or the page of the chronicler. He looked for a chronicler to do for him with his pen what Titian had done for him with his pencil,—exhibit him in his true proportions, and in a permanent form, to the eye of posterity! In this he does not seem to have been so much under the influence of vanity as of a natural desire to have his character and conduct placed in a fair point of view,—what seemed to him to be such,—for the contemplation or criticism of mankind.

The person whom the emperor selected for this delicate office was the learned Sepulveda. Sleidan he condemned as a slanderer; and Giovio, who had taken the other extreme, and written of him with what he called the "golden pen" of history, he no less condemned as a flatterer.[361] Charles encouraged Sepulveda to apply to him for information on matters relating to his government. But when requested by the historian to listen to what he{145} had written, the emperor refused. "I will neither hear nor read," he replied, "what you have said of me. Others may do this when I am gone. But if you wish for information on any point, I shall be always ready to give it to you."[362] A history thus compiled was of the nature of an autobiography, and must be considered, therefore, as entitled to much the same confidence, and open to the same objections, as that kind of writing. Sepulveda was one of the few who had repeated access to Charles in his retirement at Yuste;[363] and the monarch testified his regard for him, by directing that particular care be taken that no harm should come to the historian's manuscript before it was committed to the press.[364]

Such are some of the most interesting traits and personal anecdotes I have been able to collect of the man who, for nearly forty years, ruled over an empire more vast, with an authority more absolute, than any monarch since the days of Charlemagne. It may be thought strange that I should have omitted to notice one feature in his character, the most prominent in the line from which he was descended, at least on the mother's side,—his bigotry. But in Charles this was less conspicuous than in many others of his house; and while he sat upon the throne, the extent to which his religious principles were held in subordination by his political, suggests a much closer parallel to the policy of his grandfather, Ferdinand the Catholic, than to that of his son, Philip the Second, or of his imbecile grandson, Philip the Third.

But the religious gloom which hung over Charles's mind took the deeper tinge of fanaticism after he had withdrawn to the monastery of Yuste. With his dying words, as we have seen, he bequeathed the Inquisition as a precious legacy to his son. In like manner, he endeavored to cherish in the Regent Joanna's bosom the spirit of persecution.[365] And if it were true, as his biographer assures us, that Charles expressed a regret that he had respected the safe-conduct of Luther,[366] the world had little reason to mourn that he exchanged the sword and the sceptre for the breviary of the friar,—the throne of the Cæsars for his monastic retreat among the wilds of Estremadura.

BOOK II.

CHAPTER I.

Civil Institutions.—Commercial Prosperity.—Character of the People.—Protestant Doctrines.—Persecution by Charles the Fifth.

We have now come to that portion of the narrative which seems to be rather in the nature of an episode, than part and parcel of our history; though from its magnitude and importance it is better entitled to be treated as an independent history by itself. This is the War of the Netherlands; opening the way to that great series of revolutions, the most splendid example of which is furnished by our own happy land. Before entering on this vast theme, it will be well to give a brief view of the country which forms the subject of it.

At the accession of Philip the Second, about the middle of the sixteenth century, the Netherlands, or Flanders, as the country was then usually called,[367] comprehended seventeen provinces, occupying much the same territory, but somewhat abridged, with that included in the present kingdoms of Holland and Belgium.[368] These provinces, under the various denominations of duchies, counties, and lordships, formed anciently so many separate states, each under the rule of its respective prince. Even when two or three of them, as sometimes happened, were brought together under one sceptre, each still maintained its own independent existence. In their institutions these states bore great resemblance to one another, and especially in the extent of the immunities conceded to the citizens as compared with those enjoyed in most of the countries of Christendom. No tax could be imposed, without the consent of an assembly consisting of the clergy, the nobles, and the representatives of the towns. No foreigner was eligible to office, and the native of one province was regarded as a foreigner by every other. These were insisted on as inalienable rights, although in later times none were more frequently disregarded by the rulers.[369]{149}

The condition of the commons in the Netherlands, during the Middle Ages, was far in advance of what it was in most other European countries at the same period. For this they were indebted to the character of the people, or rather to the peculiar circumstances which formed that character. Occupying a soil which had been redeemed with infinite toil and perseverance from the waters, their life was passed in perpetual struggle with the elements. They were early familiarized to the dangers of the ocean. The Flemish mariner was distinguished for the intrepid spirit with which he pushed his voyages into distant and unknown seas. An extended commerce opened to him a wide range of observation and experience; and to the bold and hardy character of the ancient Netherlander was added a spirit of enterprise, with such enlarged and liberal views as fitted him for taking part in the great concerns of the community. Villages and towns grew up rapidly. Wealth flowed in from this commercial activity, and the assistance which these little communities were thus enabled to afford their princes drew from the latter the concession of important political privileges, which established the independence of the citizen.

The tendency of things, however, was still to maintain the distinct individuality of the provinces, rather than to unite them into a common political body. They were peopled by different races, speaking different languages. In some of the provinces French was spoken, in others a dialect of the German. Their position, moreover, had often brought these petty states into rivalry, and sometimes into open war, with one another. The effects of these feuds continued after the causes of them had passed away; and mutual animosities still lingered in the breasts of the inhabitants, operating as a permanent source of disunion.

From these causes, after the greater part of the provinces had been brought together under the sceptre of the ducal house of Burgundy, in the fifteenth century, it was found impossible to fuse them into one nation. Even Charles the Fifth, with all his power and personal influence, found himself unequal to the task.[370] He was obliged to relinquish the idea of consolidating the different states into one monarchy, and to content himself with the position—not too grateful to a Spanish despot—of head of a republic, or, to speak more properly, of a confederacy of republics.

There was, however, some approach made to a national unity in the institution which grew up after the states were brought together under one sceptre. Thus, while each of the provinces maintained its own courts of justice, there was a supreme tribunal established at Mechlin, with appellate jurisdiction over all the provincial tribunals. In like manner, while each state had its own legislative assembly, there were the states-general, consisting of the clergy, the nobles, and the representatives of the towns, from each of the provinces. In this assembly—but rarely convened—were discussed the great questions having reference to the interests of the whole country. But the assembly was vested with no legislative authority. It could go no further than to present petitions to the sovereign for the redress of grievances. It possessed no right beyond the right of remonstrance. Even in questions of taxation, no{150} subsidy could be settled in that body, without the express sanction of each of the provincial legislatures. Such a form of government, it must be admitted, was altogether too cumbrous in its operations for efficient executive movement. It was by means favorable to the promptness and energy demanded for military enterprise. But it was a government which, however ill-suited in this respect to the temper of Charles the Fifth, was well suited to the genius of the inhabitants, and to their circumstances, which demanded peace. They had no ambition for foreign conquest. By the arts of peace they had risen to this unprecedented pitch of prosperity, and by peace alone, not by war, could they hope to maintain it.

But under the long rule of the Burgundian princes, and still more under that of Charles the Fifth, the people of the Netherlands felt the influence of those circumstances which in other parts of Europe were gradually compelling the popular, or rather the feudal element, to give way to the spirit of centralization. Thus in time the sovereign claimed the right of nominating all the higher clergy. In some instances he appointed the judges of the provincial courts; and the supreme tribunal of Mechlin was so far dependent on his authority, that all the judges were named and their salaries paid by the crown. The sovereign's authority was even stretched so far as to interfere not unfrequently with the rights exercised by the citizens in the election of their own magistrates,—rights that should have been cherished by them as of the last importance. As for the nobles, we cannot over-estimate the ascendancy which the master of an empire like that of Charles the Fifth must have obtained over men to whom he could open such boundless prospects in the career of ambition.[371]

But the personal character and the peculiar position of Charles tended still further to enlarge the royal authority. He was a Fleming by birth. He had all the tastes and habits of a Fleming. His early days had been passed in Flanders, and he loved to return to his native land as often as his busy life would permit him, and to seek in the free and joyous society of the Flemish capitals some relief from the solemn ceremonial of the Castilian court. This preference of their lord was repaid by the people of the Netherlands with feelings of loyal devotion.

But they had reason for feelings of deeper gratitude in the substantial benefits which the favor of Charles secured to them. It was for Flemings that the highest posts even in Spain were reserved, and the marked preference thus shown by the emperor to his countrymen was one great source of the troubles in Castile. The soldiers of the Netherlands accompanied Charles on his military expeditions, and their cavalry had the reputation of being the best appointed and best disciplined in the imperial army. The vast extent of his possessions, spreading over every quarter of the globe, offered a boundless range for the commerce of the Netherlands, which was everywhere admitted on the most favorable footing. Notwithstanding his occasional acts of violence and extortion, Charles was too sagacious not to foster the material interests of a country which contributed so essentially to his own resources. Under his protecting policy, the industry and ingenuity of the Flemings found ample scope in the various departments of husbandry, manufactures, and trade. The country was as thickly studded with large towns as other countries were with villages. In the middle of the sixteenth century it was computed to contain above three hundred and fifty cities, and more than six{151} thousand three hundred towns of a smaller size.[372] These towns were not the resort of monks and mendicants, as in other parts of the Continent, but they swarmed with a busy, laborious population. No man ate the bread of idleness in the Netherlands. At the period with which we are occupied Ghent counted 70,000 inhabitants, Brussels 75,000, and Antwerp 100,000. This was at a period when London itself contained but 150,000.[373]

The country, fertilized by its countless canals and sluices, exhibited everywhere that minute and patient cultivation which distinguishes it at the present day, but which in the middle of the sixteenth century had no parallel but in the lands tilled by the Moorish inhabitants of the south of Spain. The ingenious spirit of the people was shown in their dexterity in the mechanical arts, and in the talent for invention which seems to be characteristic of a people accustomed from infancy to the unfettered exercise of their faculties. The processes for simplifying labor were carried so far, that children, as we are assured, began, at four or five years of age, to earn a livelihood.[374] Each of the principal cities became noted for its excellence in some branch or other of manufacture. Lille was known for its woollen cloths, Brussels for its tapestry and carpets, Valenciennes for its camlets, while the towns of Holland and Zealand furnished a simpler staple in the form of cheese, butter, and salted fish.[375] These various commodities were exhibited at the great fairs held twice a year, for the space of twenty days each, at Antwerp, which were thronged by foreigners as well as natives.

In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries the Flemings imported great quantities of wool from England, to be manufactured into cloth at home. But Flemish emigrants had carried that manufacture to England; and in the time of Philip the Second the cloths themselves were imported from the latter country to the amount of above five millions of crowns annually, and exchanged for the domestic products of the Netherlands.[376] This single item of trade with one of their neighbors may suggest some notion of the extent of the commerce of the Low Countries at this period.

But in truth the commerce of the country stretched to the remotest corners of the globe. The inhabitants of the Netherlands, trained from early{152} youth to battle with the waves, found their true element on the ocean. "As much as Nature," says an enthusiastic writer, "restricted their domain on the land, so much the more did they extend their empire on the deep."[377] Their fleets were to be found on every sea. In the Euxine and in the Mediterranean they were rivals of the Venetian and the Genoese, and they contended with the English, and even with the Spaniards, for superiority on the "narrow seas" and the great ocean.

The wealth which flowed into the country from this extended trade was soon shown in the crowded population of its provinces and the splendor of their capitals. At the head of these stood the city of Antwerp, which occupied the place in the sixteenth century that Bruges had occupied in the fifteenth, as the commercial metropolis of the Netherlands. Two hundred and fifty vessels might often be seen at the same time taking in their cargoes at her quays.[378] Two thousand loaded wagons from the neighboring countries of France, Germany, and Lorraine daily passed through her gates;[379] and a greater number of vessels, freighted with merchandise from different quarters of the world, were to be seen floating at the same time on the waters of the Scheldt.[380]

The city, in common with the rest of Brabant, was distinguished by certain political privileges, which commended it as a place of residence even to foreigners. Women of the other provinces, it is said, when the time of their confinement drew near, would come to Brabant, that their offspring might claim the franchises of this favored portion of the Netherlands.[381] So jealous were the people of this province of their liberties, that in their oath of allegiance to their sovereign, on his accession, it was provided that this allegiance might lawfully be withheld whenever he ceased to respect their privileges.[382]

Under the shelter of its municipal rights, foreigners settled in great numbers in Antwerp. The English established a factory there. There was also a Portuguese company, an Italian company, a company of merchants from the Hanse Towns, and, lastly, a Turkish company, which took up its residence there for the purpose of pursuing a trade with the Levant. A great traffic was carried on in bills of exchange. Antwerp, in short, became the banking-house of Europe; and capitalists, the Rothschilds of their day, whose dealings were with sovereign princes, fixed their abode in Antwerp, which was to the rest of Europe in the sixteenth century what London is in the nineteenth,—the great heart of commercial circulation.[383]

In 1531, the public Exchange was erected, the finest building of its kind at that time anywhere to be seen. The city, indeed, was filled with stately edifices, the largest of which, the great cathedral, having been nearly destroyed by fire, soon after the opening of the Exchange, was rebuilt, and still remains{153} a noble specimen of the architectural science of the time. Another age was to see the walls of the same cathedral adorned with those exquisite productions of Rubens and his disciples, which raised the Flemish school to a level with the great Italian masters.

The rapidly increasing opulence of the city was visible in the luxurious accommodations and sumptuous way of living of the inhabitants. The merchants of Antwerp rivalled the nobles of other lands in the splendor of their dress and domestic establishments. Something of the same sort showed itself in the middle classes; and even in those of humbler condition, there was a comfort approaching to luxury in their households, which attracted the notice of an Italian writer of the sixteenth century. He commends the scrupulous regard to order and cleanliness observed in the arrangement of the dwellings, and expresses his admiration, not only of the careful attention given by the women to their domestic duties, but also of their singular capacity for conducting those business affairs usually reserved for the other sex. This was particularly the case in Holland.[384] But this freedom of intercourse was no disparagement to their feminine qualities. The liberty they assumed did not degenerate into licence; and he concludes his animated portraiture of these Flemish matrons by pronouncing them as discreet as they were beautiful.

The humbler classes, in so abject a condition in other parts of Europe at that day, felt the good effects of this general progress in comfort and civilization. It was rare to find one, we are told, so illiterate as not to be acquainted with the rudiments of grammar; and there was scarcely a peasant who could not both read and write;[385]—this at a time when to read and write were accomplishments not always possessed, in other countries, by those even in the higher walks of life.

It was not possible that a people so well advanced in the elements of civilization should long remain insensible to the great religious reform which, having risen on their borders, was now rapidly spreading over Christendom. Besides the contiguity of the Netherlands to Germany, their commerce with other countries had introduced them to Protestantism as it existed there. The foreign residents, and the Swiss and German mercenaries quartered in the provinces, had imported along with them these same principles of the Reformation; and lastly the Flemish nobles, who, at that time, were much in the fashion of going abroad to study in Geneva, returned from that stronghold of Calvin well fortified with the doctrines of the great Reformer.[386] Thus the seeds of the Reformation, whether in the Lutheran or the Calvinistic form, were scattered wide over the land, and took root in a congenial soil. The phlegmatic temperament of the northern provinces, especially, disposed them to receive a religion which addressed itself so exclusively to the reason, while they were less open to the influences of Catholicism, which, with its gorgeous accessories, appealing to the passions, is better suited to the lively sensibilities and kindling imaginations of the south.{154}

It is not to be supposed that Charles the Fifth could long remain insensible to this alarming defection of his subjects in the Netherlands; nor that the man whose life was passed in battling with the Lutherans of Germany could patiently submit to see their detested heresy taking root in his own dominions. He dreaded this innovation no less in a temporal than in a spiritual view. Experience had shown that freedom of speculation in affairs of religion naturally led to free inquiry into political abuses; that the work of the reformer was never accomplished so long as anything remained to reform, in state as well as in church. Charles, with the instinct of Spanish despotism, sought a remedy in one of those acts of arbitrary power in which he indulged without scruple when the occasion called for them.

In March, 1520, he published the first of his barbarous edicts for the suppression of the new faith. It was followed by several others of the same tenor, repeated at intervals throughout his reign. The last appeared in September, 1550.[387] As this in a manner suspended those that had preceded it, to which, however, it substantially conformed, and as it became the basis of Philip's subsequent legislation, it will be well to recite its chief provisions.

By this edict, or "placard," as it was called, it was ordained that all who were convicted of heresy should suffer death "by fire, by the pit, or by the sword;"[388] in other words, should be burned alive, be buried alive, or be beheaded. These terrible penalties were incurred by all who dealt in heretical books, or copied or bought them, by all who held or attended conventicles, by all who disputed on the Scriptures in public or private, by all who preached or defended the doctrines of reform. Informers were encouraged by the promise of one half of the confiscated estate of the heretic. No suspected person was allowed to make any donation, or sell any of his effects, or dispose of them by will. Finally, the courts were instructed to grant no remission or mitigation of punishment under the fallacious idea of mercy to the convicted party, and it was made penal for the friends of the accused to solicit such indulgence on his behalf.[389]

The more thoroughly to enforce these edicts, Charles took a hint from the terrible tribunal with which he was familiar in Spain,—the Inquisition. He obtained a bull from his old preceptor, Adrian the Sixth, appointing an inquisitor-general, who had authority to examine persons suspected of heresy, to imprison and torture them, to confiscate their property, and finally sentence them to banishment or death. These formidable powers were intrusted to a layman,—a lawyer of eminence, and one of the council of Brabant. But this zealous functionary employed his authority with so good effect, that it speedily roused the general indignation of his countrymen, who compelled him to fly for his life.

By another bull from Rome, four inquisitors were appointed in the place of the fugitive. These inquisitors were ecclesiastics, not of the fierce Dominican order, as in Spain, but members of the secular clergy. All public officers were enjoined to aid them in detecting and securing suspected persons, and the common prisons were allotted for the confinement of their victims.

The people would seem to have gained little by the substitution of four inquisitors{155} for one. But in fact they gained a great deal. The sturdy resistance made to the exercise of the unconstitutional powers of the inquisitor-general compelled Charles to bring those of the new functionaries more within the limits of the law. For twenty years or more their powers seem not to have been well defined. But in 1546 it was decreed that no sentence whatever could be pronounced by an inquisitor without the sanction of some member of the provincial council. Thus, however barbarous the law against heresy, the people of the Netherlands had this security, that it was only by their own regular courts of justice that this law was to be interpreted and enforced.[390]

Such were the expedients adopted by Charles the Fifth for the suppression of heresy in the Netherlands. Notwithstanding the name of "inquisitors," the new establishment bore faint resemblance to the dread tribunal of the Spanish Inquisition, with which it has been often confounded.[391] The Holy Office presented a vast and complicated machinery, skilfully adapted to the existing institutions of Castile. It may be said to have formed part of the government itself, and, however restricted in its original design, it became in time a formidable political engine, no less than a religious one. The grand-inquisitor was clothed with an authority before which the monarch himself might tremble. On some occasions, he even took precedence of the monarch. The courts of the Inquisition were distributed throughout the country, and were conducted with a solemn pomp that belonged to no civil tribunal. Spacious buildings were erected for their accommodation, and the gigantic prisons of the Inquisition rose up, like impregnable fortresses, in the principal cities of the kingdom. A swarm of menials and officials waited to do its bidding. The proudest nobles of the land held it an honor to serve as familiars of the Holy Office. In the midst of this external pomp, the impenetrable veil thrown over its proceedings took strong hold of the imagination, investing the tribunal with a sort of supernatural terror. An individual disappeared from the busy scenes of life. No one knew whither he had gone, till he reappeared, clothed in the fatal garb of the san benito, to take part in the tragic spectacle of an auto da fé. This was the great triumph of the Inquisition, rivalling the ancient Roman triumph in the splendor of the show, and surpassing it in the solemn and mysterious import of the ceremonial. It was hailed with enthusiasm by the fanatical Spaniard of that day, who, in the martyrdom of the infidel, saw only a sacrifice most acceptable to the Deity. The Inquisition succeeded in Spain, for it was suited to the character of the Spaniard.

But it was not suited to the free and independent character of the people of the Netherlands. Freedom of thought they claimed as their birthright; and the attempt to crush it by introducing the pernicious usages of Spain was everywhere received with execration. Such an institution was an accident, and could not become an integral part of the constitution. It was a{156} vicious graft on a healthy stock. It could bear no fruit, and sooner or later it must perish.

Yet the Inquisition, such as it was, did its work while it lasted in the Netherlands. This is true, at least, if we are to receive the popular statement, that fifty thousand persons, in the reign of Charles the Fifth, suffered for their religious opinions by the hand of the executioner![392] This monstrous statement has been repeated by one historian after another, with apparently as little distrust as examination. It affords one among many examples of the facility with which men adopt the most startling results, especially when conveyed in the form of numerical estimates. There is something that strikes the imagination, in a numerical estimate, which settles a question so summarily, in a form so precise and so portable. Yet whoever has had occasion to make any researches into the past,—that land of uncertainty,—will agree that there is nothing less entitled to confidence.

In the present instance, such a statement might seem to carry its own refutation on the face of it. Llorente, the celebrated secretary of the Holy Office, whose estimates will never be accused of falling short of the amount, computes the whole number of victims sacrificed during the first eighteen years of the Inquisition in Castile, when it was in most active operation, at about ten thousand.[393] The storm of persecution there, it will be remembered, fell chiefly on the Jews,—that ill-omened race, from whom every pious Catholic would have rejoiced to see his land purified by fire and fagot. It will hardly be believed that five times the number of these victims perished in a country like the Netherlands, in a term of time not quite double that occupied for their extermination in Spain;—the Netherlands, where every instance of such persecution, instead of being hailed as a triumph of the Cross, was regarded as a fresh outrage on the liberties of the nation. It is not too much to say, that such a number of martyrs as that pretended would have produced an explosion that would have unsettled the authority of Charles himself, and left for his successor less territory in the Netherlands at the beginning of his reign, than he was destined to have at the end of it.

Indeed, the frequent renewal of the edicts, which was repeated no less than nine times during Charles's administration, intimates plainly enough the very sluggish and unsatisfactory manner in which they had been executed. In some provinces, as Luxembourg and Groningen, the Inquisition was not introduced at all. Gueldres stood on its privileges, guaranteed to it by the emperor on his accession. And Brabant so effectually remonstrated on the mischief which the mere name of the Inquisition would do to the trade of the country, and especially of Antwerp, its capital, that the emperor deemed it prudent to qualify some of the provisions, and to drop the name of Inquisitor altogether.[394] There is no way more sure of rousing the sensibilities of a commercial people, than by touching their pockets. Charles did not care to press matters to such extremity. He was too politic a prince, too large a gainer by the prosperity of his people, willingly to put it in peril, even for conscience' sake. In this lay the difference between him and Philip.

Notwithstanding, therefore, his occasional abuse of power, and the little respect he may have had at heart for the civil rights of his subjects, the government of Charles, as already intimated, was on the whole favorable to their commercial interests. He was well repaid by the enlarged resources of the country, and the aid they afforded him for the prosecution of his ambitious{157} enterprises. In the course of a few years, as we are informed by a contemporary, he drew from the Netherlands no less than twenty-four millions of ducats.[395] And this supply—furnished not ungrudgingly, it is true—was lavished, for the most part, on objects in which the nation had no interest. In like manner, it was the revenues of the Netherlands which defrayed great part of Philip's expenses in the war that followed his accession. "Here," exclaims the Venetian envoy, Soriano, "were the true treasures of the king of Spain; here were his mines, his Indies, which furnished Charles with the means of carrying on his wars for so many years with the French, the Germans, the Italians, which provided for the defence of his own states, and maintained his dignity and reputation."[396]

Such then was the condition of the country at the time when the sceptre passed from the hands of Charles the Fifth into those of Philip the Second;—its broad plains teeming with the products of an elaborate culture; its cities swarming with artisans, skilled in all kinds of ingenious handicraft; its commerce abroad on every sea, and bringing back rich returns from distant climes. The great body of its people, well advanced in the arts of civilization, rejoiced in "such abundance of all things," says a foreigner who witnessed their prosperity, "that there was no man, however humble, who did not seem rich for his station."[397] In this active development of their powers, the inquisitive mind of the inhabitants naturally turned to those great problems in religion which were agitating the neighboring countries of France and Germany. All the efforts of Charles were unavailing to check the spirit of inquiry; and in the last year of his reign he bitterly confessed the total failure of his endeavor to stay the progress of heresy in the Netherlands.[398] Well had it been for his successor, had he taken counsel by the failure of his father, and substituted a more lenient policy for the ineffectual system of persecution. But such was not the policy of Philip.

CHAPTER II.

Unpopular Manners of Philip.—He enforces the Edicts.—Increase of Bishoprics.—Margaret of Parma Regent.—Meeting of the States-General.—Their spirited Conduct.—Organization of the Councils.—Rise and Character of Granvelle.—Philip's Departure.

Philip the Second was no stranger to the Netherlands. He had come there, as it will be remembered, when very young, to be presented by his father to his future subjects. On that occasion he had greatly disgusted the{158} people by that impenetrable reserve which they construed into haughtiness, and which strongly contrasted with the gracious manners of the emperor. Charles saw with pain the impression which his son had left on his subjects; and the effects of his paternal admonitions were visible in a marked change in Philip's deportment on his subsequent visit to England. But nature lies deeper than manner; and when Philip returned, on his father's abdication, to assume the sovereignty of the Netherlands, he wore the same frigid exterior as in earlier days.

His first step was to visit the different provinces, and receive from them their oaths of allegiance. No better occasion could be offered for conciliating the good-will of the inhabitants. Everywhere his approach was greeted with festivities and public rejoicing. The gates of the capitals were thrown open to receive him, and the population thronged out, eager to do homage to their new sovereign. It was a season of jubilee for the whole nation.

In this general rejoicing, Philip's eye alone remained dark.[399] Shut up in his carriage, he seemed desirous to seclude himself from the gaze of his new subjects, who crowded around, anxious to catch a glimpse of their young monarch.[400] His conduct seemed like a rebuke of their enthusiasm. Thus chilled as they were in the first flow of their loyalty, his progress through the land, which should have won him all hearts, closed all hearts against him.

The emperor, when he visited the Netherlands, was like one coming back to his native country. He spoke the language of the people, dressed in their dress, conformed to their usages and way of life. But Philip was in everything a Spaniard. He spoke only the Castilian. He adopted the Spanish etiquette and burdensome ceremonial. He was surrounded by Spaniards, and, with few exceptions, it was to Spaniards only that he gave his confidence. Charles had disgusted his Spanish subjects by the marked preference he had given to his Flemish. The reverse now took place, and Philip displeased the Flemings by his partiality for the Spaniards. The people of the Netherlands felt with bitterness that the sceptre of their country had passed into the hands of a foreigner.

During his progress Philip caused reports to be prepared for him of the condition of the several provinces, their population and trade,—presenting a mass of statistical details, in which, with his usual industry, he was careful to instruct himself. On his return, his first concern was to provide for the interests of religion. He renewed his father's edicts relating to the Inquisition, and in the following year confirmed the "placard" respecting heresy. In doing this, he was careful, by the politic advice of Granvelle, to conform as nearly as possible to the language of the original edicts, that no charge of innovation might be laid to him, and thus the odium of these unpopular measures might remain with their original author.[401]

But the object which Philip had most at heart was a reform much needed in the ecclesiastical establishment of the country. It may seem strange that in all the Netherlands there were but three bishoprics,—Arras, Tournay, and Utrecht. A large part of the country was incorporated with some one or other of the contiguous German dioceses. The Flemish bishoprics were of enormous extent. That of Utrecht alone embraced no less than three hundred walled towns, and eleven hundred churches.[402] It was impossible that any pastor, however diligent, could provide for the wants of a flock so widely scattered, or that he could exercise supervision over the clergy themselves, who had fallen into a lamentable decay both of discipline and morals.

Still greater evils followed from the circumstance of the episcopal authority's being intrusted to foreigners. From their ignorance of the institutions of the Netherlands, they were perpetually trespassing on the rights of the nation. Another evil consequence was the necessity of carrying up ecclesiastical causes, by way of appeal, to foreign tribunals; a thing, moreover, scarcely practicable in time of war.

Charles the Fifth, whose sagacious mind has left its impress on the permanent legislation of the Netherlands, saw the necessity of some reform in this matter. He accordingly applied to Rome for leave to erect six bishoprics, in addition to those previously existing in the country. But his attention was too much distracted by other objects to allow time for completing his design. With his son Philip, on the other hand, no object was allowed to come in competition with the interests of the Church. He proposed to make the reform on a larger scale than his father had done, and applied to Paul the Fourth for leave to create fourteen bishoprics and three archbishoprics. The chief difficulty lay in providing for the support of the new dignitaries. On consultation with Granvelle, who had not been advised of the scheme till after Philip's application to Rome, it was arranged that the income should be furnished by the abbey lands of the respective dioceses, and that the abbeys themselves should hereafter be placed under the control of priors or provosts depending altogether on the bishops. Meanwhile, until the bulls should be received from Rome, it was determined to keep the matter profoundly secret. It was easy to foresee that a storm of opposition would arise, not only among those immediately interested in preserving the present order of things, but among the great body of the nobles, who would look with an evil eye on the admission into their ranks of so large a number of persons servilely devoted to the interests of the crown.[403]

Having concluded his arrangements for the internal settlement of the country, Philip naturally turned his thoughts towards Spain. He was the more desirous of returning thither from the reports he received, that even that orthodox land was becoming every day more tainted with the heretical doctrines so rife in the neighboring countries. There were no hostilities to detain him longer in the Netherlands, now that the war with France had been brought to a close. The provinces, as we have already stated, had furnished the king with important aid for carrying on that war, by the grant of a stipulated annual tax for nine years. This had not proved equal to his necessities. It was in vain, however, to expect any further concessions from the states. They had borne, not without murmurs, the heavy burdens laid on them by Charles,—a monarch whom they loved. They bore still more impatiently the impositions of a prince whom they loved so little as Philip. Yet the latter seemed ready to make any sacrifice of his permanent interests for such temporary{160} relief as would extricate him from his present embarrassments. His correspondence with Granvelle on the subject, unfolding the suicidal schemes which he submitted to that minister, might form an edifying chapter in the financial history of that day.[404] The difficulty of carrying on the government of the Netherlands in this crippled state of the finances doubtless strengthened the desire of the monarch to return to his native land, where the manners and habits of the people were so much more congenial with his own.

Before leaving the country, it was necessary to provide a suitable person to whom the reins of government might be intrusted. The duke of Savoy, who, since the emperor's abdication, had held the post of regent, was now to return to his own dominions, restored to him by the treaty of Cateau-Cambresis. There were several persons who presented themselves for this responsible office in the Netherlands. One of the most prominent was Lamoral, prince of Gavre, count of Egmont, the hero of St. Quentin and of Gravelines. The illustrious house from which he was descended, his chivalrous spirit, his frank and generous bearing, no less than his brilliant military achievements, had made him the idol of the people. There were some who insisted that these achievements inferred rather the successful soldier than the great captain;[405] and that, whatever merit he could boast in the field, it was no proof of his capacity for so important a civil station as that of governor of the Netherlands. Yet it could not be doubted that his nomination would be most acceptable to the people. This did not recommend him to Philip.

Another candidate was Christine, duchess of Lorraine, the king's cousin. The large estates of her house lay in the neighborhood of the Netherlands. She had shown her talent for political affairs by the part she had taken in effecting the arrangements of Cateau-Cambresis. The prince of Orange, lately become a widower, was desirous, it was said, of marrying her daughter. Neither did this prove a recommendation with Philip, who was by no means anxious to raise the house of Orange higher in the scale, still less to intrust it with the destinies of the Netherlands. In a word, the monarch had no mind to confide the regency of the country to any one of its powerful nobles.[406]

The individual on whom the king at length decided to bestow this mark of his confidence was his half-sister, Margaret, duchess of Parma. She was the natural daughter of Charles the Fifth, born about four years before his marriage with Isabella of Portugal. Margaret's mother, Margaret Vander Gheenst, belonged to a noble Flemish house. Her parents both died during her infancy. The little orphan was received into the family of Count Hoogstraten, who, with his wife, reared her with the same tenderness as they did their own offspring. At the age of seventeen she was unfortunate enough to attract the eye of Charles the Fifth, who, then in his twenty-third year, was captivated by the charms of the Flemish maiden. Margaret's virtue was not proof against the seductions of her royal suitor; and the victim of love—or of vanity—became the mother of a child, who received her own name of Margaret.

The emperor's aunt, then regent of the Netherlands, took charge of the{161} infant; and on the death of that princess, she was taken into the family of the emperor's sister, Mary, queen of Hungary, who succeeded in the regency. Margaret's birth did not long remain a secret; and she received an education suited to the high station she was to occupy in life. When only twelve years of age, the emperor gave her in marriage to Alexander de'Medici, grand duke of Tuscany, some fifteen years older than herself. The ill-fated connection did not subsist long, as, before twelve months had elapsed, it was terminated by the violent death of her husband.

When she had reached the age of womanhood, the hand of the young widow was bestowed, together with the duchies of Parma and Placentia as her dowry, on Ottavio Farnese, grandson of Paul the Third. The bridegroom was but twelve years old. Thus again it was Margaret's misfortune that there should be such disparity between her own age and that of her husband as to exclude anything like sympathy or similarity in their tastes. In the present instance, the boyish years of Ottavio inspired her with a sentiment not very different from contempt, that in later life settled into an indifference in which both parties appear to have shared, and which, as a contemporary remarks with naïveté, was only softened into a kindlier feeling when the husband and wife had been long separated from each other.[407] In truth, Margaret was too ambitious of power to look on her husband in any other light than that of a rival.

In her general demeanor, her air, her gait, she bore great resemblance to her aunt, the regent. Like her, Margaret was excessively fond of hunting, and she followed the chase with an intrepidity that might have daunted the courage of the keenest sportsman. She had but little of the natural softness that belongs to the sex, but in her whole deportment was singularly masculine; so that, to render the words of the historian by a homely phrase, in her woman's dress she seemed like a man in petticoats.[408] As if to add to the illusion, Nature had given her somewhat of a beard; and, to crown the whole, the malady to which she was constitutionally subject was a disease to which women are but rarely liable,—the gout.[409] It was good evidence of her descent from Charles the Fifth.

Though masculine in her appearance, Margaret was not destitute of the kindlier qualities which are the glory of her sex. Her disposition was good; but she relied much on the advice of others, and her more objectionable acts may probably be referred rather to their influence than to any inclination of her own.

Her understanding was excellent, her apprehension quick. She showed much versatility in accommodating herself to the exigencies of her position, as well as adroitness in the management of affairs, which she may have acquired in the schools of Italian politics. In religion she was as orthodox as Philip the Second could desire. The famous Ignatius Loyola had been her confessor in early days. The lessons of humility which he inculcated were not lost on her, as may be inferred from the care she took to perform the ceremony, in Holy Week, of washing the dirty feet—she preferred them in this condition—of twelve poor maidens;[410] outstripping, in this particular,{162} the humility of the pope himself.—Such was the character of Margaret, duchess of Parma, who now, in the thirty-eighth year of her age, was called, at a most critical period, to take the helm of the Netherlands.

The appointment seems to have given equal satisfaction to herself and to her husband, and no objection was made to Philip's purpose of taking back with him to Castile their little son, Alexander Farnese,—a name destined to become in later times so renowned in the Netherlands. The avowed purpose was to give the boy a training suited to his rank, under the eye of Philip; combined with which, according to the historian, was the desire of holding a hostage for the fidelity of Margaret and of her husband, whose dominions in Italy lay contiguous to those of Philip in that country.[411]

Early in June, 1559, Margaret of Parma, having reached the Low Countries, made her entrance in great state into Brussels, where Philip awaited her, surrounded by his whole court of Spanish and Flemish nobles. The duke of Savoy was also present, as well as Margaret's husband, the duke of Parma, then in attendance on Philip. The appointment of Margaret was not distasteful to the people of the Netherlands, for she was their countrywoman, and her early days had been passed amongst them. Her presence was not less welcome to Philip, who looked forward with eagerness to the hour of his departure. His first purpose was to present the new regent to the nation, and for this he summoned a meeting of the States-General at Ghent, in the coming August.

On the twenty-fifth of July, he repaired with his court to this ancient capital, which still smarted under the effects of that chastisement of his father, which, terrible as it was, had not the power to break the spirits of the men of Ghent. The presence of the court was celebrated with public rejoicings, which continued for three days, during which Philip held a chapter of the Golden Fleece for the election of fourteen knights. The ceremony was conducted with the magnificence with which the meetings of this illustrious order were usually celebrated. It was memorable as the last chapter of it ever held.[412] Founded by the dukes of Burgundy, the order of the Golden Fleece drew its members immediately from the nobility of the Netherlands. When the Spanish sovereign, who remained at its head, no more resided in the country, the chapters were discontinued; and the knights derived their appointment from the simple nomination of the monarch.

On the eighth of August, the States-General assembled at Ghent. The sturdy burghers who took their seats in this body came thither in no very friendly temper to the government. Various subjects of complaint had long been rankling in their bosoms, and now found vent in the form of animated and angry debate. The people had been greatly alarmed by the avowed policy of their rulers to persevere in the system of religious persecution, as shown especially by the revival of the ancient edicts against heresy and in support of the Inquisition. Rumors had gone abroad, probably with exaggeration, of the proposed episcopal reforms. However necessary, they were now regarded only as part of the great scheme of persecution. Different nations, it was urged, required to be guided by different laws. What suited the Spaniards would not for that reason suit the people of the Netherlands. The Inquisition was ill adapted to men accustomed from their cradles to freedom of thought and action. Persecution was not to be justified in matters of conscience, and men were not to be reclaimed from spiritual error by violence, but by gentleness and persuasion.

But what most called forth the invective of the Flemish orators was the presence of a large body of foreign troops in the country. When Philip disbanded{163} his forces after the French war had terminated, there still remained a corps of the old Spanish infantry, amounting to some three or four thousands, which he thought proper to retain in the western provinces. His avowed object was to protect the country from any violence on the part of the French. Another reason assigned by him was the difficulty of raising funds to pay their arrears. The true motive, in the opinion of the states, was to enforce the execution of the new measures, and overcome any resistance that might be made in the country. These troops, like most of the soldiers of that day, who served for plunder quite as much as for pay, had as little respect for the rights or the property of their allies, as for those of their enemies. They quartered themselves on the peaceful inhabitants of the country, and obtained full compensation for loss of pay by a system of rapine and extortion that beggared the people, and drove them to desperation. Conflicts with the soldiery occasionally occurred, and in some parts the peasantry even refused to repair the dikes, in order to lay the country under water rather than submit to such outrages! "How is it," exclaimed the bold syndic of Ghent, "that we find foreign soldiers thus quartered on us, in open violation of our liberties? Are not our own troops able to protect us from the dangers of invasion? Must we be ground to the dust by the exactions of these mercenaries in peace, after being burdened with the maintenance of them in war?" These remonstrances were followed by a petition to the throne, signed by members of the other orders as well as the commons, requesting that the king would be graciously pleased to respect the privileges of the nation, and send back the foreign troops to their own homes.

Philip, who sat in the assembly with his sister, the future regent, by his side, was not prepared for this independent spirit in the burghers of the Netherlands. The royal ear had been little accustomed to this strain of invective from the subject. For it was rare that the tone of remonstrance was heard in the halls of Castilian legislation, since the power of the commons had been broken on the field of Villalar. Unable or unwilling to conceal his displeasure, the king descended from his throne, and abruptly quitted the assembly.[413]

Yet he did not, like Charles the First of England, rashly vent his indignation by imprisoning or persecuting the members who had roused it. Even the stout syndic of Ghent was allowed to go unharmed. Philip looked above him to a mark more worthy of his anger,—to those of the higher orders who had encouraged the spirit of resistance in the commons. The most active of these malecontents was William of Orange. That noble, as it may be remembered, was one of the hostages who remained at the Court of Henry the Second for the fulfilment of the treaty of Cateau-Cambresis. While there, a strange disclosure was made to the prince by the French monarch, who told him that, through the duke of Alva, a secret treaty had been entered into with his master, the king of Spain, for the extirpation of heresy throughout their dominions. This inconsiderate avowal of the French king was made to William on the supposition that he was stanch in the Roman Catholic faith, and entirely in his master's confidence. Whatever may have been the prince's claims to orthodoxy at this period, it is certain he was not in Philip's confidence. It is equally certain that he possessed one Christian virtue which belonged neither to Philip nor to Henry,—the virtue of toleration. Greatly shocked by the intelligence he had received, William at once communicated it to several of his friends in the Netherlands. One of the letters unfortunately{164} fell into Philip's hands. The prince soon after obtained permission to return to his own country, bent, as he tells us in his Apology, on ridding it of the Spanish vermin.[414] Philip, who understood the temper of his mind, had his eye on his movements, and knew well to what source, in part at least, he was to attribute the present opposition. It was not long after, that a Castilian courtier intimated to the prince of Orange and to Egmont, that it would be well for them to take heed to themselves; that the names of those who had signed the petition for the removal of the troops had been noted down, and that Philip and his council were resolved, when a fitting occasion offered, to call them to a heavy reckoning for their temerity.[415]

Yet the king so far yielded to the wishes of the people as to promise the speedy departure of the troops. But no power on earth could have been strong enough to shake his purpose where the interests of religion were involved. Nor would he abate one jot of the stern provisions of the edicts. When one of his ministers, more hardy than the rest, ventured to suggest to him that perseverance in this policy might cost him the sovereignty of the provinces, "Better not reign at all," he answered, "than reign over heretics!"[416]—an answer extolled by some as the height of the sublime, by others derided as the extravagance of a fanatic. In whatever light we view it, it must be admitted to furnish the key to the permanent policy of Philip in his government of the Netherlands.

Before dissolving the States-General, Philip, unacquainted with the language of the country, addressed the deputies through the mouth of the bishop of Arras. He expatiated on the warmth of his attachment to his good people of the Netherlands, and paid them a merited tribute for their loyalty both to his father and to himself. He enjoined on them to show similar respect to the regent, their own countrywoman, into whose hands he had committed the government. They would reverence the laws and maintain public tranquillity. Nothing would conduce to this so much as the faithful execution of the edicts. It was their sacred duty to aid in the extermination of heretics,—the deadliest foes both of God and their sovereign. Philip concluded by assuring the states that he should soon return in person to the Netherlands, or send his son Don Carlos as his representative.

The answer of the legislature was temperate and respectful. They made no allusion to Philip's proposed ecclesiastical reforms, as he had not authorized this by any allusion to them himself. They still pressed, however, the removal of the foreign troops, and the further removal of all foreigners from office, as contrary to the constitution of the land. This last shaft was aimed at Granvelle, who held a high post in the government, and was understood to be absolute in the confidence of the king. Philip renewed his assurances of the dismissal of the forces, and that within the space, as he promised, of four months. The other request of the deputies he did not condescend to notice. His feelings on the subject were intimated in an exclamation he{165} made to one of his ministers: "I too am a foreigner; will they refuse to obey me as their sovereign?"[417]

The regent was to be assisted in the government by three councils which of old time had existed in the land;—the council of finance, for the administration, as the name implies, of the revenues; the privy council, for affairs of justice and the internal concerns of the country; and the council of state, for matters relating to peace and war, and the foreign policy of the nation. Into this last, the supreme council, entered several of the Flemish nobles, and among them the prince of Orange and Count Egmont. There were, besides, Count Barlaimont, president of the council of finance, Viglius, president of the privy council, and lastly Granvelle, bishop of Arras.

The regent was to act with the coöperation of these several bodies in their respective departments. In the conduct of the government, she was to be guided by the council of state. But by private instructions of Philip, questions of a more delicate nature, involving the tranquillity of the country, might be first submitted to a select portion of this council; and in such cases, or when a spirit of faction had crept into the council, the regent, if she deemed it for the interest of the state, might adopt the opinion of the minority. The select body with whom Margaret was to advise in the more important matters was termed the Consulta; and the members who composed it were Barlaimont, Viglius, and the bishop of Arras.[418]

The first of these men, Count Barlaimont, belonged to an ancient Flemish family. With respectable talents and constancy of purpose, he was entirely devoted to the interests of the crown. The second, Viglius, was a jurist of extensive erudition, at this time well advanced in years, and with infirmities that might have pressed heavily on a man less patient of toil. He was personally attached to Granvelle; and as his views of government coincided very nearly with that minister's, Viglius was much under his influence. The last of the three, Granvelle, from his large acquaintance with affairs, and his adroitness in managing them, was far superior to his colleagues;[419] and he soon acquired such an ascendancy over them, that the government may be said to have rested on his shoulders. As there is no man who for some years is to take so prominent a part in the story of the Netherlands, it will be proper to introduce the reader to some acquaintance with his earlier history.

Anthony Perrenot—whose name of Granvelle was derived from an estate purchased by his father—was born in the year 1517, at Besançon, a town in Franche Comté. His father, Nicholas Perrenot, founded the fortunes of the family, and from the humble condition of a poor country attorney rose to the{166} rank of chancellor of the empire. This extraordinary advancement was not owing to caprice, but to his unwearied industry, extensive learning, and a clear and comprehensive intellect, combined with steady devotion to the interests of his master, Charles the Fifth. His talent for affairs led him to be employed not merely in official business, but in diplomatic missions of great importance. In short, he possessed the confidence of the emperor to a degree enjoyed by no other subject; and when the chancellor died, in 1550, Charles pronounced his eulogy to Philip in a single sentence, saying that in Granvelle they had lost the man on whose wisdom they could securely repose.[420]

Anthony Perrenot, distinguished from his father in later times as Cardinal Granvelle, was the eldest of eleven children. In his childhood he discovered such promise, that the chancellor bestowed much pains personally on his instruction. At fourteen he was sent to Padua, and after some years was removed to Louvain, then the university of greatest repute in the Netherlands. It was not till later that the seminary of Douay was founded, under the auspices of Philip the Second.[421] At the university, the young Perrenot soon distinguished himself by the vivacity of his mind, the acuteness of his perceptions, an industry fully equal to his father's, and remarkable powers of acquisition. Besides a large range of academic study, he made himself master of seven languages, so as to read and converse in them with fluency. He seemed to have little relish for the amusements of the youth of his own age. His greatest amusement was a book. Under this incessant application his health gave way, and for a time his studies were suspended.

Whether from his father's preference or his own, young Granvelle embraced the ecclesiastical profession. At the age of twenty-one he was admitted to orders. The son of the chancellor was not slow in his advancement, and he was soon possessed of several good benefices. But the ambitious and worldly temper of Granvelle was not to be satisfied with the humble duties of the ecclesiastic. It was not long before he was called to court by his father, and there a brilliant career was opened to his aspiring genius.

The young man soon showed such talent for business, and such shrewd insight into character, as, combined with the stores of learning he had at his command, made his services of great value to his father. He accompanied the chancellor on some of his public missions, among others to the Council of Trent, where the younger Granvelle, who had already been promoted to the see of Arras, first had the opportunity of displaying that subtle, insinuating eloquence, which captivated as much as it convinced.

The emperor saw with satisfaction the promise afforded by the young statesman, and looked forward to the time when he would prove the same pillar of support to his administration that his father had been before him. Nor was that time far distant. As the chancellor's health declined, the son became more intimately associated with his father in the counsels of the emperor. He justified this confidence by the unwearied toil with which he devoted himself to the business of the cabinet; a toil to which even night seemed to afford no respite. He sometimes employed five secretaries at once, dictating to them in as many different languages.[422] The same thing, or something{167} as miraculous, has been told of other remarkable men, both before and since. As a mere tour de force Granvelle may possibly have amused himself with it. But it was not in this way that the correspondence was written which furnishes the best key to the events of the time. If it had been so written, it would never have been worth the publication.

Every evening Granvelle presented himself before the emperor, and read to him the programme he had prepared of the business of the following day, with his own suggestions.[423] The foreign ambassadors who resided at the court were surprised to find the new minister so entirely in the secrets of his master; and that he was as well instructed in all their doings as the emperor himself.[424] In short, the confidence of Charles, given slowly and with much hesitation, was at length bestowed as freely on the son as it had been on the father. The two Granvelles may be truly said to have been the two persons who most possessed the confidence of the emperor, from the time that he took the reins of government into his own hands.

When raised to the see of Arras, Granvelle was but twenty-five years old. It is rare that the mitre has descended on a man of a more ambitious spirit. Yet Granvelle was not averse to the good things of the world, nor altogether insensible to its pomps and vanities. He affected great state in his manner of living, and thus necessity, no less than taste, led him to covet the possession of wealth as well as of power. He obtained both; and his fortunes were rapidly advancing when, by the abdication of his royal master, the sceptre passed into the hands of Philip the Second.

Charles recommended Granvelle to his son as every way deserving of his confidence. Granvelle knew that the best recommendation—the only effectual one—must come from himself. He studied carefully the character of his new sovereign, and showed a wonderful flexibility in conforming to his humors. The ambitious minister proved himself no stranger to those arts by which great minds, as well as little ones, sometimes condescend to push their fortunes in a court.

Yet, in truth, Granvelle did not always do violence to his own inclinations in conforming to those of Philip. Like the king, he did not come rapidly to results, but pondered long, and viewed a question in all its bearings, before arriving at a decision. He had, as we have seen, the same patient spirit of application as Philip, so that both may be said to have found their best recreation in labor. Neither was he less zealous than the king for the maintenance of the true faith, though his accommodating nature, if left to itself, might have sanctioned a different policy from that dictated by the stern, uncompromising spirit of his master.

Granvelle's influence was further aided by the charms of his personal intercourse. His polished and insinuating manners seem to have melted even the icy reserve of Philip. He maintained his influence by his singular tact in suggesting hints for carrying out his master's policy, in such a way that the suggestion might seem to have come from the king himself. Thus careful not to alarm the jealousy of his sovereign, he was content to forego the semblance of power for the real possession of it.[425]{168}

It was soon seen that he was as well settled in the confidence of Philip as he had previously been in that of Charles. Notwithstanding the apparent distribution of power between the regent and the several councils, the arrangements made by the king were such as to throw the real authority into the hands of Granvelle. Thus the rare example was afforded of the same man continuing the favorite of two successive sovereigns. Granvelle did not escape the usual fate of favorites; and whether from the necessity of the case, or that, as some pretend, he did not on his elevation bear his faculties too meekly, no man was so generally and so heartily detested throughout the country.[426]

Before leaving the Netherlands, Philip named the governors of the several provinces,—the nominations, for the most part, only confirming those already in office. Egmont had the governments of Flanders and Artois; the prince of Orange, those of Holland, Zealand, Utrecht, and West Friesland. The commission to William, running in the usual form, noticed "the good, loyal, and notable services he had rendered both to the emperor and his present sovereign."[427] The command of two battalions of the Spanish army was also given to the two nobles,—a poor contrivance for reconciling the nation to the continuance of these detested troops in the country.

Philip had anxiously waited for the arrival of the papal bull which was to authorize the erection of the bishoprics. Granvelle looked still more anxiously for it. He had read the signs of the coming storm, and would gladly have encountered it when the royal presence might have afforded some shelter from its fury. But the court of Rome moved at its usual dilatory pace, and the apostolic nuncio did not arrive with the missive till the eve of Philip's departure,—too late for him to witness its publication.[428]

Having completed all his arrangements, about the middle of August the king proceeded to Zealand, where, in the port of Flushing, lay a gallant fleet, waiting to take him and the royal suite to Spain. It consisted of fifty Spanish and forty other vessels,—all well manned, and victualled for a much{169} longer voyage.[429] Philip was escorted to the place of embarkation by a large body of Flemish nobles, together with the foreign ambassadors and the duke and duchess of Savoy. A curious scene is reported to have taken place as he was about to go on board. Turning abruptly round to the prince of Orange, who had attended him on the journey, he bluntly accused him of being the true source of the opposition which his measures had encountered in the States-General. William, astonished at the suddenness of the attack, replied that the opposition was to be regarded, not as the act of an individual, but of the states. "No," rejoined the incensed monarch, shaking him at the same time violently by the wrist, "not the states, but you, you, you!"[430] an exclamation deriving additional bitterness from the fact that the word you, thus employed, in the Castilian was itself indicative of contempt. William did not think it prudent to reply, nor did he care to trust himself with the other Flemish lords on board the royal squadron.[431]

The royal company being at length all on board, on the twentieth of August, 1559, the fleet weighed anchor; and Philip, taking leave of the duke and duchess of Savoy, and the rest of the noble train who attended his embarkation, was soon wafted from the shores,—to which he was never to return.

CHAPTER III.

Philip's Arrival in Spain.—The Reformed Doctrines.—Their Suppression.—Autos da Fé.—Prosecution of Carranza.—Extinction of Heresy.—Fanaticism of the Spaniards.

The voyage of King Philip was a short and prosperous one. On the twenty-ninth of August, 1559, he arrived off the port of Laredo. But while he was in sight of land, the weather, which had been so propitious, suddenly changed. A furious tempest arose, which scattered his little navy. Nine of the vessels foundered, and though the monarch had the good fortune, under the care of an experienced pilot, to make his escape in a boat, and reach the shore in safety, he had the mortification to see the ship which had borne him go down with the rest, and with her the inestimable cargo he had brought from the Low Countries. It consisted of curious furniture, tapestries, gems, pieces of sculpture, and paintings,—the rich productions of Flemish and Italian art, which his father, the emperor, had been employed many years of his life in collecting. Truly was it said of Charles, that "he had sacked the land only to feed the ocean."[432] To add to the calamity, more than a thousand persons perished in this shipwreck.[433]

The king, without delay, took the road to Valladolid; but on arriving at that capital, whether depressed by his late disaster, or from his habitual dislike of such empty parade, he declined the honors, with which the loyal inhabitants would have greeted the return of their sovereign to his dominions. Here he was cordially welcomed by his sister, the Regent Joanna, who, long since weary of the cares of sovereignty, resigned the sceptre into his hands, with a better will than that with which most persons would have received it. Here, too, he had the satisfaction of embracing his son Carlos, the heir to his empire. The length of Philip's absence may have allowed him to see some favorable change in the person of the young prince, though, if report be true, there was little change for the better in his disposition, which, headstrong and imperious, had already begun to make men tremble for the future destinies of their country.

Philip had not been many days in Valladolid when his presence was celebrated by one of those exhibitions, which, unhappily for Spain, maybe called national. This was an auto da fé, not, however, as formerly, of Jews and Moors, but of Spanish Protestants. The Reformation had been silently, but not slowly, advancing in the Peninsula; and intelligence of this, as we have already seen, was one cause of Philip's abrupt departure from the Netherlands. The brief but disastrous attempt at a religious revolution in Spain is an event of too much importance to be passed over in silence by the historian.

Notwithstanding the remote position of Spain, under the imperial sceptre of Charles she was brought too closely into contact with the other states of Europe not to feel the shock of the great religious reform which was shaking those states to their foundations. Her most intimate relations, indeed, were{171} with those very countries in which the seeds of the Reformation were first planted. It was no uncommon thing for Spaniards, in the sixteenth century, to be indebted for some portion of their instruction to German universities. Men of learning, who accompanied the emperor, became familiar with the religious doctrines so widely circulated in Germany and Flanders. The troops gathered the same doctrines from the Lutheran soldiers, who occasionally served with them under the imperial banners. These opinions, crude for the most part as they were, they brought back to their own country; and a curiosity was roused which prepared the mind for the reception of the great truths which were quickening the other nations of Europe. Men of higher education, on their return to Spain, found the means of disseminating these truths. Secret societies were established; meetings were held; and, with the same secrecy as in the days of the early Christians, the Gospel was preached and explained to the growing congregation of the faithful. The greatest difficulty was the want of books. The enterprise of a few self-devoted proselytes at length overcame this difficulty.

A Castilian version of the Bible had been printed in Germany. Various Protestant publications, whether originating in the Castilian or translated into that language, appeared in the same country. A copy, now and then, in the possession of some private individual, had found its way, without detection, across the Pyrenees. These instances were rare, when a Spaniard named Juan Hernandez, resident in Geneva, where he followed the business of a corrector of the press, undertook, from no other motive but zeal for the truth, to introduce a larger supply of the forbidden fruit into his native land.

With great adroitness, he evaded the vigilance of the custom-house officers, and the more vigilant spies of the Inquisition, and in the end succeeded in landing two large casks filled with prohibited works, which were quickly distributed among the members of the infant church. Other intrepid converts followed the example of Hernandez, and with similar success; so that, with the aid of books and spiritual teachers, the number of the faithful multiplied daily throughout the country.[434] Among this number was a much larger proportion, it was observed, of persons of rank and education than is usually found in like cases; owing doubtless to the circumstance that it was this class of persons who had most frequented the countries where the Lutheran doctrines were taught. Thus the Reformed Church grew and prospered, not indeed as it had prospered in the freer atmospheres of Germany and Britain, but as well as it could possibly do under the blighting influence of the Inquisition; like some tender plant, which, nurtured in the shade, waits only for a more genial season for its full expansion. That season was not in reserve for it in Spain.

It may seem strange that the spread of the Reformed religion should so long have escaped the detection of the agents of the Holy Office. Yet it is{172} certain that the first notice which the Spanish inquisitors received of the fact was from their brethren abroad. Some ecclesiastics in the train of Philip, suspecting the heresy of several of their own countrymen in the Netherlands, had them seized and sent to Spain, to be examined by the Inquisition. On a closer investigation, it was found that a correspondence had long been maintained between these persons and their countrymen, of a similar persuasion with themselves, at home. Thus the existence, though not the extent, of the Spanish Reformation was made known.[435]

No sooner was the alarm sounded, than Paul the Fourth, quick to follow up the scent of heresy in any quarter of his pontifical dominions, issued a brief, in February, 1558, addressed to the Spanish inquisitor-general. In this brief, his holiness enjoins it on the head of the tribunal to spare no efforts to detect and exterminate the growing evil; and he empowers that functionary to arraign and bring to condign punishment all suspected of heresy, of whatever rank or profession,—whether bishops or archbishops, nobles, kings, or emperors. Paul the Fourth was fond of contemplating himself as seated in the chair of the Innocents and the Gregories, and like them setting his pontifical foot on the necks of princes. His natural arrogance was probably not diminished by the concessions which Philip the Second had thought proper to make to him at the close of the Roman war.

Philip, far from taking umbrage at the swelling tone of this apostolical mandate, followed it up, in the same year, by a monstrous edict, borrowed from one in the Netherlands, which condemned all who bought, sold, or read prohibited works to be burned alive.

In the following January, Paul, to give greater efficacy to this edict, published another bull, in which he commanded all confessors, under pain of excommunication, to enjoin on their penitents to inform against all persons, however nearly allied to them, who might be guilty of such practices. To quicken the zeal of the informer, Philip, on his part, revived a law fallen somewhat into disuse, by which the accuser was to receive one fourth of the confiscated property of the convicted party. And finally, a third bull from Paul allowed the inquisitors to withhold a pardon from the recanting heretic, if any doubt existed of his sincerity; thus placing the life as well as fortune of the unhappy prisoner entirely at the mercy of judges who had an obvious interest in finding him guilty. In this way the pope and the king continued to play into each other's hands, and while his holiness artfully spread the toils, the king devised the means for driving the quarry into them.[436]

Fortunately for these plans, the Inquisition was at this time under the direction of a man peculiarly fitted to execute them. This was Fernando Valdés, cardinal-archbishop of Seville, a person of a hard, inexorable nature, and possessed of as large a measure of fanaticism as ever fell to a grand-inquisitor since the days of Torquemada. Valdés readily availed himself of the terrible machinery placed under his control. Careful not to alarm the suspected parties, his approaches were slow and stealthy. He was the chief of a tribunal which sat in darkness, and which dealt by invisible agents. He worked long and silently under ground before firing the mine which was to bury his enemies in a general ruin.

His spies were everywhere abroad, mingling with the suspected, and insinuating themselves into their confidence. At length, by the treachery of{173} some, and by working on the nervous apprehensions or the religions scruples of others, he succeeded in detecting the lurking-places of the new heresy, and the extent of ground which it covered. This was much larger than had been imagined, although the Reformation in Spain seemed less formidable from the number of its proselytes than from their character and position. Many of them were ecclesiastics, especially intrusted with maintaining the purity of the faith. The quarters in which the heretical doctrines most prevailed were Aragon, which held an easy communication with the Huguenots of France, and the ancient cities of Seville and Valladolid, indebted less to any local advantages than to the influence of a few eminent men, who had early embraced the faith of the Reformers.

At length, the preliminary information having been obtained, the proscribed having been marked out, the plan of attack settled, an order was given for the simultaneous arrest of all persons suspected of heresy, throughout the kingdom. It fell like a thunderbolt on the unhappy victims, who had gone on with their secret associations, little suspecting the ruin that hung over them. No resistance was attempted. Men and women, churchmen and laymen, persons of all ranks and professions, were hurried from their homes, and lodged in the secret chambers of the Inquisition. Yet these could not furnish accommodations for the number, and many were removed to the ordinary prisons, and even to convents and private dwellings. In Seville alone eight hundred were arrested on the first day. Fears were entertained of an attempt at rescue, and an additional guard was stationed over the places of confinement. The inquisitors were in the condition of a fisherman whose cast has been so successful that the draught of fishes seems likely to prove too heavy for his net.[437]

The arrest of one party gradually led to the detection of others. Dragged from his solitary dungeon before the secret tribunal of the Inquisition, alone, without counsel to aid or one friendly face to cheer him, without knowing the name of his accuser, without being allowed to confront the witnesses who were there to swear away his life, without even a sight of his own process, except such garbled extracts as the wily judges thought fit to communicate, is it strange that the unhappy victim, in his perplexity and distress, should have been drawn into disclosures fatal to his associates and himself? If these disclosures were not to the mind of his judges, they had only to try the efficacy of the torture,—the rack, the cord, and the pulley,—until, when every joint had been wrenched from its socket, the barbarous tribunal was compelled to suspend, not terminate, the application, from the inability of the sufferer to endure it. Such were the dismal scenes enacted in the name of religion, and by the ministers of religion, as well as of the Inquisition,—scenes to which few of those who had once witnessed them, and escaped with life, dared ever to allude. For to reveal the secrets of the Inquisition was death.[438]

At the expiration of eighteen months from the period of the first arrests, many of the trials had been concluded, the doom of the prisoners was sealed, and it was thought time that the prisons should disgorge their superfluous inmates. Valladolid was selected as the theatre of the first auto da fé, both from the importance of the capital and the presence of the court, which would thus sanction and give greater dignity to the celebration. This event took place in May, 1559. The Regent Joanna, the young prince of the Asturias,{174} Don Carlos, and the principal grandees of the court, were there to witness the spectacle. By rendering the heir of the crown thus early familiar with the tender mercies of the Holy Office, it may have been intended to conciliate his favor to that institution. If such was the object, according to the report it signally failed, since the woeful spectacle left no other impressions on the mind of the prince than those of indignation and disgust.

The example of Valladolid was soon followed by autos da fé in Granada, Toledo, Seville, Barcelona,—in short, in the twelve capitals in which tribunals of the Holy Office were established. A second celebration at Valladolid was reserved for the eighth of October in the same year, when it would be graced by the presence of the sovereign himself. Indeed, as several of the processes had been concluded some months before this period, there is reason to believe that the sacrifice of more than one of the victims had been postponed, in order to give greater effect to the spectacle.[439]

The auto da fé—"act of faith"—was the most imposing, as it was the most awful, of the solemnities authorized by the Roman Catholic Church. It was intended, somewhat profanely, as has been intimated, to combine the pomp of the Roman triumph with the terrors of the day of judgment.[440] It may remind one quite as much of those bloody festivals prepared for the entertainment of the Cæsars in the Colisæum. The religions import of the auto da fé was intimated by the circumstance of its being celebrated on a Sunday, or some other holiday of the Church. An indulgence for forty days was granted by his holiness to all who should be present at the spectacle; as if the appetite for witnessing the scenes of human suffering required to be stimulated by a bounty; that too in Spain, where the amusements were, and still are, of the most sanguinary character.

The scene for this second auto da fé at Valladolid was the great square in front of the church of St. Francis. At one end a platform was raised, covered with rich carpeting, on which were ranged the seats of the inquisitors, emblazoned with the arms of the Holy Office. Near to this was the royal gallery, a private entrance to which secured the inmates from molestation by the crowd. Opposite to this gallery a large scaffold was erected, so as to be visible from all parts of the arena, and was appropriated to the unhappy martyrs who were to suffer in the auto.

At six in the morning all the bells in the capital began to toll, and a solemn procession was seen to move from the dismal fortress of the Inquisition. In the van marched a body of troops, to secure a free passage for the procession. Then came the condemned, each attended by two familiars of the Holy Office, and those who were to suffer at the stake by two friars, in addition, exhorting the heretic to abjure his errors. Those admitted to penitence wore a sable dress; while the unfortunate martyr was enveloped in a loose sack of yellow cloth,—the san benito,—with his head surmounted by a cap of pasteboard of a conical form, which, together with the cloak, was embroidered with figures of flames and of devils fanning and feeding them; all emblematical of the destiny of the heretic's soul in the world to come, as well as of his body in the present. Then came the magistrates of the city, the judges of the courts, the ecclesiastical orders, and the nobles of the land on horseback. These were followed by the members of the dread tribunal, and the fiscal, bearing a standard of crimson damask, on one side of which were displayed the arms of the Inquisition, and on the other the insignia of{175} its founders, Sixtus the Fifth and Ferdinand the Catholic. Next came a numerous train of familiars, well mounted, among whom were many gentry of the province, proud to act as the body-guard of the Holy Office. The rear was brought up by an immense concourse of the common people, stimulated on the present occasion, no doubt, by the loyal desire to see their new sovereign, as well as by the ambition to share in the triumphs of the auto da fé. The number thus drawn together from the capital and the country, far exceeding what was usual on such occasions, is estimated by one present at full two hundred thousand.[441]

As the multitude defiled into the square, the inquisitors took their place on the seats prepared for their reception. The condemned were conducted to the scaffold, and the royal station was occupied by Philip, with the different members of his household. At his side sat his sister, the late regent, his son, Don Carlos, his nephew, Alexander Farnese, several foreign ambassadors, and the principal grandees and higher ecclesiastics in attendance on the court. It was an august assembly of the greatest and the proudest in the land. But the most indifferent spectator, who had a spark of humanity in his bosom, might have turned with feelings of admiration from this array of worldly power, to the poor martyr, who, with no support but what he drew from within, was prepared to defy this power, and to lay down his life in vindication of the rights of conscience. Some there may have been, in that large concourse, who shared in these sentiments. But their number was small indeed in comparison with those who looked on the wretched victim as the enemy of God, and his approaching sacrifice as the most glorious triumph of the Cross.

The ceremonies began with a sermon, "the sermon of the faith," by the bishop of Zamora. The subject of it may well be guessed, from the occasion. It was no doubt plentifully larded with texts of Scripture, and, unless the preacher departed from the fashion of the time, with passages from the heathen writers, however much out of place they may seem in an orthodox discourse.

When the bishop had concluded, the grand-inquisitor administered an oath to the assembled multitude, who on their knees solemnly swore to defend the Inquisition, to maintain the purity of the faith, and to inform against any one who should swerve from it. As Philip repeated an oath of similar import, he suited the action to the word, and, rising from his seat, drew his sword from its scabbard, as if to announce himself the determined champion of the Holy Office. In the earlier autos of the Moorish and Jewish infidels, so humiliating an oath had never been exacted from the sovereign.

After this, the secretary of the tribunal read aloud an instrument reciting the grounds for the conviction of the prisoners, and the respective sentences pronounced against them. Those who were to be admitted to penitence, each, as his sentence was proclaimed, knelt down, and, with his hands on the missal, solemnly abjured his errors, and was absolved by the grand-inquisitor. The absolution, however, was not so entire as to relieve the offender from the penalty of his transgressions in this world. Some were doomed to perpetual imprisonment in the cells of the Inquisition, others to lighter penances. All were doomed to the confiscation of their property,—a point of too great moment to the welfare of the tribunal ever to be omitted. Besides this, in many cases the offender, and, by a glaring perversion of justice, his immediate descendants, were rendered for ever ineligible to public office of any kind, and their names branded with perpetual infamy. Thus blighted in fortune and in character, they were said, in the soft language of the Inquisition, to be reconciled.{176}

As these unfortunate persons were remanded, under a strong guard, to their prisons, all eyes were turned on the little company of martyrs, who, clothed in the ignominious garb of the san benito, stood waiting the sentence of the judges,—with cords round their necks, and in their hands a cross, or sometimes an inverted torch, typical of their own speedy dissolution. The interest of the spectators was still further excited, in the present instance, by the fact that several of these victims were not only illustrious for their rank, but yet more so for their talents and virtues. In their haggard looks, their emaciated forms, and too often, alas! their distorted limbs, it was easy to read the story of their sufferings in their long imprisonment, for some of them had been confined in the dark cells of the Inquisition much more than a year. Yet their countenances, though haggard, far from showing any sign of weakness or fear, were lighted up with a glow of holy enthusiasm, as of men prepared to seal their testimony with their blood.

When that part of the process showing the grounds of their conviction had been read, the grand-inquisitor consigned them to the hands of the corregidor of the city, beseeching him to deal with the prisoners in all kindness and mercy;[442] a honeyed, but most hypocritical phrase, since no choice was left to the civil magistrate, but to execute the terrible sentence of the law against heretics, the preparations for which had been made by him a week before.[443]

The whole number of convicts amounted to thirty, of whom sixteen were reconciled, and the remainder relaxed to the secular arm,—in other words, turned over to the civil magistrate for execution. There were few of those thus condemned who, when brought to the stake, did not so far shrink from the dreadful doom that awaited them as to consent to purchase a commutation of it by confession before they died; in which case they were strangled by the garrote, before their bodies were thrown into the flames.

Of the present number there were only two whose constancy triumphed to the last over the dread of suffering, and who refused to purchase any mitigation of it by a compromise with conscience. The names of these martyrs should be engraven on the record of history.

One of them was Don Carlos de Seso, a noble Florentine, who had stood high in the favor of Charles the Fifth. Being united with a lady of rank in Castile, he removed to that country, and took up his residence in Valladolid. He had become a convert to the Lutheran doctrines, which he first communicated to his own family, and afterwards showed equal zeal in propagating among the people of Valladolid and its neighborhood. In short, there was no man to whose untiring and intrepid labors the cause of the Reformed religion in Spain was more indebted. He was, of course, a conspicuous mark for the Inquisition.

During the fifteen months in which he lay in its gloomy cells, cut off from human sympathy and support, his constancy remained unshaken. The night preceding his execution, when his sentence had been announced to him, De Seso called for writing materials. It was thought he designed to propitiate his judges by a full confession of his errors. But the confession he made was of another kind. He insisted on the errors of the Romish Church, and avowed his unshaken trust in the great truths of the Reformation. The document, covering two sheets of paper, is pronounced by the secretary of the Inquisition to be a composition equally remarkable for its energy and precision.[444] When{177} led before the royal gallery, on his way to the place of execution, De Seso pathetically exclaimed to Philip, "Is it thus that you allow your innocent subjects to be persecuted?" To which the king made the memorable reply, "If it were my own son, I would fetch the wood to burn him, were he such a wretch as thou art!" It was certainly a characteristic answer.[445]

At the stake De Seso showed the same unshaken constancy, bearing his testimony to the truth of the great cause for which he gave up his life. As the flames crept slowly around him, he called on the soldiers to heap up the fagots, that his agonies might be sooner ended; and his executioners, indignant at the obstinacy—the heroism—of the martyr, were not slow in obeying his commands.[446]

The companion and fellow-sufferer of De Seso was Domingo de Roxas, son of the marquis de Poza, an unhappy noble, who had seen five of his family, including his eldest son, condemned to various humiliating penances by the Inquisition for their heretical opinions. This one was now to suffer death. De Roxas was a Dominican monk. It is singular that this order, from which the ministers of the Holy Office were particularly taken, furnished many proselytes to the Reformed religion. De Roxas, as was the usage with ecclesiastics, was allowed to retain his sacerdotal habit until his sentence had been read, when he was degraded from his ecclesiastical rank, his vestments were stripped off one after another, and the hideous dress of the san benito thrown over him, amid the shouts and derision of the populace. Thus apparelled, he made an attempt to address the spectators around the scaffold; but no sooner did he begin to raise his voice against the errors and cruelties of Rome, than Philip indignantly commanded him to be gagged. The gag was a piece of cleft wood, which, forcibly compressing the tongue, had the additional advantage of causing great pain, while it silenced the offender. Even when he was bound to the stake, the gag, though contrary to custom, was suffered to remain in the mouth of De Roxas, as if his enemies dreaded the effects of an eloquence that triumphed over the anguish of death.[447]

The place of execution—the quemadero, the burning-place, as it was called—was a spot selected for the purpose without the walls of the city.[448] Those who attended an auto da fé were not, therefore, necessarily, as is commonly imagined, spectators of the tragic scene that concluded it. The great body of the people, and many of higher rank, no doubt, followed to the place of execution. On this occasion, there is reason to think, from the language—somewhat equivocal, it is true—of Philip's biographer, that the monarch chose to testify his devotion to the Inquisition by witnessing in person the{178} appalling close of the drama; while his guards mingled with the menials of the Holy Office, and heaped up the fagots round their victims.[449]

Such was the cruel exhibition which, under the garb of a religious festival, was thought the most fitting ceremonial for welcoming the Catholic monarch to his dominions! During the whole time of its duration in the public square, from six in the morning till two in the afternoon, no symptom of impatience was exhibited by the spectators, and, as may well be believed, no sign of sympathy for the sufferers.[450] It would be difficult to devise a better school for perverting the moral sense, and deadening the sensibilities of a nation.[451]

Under the royal sanction, the work of persecution now went forward more briskly than ever.[452] No calling was too sacred, no rank too high, to escape{179} the shafts of the informer. In the course of a few years, no less than nine bishops were compelled to do humiliating penance in some form or other for heterodox opinions. But the most illustrious victim of the Inquisition was Bartolomé Carranzo, archbishop of Toledo. The primacy of Spain might be considered as the post of the highest consideration in the Roman Catholic Church after the papacy.[453] The proceedings against this prelate, on the whole, excited more interest throughout Christendom than any other case that came before the tribunal of the Inquisition.

Carranza, who was of an ancient Castilian family, had early entered a Dominican convent in the suburbs of Guadalajara. His exemplary life, and his great parts and learning, recommended him to the favor of Charles the Fifth, who appointed him confessor to his son Philip. The emperor also sent him to the Council of Trent, where he made a great impression by his eloquence, as well as by a tract which he published against plurality of benefices, which, however, excited no little disgust in many of his order. On Philip's visit to England to marry Queen Mary, Carranza accompanied his master, and while in that country he distinguished himself by the zeal and ability with which he controverted the doctrines of the Protestants. The alacrity, moreover, which he manifested in the work of persecution made him generally odious under the name of the "black friar,"—a name peculiarly appropriate, as it applied not less to his swarthy complexion than to the garb of his order. On Philip's return to Flanders, Carranza, who had twice refused a mitre, was raised—not without strong disinclination on his own part—to the archiepiscopal see of Toledo. The "nolo episcopari," in this instance, seems to have been sincere. It would have been well for him if it had been effectual. Carranza's elevation to the primacy was the source of all his troubles.

The hatred of theologians has passed into a proverb; and there would certainly seem to be no rancor surpassing that of a Spanish ecclesiastic. Among the enemies raised by Carranza's success, the most implacable was the grand-inquisitor, Valdés. The archbishop of Seville could ill brook that a humble Dominican should be thus raised from the cloister over the heads of the proud prelacy of Spain. With unwearied pains, such as hate only could induce, he sought out whatever could make against the orthodoxy of the new prelate, whether in his writings or his conversation. Some plausible ground was afforded for this from the fact, that, although Carranza, as his whole life had shown, was devoted to the Roman Catholic Church, yet his long residence in Protestant countries, and his familiarity with Protestant works, had given a coloring to his language, if not to his opinions, which resembled that of the Reformers. Indeed, Carranza seems to have been much of the same way of thinking with Pole, Contarini, Morone, and other illustrious Romanists, whose liberal natures and wide range of study, had led them to sanction more than one of the Lutheran dogmas which were subsequently proscribed by the Council of Trent. One charge strongly urged against the primate was his assent to the heretical doctrine of justification by faith. In support of this, Father Regla, the confessor, as the reader may remember, of{180} Charles the Fifth, and a worthy coadjutor of Valdés, quoted words of consolation employed by Carranza, in his presence, at the death-bed of the emperor.[454]

The exalted rank of the accused made it necessary for his enemies to proceed with the greatest caution. Never had the bloodhounds of the Inquisition been set on so noble a quarry. Confident in his own authority, the prelate had little reason for distrust. He could not ward off the blow, for it was an invisible arm stronger than his own that was raised to smite him. On the twenty-second of August, 1559, the emissaries of the Holy Office entered the primate's town of Torrelaguna. The doors of the episcopal palace were thrown open to the ministers of the terrible tribunal. The prelate was dragged from his bed at midnight, was hurried into a coach, and while the inhabitants were ordered not so much as to present themselves at the windows, he was conducted, under a strong guard, to the prisons of the Inquisition at Valladolid. The arrest of such a person caused a great sensation throughout the country, but no attempt was made at a rescue.

The primate would have appealed from the Holy Office to the pope, as the only power competent to judge him. But he was unwilling to give umbrage to Philip, who had told him in any extremity to rely on him. The king, however, was still in the Netherlands, where his mind had been preoccupied, through the archbishop's enemies, with rumors of his defection. And the mere imputation of heresy, in this dangerous crisis, and especially in one whom he had so recently raised to the highest post in the Spanish church, was enough, not only to efface the recollection of past services from the mind of Philip, but to turn his favor into aversion. For two years Carranza was suffered to languish in confinement, exposed to all the annoyances which the malice of his enemies could devise. So completely was he dead to the world, that he knew nothing of a conflagration which consumed more than four hundred of the principal houses in Valladolid, till some years after the occurrence.[455]

At length the Council of Trent, sharing the indignation of the rest of Christendom at the archbishop's protracted imprisonment, called on Philip to interpose in his behalf, and to remove the cause to another tribunal. But the king gave little heed to the remonstrance, which the inquisitors treated as a presumptuous interference with their authority.

In 1566, Pius the Fifth ascended the pontifical throne. He was a man of austere morals and a most inflexible will. A Dominican, like Carranza, he was greatly scandalized by the treatment which the primate had received, and by the shameful length to which his process had been protracted. He at once sent his orders to Spain for the removal of the grand-inquisitor, Valdés, from office, summoning, at the same time, the cause and the prisoner before his own tribunal. The bold inquisitor, loth to lose his prey, would have defied the power of Rome, as he had done that of the Council of Trent. Philip remonstrated; but Pius was firm, and menaced both king and inquisitor with excommunication. Philip had no mind for a second collision with the papal court. In imagination he already heard the thunders of the Vatican rolling in the distance, and threatening soon to break upon his head. After a confinement of now more than seven years' duration, the archbishop{181} was sent under a guard to Rome. He was kindly received by the pontiff, and honorably lodged in the castle of St. Angelo, in apartments formerly occupied by the popes themselves. But he was still a prisoner.

Pius now set seriously about the examination of Carranza's process. It was a tedious business, requiring his holiness to wade through an ocean of papers, while the progress of the suit was perpetually impeded by embarrassments thrown in his way by the industrious malice of the inquisitors. At the end of six years more, Pius was preparing to give his judgment, which it was understood would be favorable to Carranza, when, unhappily for the primate, the pontiff died.

The Holy Office, stung by the prospect of its failure, now strained every nerve to influence the mind of the new pope, Gregory the Thirteenth, to a contrary decision. New testimony was collected, new glosses were put on the primate's text, and the sanction of the most learned Spanish theologians was brought in support of them. At length, at the end of three years further, the holy father announced his purpose of giving his final decision. It was done with great circumstance. The pope was seated on his pontifical throne, surrounded by all his cardinals, prelates, and functionaries of the apostolic chamber. Before this august assembly, the archbishop presented himself unsupported and alone, while no one ventured to salute him. His head was bare. His once robust form was bent by infirmity more than by years; and his care-worn features told of that sickness which arises from hope deferred. He knelt down at some distance from the pope, and in this humble attitude received his sentence.

He was declared to have imbibed the pernicious doctrines of Luther. The decree of the Inquisition prohibiting the use of his catechism was confirmed. He was to abjure sixteen propositions found in his writings; was suspended from the exercise of his episcopal functions for five years, during which time he was to be confined in a convent of his order at Orvieto; and, finally, he was required to visit seven of the principal churches in Rome, and perform mass there by way of penance.

This was the end of eighteen years of doubt, anxiety, and imprisonment. The tears streamed down the face of the unhappy man, as he listened to the sentence; but he bowed in silent submission to the will of his superior. The very next day he began his work of penance. But nature could go no further; and on the second of May, only sixteen days after his sentence had been pronounced, Carranza died of a broken heart. The triumph of the Inquisition was complete.

The pope raised a monument to the memory of the primate, with a pompous inscription, paying a just tribute to his talents and his scholarship, endowing him with a full measure of Christian worth, and particularly commending the exemplary manner in which he had discharged the high trusts reposed in him by his sovereign.[456]

Such is the story of Carranza's persecution,—considering the rank of the party, the unprecedented length of the process, and the sensation it excited throughout Europe, altogether the most remarkable on the records of the Inquisition.[457] Our sympathy for the archbishop's sufferings may be reasonably{182} mitigated by the reflection, that he did but receive the measure which he had meted out to others.

While the persecution of Carranza was going on, the fires lighted for the Protestants continued to burn with fury in all parts of the country, until at length they gradually slackened and died away, from mere want of fuel to feed them. The year 1570 may be regarded as the period of the last auto da fé in which the Lutherans played a conspicuous part. The subsequent celebrations were devoted chiefly to relapsed Jews and Mahometans; and if a Protestant heretic was sometimes added to this list, it was "but as the gleaning of grapes after the vintage is done."[458]

Never was there a persecution which did its work more thoroughly. The blood of the martyr is commonly said to be the seed of the church. But the storm of persecution fell as heavily on the Spanish Protestants as it did on the Albigenses in the thirteenth century; blighting every living thing, so that no germ remained for future harvests. Spain might now boast that the stain of heresy no longer defiled the hem of her garment. But at what a price was this purchased! Not merely by the sacrifice of the lives and fortunes of a few thousands of the existing generation but by the disastrous consequences entailed for ever on the country. Folded under the dark wing of the Inquisition, Spain was shut out from the light which in the sixteenth century broke over the rest of Europe, stimulating the nations to greater enterprise in every department of knowledge. The genius of the people was rebuked, and their spirit quenched, under the malignant influence of an eye that never slumbered, of an unseen arm ever raised to strike. How could there be freedom of thought, where there was no freedom of utterance? Or freedom of utterance, where it was as dangerous to say too little as too much? Freedom cannot go along with fear. Every way the mind of the Spaniard was in fetters.

His moral sense was miserably perverted. Men were judged, not by their practice, but by their professions. Creed became a substitute for conduct. Difference of faith made a wider gulf of separation than difference of race, language, or even interest. Spain no longer formed one of the great brotherhood of Christian nations. An immeasurable barrier was raised between that kingdom and the Protestants of Europe. The early condition of perpetual warfare with the Arabs who overran the country had led the Spaniards to mingle religion strangely with their politics. The effect continued when the cause had ceased. Their wars with the European nations became religious wars. In fighting England or the Netherlands, they were fighting the enemies of God. It was the same everywhere. In their contest with the unoffending natives of the New World, they were still battling with{183} the enemies of God. Their wars took the character of a perpetual crusade, and were conducted with all the ferocity which fanaticism could inspire.

The same dark spirit of fanaticism seems to brood over the national literature; even that lighter literature which in other nations is made up of the festive sallies of wit, or the tender expression of sentiment. The greatest geniuses of the nation, the masters of the drama and of the ode, while they astonish us by their miracles of invention, show that they have too often kindled their inspiration at the altars of the Inquisition.

Debarred as he was from freedom of speculation, the domain of science was closed against the Spaniard. Science looks to perpetual change. It turns to the past to gather warning, as well as instruction, for the future. Its province is to remove old abuses, to explode old errors, to unfold new truths. Its condition, in short, is that of progress. But in Spain, everything not only looked to the past, but rested on the past. Old abuses gathered respect from their antiquity. Reform was innovation, and innovation was a crime. Far from progress, all was stationary. The hand of the Inquisition drew the line which said, "No further!" This was the limit of human intelligence in Spain.

The effect was visible in every department of science,—not in the speculative alone, but in the physical and the practical; in the declamatory rant of its theology and ethics, in the childish and chimerical schemes of its political economists. In every walk were to be seen the symptoms of premature decrepitude, as the nation clung to the antiquated systems which the march of civilization in other countries had long since effaced. Hence those frantic experiments, so often repeated, in the financial administration of the kingdom, which made Spain the byword of the nations, and which ended in the ruin of trade, the prostration of credit, and finally the bankruptcy of the state.—But we willingly turn from this sad picture of the destinies of the country to a more cheerful scene in the history of Philip.

CHAPTER IV.

Reception of Isabella.—Marriage Festivities.—The Queen's Mode of Life.—The Court removed to Madrid.

So soon as Philip should be settled in Spain, it had been arranged that his young bride, Elizabeth of France, should cross the Pyrenees. Early in January, 1560, Elizabeth,—or Isabella, to use the corresponding name by which she was known to the Spaniards,—under the protection of the Cardinal de Bourbon and some of the French nobility, reached the borders of Navarre, where she was met by the duke of Infantado, who was to take charge of the princess, and escort her to Castile.

Iñigo Lopez de Mendoza, fourth duke of Infantado, was the head of the most illustrious house in Castile. He was at this time near seventy years of age, having passed most of his life in attendance at court, where he had always occupied the position suited to his high birth and his extensive property, which, as his title intimated, lay chiefly in the north. He was a fine specimen of the old Castilian hidalgo, and displayed a magnificence in his way{184} of living that became his station. He was well educated, for the time; and his fondness for books did not prevent his excelling in all knightly exercises. He was said to have the best library and the best stud of any gentleman in Castile.[459]

He appeared on this occasion in great state, accompanied by his household and his kinsmen, the heads of the noblest families in Spain. The duke was attended by some fifty pages, who, in their rich dresses of satin and brocade, displayed the gay colors of the house of Mendoza. The nobles in his train, all suitably mounted, were followed by twenty-five hundred gentlemen, well equipped, like themselves. So lavish were the Castilians of that day in the caparisons of their horses, that some of these are estimated, without taking into account the jewels with which they were garnished, to have cost no less than two thousand ducats![460] The same taste is visible at this day in their descendants, especially in South America and Mexico, where the love of barbaric ornament in the housings and caparisons of their steeds is conspicuous among all classes of the people.

Several days were spent in settling the etiquette to be observed before the presentation of the duke and his followers to the princess,—a perilous matter with the Spanish hidalgo. When at length the interview took place, the cardinal of Burgos, the duke's brother, opened it by a formal and rather long address to Isabella, who replied in a tone of easy gaiety, which, though not undignified, savored much more of the manners of her own country than those of Spain.[461] The place of meeting was at Roncesvalles,—a name which to the reader of romance may call up scenes very different from those presented by the two nations now met together in kindly courtesy.[462]

From Roncesvalles the princess proceeded, under the strong escort of the duke, to his town of Guadalajara in New Castile, where her marriage with King Philip was to be solemnized. Great preparations were made by the loyal citizens for celebrating the event in a manner honorable to their own master and their future queen. A huge mound, or what might be called a hill, was raised at the entrance of the town, where a grove of natural oaks had been transplanted, amongst which was to be seen abundance of game. Isabella was received by the magistrates of the place, and escorted through the principal streets by a brilliant cavalcade, composed of the great nobility of the court. She was dressed in ermine, and rode a milk-white palfrey, which she managed with an easy grace that delighted the multitude. On one side of her rode the duke of Infantado, and on the other the cardinal of Burgos. After performing her devotions at the church, where Te Deum was chanted, she proceeded to the ducal palace, in which the marriage ceremony was to be{185} performed. On her entering the court, the princess Joanna came down to receive her sister-in-law, and, after an affectionate salutation, conducted her to the saloon, where Philip, attended by his son, was awaiting his bride.[463]

It was the first time that Isabella had seen her destined lord. She now gazed on him so intently, that he good-humoredly asked her "if she were looking to see if he had any gray hairs in his head?" The bluntness of the question somewhat disconcerted her.[464] Philip's age was not much less than that at which the first gray hairs made their appearance on his father's temples. Yet the discrepancy between the ages of the parties in the present instance was not greater than often happens in a royal union. Isabella was in her fifteenth year,[465] and Philip in his thirty-fourth.

From all accounts, the lady's youth was her least recommendation. "Elizabeth de Valois," says Brantôme, who know her well, "was a true daughter of France,—discreet, witty, beautiful, and good, if ever woman was so."[466] She was well made, and tall of stature, and on this account the more admired in Spain, where the women are rarely above the middle height. Her eyes were dark, and her luxuriant tresses, of the same dark color, shaded features that were delicately fair.[467] There was sweetness mingled with dignity in her deportment, in which Castilian stateliness seemed to be happily tempered by the vivacity of her own nation. "So attractive was she," continues the gallant old courtier, "that no cavalier durst look on her long, for fear of losing his heart, which in that jealous court might have proved the loss of his life."[468]

Some of the chroniclers notice a shade of melancholy as visible on Isabella's features, which they refer to the comparison the young bride was naturally led to make between her own lord and his son, the prince of Asturias, for whom her hand had been originally intended.[469] But the daughter of Catherine{186} de Medicis, they are careful to add, had been too well trained, from her cradle, not to know how to disguise her feelings. Don Carlos had one advantage over his father, in his youth; though, in this respect, since he was but a boy of fourteen, he might be thought to fall as much too short of the suitable age as the king exceeded it. It is also intimated by the same gossiping writers, that from this hour of their meeting, touched by the charms of his step-mother, the prince nourished a secret feeling of resentment against his father, who had thus come between him and his beautiful betrothed.[470] It is this light gossip of the chroniclers that has furnished the romancers of later ages with the flimsy materials for that web of fiction, which displays in such glowing colors the loves of Carlos and Isabella. I shall have occasion to return to this subject when treating of the fate of this unhappy prince.

When the nuptials were concluded, the good people of Guadalajara testified their loyalty by all kinds of festivities in honor of the event,—by fireworks, music, and dancing. The fountains flowed with generous liquor. Tables were spread in the public squares, laden with good cheer, and freely open to all. In the evening, the regidores of the town, to the number of fifty or more, presented themselves before the king and queen. They were dressed in their gaudy liveries of crimson and yellow velvet, and each one of these functionaries bore a napkin on his arm, while he carried a plate of sweetmeats, which he presented to the royal pair and the ladies of the court. The following morning Philip and his consort left the hospitable walls of Guadalajara, and set out with their whole suite for Toledo. At parting, the duke of Infantado made the queen and her ladies presents of jewels, lace, and other rich articles of dress; and the sovereigns took leave of their noble host, well pleased with the princely entertainment he had given them.[471]

At Toledo preparations were made for the reception of Philip and Isabella in a style worthy of the renown of that ancient capital of the Visigoths. In the broad vega before the city, three thousand of the old Spanish infantry engaged in a mock encounter with a body of Moorish cavalry, having their uniforms and caparisons fancifully trimmed and ornamented in the Arabesque fashion. Then followed various national dances by beautiful maidens of Toledo, dances of the Gypsies, and the old Spanish "war-dance of the swords."[472]

On entering the gates, the royal pair were welcomed by the municipality of the city, who supported a canopy of cloth of gold over the heads of the king and queen, emblazoned with their ciphers. A procession was formed, consisting of the principal magistrates, the members of the military orders, the officers of the Inquisition,—for Toledo was one of the principal stations of the secret tribunal,—and, lastly, the chief nobles of the court. In the cavalcade might be discerned the iron form of the duke of Alva, and his more{187} courtly rival, Ruy Gomez de Silva, count of Melito,—the two nobles highest in the royal confidence. Triumphal arches, ornamented with quaint devices and emblematical figures from ancient mythology, were thrown across the streets, which were filled with shouting multitudes. Gay wreaths of flowers and flaunting streamers adorned the verandas and balconies, which were crowded with spectators of both sexes in their holiday attire, making a display of gaudy colors that reminds an old chronicler of the richly tinted tapestries and carpetings of Flanders.[473] In this royal state, the new-married pair moved along the streets towards the great cathedral; and after paying their devotions at its venerable shrine, they repaired to the alcazar,—the palace-fortress of Toledo.

For some weeks, during which the sovereigns remained in the capital, there was a general jubilee.[474] All the national games of Spain were exhibited to the young queen; the bull-fight, the Moorish sport of the cañas, or tilt of reeds, and tournaments on horseback and on foot, in both of which Philip often showed himself armed cap-à-pie in the lists, and did his devoir in the presence of his fair bride, as became a loyal knight. Another show, which might have been better reserved for a less joyous occasion, was exhibited to Isabella. As the court and the cortes were drawn together in Toledo, the Holy Office took the occasion to celebrate an auto da fé, which, from the number of the victims and quality of the spectators, was the most imposing spectacle of the kind ever witnessed in that capital.

No country in Europe has so distinct an individuality as Spain; shown not merely in the character of the inhabitants, but in the smallest details of life,—in their national games, their dress, their social usages. The tenacity with which the people have clung to these amidst all the changes of dynasties and laws is truly admirable. Separated by their mountain barrier from the central and eastern parts of Europe, and during the greater part of their existence brought into contact with Oriental forms of civilization, the Spaniards have been but little exposed to those influences which have given a homogeneous complexion to the other nations of Christendom. The system under which they have been trained is too peculiar to be much affected by these influences, and the ideas transmitted from their ancestors are too deeply settled in their minds to be easily disturbed. The present in Spain is but the mirror of the past, in other countries fashions become antiquated, old errors{188} exploded, early tastes reformed. Not so in the Peninsula. The traveller has only to cross the Pyrenees to find himself a contemporary of the sixteenth century.

The festivities of the court were suddenly terminated by the illness of Isabella, who was attacked by the small-pox. Her life was in no danger; but great fears were entertained lest the envious disease should prove fatal to her beauty. Her mother, Catherine de Medicis, had great apprehensions on this point; and couriers crossed the Pyrenees frequently, during the queen's illness, bringing prescriptions—some of them rather extraordinary—from the French doctors for preventing the ravages of the disorder.[475] Whether it was by reason of these nostrums, or her own excellent constitution, the queen was fortunate enough to escape from the sick-room without a scar.

Philip seems to have had much reason to be contented not only with the person, but the disposition, of his wife. As her marriage had formed one of the articles in the treaty with France, she was called by the Spaniards Isabel de la Paz,—"Isabella of the Peace." Her own countrymen no less fondly styled her "the Olive-Branch of Peace,"—intimating the sweetness of her disposition.[476] In this respect she may be thought to have formed a contrast to Philip's former wife, Mary of England; at least after sickness and misfortune had done their work upon that queen's temper, in the latter part of her life.

If Isabella was not a scholar, like Mary, she at least was well instructed for the time, and was fond of reading, especially poetry. She had a ready apprehension, and learned in a short time to speak the Castilian with tolerable fluency, while there was something pleasing in her foreign accent, that made her pronunciation the more interesting. She accommodated herself so well to the usages of her adopted nation, that she soon won the hearts of the Spaniards. "No queen of Castile," says the loyal Brantôme, "with due deference to Isabella the Catholic, was ever so popular in the country." When she went abroad, it was usually with her face uncovered, after the manner of her countrywomen. The press was always great around her whenever she appeared in public, and happy was the man who could approach so near as to get a glimpse of her beautiful countenance.[477]

Yet Isabella never forgot the land of her birth; and such of her countrymen as visited the Castilian court were received by her with distinguished courtesy. She brought along with her in her train to Castile several French ladies of rank, as her maids of honor. But a rivalry soon grew up between them and the Spanish ladies in the palace, which compelled the queen, after she had in vain attempted to reconcile the parties, to send back most of her own countrywomen. In doing so, she was careful to provide them with generous marriage portions.[478]{189}

The queen maintained great state in her household, as was Philip's wish, who seems to have lavished on his lovely consort those attentions for which the unfortunate Mary Tudor had pined in vain. Besides a rare display of jewels, Isabella's wardrobe was exceedingly rich. Few of her robes cost less than three or four hundred crowns each,—a great sum for the time. Like her namesake and contemporary, Elizabeth of England, she rarely wore the same dress twice. But she gave away the discarded suit to her attendants,[479] unlike in this to the English queen, who hoarded up her wardrobe so carefully, that at her death it must have displayed every fashion of her reign. Brantôme, who, both as a Frenchman and as one who had seen the queen often in the court of Castile, may be considered a judge in the matter, dwells with rapture on the elegance of her costume, the matchless taste in its arrangement, and the perfection of her coiffure.

A manuscript of the time, by an eye-witness, gives a few particulars respecting her manner of living, in which some readers may take an interest. Among the persons connected with the queen's establishment, the writer mentions her confessor, her almoner, and four physicians. The medical art seems to have been always held in high repute in Spain, though in no country, considering the empirical character of its professors, with so little reason. At dinner the queen was usually attended by some thirty of her ladies. Two of them, singularly enough as it may seem to us, performed the office of carvers. Another served as cupbearer, and stood by her majesty's chair. The rest of her attendants stood round the apartment, conversing with their gallants, who, in a style to which she had not been used in the French courts, kept their heads covered during the repast. "They were there," they said, "not to wait on the queen, but her ladies." After her solitary meal was over, Isabella retired with her attendants to her chamber, where, with the aid of music, and such mirth as the buffoons and jesters of the palace could afford, she made shift to pass the evening.[480]

Such is the portrait which her contemporaries have left us of Elizabeth of France; and such the accounts of her popularity with the nation, and the state maintained in her establishment. Well might Brantôme sadly exclaim, "Alas! what did it all avail?" A few brief years only were to pass away before this spoiled child of fortune, the delight of the monarch, the ornament and pride of the court, was to exchange the pomps and glories of her royal state for the dark chambers of the Escorial.

From Toledo the court proceeded to Valladolid, long the favourite residence of the Castilian princes, though not the acknowledged capital of the country.{190} Indeed there was no city, since the time of the Visigoths, that could positively claim that preëminence. This honor was reserved for Madrid, which became the established residence of the court under Philip, who in this but carried out the ideas of his father, Charles the Fifth.

The emperor had passed much time in this place, where, strange to say, the chief recommendation to him seems to have been the climate. Situated on a broad expanse of table-land, at an elevation of twenty-four hundred feet above the level of the sea, the brisk and rarefied atmosphere of Madrid proved favorable to Charles's health. It preserved him, in particular, from attacks of the fever and ague, which racked his constitution almost as much as the gout. In the ancient alcazar of the Moors he found a stately residence, which he made commodious by various alterations. Philip extended these improvements. He added new apartments, and spent much money in enlarging and embellishing the old ones. The ceilings were gilded and richly carved. The walls were hung with tapestries, and the saloons and galleries decorated with sculpture and with paintings,—many of them the productions of native artists, the first disciples of a school which was one day to rival the great masters of Italy. Extensive grounds were also laid out around the palace, and a park was formed, which in time came to be covered with a growth of noble trees, and well stocked with game. The alcazar, thus improved, became a fitting residence for the sovereign of Spain. Indeed, if we may trust the magnificent vaunt of a contemporary, it was "allowed by foreigners to be the rarest thing of the kind possessed by any monarch in Christendom."[481] It continued to be the abode of the Spanish princes until, in 1734, in the reign of Philip the Fifth, the building was destroyed by a fire, which lasted nearly a week. But it rose like a phoenix from its ashes; and a new palace was raised on the site of the old one, of still larger dimensions, presenting in the beauty of its materials as well as of its execution one of the noblest monuments of the architecture of the eighteenth century.[482]

Having completed his arrangements, Philip established his residence at Madrid in 1563. The town then contained about twelve thousand inhabitants. Under the forcing atmosphere of a court, the population rose by the end of his long reign to three hundred thousand,[483]—a number which it has probably not since exceeded. The accommodations in the capital kept pace with the increase of population. Everything was built for duration. Instead of flimsy houses that might serve for a temporary residence, the streets were lined with strong and substantial edifices. Under the royal patronage public works on a liberal scale were executed. Madrid was ornamented with bridges, aqueducts, hospitals, the Museum, the Armory,—stately structures which even now challenge our admiration, not less by the excellence of their designs than by the richness of their collections and the enlightened taste which they infer at this early period.{191}

In the opinion of its inhabitants, indeed we may say of the nation, Madrid surpassed, not only every other city in the country, but in Christendom. "There is but one Madrid," says the Spanish proverb.[484] "When Madrid is the theme, the world listens in silence!"[485] In a similar key, the old Castilian writers celebrate the glories of their capital,—the nursery of wit, genius, and gallantry,—and expatiate on the temperature of a climate propitious alike to the beauty of the women and the bravery of the men.[486]

Yet, with all this lofty panegyric, the foreigner is apt to see things through a very different medium from that through which they are seen by the patriotic eye of the native. The traveller to Madrid finds little to praise in a situation where the keen winds from the mountains come laden with disease, and where the subtle atmosphere, to use one of the national proverbs, that can hardly put out a candle, will extinguish the life of a man;[487] where the capital, insulated in the midst of a dreary expanse of desert, seems to be cut off from sympathy, if not from intercourse, with the provinces;[488] and where, instead of a great river that might open to it a commerce with distant quarters of the globe, it is washed only by a stream,—"the far-famed Manzanares,"—the bed of which in summer is a barren watercourse. The traveller may well doubt whether the fanciful advantage, so much vaunted, of being the centre of Spain, is sufficient to compensate the manifold evils of such a position, and even whether those are far from truth who find in this position one of the many causes of the decline of the national prosperity.[489]

A full experience of the inconveniences of the site of the capital led Charles the Third to contemplate its removal to Seville. But it was too late. Madrid had been too long, in the Castilian boast, "the only court in the world,"[490]—the focus to which converged talent, fashion, and wealth from all quarters of the country. Too many patriotic associations had gathered round it to warrant its desertion; and, in spite of its local disadvantages, the capital planted by Philip the Second continued to remain, as it will probably ever remain, the capital of the Spanish monarchy.{192}

CHAPTER V.

The Reformation.—Its Progress in the Netherlands.—General Discontent.—William of Orange.

The middle of the sixteenth century presented one of those crises which have occurred at long intervals in the history of Europe, when the course of events has had a permanent influence on the destiny of nations. Scarcely forty years had elapsed since Luther had thrown down the gauntlet to the Vatican, by publicly burning the papal bull at Wittenberg. Since that time, his doctrines had been received in Denmark and Sweden. In England, after a state of vacillation for three reigns, Protestantism, in the peculiar form which it still wears, was become the established religion of the state. The fiery cross had gone round over the hills and valleys of Scotland, and thousands and tens of thousands had gathered to hear the word of life from the lips of Knox. The doctrines of Luther were spread over the northern parts of Germany, and freedom of worship was finally guarantied there, by the treaty of Passau. The Low Countries were the "debatable land," on which the various sects of Reformers, the Lutheran, the Calvinist, the English Protestant, contended for mastery with the established church. Calvinism was embraced by some of the cantons of Switzerland, and at Geneva its great apostle had fixed his head-quarters. His doctrines were widely circulated through France, till the divided nation was preparing to plunge into that worst of all wars, in which the hand of brother is raised against brother. The cry of reform had even passed the Alps, and was heard under the walls of the Vatican. It had crossed the Pyrenees. The king of Navarre declared himself a Protestant; and the spirit of the Reformation had secretly insinuated itself into Spain, and taken hold, as we have seen, of the middle and southern provinces of the kingdom.

A contemporary of the period, who reflected on the onward march of the new religion over every obstacle in its path, who had seen it gather under its banners states and nations once the most loyal and potent vassals of Rome, would have had little reason to doubt that, before the end of the century, the Reform would have extended its sway over the whole of Christendom. Fortunately for Catholicism, the most powerful empire in Europe was in the hands of a prince who was devoted with his whole soul to the interests of the Church. Philip the Second understood the importance of his position. His whole life proves that he felt it to be his especial mission to employ his great resources to restore the tottering fortunes of Catholicism, and stay the progress of the torrent which was sweeping away every landmark of the primitive faith.

We have seen the manner in which he crushed the efforts of the Protestants in Spain. This was the first severe blow struck at the Reformation. Its consequences cannot well be exaggerated; not the immediate results, which would have been little without the subsequent reforms and increased activity of the Church of Rome itself. But the moral influence of such a blow, when the minds of men had been depressed by a long series of reverses, is not to be estimated. In view of this, one of the most eminent Roman Catholic writers does not hesitate to remark, that "the power and abilities of Philip the Second afforded a counterpoise to the Protestant cause, which prevented it from making itself master of Europe."[491] The blow was struck; and from this{193} period little beyond its present conquests was to be gained for the cause of the Reformation.

It was not to be expected that Philip, after having exterminated heresy in one part of his dominions, should tolerate its existence in any other, least of all, in a country so important as the Netherlands. Yet a little reflection might have satisfied him that the same system of measures could hardly be applied with a prospect of success to two countries so differently situated as Spain and the Netherlands. The Romish faith may be said to have entered into the being of the Spaniard. It was not merely cherished as a form of religion, but as a principle of honor. It was part of the national history. For eight centuries the Spaniard had been fighting at home the battles of the Church. Nearly every inch of soil in his own country was won by arms from the infidel. His wars, as I have more than once had occasion to remark, were all wars of religion. He carried the same spirit across the waters. There he was still fighting the infidel. His life was one long crusade. How could this champion of the Church desert her in her utmost need?

With this predisposition, it was easy for Philip to enforce obedience in a people naturally the most loyal to their princes, to whom, moreover, since the fatal war of the Comunidades, they had been accustomed to pay an almost Oriental submission. Intrenched behind the wall of the Pyrenees, Spain, we must bear in mind, felt little of the great shock which was convulsing France and the other states of Europe; and with the aid of so formidable an engine as the Inquisition, it was easy to exterminate, before they could take root, such seeds of heresy as had been borne by the storm across the mountains.

The Netherlands, on the other hand, lay like a valley among the hills, which drinks in all the waters of the surrounding country. They were a common reservoir for the various opinions which agitated the nations on their borders. On the south were the Lutherans of Germany. The French Huguenots pressed them on the west; and by the ocean they held communication with England and the nations of the Baltic. The soldier quartered on their territory, the seaman who visited their shores, the trader who trafficked in their towns, brought with them different forms of the new religion. Books from France and from Germany circulated widely among a people, nearly all of whom, as we have seen, were able to read.

The new doctrines were discussed by men accustomed to think and act for themselves. Freedom of speculation on religious topics soon extended to political. It was the natural tendency of reform. The same spirit of free inquiry which attacked the foundations of unity of faith, stood ready next to assail those of unity of government; and men began boldly to criticize the rights of kings and the duties of subjects.

The spirit of independence was fostered by the institutions of the country. The provinces of the Netherlands, if not republican in form, were filled with the spirit of republics. In many of their features they call to mind the free states of Italy in the Middle Ages. Under the petty princes who ruled over them in early days, they had obtained charters, as we have seen, which secured a certain degree of constitutional freedom. The province of Brabant, above all, gloried in its "Joyeuse Entrée," which guarantied privileges and immunities of a more liberal character than those possessed by the other states of the Netherlands. When the provinces passed at length under the sceptre of a single sovereign, he lived at a distance, and the government was committed to a viceroy. Since their connection with Spain, the administration had been for the most part in the hands of a woman; and the delegated authority of a woman pressed but lightly on the independent temper of the Flemings.

Yet Charles the Fifth, as we have seen, partial as he was to his countrymen in the Netherlands, could ill brook their audacious spirit, and made vigorous{194} efforts to repress it. But his zeal for the spiritual welfare of his people never led him to overlook their material interests. He had no design by his punishments to cripple their strength, much less to urge them to extremity. When the regent, Mary of Hungary, his sister, warned him that his laws bore too heavily on the people to be endured, he was careful to mitigate their severity. His edicts in the name of religion were, indeed, written in blood. But the frequency of their repetition shows, as already remarked, the imperfect manner in which they were executed. This was still further proved by the prosperous condition of the people, the flourishing aspect of the various branches of industry, and the great enterprises to facilitate commercial intercourse and foster the activity of the country. At the close of Charles's reign, or rather at the commencement of his successor's, in 1560, was completed the grand canal extending from Antwerp to Brussels, the construction of which had consumed thirty years, and one million eight hundred thousand florins.[492] Such a work, at such a period,—the fruit, not of royal patronage, but of the public spirit of the citizens,—is evidence both of large resources and of wisdom in the direction of them. In this state of things, it is not surprising that the Flemings, feeling their own strength, should have assumed a free and independent tone little grateful to the ear of a sovereign. So far had this spirit of liberty or licence, as it was termed, increased, in the latter part of the emperor's reign, that the Regent Mary, when her brother abdicated, chose also to resign, declaring, in a letter to him, that "she would not continue to live with, much less to reign over, a people whose manners had undergone such a change,—in whom respect for God and man seemed no longer to exist."[493]

A philosopher who should have contemplated at that day the condition of the country, and the civilization at which it had arrived, might feel satisfied that a system of toleration in religious matters would be the one best suited to the genius of the people and the character of their institutions. But Philip was no philosopher; and toleration was a virtue not understood, at that time, by Calvinist any more than by Catholic. The question, therefore, is not whether the end he proposed was the best one;—on this, few at the present day will differ;—but whether Philip took the best means for effecting that end. This is the point of view from which his conduct in the Netherlands should be criticized.

Here, in the outset, he seems to have fallen into a capital error, by committing so large a share in the government to the hands of a foreigner,—Granvelle. The country was filled with nobles, some of them men of the highest birth, whose ancestors were associated with the most stirring national recollections, and who were endeared, moreover, to their countrymen by their own services. To several of these Philip himself was under no slight obligations for the aid they had afforded him in the late war,—on the fields of Gravelines and St. Quentin, and in the negotiation of the treaty which closed his hostilities with France. It was hardly to be expected that these proud nobles, conscious of their superior claims, and accustomed to so much authority and deference in their own land, would tamely submit to the control{195} of a stranger, a man of obscure family, like his father indebted for his elevation to the royal favor.

Besides these great lords, there was a numerous aristocracy, inferior nobles and cavaliers, many of whom had served under the standard of Charles in his long wars. They there formed those formidable companies of ordonnance, whose fame perhaps stood higher than that of any other corps of the imperial cavalry. The situation of these men, now disbanded, and, with their roving military habits, hanging loosely on the country, has been compared by a modern author to that which, on the accession of the Bourbons, was occupied by the soldiers whom Napoleon had so often led to victory.[494] To add to their restlessness, many of these, as well as of the higher nobility, were embarrassed by debts contracted in their campaigns, or by too ambitious expenditure at home, especially in rivalry with the ostentatious Spaniard. "The Flemish nobles," says a writer of the time, "were too many of them oppressed by heavy debts and the payment of exorbitant interest. They spent twice as much as they were worth on their palaces, furniture, troops of retainers, costly liveries, their banquets and sumptuous entertainments of every description,—in fine, in every form of luxury and superfluity that could be devised. Thus discontent became prevalent through the country, and men anxiously looked forward to some change."[495]

Still another element of discontent, and one that extended to all classes, was antipathy to the Spaniards. It had not been easy to repress this even under the rule of Charles the Fifth, who had shown such manifest preference for his Flemish subjects. But now it was more decidedly called out, under a monarch, whose sympathies lay altogether on the side of their rivals. No doubt this popular sentiment is to be explained partly by the contrast afforded by the characters of the two nations, so great as hardly to afford a point of contact between them. But it may be fairly charged, to a great extent, on the Spaniards themselves, who, while they displayed many noble and magnanimous traits at home, seemed desirous to exhibit only the repulsive side of their character to the eye of the stranger. Cold and impenetrable, assuming an arrogant tone of superiority over every other nation, in whatever land it was their destiny to be cast, England, Italy, or the Netherlands, as allies or as enemies, we find the Spaniards of that day equally detested. Brought with them, as the people of the Netherlands were, under a common sceptre, a spirit of comparison and rivalry grew up, which induced a thousand causes of irritation.

The difficulty was still further increased by the condition of the neighboring countries, where the minds of the inhabitants were now in the highest state of fermentation in matters of religion. In short, the atmosphere seemed everywhere to be in that highly electrified condition which bodes the coming tempest. In this critical state of things, it was clear that it was only by a most careful and considerate policy that harmony could be maintained in the Netherlands; a policy manifesting alike tenderness for the feelings of the nation and respect for its institutions.{196}

Having thus shown the general aspect of things when the duchess of Parma entered on her regency, towards the close of 1559, it is time to go forward with the narrative of the prominent events which led to the War of the Revolution.

We have already seen that Philip, on leaving the country, lodged the administration nominally in three councils, although in truth it was on the council of state that the weight of government actually rested. Even here the nobles who composed it were of little account in matters of real importance, which were reserved for a consulta, consisting, besides the regent, of Granvelle, Count Barlaimont, and the learned jurist Viglius. As the last two were altogether devoted to Granvelle, and the regent was instructed to defer greatly to his judgment, the government of the Netherlands may be said to have been virtually deposited in the hands of the bishop of Arras.

At the head of the Flemish nobles in the council of state, and indeed in the country, taking into view their rank, fortune, and public services, stood Count Egmont and the prince of Orange. I have already given some account of the former, and the reader has seen the important part which he took in the great victories of Gravelines and St. Quentin. To the prince of Orange Philip had also been indebted for his counsel in conducting the war, and still more for the aid which he had afforded in the negotiations for peace. It will be proper, before going further, to give the reader some particulars of this celebrated man, the great leader in the war of the Netherlands.

William, prince of Orange, was born at Dillenburg, in the German duchy of Nassau, on the twenty-fifth of April, 1533. He was descended from a house, one of whose branches had given an emperor to Germany; and William's own ancestors were distinguished by the employments they had held, and the services they had rendered, both in Germany and the Low Countries. It was a proud vaunt of his, that Philip was under larger obligations to him than he to Philip; and that, but for the house of Nassau, the king of Spain would not be able to write as many titles as he now did after his name.[496]

When eleven years old, by the death of his cousin René he came into possession of a large domain in Holland, and a still larger property in Brabant, where he held the title of Lord of Breda. To these was added, the splendid inheritance of Chalons, and of the principality of Orange; which, however, situated at a distance, in the heart of France, might seem to be held by a somewhat precarious tenure.

William's parents were both Lutherans, and in their faith he was educated. But Charles saw with displeasure the false direction thus given to one who at a future day was to occupy so distinguished a position among his Flemish vassals. With the consent of his parents, the child, in his twelfth year, was removed to Brussels, to be brought up in the family of the emperor's sister, the Regent Mary of Hungary. However their consent to this step may be explained, it certainly seems that their zeal for the spiritual welfare of their son was not such as to stand in the way of his temporal. In the family of the regent the youth was bred a Catholic, while in all respects he received an education suited to his rank.[497] It is an interesting fact, that his preceptor{197} was a younger brother of Granvelle,—the man with whom William was afterwards to be placed in an attitude of such bitter hostility.

When fifteen years of age, the prince was taken into the imperial household, and became the page of Charles the Fifth. The emperor was not slow in discerning the extraordinary qualities of the youth; and he showed it by intrusting him, as he grew older, with various important commissions. He was accompanied by the prince on his military expeditions, and Charles gave a remarkable proof of his confidence in his capacity, by raising him, at the age of twenty-two, over the heads of veteran officers, and giving him the command of the imperial forces engaged in the siege of Marienburg. During the six months that William was in command, they were still occupied with this siege, and with the construction of a fortress for the protection of Flanders. There was little room for military display. But the troops were in want of food and of money, and their young commander's conduct under these embarrassments was such as to vindicate the wisdom of his appointment. Charles afterwards employed him on several diplomatic missions,—a more congenial field for the exercise of his talents, which appear to have been better suited to civil than to military affairs.

The emperor's regard for the prince seems to have increased with his years, and he gave public proof of it, in the last hour of his reign, by leaning on William's shoulder at the time of his abdication, when he made his parting address to the states of the Netherlands. He showed this still further by selecting him for the honorable mission of bearing the imperial crown to Ferdinand.

On his abdication, Charles earnestly commended William to his successor. Philip profited by his services in the beginning of his reign, when the prince of Orange, who had followed him in the French war, was made one of the four plenipotentiaries for negotiating the treaty of Cateau-Cambresis, for the execution of which he remained as one of the hostages in France.

While at the court of Henry the Second, it will be remembered, the prince became acquainted with the secret designs of the French and Spanish monarchs against the Protestants in their dominions; and he resolved, from that hour, to devote all his strength to expel the "Spanish vermin" from the Netherlands. One must not infer from this, however, that William, at this early period, meditated the design of shaking off the rule of Spain altogether. The object he had in view went no further than to relieve the country from the odious presence of the Spanish troops, and to place the administration in those hands to which it rightfully belonged. They, however, who set a revolution in motion have not always the power to stop it. If they can succeed in giving it a direction, they will probably be carried forward by it beyond their intended limits, until, gathering confidence with success, they aim at an end far higher than that which they had originally proposed. Such, doubtless, was the case with William of Orange.

Notwithstanding the emperor's recommendation, the prince of Orange was not the man whom Philip selected for his confidence. Nor was it possible for William to regard the king with the same feelings which he had entertained for the emperor. To Charles the prince was under obvious obligations for his nurture in early life. His national pride, too, was not wounded by having a Spaniard for his sovereign, since Charles was not by birth, much less in heart, a Spaniard. All this was reversed in Philip, in whom William saw only the representative of a detested race. The prudent reserve which marked the character of each, no doubt, prevented the outward demonstration{198} of their sentiments; but from their actions we may readily infer the instinctive aversion which the two parties entertained for each other.

At the early age of eighteen, William married Anne of Egmont, daughter of the count of Büren. The connection was a happy one, if we may trust the loving tone of their correspondence. Unhappily, in a few years their union was dissolved by the lady's death. The prince did not long remain a widower, before he made proposals to the daughter of the duchess of Lorraine. The prospect of such a match gave great dissatisfaction to Philip, who had no mind to see his Flemish vassal allied with the family of a great feudatory of France. Disappointed in this quarter, William next paid his addresses to Anne of Saxony, an heiress, whose large possessions made her one of the most brilliant matches in Germany. William's passion and his interest, it was remarked, kept time well together.

The course of love, however, was not destined to run smoothly on the present occasion. Anne was the daughter of Maurice, the great Lutheran champion, the implacable enemy of Charles the Fifth. Left early an orphan, she had been reared in the family of her uncle, the elector of Saxony, in the strictest tenets of the Lutheran faith. Such a connection was, of course, every way distasteful to Philip, to whom William was willing so far to defer as to solicit his approbation, though he did not mean to be controlled by it.[498] The correspondence on the subject, in which both the regent and Granvelle took an active part, occupies as much space in collections of the period as more important negotiations. The prince endeavored to silence the king's scruples, by declaring that he was too much a Catholic at heart to marry any woman who was not of the same persuasion as himself; and that he had received assurances from the elector that his wife in this respect should entirely conform to his wishes. The elector had scruples as to the match, no less than Philip, though on precisely the opposite grounds; and, after the prince's assurance to the king, one is surprised to find that an understanding must have existed with the elector that Anne should be allowed the undisturbed enjoyment of her own religion.[499] This double dealing leaves a disagreeable impression in regard to William's character. Yet it does not seem, to judge from his later life, to be altogether inconsistent with it. Machiavelli is the author whom he is said to have had most frequently in his hand;[500] and in the policy with which he shaped his course, we may sometimes fancy that we can discern the influence of the Italian statesman.

The marriage was celebrated with great pomp at Leipsic, on the twenty-fifth of August, 1561. The king of Denmark, several of the electors, and many princes and nobles of both Germany and the Low Countries, were invited guests; and the whole assembly present on the occasion was estimated at nearly six thousand persons.[501] The king of Spain complimented the bride by sending her a jewel worth three thousand ducats.[502] It proved, however, as Granvelle had predicted, an ill-assorted union. After living together for nearly thirteen years, the prince, weary of the irregularities of his wife, separated from her, and sent her back to her friends in Germany.{199}

During his residence in Brussels, William easily fell into the way of life followed by the Flemish nobles. He was very fond of the healthy exercise of the chase, and especially of hawking. He was social, indeed convivial, in his habits, after the fashion of his countrymen;[503] and was addicted to gallantries, which continued long enough, it is said, to suggest an apology for the disorderly conduct of his wife. He occupied the ancient palace of his family at Brussels, where he was surrounded by lords and cavaliers, and a numerous retinue of menials.[504] He lived in great state, displaying a profuse magnificence in his entertainments; and few there were, natives or foreigners, who had any claim on his hospitality, that did not receive it.[505] By this expensive way of life, he encumbered his estate with a heavy debt; amounting, if we may take Granvelle's word, to nine hundred thousand florins.[506] Yet, if William's own account, but one year later, be true, the debt was then brought within a very moderate compass.[507]

With his genial habits and love of pleasure, and with manners the most attractive, he had not the free and open temper which often goes along with them. He was called by his contemporaries "William the Silent." Perhaps the epithet was intended to indicate not so much his taciturnity, as that impenetrable reserve which locked up his secrets closely within his bosom. No man knew better how to keep his counsel, even from those who acted with him. But while masking his own designs, no man was more sagacious in penetrating those of others. He carried on an extensive correspondence in foreign countries, and employed every means for getting information. Thus, while he had it in his power to outwit others, it was very rare that he became their dupe. Though on ordinary occasions frugal of words, when he did speak it was with effect. His eloquence was of the most persuasive kind;[508] and as towards his inferiors he was affable, and exceedingly considerate of{200} their feelings, he acquired an unbounded ascendancy over his countrymen.[509] It must be admitted that the prince of Orange possessed many rare qualities for the leader of a great revolution.

The course William took in respect to his wife's religion might lead one to doubt whether he were at heart Catholic or Protestant; or indeed whether he were not equally indifferent to both persuasions. The latter opinion might be strengthened by a remark imputed to him, that "he would not have his wife trouble herself with such melancholy books as the Scriptures, but instead of them amuse herself with Amadis de Gaul, and other pleasant works of the kind."[510] "The prince of Orange," says a writer of the time, "passed for a Catholic among Catholics, a Lutheran among Lutherans. If he could, he would have had a religion compounded of both. In truth, he looked on the Christian religion like the ceremonies which Numa introduced, as a sort of politic invention."[511] Granvelle, in a letter to Philip, speaks much to the same purpose.[512] These portraits were by unfriendly hands. Those who take a different view of his character, while they admit that in his early days his opinions in matters of faith were unsettled, contend that in time he became sincerely attached to the doctrines which he defended with his sword. This seems to be no more than natural. But the reader will have an opportunity of judging for himself, when he has followed the great chief through the changes of his stormy career.

It would be strange, indeed, if the leader in a religious revolution should have been himself without any religious convictions. One thing is certain, he possessed a spirit of toleration, the more honorable that in that day it was so rare. He condemned the Calvinists as restless and seditious; the Catholics, for their bigoted attachment to a dogma. Persecution in matters of faith he totally condemned, for freedom of judgment in such matters he regarded as the inalienable right of man.[513] These conclusions, at which the world, after an incalculable amount of human suffering, has been three centuries in arriving, (has it altogether arrived at them yet?) must be allowed to reflect great credit on the character of William.{201}

CHAPTER VI.

Grounds of Complaint.—The Spanish Troops.—The New Bishoprics.—Influence on Granvelle.—Opposed by the Nobles.—His Unpopularity.

The first cause of trouble, after Philip's departure from the Netherlands, arose from the detention of the Spanish troops there. The king had pledged his word, it will be remembered, that they should leave the country by the end of four months, at farthest. Yet that period had long since passed, and no preparations were made for their departure. The indignation of the people rose higher and higher at the insult thus offered by the presence of these detested foreigners. It was a season of peace. No invasion was threatened from abroad; no insurrection existed at home. There was nothing to require the maintenance of an extraordinary force, much less of one composed of foreign troops. It could only be that the king, distrusting his Flemish subjects, designed to overawe them by his mercenaries, in sufficient strength to enforce his arbitrary acts. The free spirit of the Netherlanders was roused by these suggestions, and they boldly demanded the removal of the Spaniards.

Granvelle himself, who would willingly have pleased his master by retaining a force in the country on which he could rely, admitted that the project was impracticable. "The troops must be withdrawn," he wrote, "and that speedily, or the consequence will be an insurrection."[514] The states would not consent, he said, to furnish the necessary subsidies while they remained. The prince of Orange and Count Egmont threw up the commands intrusted to them by the king. They dared no longer hold them, as the minister added, it was so unpopular.[515]

The troops had much increased the difficulty by their own misconduct. They were drawn from the great mass, often the dregs, of the people; and their morals, such as they were, had not been improved in the life of the camp. However strict their discipline in time of active service, it was greatly relaxed in their present state of inaction; and they had full license, as well as leisure, to indulge their mischievous appetites, at the expense of the unfortunate districts in which they were quartered.

Yet Philip was slow in returning an answer to the importunate letters of the regent and the minister; and when he did reply, it was to evade their request, lamenting his want of funds, and declaring his purpose to remove the forces so soon as he could pay their arrears. The public exchequer was undoubtedly at a low ebb; lower in Spain than in the Netherlands.[516] But no one could believe the royal credit so far reduced as not to be able to provide{202} for the arrears of three or four thousand soldiers. The regent, however, saw that, with or without instructions, it was necessary to act. Several of the members of the council became sureties for the payment of the arrears, and the troops were ordered to Zealand, in order to embark for Spain. But the winds proved unfavorable. Two months longer they were detained, on shore or on board the transports. They soon got into brawls with the workmen employed on the dikes; and the inhabitants, still apprehensive of orders from the king countermanding the departure of the Spaniards, resolved, in such an event, to abandon the dikes, and lay the country under water![517] Fortunately, they were not driven to this extremity. In January, 1561, more than a year after the date assigned by Philip, the nation was relieved of the presence of the intruders.[518]

Philip's conduct in this affair is not very easy to explain. However much he might have desired originally to maintain the troops in the Netherlands, as an armed police on which he could rely to enforce the execution of his orders, it had become clear that the good they might do in quelling an insurrection was more than counterbalanced by the probability of their exciting one. It was characteristic of the king, however, to be slow in retreating from any position he had taken; and, as we shall often have occasion to see, there was a certain apathy or sluggishness in his nature, which led him sometimes to leave events to take their own course, rather than to shape a course for them himself.

This difficulty was no sooner settled, than it was followed by another scarcely less serious. We have seen, in a former chapter, the arrangements made for adding thirteen new bishoprics to the four already existing in the Netherlands. The measure, in itself a good one, and demanded by the situation of the country, was, from the posture of affairs at that time, likely to meet with opposition, if not to occasion great excitement. For this reason, the whole affair had been kept profoundly secret by the government. It was not till 1561 that Philip disclosed his views, in a letter to some of the principal nobles in the council of state. But, long before that time, the project had taken wind, and created a general sensation through the country.

The people looked on it as an attempt to subject them to the same ecclesiastical system which existed in Spain. The bishops, by virtue of their office, were possessed of certain inquisitorial powers, and these were still further enlarged by the provisions of the royal edicts. Philip's attachment to the Inquisition was well understood, and there was probably not a child in the country who had not heard of the auto da fé which he had sanctioned by his presence on his return to his dominions. The present changes were regarded as part of a great scheme for introducing the Spanish Inquisition into the Netherlands.[519] However erroneous these conclusions,{203} there is little reason to doubt they were encouraged by those who knew their fallacy.

The nobles had other reasons for opposing the measure. The bishops would occupy in the legislature the place formerly held by the abbots, who were indebted for their election to the religious houses over which they presided. The new prelates, on the contrary, would receive their nomination from the crown; and the nobles saw with alarm their own independence menaced by the accession of an order of men who would naturally be subservient to the interests of the monarch. That the crown was not insensible to these advantages is evident from a letter of the minister, in which he sneers at the abbots, as "men fit only to rule over monasteries, ever willing to thwart the king, and as perverse as the lowest of the people."[520]

But the greatest opposition arose from the manner in which the new dignitaries were to be maintained. This was to be done by suppressing the offices of the abbots, and by appropriating the revenues of their houses to the maintenance of the bishops. For this economical arrangement Granvelle seems to have been chiefly responsible. Thus the income—amounting to fifty thousand ducats—of the Abbey of Afflighen, one of the wealthiest in Brabant, was to be bestowed on the archiepiscopal see of Mechlin, to be held by the minister himself.[521] In virtue of that dignity, Granvelle would become primate of the Netherlands.

Loud was the clamor excited by this arrangement among the members of the religious fraternities, and all those who directly or indirectly had any interest in them. It was a manifest perversion of the funds from the objects for which they had been given to the institutions. It was interfering with the economy of these institutions, protected by the national charters; and the people of Brabant appealed to the "Joyeuse Entrée." Jurists of the greatest eminence, in different parts of Europe, were consulted as to the legality of these proceedings. Thirty thousand florins were expended by Brabant alone in this matter, as well as in employing an agent at the court of Rome to exhibit the true state of the affair to his holiness, and to counteract the efforts of the Spanish government.[522]

The reader may remember, that, just before Philip's departure from the Netherlands, a bull arrived from Rome authorizing the erection of the new bishoprics. This was but the initiatory step. Many other proceedings were necessary before the consummation of the affair. Owing to impediments thrown in the way by the provinces, and the habitual tardiness of the court of Rome, nearly three years elapsed before the final briefs were expedited by Pius the Fourth. New obstacles were raised by the jealous temper of the Flemings, who regarded the whole matter as a conspiracy of the pope and the king against the liberties of the nation. Utrecht, Gueldres, and three other places, refused to receive their bishops; and they never obtained a footing{204} there. Antwerp, which was to have been made an episcopal see, sent a commission to the king to represent the ruin this would bring on its trade, from the connection supposed to exist between the episcopal establishment and the Spanish Inquisition. For a year the king would not condescend to give any heed to the remonstrance. He finally consented to defer the decision of the question till his arrival in the country; and Antwerp was saved from its bishop.[523]

In another place we find the bishop obtaining an admission through the management of Granvelle, who profited by the temporary absence of the nobles. Nowhere were the new prelates received with enthusiasm, but, on the contrary, wherever they were admitted, it was with a coldness and silence that intimated too plainly the aversion of the inhabitants. Such was the case with the archbishop of Mechlin himself, who made his entry into the capital of his diocese with not a voice to cheer or to welcome him.[524] In fact, everywhere the newly elected prelate seemed more like the thief stealthily climbing into the fold, than the good shepherd who had come to guard it.

Meanwhile the odium of these measures fell on the head of the minister. No other man had been so active in enforcing them, and he had the credit universally with the people of having originated the whole scheme, and proposed it to the sovereign. But from this Philip expressly exonerates him in a letter to the regent, in which he says, that the whole plan had been settled long before it was communicated to Granvelle.[525] Indeed, the latter, with some show of reason, demanded whether, being already one of four bishops in the country, he should be likely to recommend a plan which would make him only one of seventeen.[526] This appeal to self-interest did not wholly satisfy those who thought that it was better to be the first of seventeen, than to be merely one of four where all were equal.

Whatever may have been Granvelle's original way of thinking in the matter, it is certain that, whether it arose from his accommodating temper, or from his perceptions of the advantages of the scheme being quickened by his prospect of the primacy, he soon devoted himself, heart as well as hand, to carry out the royal views. "I am convinced," he writes, in the spring of 1560, to Philip's secretary, Perez, "that no measure could be more advantageous to the country, or more necessary for the support of religion; and if necessary to the success of the scheme, I would willingly devote to it my fortune and my life."[527]

Accordingly we find him using all his strength to carry the project through, devising expedients for raising the episcopal revenues, and thus occupying a position which exposed him to general obloquy. He felt this bitterly, and at times, even with all his constancy, was hardly able to endure it. "Though I{205} say nothing," he writes in the month of September, 1561, to the Spanish ambassador in Rome, "I feel the danger of the situation in which the king has placed me. All the odium of these measures falls on my head; and I only pray that a remedy for the evil may be found, though it should be by the sacrifice of myself. Would to God the erection of these bishoprics had never been thought of!"[528]

In February, 1561, Granvelle received a cardinal's hat from Pope Pius the Fourth. He did not show the alacrity usually manifested in accepting this distinguished honor. He had obtained it by the private intercession of the duchess of Parma; and he feared lest the jealousy of Philip might be alarmed, were it to any other than himself that his minister owed this distinction. But the king gave the proceeding his cordial sanction, declaring to Granvelle that the reward was no higher than his desert.

Thus clothed with the Roman purple, primate of the Netherlands, and first minister of state, Granvelle might now look down on the proudest noble in the land. He stood at the head of both the civil and the ecclesiastical administration of the country. All authority centred in his person. Indeed, such had been the organization of the council of state, that the minister might be said to be not so much the head of the government as the government itself.

The affairs of the council were conducted in the manner prescribed by Philip. Ordinary business passed through the hands of the whole body; but affairs of moment were reserved for the cardinal and his two coadjutors to settle with the regent. On such occasions the other ministers were not even summoned, or, if summoned, such only of the despatches from Spain as the minister chose to communicate were read, and the remainder reserved for the consulta. When, as did sometimes happen, the nobles carried a measure in opposition to Granvelle, he would refer the whole question to the court at Madrid.[529] By this expedient he gained time for the present, and probably obtained a decision in his favor at last. The regent conformed entirely to the cardinal's views. The best possible understanding seems to have subsisted between them, to judge from the tone of their correspondence with Philip, in which each of the parties bestows the most unqualified panegyric on the other. Yet there was a strange reserve in their official intercourse. Even when occupying the same palace, they are said to have communicated with each other by writing.[530] The reason suggested for this singular proceeding is, that it might not appear, from their being much together, that the regent was acting so entirely under the direction of the minister. It is certain that both Margaret and Granvelle had an uncommon passion for letter-writing, as is shown by the length and number of their epistles, particularly to the king. The cardinal especially went into a gossiping minuteness of detail, to which few men in his station would have condescended. But his master, to whom his letters at this period were chiefly addressed, had the virtue of patience in an extraordinary degree, as is evinced by the faithful manner in which he perused these despatches, and made notes upon them with his own hand.

The minister occupied a palace in Brussels, and had another residence at a short distance from the capital.[531] He maintained great pomp in his establishment, was attended by a large body of retainers, and his equipage and liveries{206} were distinguished by their magnificence. He gave numerous banquets, held large levées, and, in short, assumed a state in his manner of living which corresponded with his station, and did no violence to his natural taste. We may well believe that the great lords of the country, whose ancestors had for centuries filled its highest places, must have chafed as they saw themselves thrown into the shade by one whose fortunes had been thus suddenly forced to this unnatural height by the sunshine of royal favor. Their indignation was heightened by the tricky arrangement, which, while it left them ciphers in the administration, made them responsible to the people for its measures. And if the imputation to Granvelle of arrogance, in the pride of his full-blown fortunes, was warranted, feelings of a personal nature may have mingled with those of general discontent.

But, however they may have felt, the Flemish lords must be allowed not to have been precipitate in the demonstration of their feelings. It is not till 1562 that we observe the cardinal, in his correspondence with Spain, noticing any discourtesy in the nobles, or intimating the existence of any misunderstanding with them. In the spring of the preceding year we find the prince of Orange "commending himself cordially and affectionately to the cardinal's good will;" and subscribing himself, "your very good friend to command."[532] In four months after this, on the twenty-third of July, we have a letter from this "very good friend" and count Egmont, addressed to Philip. In this epistle the writers complain bitterly of their exclusion from all business of importance in the council of state. They were only invited to take part in deliberations of no moment. This was contrary to the assurance of his majesty when they reluctantly accepted office; and it was in obedience to his commands to advise him if this should occur that they now wrote to him.[533] Nevertheless, they should have still continued to bear the indignity in silence, had they not found that they were held responsible by the people for measures in which they had no share.[534]—Considering the arrangement Philip had made for the consulta, one has little reason to commend his candor in this transaction, and not much to praise his policy. As he did not redress the evil, his implied disavowal of being privy to it would hardly go for anything with the injured party. In his answer, Philip thanked the nobles for their zeal in his service, and promised to reply to them more at large on the return of Count Hoorne to Flanders.[535]

There is no reason to suppose that Granvelle was ever acquainted with the fact of the letter having been written by the two lords. The privilege claimed by the novelist, who looks over the shoulders of his heroes and heroines when they are inditing their epistles, is also enjoyed by the historian. With the materials rescued from the mouldering archives of the past, he can present the reader with a more perfect view of the motives and opinions of the great actors in the drama three centuries ago, than they possessed in respect to one another. This is particularly true of the period before us, when the correspondence of the parties interested was ample in itself, and, through the care taken of it, in public and private collections, has been well preserved. Such{207} care was seldom bestowed on historical documents of this class before the sixteenth century.

It is not till long—nearly a year—after the date of the preceding letter, that anything appears to intimate the existence of a coldness, much less of an open rupture, between Granvelle and the discontented nobles. Meanwhile, the religious troubles in France had been fast gathering to a head; and the opposite factions ranged themselves under the banners of their respective chiefs, prepared to decide the question by arms. Philip the Second, who stood forth as the champion of Catholicism, not merely in his own dominions, but throughout Christendom, watched with anxiety the struggle going forward in the neighboring kingdom. It had the deeper interest for him, from its influence on the Low Countries. His Italian possessions were separated from France by the Alps; his Spanish, by the Pyrenees. But no such mountain barrier lay between France and Flanders. They were not even separated, in the border provinces, by difference of language. Every shock given to France must necessarily be felt in the remotest corner of the Netherlands. Granvelle was so well aware of this, that he besought the king to keep an eye on his French neighbors, and support them in the maintenance of the Roman Catholic religion. "That they should be maintained in this is quite as important to us as it is to them. Many here," he adds, "would be right glad to see affairs go badly for the Catholics in that kingdom. No noble as yet among us has openly declared himself. Should any one do so, God only could save the country from the fate of France."[536]

Acting on these hints, and conformably to his own views, Philip sent orders to the regent to raise two thousand men, and send them across the borders to support the French Catholics. The orders met with decided resistance in the council of state. The great Flemish lords, at this time, must have affected, if they did not feel, devotion to the established religion. But they well knew there was too large a leaven of heresy in the country to make these orders palatable. They felt no desire, moreover, thus unnecessarily to mix themselves up with the feuds of France. They represented that the troops could not safely be dispensed with in the present state of feeling at home; and that, if they marched against the Protestants of France, the German Protestants might be expected to march against them.

Granvelle, on the other hand, would have enforced the orders of Philip, as essential to the security of the Netherlands themselves. Margaret, thus pressed by the opposite parties, felt the embarrassment of either course. The alternative presented was, that of disobeying the king, or of incurring the resentment, perhaps the resistance, of the nation. Orange and Egmont besought her to convoke the states-general, as the only safe counsellors in such an emergency. The states had often been convened on matters of less moment by the former regent, Mary of Hungary. But the cardinal had no mind to invoke the interference of that "mischievous animal, the people."[537] He had witnessed a convocation of the states previous to the embarkation of Philip; and he had not forgotten the independent tone then assumed by that body. It had been, indeed, the last injunction of the king to his sister, on no account to call a meeting of the national legislature till his return to the country.{208}

But while on this ground Margaret refused to summon the states-general, she called a meeting of the order of the Golden Fleece, to whom she was to apply for counsel on extraordinary occasions. The knights of the order consisted of persons of the highest consideration in the country, including the governors of the provinces. In May, 1562, they assembled at Brussels. Before meeting in public, the prince of Orange invited them to a conference in his own palace. He there laid before them the state of the country, and endeavored to concert with the members some regular system of resistance to the exclusive and arbitrary course of the minister. Although no definite action took place at that time, most of those present would seem to have fallen in with the views of the prince. There were some, however, who took opposite ground, and who declared themselves content with Granvelle, and not disposed to prescribe to their sovereign the choice of his ministers. The foremost of these were the duke of Arschot, a zealous Catholic, and Count Barlaimont, president of the council of finance, and, as we have already seen, altogether devoted to the minister. This nobleman communicated to Margaret the particulars of the meeting in the prince's palace; and the regent was careful to give the knights of the order such incessant occupation during the remainder of their stay in the capital, as to afford the prince of Orange no opportunity of pursuing his scheme of agitation.[538]

Before the assembly of the Golden Fleece had been dissolved, it was decided to send an envoy to the king to lay before him the state of the country, both in regard to the religious excitement, much stimulated in certain quarters by the condition of France, and to the financial embarrassments, which now pressed heavily on the government. The person selected for the office was Florence de Montmorency, lord of Montigny, a cavalier who had the boldness to avow his aversion to any interference with the rights of conscience, and whose sympathies, it will be believed, were not on the side of the minister.

Soon after his departure, the vexed question of aid to France was settled in the council by commuting personal service for money. It was decided to raise a subsidy of fifty thousand crowns, to be remitted at once to the French government.[539]

Montigny reached Spain in June, 1562. He was graciously received by Philip, who, in a protracted audience, gathered from him a circumstantial account of the condition of the Netherlands. In answer to the royal queries, the envoy also exposed the misunderstanding which existed between the minister and the nobles.

But the duchess of Parma did not trust this delicate affair to the representations of Montigny. She wrote herself to her brother, in Italian, which, when she would give her own views on matters of importance, she used instead of French, ordinarily employed by the secretaries. In Italian she expressed herself with the greatest fluency, and her letters in that language, for the purpose of secrecy, were written with her own hand.

The duchess informed the king of the troubles that had arisen with the nobles; charging Orange and Egmont, especially, as the source of them. She accused them of maliciously circulating rumors that the cardinal had advised Philip to invade the country with an armed force, and to cut off the heads of some five or six of the principal malecontents.[540] She paid a high tribute to the minister's loyalty, and his talent for business; and she besought the king{209} to disabuse Montigny in respect to the common idea of a design to introduce the Spanish Inquisition into the country, and to do violence to its institutions.

The war was now openly proclaimed between the cardinal and the nobles. Whatever decorum might be preserved in their intercourse, there was no longer any doubt as to the hostile attitude in which they were hereafter to stand in respect to each other. In a letter written a short time previous to that of the regent, the cardinal gives a brief view of his situation to the king. The letter is written in the courageous spirit of one who does not shrink from the dangers that menace him. After an observation intimating no great confidence in the orthodoxy of the prince of Orange, he remarks: "Though the prince shows me a friendly face, when absent he is full of discontent. They have formed a league against me," he continues, "and threaten my life. But I have little fear on that score, as I think they are much too wise to attempt any such thing. They complain of my excluding them from office, and endeavoring to secure an absolute authority for your majesty. All which they repeat openly at their banquets, with no good effect on the people. Yet never were there governors of the provinces who possessed so much power as they have, or who had all appointments more completely in their own hands. In truth, their great object is to reduce your majesty and the regent to the condition of mere ciphers in the government."

"They refuse to come to my table," he adds, "at which I smile. I find guests enough in the gentry of the country, the magistrates, and even the worthy burghers of the city, whose good-will it is well to conciliate against a day of trouble. These evils I bear with patience, as I can. For adversity is sent by the Almighty, who will recompense those who suffer for religion and justice." The cardinal was fond of regarding himself in the light of a martyr.

He concludes this curious epistle with beseeching the king to come soon to the Netherlands; "to come well attended, and with plenty of money; since, thus provided, he will have no lack of troops, if required to act abroad, while his presence will serve to calm the troubled spirits at home."[541] The politic minister says nothing of the use that might be made of these troops at home. Such an intimation would justify the charges already brought against him. He might safely leave his master to make that application for himself.

In December, 1562, Montigny returned from his mission, and straightway made his report to the council of state. He enlarged on the solicitude which Philip had shown for the interests of the country. Nothing had been further from his mind than to introduce into it the Spanish Inquisition. He was only anxious to exterminate the growing heresy from the land, and called on those in authority to aid in the good work with all their strength. Finally, though pressed by want of funds, he promised, so soon as he could settle his affairs in Spain, to return to Flanders.—It was not unusual for Philip to hold out the idea of his speedy return to the country. The king's gracious reception seems to have had some effect on Montigny. At all events, he placed a degree of confidence in the royal professions, in which the sceptical temper of William was far from acquiescing. He intimated as much to his friend, and the latter, not relishing the part of a dupe, which the prince's language seemed to assign to him, retorted in an angry manner; and something like altercation took place between the two lords, in the presence of the duchess.{210} At least, such is the report of the historians.[542] But historians in a season of faction are not the best authorities. In the troubles before us we have usually a safer guide in the correspondence of the actors.

By Montigny despatches were also brought from Philip for the duchess of Parma. They contained suggestions as to her policy in reference to the factious nobles, whom the king recommended to her, if possible, to divide by sowing the seeds of jealousy among them.[543] Egmont was a stanch Catholic, loyal in his disposition, ambitious, and vain. It would not be difficult to detach him from his associates by a show of preference, which, while it flattered his vanity, would excite in them jealousy and distrust.

In former times there had been something of these feelings betwixt Egmont and the prince of Orange. At least there had been estrangement. This might, in some degree, be referred to the contrast in their characters. Certainly no two characters could be more strongly contrasted with each other. Egmont, frank, fiery, impulsive in his temper, had little in common with the cool, cautious, and calculating William. The showy qualities of the former, lying on the surface, more readily caught the popular eye. There was a depth in William's character not easy to be fathomed,—an habitual reserve, which made it difficult even for those who knew him best always to read him right. Yet the coolness between these two nobles may have arisen less from difference of character than from similarity of position. Both, by their rank and services, took the foremost ground in public estimation, so that it was scarcely possible they should not jostle each other in the career of ambition. But however divided formerly, they were now too closely united by the pressure of external circumstances to be separated by the subtle policy of Philip. Under the influence of a common disgust with the administration and its arbitrary measures, they continued to act in concert together, and, in their union, derived benefit from the very opposition of their characters. For what better augury of success than that afforded by the union of wisdom in council with boldness in execution?

The consequences of the troubles in France, as had been foreseen, were soon visible in the Low Countries. The Protestants of that time constituted a sort of federative republic, or rather a great secret association, extending through the different parts of Europe, but so closely linked together that a blow struck in one quarter instantly vibrated to every other. The Calvinists in the border provinces of the Low Countries felt, in particular, great sympathy with the movements of their French brethren. Many Huguenots took shelter among them. Others came to propagate their doctrines. Tracts in the French tongue were distributed and read with avidity. Preachers harangued in the conventicles; and the people, by hundreds and thousands, openly assembled, and, marching in procession, chanted the Psalms of David in the translation of Marot.[544]

This open defiance of the edicts called for the immediate interposition of the government. At Tournay two Calvinist preachers were arrested, and, after a regular trial, condemned and burned at the stake. In Valenciennes two others were seized, in like manner, tried, and sentenced to the same terrible punishment. But as the marquis of Bergen, the governor of the province,{211} had left the place on a visit to a distant quarter, the execution was postponed till his return. Seven months thus passed, when the regent wrote to the marquis, remonstrating on his unseasonable absence from his post. He had the spirit to answer, that "it neither suited his station nor his character to play the part of an executioner."[545] The marquis of Bergen had early ranged himself on the side of the prince of Orange, and he is repeatedly noticed by Granvelle, in his letters, as the most active of the malecontents. It may well be believed he was no friend to the system of persecution pursued by the government. Urged by Granvelle, the magistrates of the city at length assumed the office of conducting the execution themselves. On the day appointed, the two martyrs were escorted to the stake. The funeral pile was prepared, and the torch was about to be applied, when, at a signal from one of the prisoners, the multitude around broke in upon the place of execution, trampled down the guards and officers of justice, scattered the fagots collected for the sacrifice, and liberated the victims. Then, throwing themselves into a procession, they paraded the streets of the city, singing their psalms and Calvinistic hymns.

Meanwhile the officers of justice succeeded in again arresting the unfortunate men, and carrying them back to prison. But it was not long before their friends, assembling in greater numbers than before, stormed the fortress, forced the gates, and, rescuing the prisoners, carried them off in triumph.

These high-handed measures caused, as may be supposed, great indignation at the court of the regent. She instantly ordered a levy of three thousand troops, and, placing them under the marquis of Bergen, sent them against the insurgents. The force was such as to overcome all resistance. Arrests were made in great numbers, and the majesty of the law was vindicated by the trial and punishment of the ringleaders.[546]

"Rigorous and severe measures," wrote Philip, "are the only ones to be employed in matters of religion. It is by fear only that the rabble"—meaning by this the Reformers—"can be made to do their duty, and not always then."[547] This liberal sentiment found less favor in the Low Countries than in Spain. "One must ponder well," writes the cardinal to Perez, the royal secretary, "before issuing those absolute decrees, which are by no means as implicitly received here as they are in Italy."[548] The Fleming appealed to his laws, and, with all the minister's zeal, it was found impossible to move forward at the fiery pace of the Spanish Inquisition.

"It would raise a tumult at once," he writes, "should we venture to arrest a man without the clearest evidence. No man can be proceeded against without legal proof."[549] But an insurmountable obstacle in the way of enforcing the cruel edicts lay in the feelings of the nation. No law repugnant to such feelings can long be executed. "I accuse none of the nobles of being heretics," writes the regent to her brother; "but they show little zeal in the cause of religion, while the magistrates shrink from their duty from fear of the people."[550]{212} "How absurd is it," exclaims Granvelle, "for depositions to be taken before the Inquisition in Spain, in order to search out heretics in Antwerp, where thousands are every day walking about whom no one meddles with!"[551] "It is more than a year," he says, "since a single arrest on a charge of heresy has taken place in that city."[552] Yet whatever may have been the state of persecution at the present time, the vague dread of the future must have taken strong hold of people's minds, if, as a contemporary writes, there were no less than eighteen or twenty thousand refugees then in England, who had fled from Flanders for the sake of their religion.[553]

The odium of this persecution all fell on the head of Granvelle. He was the tool of Spain. Spain was under the yoke of the Inquisition. Therefore it was clearly the minister's design to establish the Spanish Inquisition over the Netherlands. Such was the concise logic by which people connected the name of Granvelle with that of the most dreaded of tribunals.[554] He was held responsible for the contrivance of the most unpopular measures of government, as well as for their execution. A thousand extravagant stories were circulated both of his private and his political life, which it is probably doing no injustice to the nobles to suppose they did not take much pains to correct. The favorite of the prince is rarely the favorite of the people. But no minister had ever been so unpopular as Granvelle in the Netherlands. He was hated by the nobles for his sudden elevation to power, and for the servile means, as they thought, by which he had risen to it. The people hated him, because he used that power for the ruin of their liberties. No administration—none certainly, if we except that of the iron Alva—was more odious to the nation.

Notwithstanding Granvelle's constancy, and the countenance he received from the regent and a few of the leading councillors, it was hard to bear up under this load of obloquy. He would gladly have had the king return to the country, and sustain him by his presence. It is the burden of his correspondence at this period. "It is a common notion here," he writes to the secretary, Perez, "that they are all ready in Spain to sacrifice the Low Countries. The lords talk so freely, that every moment I fear an insurrection.... For God's sake, persuade the king to come, or it will lie heavy on his conscience."[555] The minister complains to the secretary that he seems to be entirely abandoned by the government at home. "It is three months," he writes, "since I have received a letter from the court. We know as little of Spain here as of the Indies. Such delays are dangerous, and may cost the king dear."[556]—It is clear his majesty exercised his royal prerogative of having the correspondence all on one side. At least his own share in it, at this period, was small, and his letters were concise indeed in comparison with the{213} voluminous epistles of his minister. Perhaps there was some policy in this silence of the monarch. His opinions, nay, his wishes, would have, to some extent, the weight of laws. He would not, therefore, willingly commit himself. He preferred to conform to his natural tendency to trust to the course of events, instead of disturbing them by too precipitate action. The cognomen by which Philip is recognized on the roll of Castilian princes is "the Prudent."

CHAPTER VII.

League against Granvelle.—Margaret desires his Removal.—Philip deliberates.—Granvelle dismissed.—Leaves the Netherlands.

While the state of feeling towards Granvelle, in the nation generally, was such as is described in the preceding chapter, the lords who were in the council of state chafed more and more under their exclusion from business. As the mask was now thrown away, they no longer maintained the show of deference which they had hitherto paid to the minister. From opposition to his measures, they passed to irony, ridicule, sarcasm; till, finding that their assaults had little effect to disturb Granvelle's temper, and still less to change his policy, they grew at length less and less frequent in their attendance at the council, where they played so insignificant a part. This was a sore embarrassment to the regent, who needed the countenance of the great nobles to protect her with the nation, in the unpopular measures in which she was involved.

Even Granvelle, with all his equanimity, considered the crisis so grave as to demand some concession, or at least a show of it, on his own part, to conciliate the good-will of his enemies. He authorized the duchess to say that he was perfectly willing that they should be summoned to the consulta, and to absent himself from its meetings; indeed, to resign the administration altogether, provided the king approved of it.[557] Whether Margaret communicated this to the nobles does not appear; at all events, as nothing came of these magnanimous concessions of the minister, they had no power to soothe the irritation of his enemies.[558]

On the contrary, the disaffected lords were bending their efforts to consolidate their league, of which Granvelle, it may be recollected, noticed the existence in a letter of the preceding year. We now find the members binding themselves to each other by an oath of secrecy.[559] The persons who{214} formed this confederacy were the governors of the provinces, the knights of the Golden Fleece, and, in short, most of the aristocracy of any consideration in the country. It seemed impossible that any minister could stand against such a coalition, resting, moreover, on the sympathies of the people. This formidable association, seeing that all attempts to work on the cardinal were ineffectual, resolved at length to apply directly to the king for his removal. They stated that, knowing the heavy cares which pressed on his majesty, they had long dissembled and kept silence, rather than aggravate these cares by their complaints. If they now broke this silence, it was from a sense of duty to the king, and to save the country from ruin. They enlarged on the lamentable condition of affairs, which, without specifying any particular charges, they imputed altogether to the cardinal, or rather to the position in which he stood in reference to the nation. It was impossible, they said, that the business of the country could prosper, where the minister who directed it was held in such general detestation by the people. They earnestly implored the king to take immediate measures for removing an evil which menaced the speedy ruin of the land. And they concluded with begging that they might be allowed to resign their seats in the council of state, where, in the existing state of affairs, their presence could be of no service.—This letter, dated the eleventh of March, 1563, was signed, on behalf of the coalition, by three lords who had places in the council of state,—the prince of Orange, Count Egmont, and Count Hoorne.[560]

The last nobleman was of an ancient and most honorable lineage. He held the high office of admiral of the Netherlands, and had been governor both of Zütphen and of Gueldres. He accompanied Philip to Spain, and during his absence the province of Gueldres was transferred to another, Count Megen, for which Hoorne considered that he was indebted to the good offices of the cardinal. On his return to his own country, he at once enrolled himself in the ranks of the opposition. He was a man of indisputable bravery, of a quick and impatient temper; one, on the whole, who seems to have been less indebted for his celebrity to his character, than to the peculiar circumstances in which he was placed.

On the day previous to this despatch of the nobles, we find a letter to the king from Granvelle, who does not seem to have been ignorant of what was doing by the lords. He had expostulated with them, he tells Philip, on the disloyalty of their conduct in thus banding against the government,—a proceeding which in other times might have subjected them to a legal prosecution.[561] He mentions no one by name except Egmont, whom he commends as more tractable and open to reason than his confederates. He was led away by evil counsellors, and Granvelle expresses the hope that he will one day open his eyes to his errors, and return to his allegiance.

It is difficult to conceive the detestation, he goes on to say, in which the Spaniards are held by the nation. The Spaniards only, it was everywhere said, were regarded by the court of Madrid as the lawful children; the Flemings, as illegitimate.[562] It was necessary to do away this impression to place the Flemings on the same footing with the Spaniards; to give them{215} lucrative appointments, for they greatly needed them, in Spain or in Italy; and it might not be amiss to bestow the viceroyalty of Sicily on the prince of Orange.—Thus, by the same act, the politic minister would both reward his rivals and remove them from the country. But he greatly misunderstood the character of William, if he thought in this way to buy him off from the opposition.

It was four months before the confederates received an answer; during which time affairs continued to wear the same gloomy aspect as before. At length came the long-expected epistle from the monarch, dated on the sixth of June. It was a brief one. Philip thanked the lords for their zeal and devotion to his service. After well considering the matter, however, he had not found any specific ground of complaint alleged, to account for the advice given him to part with his minister. The king hoped before long to visit the Low Countries in person. Meanwhile, he should be glad to see any one of the nobles in Spain, to learn from him the whole state of the affair; as it was not his wont to condemn his ministers without knowing the grounds on which they were accused.[563]

The fact that the lords had not specified any particular subject of complaint against the cardinal gave the king an obvious advantage in the correspondence. It seemed to be too much to expect his immediate dismissal of the minister, on the vague pretext of his unpopularity, without a single instance of misconduct being alleged against him. Yet this was the position in which the enemies of Granvelle necessarily found themselves. The minister acted by the orders of the king. To have assailed the minister's acts, therefore, would have been to attack the king himself. Egmont, some time after this, with even more frankness than usual, is said to have declared at table to a friend of the cardinal, that "the blow was aimed not so much at the minister as at the monarch."[564]

The discontent of the lords at receiving this laconic epistle may be imagined. They were indignant that so little account should be made of their representations, and that both they and the country should be sacrificed to the king's partiality for his minister. The three lords waited on the regent, and extorted from her a reluctant consent to assemble the knights of the order, and to confer with them and the other nobles as to the course to be taken.

It was there decided that the lords should address a second letter, in the name of the whole body, to Philip, and henceforth should cease to attend the council of state.[565]

In this letter, which bears the date of July the twenty-ninth, they express their disappointment that his majesty had not come to a more definite resolution, when prompt and decisive measures could alone save the country from ruin. They excuse themselves from visiting Spain in the critical state of affairs at home. At another time, and for any other purpose, did the king desire it, they would willingly do so. But it was not their design to appear as accusers, and institute a process against the minister. They had hoped their own word in such an affair would have sufficed with his majesty. It{216} was not the question whether the minister was to be condemned, but whether he was to be removed from an office for which he was in no respect qualified.[566] They had hoped their attachment and tried fidelity to the crown would have made it superfluous for them to go into a specification of charges. These, indeed, could be easily made, but the discontent and disorder which now reigned throughout the country were sufficient evidence of the minister's incapacity.[567]

They stated that they had acquainted the regent with their intention to absent themselves in future from the council, where their presence could be no longer useful; and they trusted this would receive his majesty's sanction. They expressed their determination loyally and truly to discharge every trust reposed in them by the government; and they concluded by apologizing for the homely language of their epistle,—for they were no haranguers or orators, but men accustomed to act rather than to talk, as was suited to persons of their quality.[568]—This last shaft was doubtless aimed at the cardinal.—The letter was signed by the same triumvirate as the former. The abstract here given does no justice to the document, which is of considerable length, and carefully written. The language is that of men who to the habitual exercise of authority united a feeling of self-respect, which challenged the respect of their opponents. Such were not the men to be cajoled or easily intimidated. It was the first time that Philip had been addressed in this lofty tone by his great vassals. It should have opened his eyes to the condition and the character of his subjects in the Netherlands.

The coalition drew up, at the same time, an elaborate "remonstrance," which they presented to Margaret. In it they set forth the various disorders of the country, especially those growing out of the state of religion and the embarrassment of the finances. The only remedy for these evils is to be found in a meeting of the states-general. The king's prohibition of this measure must have proceeded, no doubt, from the evil counsels of persons hostile to the true interests of the nation. As their services can be of little use while they are thus debarred from a resort to their true and only remedy in their embarrassments, they trust the regent will not take it amiss, that, so long as the present policy is pursued, they decline to take their seats in the council of state, to be merely shadows there, as they have been for the last four years.[569]

From this period the malecontent lords no more appeared in council. The perplexity of Margaret was great. Thus abandoned by the nobles in whom the country had the greatest confidence, she was left alone, as it were, with the man whom the country held in the greatest abhorrence. She had long seen with alarm the storm gathering round the devoted head of the minister. To attempt alone to uphold his falling fortunes would be probably to bury herself in their ruins. In her extremity, she appealed to the confederates, and, since she could not divide them, endeavored to divert them from their{217} opposition. They, on the other hand, besought the regent no longer to connect herself with the desperate cause of a minister so odious to the country. Possibly they infused into her mind some suspicions of the subordinate part she was made to play, through the overweening ambition of the cardinal. At all events, an obvious change took place in her conduct, and while she deferred less and less to Granvelle, she entered into more friendly relations with his enemies. This was especially the case with Egmont, whose frank and courteous hearing and loyal disposition seem to have won greatly on the esteem of the duchess.

Satisfied, at last, that it would be impracticable to maintain the government much longer on its present basis, Margaret resolved to write to her brother on the subject, and at the same time to send her confidential secretary, Armenteros, to Spain, to acquaint the king with the precise state of affairs in the Netherlands.[570]

After enlarging on the disorders and difficulties of the country, the duchess came to the quarrel between the cardinal and the nobles. She had made every effort to reconcile the parties; but that was impossible. She was fully sensible of the merits of Granvelle, his high capacity, his experience in public affairs, his devotion to the interests both of the king and of religion.[571] But, on the other hand, to maintain him in the Netherlands, in opposition to the will of the nobles, was to expose the country, not merely to great embarrassments, but to the danger of insurrection.[572] The obligations of the high place which she occupied compelled her to lay the true state of the case before the king, and he would determine the course to be pursued.—With this letter, bearing the date of August twelfth, and fortified with ample instructions from the duchess, Armenteros was forthwith despatched on his mission to Spain.

It was not long before the state of feeling in the cabinet of Brussels was known, or at least surmised, throughout the country. It was the interest of some of the parties that it should not be kept secret. The cardinal, thus abandoned by his friends, became a more conspicuous mark for the shafts of his enemies. Libels, satires, pasquinades, were launched against him from every quarter. Such fugitive pieces, like the insect which dies when it has left its sting, usually perish with the occasion that gives them birth. But some have survived to the present day, or at least were in existence at the close of the last century, and are much commended by a critic for the merits of their literary execution.[573]

It was the custom, at the period of our narrative, for the young people to meet in the towns and villages, and celebrate what were called "academic games," consisting of rhetorical discussions on the various topics of the day, sometimes of a theological or a political character. Public affairs furnished a fruitful theme at this crisis; and the cardinal, in particular, was often roughly handled. It was in vain the government tried to curb this licence. It only served to stimulate the disputants to new displays of raillery and ridicule.[574]{218}

Granvelle, it will be readily believed, was not slow to perceive his loss of credit with the regent, and the more intimate relations into which she had entered with his enemies. But whatever he may have felt, he was too proud or too politic to betray his mortification to the duchess. Thus discredited by all but an insignificant party, who were branded as the "Cardinalists," losing influence daily with the regent, at open war with the nobles, and hated by the people, never was there a minister in so forlorn a situation, or one who was able to maintain his post a day in such circumstances. Yet Granvelle did not lose heart; as others failed him, he relied the more on himself; and the courage which he displayed, when thus left alone, as it were, to face the anger of the nation, might have well commanded the respect of his enemies. He made no mean concession to secure the support of the nobles, or to recover the favor of the regent. He did not shrink from the dangers or the responsibilities of his station; though the latter, at least, bore heavily on him. Speaking of the incessant pressure of his cares, he writes to his correspondent, Perez, "My hairs have turned so white you would not recognize me."[575] He was then but forty-six. On one occasion, indeed, we do find him telling the king, that, "if his majesty does not soon come to the Netherlands, he must withdraw from them."[576] This seems to have been a sudden burst of feeling, as it was a solitary one, forced from him by the extremity of his situation. It was much more in character that he wrote afterwards to the secretary, Perez: "I am so beset with dangers on every side, that most people give me up for lost. But I mean to live as long, by the grace of God, as I can; and if they do take away my life, I trust they will not gain everything for all that."[577] He nowhere intimates a wish to be recalled. Nor would his ambition allow him to resign the helm; but the fiercer the tempest raged, the more closely did he cling to the wreck of his fortunes.

The arrival of Armenteros with the despatches, and the tidings that he brought, caused a great sensation in the court of Madrid. "We are on the eve of a terrible conflagration," writes one of the secretaries of Philip; "and they greatly err who think it will pass away as formerly." He expresses the wish that Granvelle would retire from the country, where, he predicts, they would soon wish his return. "But ambition," he adds, "and the point of honor are alike opposed to this. Nor does the king desire it."[578]

Yet it was not easy to say what the king did desire,—certainly not what course he would pursue. He felt a natural reluctance to abandon the minister, whose greatest error seemed to be that of too implicit an obedience to his master's commands. He declared he would rather risk the loss of the Netherlands than abandon him.[579] Yet how was that minister to be maintained in his place, in opposition to the will of the nation? In this perplexity, Philip applied for counsel to the man in whom he most confided,—the{219} duke of Alva; the very worst counsellor possible in the present emergency.

The duke's answer was eminently characteristic of the man. "When I read the letters of these lords," he says, "I am so filled with rage, that, did I not make an effort to suppress it, my language would appear to you that of a madman."[580] After this temperate exordium, he recommends the king on no account to remove Granvelle from the administration of the Netherlands. "It is a thing of course," he says, "that the cardinal should be the first victim. A rebellion against the prince naturally begins with an attack on his ministers. It would be better," he continues, "if all could be brought at once to summary justice. Since that cannot be, it may be best to divide the nobles; to win over Egmont and those who follow him by favors; to show displeasure to those who are the least offenders. For the greater ones, who deserve to lose their heads, your majesty will do well to dissemble, until you can give them their deserts."[581]

Part of this advice the king accepted; for to dissemble did no violence to his nature. But the more he reflected on the matter, the more he was satisfied that it would be impossible to retain the obnoxious minister in his place. Yet when he had come to this decision, he still shrunk from announcing it. Months passed, and yet Armenteros, who was to carry back the royal despatches, was still detained at Madrid. It seemed as if Philip here, as on other occasions of less moment, was prepared to leave events to take their own course, rather than direct them himself.

Early in January, 1564, the duchess of Parma admonished her brother that the lords chafed much under his long silence. It was a common opinion, she said, that he cared little for Flanders, and that he was under the influence of evil counsellors, who would persuade him to deal with the country as a conquered province. She besought him to answer the letter of the nobles, and especially to write in affectionate terms to Count Egmont, who well deserved this for the zeal he had always shown for his sovereign's interests.[582]

One is struck with the tone in which the regent here speaks of one of the leaders of the opposition, so little in unison with her former language. It shows how completely she was now under their influence. In truth, however, we see constantly, both in her letters and those of the cardinal, a more friendly tone of feeling towards Egmont than to either of his associates. On the score of orthodoxy in matters of religion he was unimpeachable. His cordial manners, his free and genial temper, secured the sympathy of all with whom he came in contact. It was a common opinion, that it would not be difficult to detach him from the party of malecontents with whom his lot was cast. Such were not the notions entertained of the prince of Orange.

In a letter from Granvelle to Philip, without a date, but written perhaps about this period,[583] we have portraits, or rather outlines, of the two great{220} leaders of the opposition, touched with a masterly hand. Egmont he describes as firm in his faith, loyally disposed, but under the evil influence of William. It would not be difficult to win him over by flattery and favors.[584] The prince, on the other hand, is a cunning and dangerous enemy, of profound views, boundless ambition, difficult to change, and impossible to control.[585] In the latter character we see the true leader of the revolution.

Disgusted with the indifference of the king, shown in his long-protracted silence, the nobles, notwithstanding the regent's remonstrances, sent orders to their courier, who had been waiting in Madrid for the royal despatches, to wait no longer, but return without them to the Netherlands.[586] Fortunately Philip now moved, and at the close of January, 1564, sent back Armenteros with his instructions to Brussels. The most important of them was a letter of dismissal to the cardinal himself. It was very short. "On considering what you write," said the king, "I deem it best that you should leave the Low Countries for some days, and go to Burgundy to see your mother, with the consent of the duchess of Parma. In this way, both my authority and your own reputation will be preserved."[587]

It has been a matter of dispute how far the resignation of the cardinal was voluntary. The recent discovery of this letter of Philip determines that question.[588] It was by command of the sovereign. Yet that command was extorted by necessity, and so given as best to save the feelings and the credit of the minister. Neither party anticipated that Granvelle's absence would continue for a long time, much less that his dismissal was final. Even when inditing the letter to the cardinal, Philip cherished the hope that the necessity for his departure might be avoided altogether. This appears from the despatches sent at the same time to the regent.

Shortly after his note to Granvelle, on the nineteenth of February, Philip{221} wrote an answer to the lords in all the tone of offended majesty. He expressed his astonishment that they should have been led, by any motive whatever, to vacate their seats at the council, where he had placed them.[589] They would not fail to return there at once, and show that they preferred the public weal to all private considerations.[590] As for the removal of the minister, since they had not been pleased to specify any charges against him, the king would deliberate further before deciding on the matter. Thus, three weeks after Philip had given the cardinal his dismissal, did he write to his enemies as if the matter were still in abeyance; hoping, it would seem, by the haughty tone of authority, to rebuke the spirit of the refractory nobles, and intimidate them into a compliance with his commands. Should this policy succeed, the cardinal might still hold the helm of government.[591]

But Philip had not yet learned that he was dealing with men who had little of that spirit of subserviency to which he was accustomed in his Castilian vassals. The peremptory tone of his letter fired the blood of the Flemish lords, who at once waited on the regent, and announced their purpose not to reënter the council. The affair was not likely to end here; and Margaret saw with alarm the commotion that would be raised when the letter of the king should be laid before the whole body of the nobles.[592] Fearing some rash step, difficult to be retrieved, she resolved either that the cardinal should announce his intended departure, or that she would do so for him. Philip's experiment had failed. Nothing, therefore, remained but for the minister publicly to declare, that, as his brother, the late envoy to France, had returned to Brussels, he had obtained permission from the regent to accompany him on a visit to their aged mother, whom Granvelle had not seen for fourteen years.[593]{222}

The news of the minister's resignation and speedy departure spread like wildfire over the country. The joy was universal; and the wits of the time redoubled their activity, assailing the fallen minister with libels, lampoons, and caricatures, without end. One of these caricatures, thrust into his own hand under the pretence of its being a petition, represented him as hatching a brood of young bishops, who were crawling out of their shells. Hovering above might be seen the figure of the Devil; while these words were profanely made to issue from his month: "This is my son; hear ye him!"[594]

It was at this time that, at a banquet at which many of the Flemish nobles were present, the talk fell on the expensive habits of the aristocracy, especially as shown in the number and dress of their domestics. It was the custom for them to wear showy and very costly liveries, intimating by the colors the family to which they belonged. Granvelle had set an example of this kind of ostentation. It was proposed to regulate their apparel by a more modest and uniform standard. The lot fell on Egmont to devise some suitable livery, of the simple kind used by the Germans. He proposed a dark-gray habit, which, instead of the aiguillettes commonly suspended from the shoulders, should have flat pieces of cloth, embroidered with the figure of a head and a fool's cap. The head was made marvellously like that of the cardinal, and the cap, being red, was thought to bear much resemblance to a cardinal's hat. This was enough. The dress was received with acclamation. The nobles instantly clad their retainers in the new livery, which had the advantage of greater economy. It became the badge of party. The tailors of Brussels could not find time to supply their customers. Instead of being confined to Granvelle, the heads occasionally bore the features of Arschot, Aremberg, or Viglius, the cardinal's friends. The duchess at first laughed at the jest, and even sent some specimens of the embroidery to Philip. But Granvelle looked more gravely on the matter, declaring it an insult to the government, and the king interfered to have the device given up. This was not easy, from the extent to which it had been adopted. But Margaret at length succeeded in persuading the lords to take another, not personal in its nature. The substitute was a sheaf of arrows. Even this was found to have an offensive application, as it intimated the league of the nobles. It was the origin, it is said, of the device afterwards assumed by the Seven United Provinces.[595]

On the thirteenth of March, 1564, Granvelle quitted Brussels,—never to return.[596] "The joy of the nobles at his departure," writes one of the privy{223} council, "was excessive. They seemed like boys let loose from school."[597] The three lords, members of the council of state, in a note to the duchess, declared that they were ready to resume their places at the board; with the understanding, however, that they should retire whenever the minister returned.[598] Granvelle had given out that his absence would be of no long duration. The regent wrote to her brother in warm commendation of the lords. It would not do for Granvelle ever to return. She was assured by the nobles, if he did return, he would risk the loss of his life, and the king the loss of the Netherlands.[599]

The three lords wrote each to Philip, informing him that they had reëntered the council, and making the most earnest protestations of loyalty. Philip, on his part, graciously replied to each, and in particular to the prince of Orange, who had intimated that slanderous reports respecting himself had found their way to the royal ear. The king declared "he never could doubt for a moment that William would continue to show the same zeal in his service that he had always done; and that no one should be allowed to cast a reproach on a person of his quality, and one whom Philip knew so thoroughly."[600] It might almost seem that a double meaning lurked under this smooth language. But whatever may have been felt, no distrust was exhibited on either side. To those who looked on the surface only,—and they were a hundred to one,—it seemed as if the dismissal of the cardinal had removed all difficulties; and they now confidently relied on a state of permanent tranquillity. But there were others whose eyes looked deeper than the calm sunshine that lay upon the surface; who saw, more distinctly than when the waters were ruffled by the tempest, the rocks beneath, on which the vessel of state was afterward to be wrecked.

The cardinal, on leaving the Low Countries, retired to his patrimonial estate at Besançon,—embellished with all that wealth and a cultivated taste could supply. In this pleasant retreat the discomfited statesman found a solace in those pursuits which in earlier, perhaps happier, days had engaged his attention.[601] He had particularly a turn for the physical sciences. But he was fond of letters, and in all his tastes showed the fruits of a liberal culture. He surrounded himself with scholars and artists, and took a lively{224} interest in their pursuits. Justus Lipsius, afterwards so celebrated, was his secretary. He gave encouragement to Plantin, who rivalled in Flanders the fame of the Aldi in Venice. His generous patronage was readily extended to genius, in whatever form it was displayed. It is some proof how widely extended, that, in the course of his life, he is said to have received more than a hundred dedications. Though greedy of wealth, it was not to hoard it, and his large revenues were liberally dispensed in the foundation of museums, colleges, and public libraries. Besançon, the place of his residence, did not profit least by this munificence.[602]

Such is the portrait which historians have given to us of the minister in his retirement. His own letters show that, with these sources of enjoyment, he did not altogether disdain others of a less spiritual character. A letter to one of the regent's secretaries, written soon after the cardinal's arrival at Besançon, concludes in the following manner: "I know that God will recompense men according to their deserts. I have confidence that he will aid me; and that I shall yet be able to draw profit from what my enemies designed for my ruin. This is my philosophy, with which I endeavor to live as joyously as I can, laughing at the world, its calumnies and its passions."[603]

With all this happy mixture of the Epicurean and the Stoic, the philosophic statesman did not so contentedly submit to his fate as to forego the hope of seeing himself soon reinstated in authority in the Netherlands. "In the course of two months," he writes, "you may expect to see me there."[604] He kept up an active correspondence with the friends whom he had left in Brussels, and furnished the results of the information thus obtained, with his own commentaries, to the court at Madrid. His counsel was courted, and greatly considered, by Philip; so that from the shades of his retirement the banished minister was still thought to exercise an important influence on the destiny of Flanders.

CHAPTER VIII.

Policy of Philip.—Ascendancy of the Nobles.—The Regent's Embarrassments.—Egmont sent to Spain.

We have now arrived at an epoch in the history of the revolution, when, the spirit of the nation having been fully roused, the king had been compelled to withdraw his unpopular minister, and to intrust the reins of government to the hands of the nobles. Before proceeding further, it will be well to take a brief survey of the ground, that we may the better comprehend the relations in which the parties stood to each other at the commencement of the contest.

In a letter to his sister, the regent, written some two years after this period, Philip says: "I have never had any other object in view than the good of my subjects. In all that I have done, I have but trod in the footsteps of my father, under whom the people of the Netherlands must admit they lived contented and happy. As to the Inquisition, whatever people may say of it, I have never attempted anything new. With regard to the edicts, I have been always resolved to live and die in the Catholic faith. I could not be content to have my subjects do otherwise. Yet I see not how this can be compassed without punishing the transgressors. God knows how willingly I would avoid shedding a drop of Christian blood,—above all, that of my people{227} in the Netherlands; and I should esteem it one of the happiest circumstances of my reign to be spared this necessity."[605]

Whatever we may think of the sensibility of Philip, or of his tenderness for his Flemish subjects in particular, we cannot deny that the policy he had hitherto pursued was substantially that of his father. Yet his father lived beloved, and died lamented, by the Flemings; while Philip's course, from the very first, had encountered only odium and opposition. A little reflection will show us the reasons of these different results.

Both Charles and Philip came forward as the great champions of Catholicism. But the emperor's zeal was so far tempered by reason, that it could accommodate itself to circumstances. He showed this on more than one occasion, both in Germany and in Flanders. Philip, on the other hand, admitted of no compromise. He was the inexorable foe of heresy. Persecution was his only remedy, and the Inquisition the weapon on which he relied. His first act on setting foot on his native shore was to assist at an auto da fé. This proclaimed his purpose to the world, and associated his name indelibly with that of the terrible tribunal.

The free people of the Netherlands felt the same dread of the Inquisition that a free and enlightened people of our own day might be supposed to feel. They looked with gloomy apprehension to the unspeakable misery it was to bring to their firesides, and the desolation and ruin to their country. Everything that could in any way be connected with it took the dismal coloring of their fears. The edicts of Charles the Fifth, written in blood, became yet more formidable, as declaring the penalties to be inflicted by this tribunal. Even the erection of the bishoprics, so necessary a measure, was regarded with distrust on account of the inquisitorial powers which of old were vested in the bishops, thus seeming to give additional strength to the arm of persecution. The popular feeling was nourished by every new convert to the Protestant faith, as well as by those who, from views of their own, were willing to fan the flame of rebellion.

Another reason why Philip's policy met with greater opposition than that of his predecessor was the change in the condition of the people themselves. Under the general relaxation of the law, or rather of its execution, in the latter days of Charles the Fifth, the number of the Reformers had greatly multiplied. Calvinism predominated in Luxemburg, Artois, Flanders, and the states lying nearest to France. Holland, Zealand, and the North, were the chosen abode of the Anabaptists. The Lutherans swarmed in the districts bordering on Germany; while Antwerp, the commercial capital of Brabant, and the great mart of all nations, was filled with sectaries of every description. Even the Jew, the butt of persecution in the Middle Ages, is said to have lived there unmolested. For such a state of things, it is clear that very different legislation was demanded than for that which existed under Charles the Fifth. It was one thing to eradicate a few noxious weeds, and quite another to crush the sturdy growth of heresy, which in every direction now covered the land.

A further reason for the aversion to Philip, and one that cannot be too often repeated, was that he was a foreigner. Charles was a native Fleming; and much may be forgiven in a countryman. But Philip was a Spaniard,—one of a nation held in greatest aversion by the men of the Netherlands. It should clearly have been his policy, therefore, to cover up this defect in the eyes of the inhabitants by consulting their national prejudices, and by a show, at least, of confidence in their leaders. Far from this, Philip began with placing a Spanish army on their borders in time of peace. The administration{228} he committed to the hands of a foreigner. And while he thus outraged the national feeling at home, it was remarked that into the royal council at Madrid, where the affairs of the Low Countries, as of the other provinces, were settled in the last resort, not a Fleming was admitted.[606] The public murmured. The nobles remonstrated and resisted. Philip was obliged to retrace his steps. He made first one concession, then another. He recalled his troops, removed his minister. The nobles triumphed, and the administration of the country passed into their hands. People thought the troubles were at an end. They were but begun. Nothing had been done towards the solution of the great problem of the rights of conscience. On this the king and the country were at issue as much as ever. All that had been done had only cleared the way to the free discussion of this question, and to the bloody contest that was to follow.

On the departure of Granvelle, the discontented lords, as we have seen, again took their seats in the council of state. They gave the most earnest assurances of loyalty to the king, and seemed as if desirous to make amends for the past by an extraordinary devotion to public business. Margaret received these advances in the spirit in which they were made; and the confidence which she had formerly bestowed on Granvelle, she now transferred in full measure to his successful rivals.[607]

It is amusing to read her letters at this period, and to compare them with those which she wrote to Philip the year preceding. In the new coloring given to the portraits it is hard to recognize a single individual. She cannot speak too highly of the services of the lords,—of the prince of Orange, and Egmont above all,—of their devotion to the public weal and the interests of the sovereign. She begs her brother again and again to testify his own satisfaction by the most gracious letters to those nobles that he can write.[608] The suggestion seems to have met with little favor from Philip. No language, however, is quite strong enough to express Margaret's disgust with the character and conduct of her former minister, Granvelle. It is he that has so long stood betwixt the monarch and the love of the people. She cannot feel easy that he should still remain so near the Netherlands. He should be sent to Rome.[609] She distrusts his influence, even now, over the cabinet at Madrid. He is perpetually talking, she understands, of the probability of his speedy return to Brussels. The rumor of this causes great uneasiness in the country. Should he be permitted to return, it would undoubtedly be the signal for an insurrection.[610]—It is clear the duchess had sorely suffered from the tyranny of Granvelle.[611]{229}

But notwithstanding the perfect harmony which subsisted between Margaret and the principal lords, it was soon seen that the wheels of government were not destined to run on too smoothly. Although the cardinal was gone, there still remained a faction of Cardinalists, who represented his opinions, and who, if few in number, made themselves formidable by the strength of their opposition. At the head of these were the viscount de Barlaimont and the President Viglius.

The former, head of the council of finance, was a Flemish noble of the first class,—yet more remarkable for his character than for his rank. He was a man of unimpeachable integrity, stanch in his loyalty both to the Church and to the crown, with a resolute spirit not to be shaken, for it rested on principle.

His coadjutor, Viglius, was an eminent jurist, an able writer, a sagacious statesman. He had been much employed by the emperor in public affairs, which he managed with a degree of caution that amounted almost to timidity. He was the personal friend of Granvelle, had adopted his views, and carried on with him a constant correspondence, which is among our best sources of information. He was frugal and moderate in his habits, not provoking criticism, like that minister, by his ostentation and irregularities of life. But he was nearly as formidable, from the official powers with which he was clothed, and the dogged tenacity with which he clung to his purposes. He filled the high office of president both of the privy council and of the council of state, and was also keeper of the great seal. It was thus obviously in his power to oppose a great check to the proceedings of the opposite party. That he did thus often thwart them is attested by the reiterated complaints of the duchess. "The president," she tells her brother, "makes me endure the pains of hell by the manner in which he traverses my measures."[612] His real object, like that of Granvelle and of their followers, she says on another occasion, is to throw the country into disorder. They would find their account in fishing in the troubled waters. They dread a state of tranquillity, which would afford opportunity for exposing their corrupt practices in the government.[613]

To these general charges of delinquency the duchess added others, of a more vulgar peculation. Viglius, who had taken priest's orders for the purpose, was provost of the church of St. Bavon. Margaret openly accused him of purloining the costly tapestries, the plate, the linen, the jewels, and even considerable sums of money belonging to the church.[614] She insisted on the impropriety of allowing such a man to hold office under the government.

Nor was the president silent on his part, and in his correspondence with Granvelle he retorts similar accusations in full measure on his enemies. He roundly taxes the great nobles with simony and extortion. Offices, both ecclesiastical and secular, were put up for sale in a shameless manner, and disposed of to the highest bidder. It was in this way that the bankrupt nobles paid their debts, by bestowing vacant places on their creditors. Nor are the regent's hands, he intimates, altogether clean from the stain of these transactions.[615] He accuses the lords, moreover, of using their authority to{230} interfere perpetually with the course of justice. They had acquired an unbounded ascendancy over Margaret, and treated her with a deference which, he adds, "is ever sure to captivate the sex."[616] She was more especially under the influence of her secretary, Armenteros, a creature of the nobles, who profited by his position to fill his own coffers at the expense of the exchequer.[617] For himself, he is in such disgrace for his resistance to these disloyal proceedings, that the duchess excludes him as far as possible from the management of affairs, and treats him with undisguised coldness. Nothing but the desire to do his duty would induce him to remain a day longer in a post like this, from which his only wish is that his sovereign would release him.[618]

The president seems never to have written directly to Philip. It would only expose him, he said, to the suspicions and the cavils of his enemies. The wary statesman took warning by the fate of Granvelle. But as his letters to the banished minister were all forwarded to Philip, the monarch, with the despatches of his sister before him, had the means of contemplating both sides of the picture, and of seeing that, to whichever party he intrusted the government, the interests of the country were little likely to be served. Had it been his father, the emperor, who was on the throne, such knowledge would not have been in his possession four and twenty hours, before he would have been on his way to the Netherlands. But Philip was of a more sluggish temper. He was capable, indeed, of much passive exertion,—of incredible toil in the cabinet,—and from his palace, as was said, would have given law to Christendom. But rather than encounter the difficulties of a voyage, he was willing, it appears, to risk the loss of the finest of his provinces.[619]

Yet he wrote to his sister to encourage her with the prospect of his visiting the country as soon as he could be released from a war in which he was{231} engaged with the Turks. He invited her, at the same time, to send him further particulars of the misconduct of Viglius, and expressed the hope that some means might be found of silencing his opposition.[620]

It is not easy at this day to strike the balance between the hostile parties, so as to decide on the justice of these mutual accusations, and to assign to each the proper share of responsibility for the mismanagement of the government. That it was mismanaged is certain. That offices were put up for sale is undeniable; for the duchess frankly discusses the expediency of it, in a letter to her brother. This, at least, absolves the act from the imputation of secrecy. The conflict of the council of state with the two other councils often led to disorders, since the decrees passed by the privy council, which had cognizance of matters of justice, were frequently frustrated by the amnesties and pardons granted by the council of state. To remedy this, the nobles contended that it was necessary to subject the decrees of the other councils to the revision of the council of state, and, in a word, to concentrate in this last body the whole authority of government.[621] The council of state, composed chiefly of the great aristocracy, looked down with contempt on those subordinate councils, made up for the most part of men of humbler condition, pledged by their elevation to office to maintain the interests of the crown. They would have placed the administration of the country in the hands of an oligarchy, made up of the great Flemish nobles. This would be to break up that system of distribution into separate departments established by Charles the Fifth for the more perfect despatch of business. It would, in short, be such a change in the constitution of the country as would of itself amount to a revolution.

In the state of things above described, the Reformation gained rapidly in the country. The nobles generally, as has been already intimated, were loyal to the Roman Catholic Church. Many of the younger nobility, however, who had been educated at Geneva, returned tinctured with heretical doctrines from the school of Calvin.[622] But whether Catholic or Protestant, the Flemish aristocracy looked with distrust on the system of persecution, and held the Inquisition in the same abhorrence as did the great body of the people. It was fortunate for the Reformation in the Netherlands, that at its outset it received the support even of the Catholics, who resisted the Inquisition as an outrage on their political liberties.

Under the lax administration of the edicts, exiles who had fled abroad from persecution now returned to Flanders. Calvinist ministers and refugees from France crossed the borders, and busied themselves with the work of proselytism. Seditious pamphlets were circulated, calling on the regent to confiscate the ecclesiastical revenues, and apply them to the use of the state, as had been done in England.[623] The Inquisition became an object of contempt,{232} almost as much as of hatred. Two of the principal functionaries wrote to Philip, that, without further support, they could be of no use in a situation which exposed them only to derision and danger.[624] At Bruges and at Brussels the mob entered the prisons, and released the prisoners. A more flagrant violation of justice occurred at Antwerp. A converted friar, named Fabricius, who had been active in preaching and propagating the new doctrines, was tried and sentenced to the stake. On the way to execution, the people called out to him, from the balconies and the doorways, to "take courage, and endure manfully to the last."[625] When the victim was bound to the stake, and the pile was kindled, the mob discharged such a volley of stones at the officers as speedily put them to flight. But the unhappy man, though unscathed by the fire, was stabbed to the heart by the executioner, who made his escape in the tumult. The next morning, placards written in blood were found affixed to the public buildings, threatening vengeance on all who had any part in the execution of Fabricius; and one of the witnesses against him, a woman, hardly escaped with life from the hands of the populace.[626]

The report of these proceedings caused a great sensation at Madrid; and Philip earnestly called on his sister to hunt out and pursue the offenders. This was not easy, where most, even of those who did not join in the act, fully shared in the feeling which led to it. Yet Philip continued to urge the necessity of enforcing the laws for the preservation of the Faith, as the thing dearest to his heart. He would sometimes indicate in his letters the name of a suspicious individual, his usual dress, his habits, and appearance,—descending into details which may well surprise us, considering the multitude of affairs of a weightier character that pressed upon his mind.[627] One cannot doubt that Philip was at heart an inquisitor.

Yet the fires of persecution were not permitted wholly to slumber. The historian of the Reformation enumerates seventeen who suffered capitally for their religious opinions in the course of the year 1564.[628] This, though pitiable, was a small number—if indeed it be the whole number—compared with the thousands who are said to have perished in the same space of time in the preceding reign. It was too small to produce any effect as a persecution, while the sight of the martyr, singing hymns in the midst of the flames, only kindled a livelier zeal in the spectators, and a deeper hatred for their oppressors.

The finances naturally felt the effects of the general disorder of the country. The public debt, already large, as we have seen, was now so much increased, that the yearly deficiency in the revenue, according to the regent's own statement, amounted to six hundred thousand florins;[629] and she knew of no way of extricating the country from its embarrassments, unless the king should come to its assistance. The convocation of the states-general was insisted on as the only remedy for these disorders. That body alone, it was contended, was authorized to vote the requisite subsidies, and to redress the manifold grievances of the nation.—Yet, in point of fact, its powers had hitherto been little more than to propose the subsidies for the approbation of the several{233} provinces, and to remonstrate on the grievances of the nation. To invest the states-general with the power of redressing these grievances would bestow on them legislative functions which they had rarely, if ever, exercised. This would be to change the constitution of the country, by the new weight it would give to the popular element; a change which the great lords, who had already the lesser nobles entirely at their disposal,[630] would probably know well how to turn to account.[631] Yet Margaret had now so entirely resigned herself to their influence, that, notwithstanding the obvious consequences of these measures, she recommended to Philip both to assemble the states-general and to remodel the council of state;[632]—and this to a monarch more jealous of his authority than any other prince in Europe!

To add to the existing troubles, orders were received from the court of Madrid to publish the decrees of the Council of Trent throughout the Netherlands. That celebrated council had terminated its long session in 1563, with the results that might have been expected,—those of widening the breach between Protestant and Catholic, and of enlarging, or at least more firmly establishing, the authority of the pope. One good result may be mentioned, that of providing for a more strict supervision of the morals and discipline of the clergy;—a circumstance which caused the decrees to be in extremely bad odor with that body.

It was hoped that Philip would imitate the example of France, and reject decrees which thus exalted the power of the pope. Men were led to expect this the more, from the mortification which the king had lately experienced from a decision of the pontiff on a question of precedence between the Castilian and French ambassadors at his court. This delicate matter, long pending, had been finally determined in favor of France by Pius the Fifth, who may have thought it more politic to secure a fickle ally than to reward a firm one. The decision touched Philip to the quick. He at once withdrew his ambassador from Rome, and refused to receive an envoy from his holiness.[633] It seemed that a serious rupture was likely to take place between the parties. But it was not in the nature of Philip to be long at feud with the court of Rome. In a letter to the duchess of Parma, dated August 6, 1564, he plainly intimated that in matters of faith he was willing at all times to sacrifice his private feelings to the public weal.[634] He subsequently commanded the decrees of the Council of Trent to be received as law throughout his dominions, saying that he could make no exception for the Netherlands, when he made none for Spain.[635]{234}

The promulgation of the decrees was received, as had been anticipated, with general discontent. The clergy complained of the interference with their immunities. The men of Brabant stood stoutly on the chartered rights secured to them by the "Joyeuse Entrée". And the people generally resisted the decrees, from a vague idea of their connection with the Inquisition; while, as usual when mischief was on foot, they loudly declaimed against Granvelle as being at the bottom of it.

In this unhappy condition of affairs, it was determined by the council of state to send some one to Madrid to lay the grievances of the nation before the king, and to submit to him what in their opinion would be the most effectual remedy. They were the more induced to this by the unsatisfactory nature of the royal correspondence. Philip, to the great discontent of the lords, had scarcely condescended to notice their letters.[636] Even to Margaret's ample communications he rarely responded, and when he did, it was in vague and general terms, conveying little more than the necessity of executing justice and watching over the purity of the Faith.

The person selected for the unenviable mission to Madrid was Egmont, whose sentiments of loyalty, and of devotion to the Catholic faith, it was thought, would recommend him to the king; while his brilliant reputation, his rank, and his popular manners would find favor with the court and the people. Egmont himself was the less averse to the mission, that he had some private suits of his own to urge with the monarch.

This nomination was warmly supported by William, between whom and the count a perfectly good understanding seems to have subsisted, in spite of the efforts of the Cardinalists to revive their ancient feelings of jealousy. Yet these feelings still glowed in the bosoms of the wives of the two nobles, as was evident from the warmth with which they disputed the question of precedence with each other. Both were of the highest rank, and, as there was no umpire to settle the delicate question, it was finally arranged by the two ladies appearing in public always arm in arm,—an equality which the haughty dames were careful to maintain, in spite of the ridiculous embarrassments to which they were occasionally exposed by narrow passages and doorways.[637] If the question of precedence had related to character, it would have been easily settled. The troubles from the misconduct of Anne of Saxony bore as heavily on the prince, her husband, at this very time, as the troubles of the state.[638]{235}

Before Egmont's departure, a meeting of the council of state was called, to furnish him with the proper instructions. The president, Viglius, gave it as his opinion, that the mission was superfluous; and that the great nobles had only to reform their own way of living to bring about the necessary reforms in the country. Egmont was instructed by the regent to represent to the king the deplorable condition of the land, the prostration of public credit, the decay of religion, and the symptoms of discontent and disloyalty in the people. As the most effectual remedy for these evils, he was to urge the king to come in person, and that speedily, to Flanders. "If his majesty does not approve of this," said Margaret, "impress upon him the necessity of making further remittances, and of giving me precise instructions as to the course I am to pursue."[639]

The prince of Orange took part in the discussion with a warmth he had rarely shown. It was time, he said, that the king should be disabused of the errors under which he labored with respect to the Netherlands. The edicts must be mitigated. It was not possible, in the present state of feeling, either to execute the edicts or to maintain the Inquisition.[640] The Council of Trent was almost equally odious; nor could they enforce its decrees in the Netherlands while the countries on the borders rejected them. The people would no longer endure the perversion of justice, and the miserable wrangling of the councils.—This last blow was aimed at the president.—The only remedy was to enlarge the council of state, and to strengthen its authority. For his own part, he concluded, he could not understand how any prince could claim the right of interfering with the consciences of his subjects in matters of religion.[641]—The impassioned tone of his eloquence, so contrary to the usually calm manner of William the Silent, and the boldness with which he avowed his opinions, caused a great sensation in the assembly.[642] That night was passed by Viglius, who gives his own account of the matter, in tossing on his bed, painfully ruminating on his forlorn position in the council, with scarcely one to support him in the contest which he was compelled to wage, not merely with the nobles, but with the regent herself. The next morning, while dressing, he was attacked by a fit of apoplexy, which partially deprived him of the use of both his speech and his limbs.[643] It was some time{236} before he could resume his place at the board. This new misfortune furnished him with a substantial argument for soliciting the king's permission to retire from office. In this he was warmly seconded by Margaret, who, while she urged the president's incapacity, nothing touched by his situation, eagerly pressed her brother to call him to account for his delinquencies, and especially his embezzlement of the church property.[644]

Philip, who seems to have shunned any direct intercourse with his Flemish subjects, had been averse to have Egmont, or any other envoy, sent to Madrid. On learning that the mission was at length settled, he wrote to Margaret that he had made up his mind to receive the count graciously, and to show no discontent with the conduct of the lords. That the journey, however, was not without its perils, may be inferred from a singular document that has been preserved to us. It is signed by a number of Egmont's personal friends, each of whom traced his signature in his own blood. In this paper the parties pledge their faith, as true knights and gentlemen, that if any harm be done to Count Egmont during his absence, they will take ample vengeance on Cardinal Granvelle, or whoever might be the author of it.[645] The cardinal seems to have been the personification of evil with the Flemings of every degree. This instrument, which was deposited with the Countess Egmont, was subscribed with the names of seven nobles, most of them afterwards conspicuous in the troubles of the country. One might imagine that such a document was more likely to alarm than to reassure the wife to whom it was addressed.[646]

In the beginning of January, Egmont set out on his journey. He was accompanied for some distance by a party of his friends, who at Cambray gave him a splendid entertainment. Among those present was the archbishop of Cambray, a prelate who had made himself unpopular by the zeal he had shown in the persecution of the Reformers. As the wine-cup passed freely round, some of the younger guests amused themselves with frequently pledging the prelate, and endeavoring to draw him into a greater degree of conviviality than was altogether becoming his station. As he at length declined their pledges, they began openly to taunt him; and one of the revellers, irritated by the archbishop's reply, would have thrown a large silver dish at his head, had not his arm been arrested by Egmont. Another of the company, however, succeeded in knocking off the prelate's cap;[647] and a scene of tumult ensued, from which the archbishop was extricated, not without difficulty, by the more sober and considerate part of the company. The{237} whole affair—mortifying in the extreme to Egmont—is characteristic of the country at this period; when business of the greatest importance was settled at the banquet, as we often find in the earlier history of the revolution.

Egmont's reception at Madrid was of the most flattering kind. Philip's demeanor towards his great vassal was marked by unusual benignity; and the courtiers, readily taking their cue from their sovereign, vied with one another in attentions to the man whose prowess might be said to have won for Spain the great victories of Gravelines and St. Quentin. In fine, Egmont, whose brilliant exterior and noble bearing gave additional lustre to his reputation, was the object of general admiration during his residence of several weeks at Madrid. It seemed as if the court of Castile was prepared to change its policy, from the flattering attentions it thus paid to the representative of the Netherlands.

During his stay, Egmont was admitted to several audiences, in which he exposed to the monarch the evils that beset the country, and the measures proposed for relieving them. As the two most effectual, he pressed him to mitigate the edicts, and to reorganize the council of state.[648] Philip listened with much benignity to these suggestions of the Flemish noble; and if he did not acquiesce, he gave no intimation to the contrary, except by assuring the count of his determination to maintain the integrity of the Catholic faith. To Egmont personally he showed the greatest indulgence, and the count's private suits sped as favorably as he could have expected. But a remarkable anecdote proves that Philip, at this very time, with all this gracious demeanor, had not receded one step from the ground he had always occupied.

Not long after Egmont's arrival, Philip privately called a meeting of the most eminent theologians in the capital. To this conclave he communicated briefly the state of the Low Countries, and their demand to enjoy freedom of conscience in matters of religion. He concluded by inquiring the opinion of his auditors on the subject. The reverend body, doubtless supposing that the king only wanted their sanction to extricate himself from the difficulties of his position, made answer, "that, considering the critical situation of Flanders, and the imminent danger, if thwarted, of its disloyalty to the crown and total defection from the Church, he might be justified in allowing the people freedom of worshipping in their own way." To this Philip sternly replied, "He had not called them to learn whether he might grant this to the Flemings, but whether he must do so."[649] The flexible conclave, finding they had mistaken their cue, promptly answered in the negative; on which Philip, prostrating himself on the ground before a crucifix, exclaimed, "I implore thy divine majesty, Ruler of all things, that thou keep me in the mind that I am in, never to allow myself either to become or to be called the lord of those who reject thee for their Lord."[650]—The story was told to the historian who records it by a member of the assembly, filled with admiration at the pious{238} zeal of the monarch! From that moment the doom of the Netherlands was sealed.

Yet Egmont had so little knowledge of the true state of things, that he indulged in the most cheerful prognostications for the future. His frank and cordial nature readily responded to the friendly demonstrations he received, and his vanity was gratified by the homage universally paid to him. On leaving the country, he made a visit to the royal residences of Segovia and of the Escorial,—the magnificent pile already begun by Philip, and which continued to occupy more or less of his time during the remainder of his reign. Egmont, in a letter addressed to the king, declares himself highly delighted with what he has seen at both these places, and assures his sovereign that he returns to Flanders the most contented man in the world.[651]

When arrived there, early in April, 1565, the count was loud in his profession of the amiable dispositions of the Castilian court towards the Netherlands. Egmont's countrymen—William of Orange and a few persons of cooler judgment alone excepted—readily indulged in the same dream of sanguine expectation, flattering themselves with the belief that a new policy was to prevail at Madrid, and that their country was henceforth to thrive under the blessings of religious toleration.—It was a pleasing illusion, destined to be of no long duration.

CHAPTER IX.

Philip's Duplicity.—His Procrastination.—Despatches from Segovia.—Effect on the Country.—The Compromise.—Orange and Egmont.

Shortly after Egmont's return to Brussels, Margaret called a meeting of the council of state, at which the sealed instructions brought by the envoy from Madrid were opened and read. They began by noticing the count's demeanor in terms so flattering as showed the mission had proved acceptable to the king. Then followed a declaration, strongly expressed and sufficiently startling. "I would rather lose a hundred thousand lives, if I had so many," said the monarch, "than allow a single change in matters of religion."[652] He, however, recommended that a commission be appointed, consisting of three bishops with a number of jurists, who should advise with the members of the council as to the best mode of instructing the people, especially in their spiritual concerns. It might be well, moreover, to substitute some secret methods for the public forms of execution, which now enabled the heretic to assume to himself the glory of martyrdom, and thereby produce a mischievous impression on the people.[653] No other allusion was made to the pressing grievances of the nation, though, in a letter addressed at the same time to the duchess, Philip said that he had come to no decision as to the council of{239} state, where the proposed change seemed likely to be attended with inconvenience.[654]

This, then, was the result of Egmont's mission to Madrid! This the change so much vaunted in the policy of Philip! "The count has been the dupe of Spanish cunning," exclaimed the prince of Orange. It was too true; and Egmont felt it keenly, as he perceived the ridicule to which he was exposed by the confident tone in which he had talked of the amiable dispositions of the Castilian court, and by the credit he had taken to himself for promoting them.[655]

A greater sensation was produced among the people; for their expectations had been far more sanguine than those entertained by William, and the few who, like him, understood the character of Philip too well to place great confidence in the promises of Egmont. They loudly declaimed against the king's insincerity, and accused their envoy of having shown more concern for his private interests than for those of the public. This taunt touched the honor of that nobleman, who bitterly complained that it was an artifice of Philip to destroy his credit with his countrymen; and the better to prove his good faith, he avowed his purpose of throwing up at once all the offices he held under government.[656]

The spirit of persecution, after a temporary lull, now again awakened. But everywhere the inquisitors were exposed to insult, and met with the same resistance as before; while their victims were cheered with expressions of sympathy from those who saw them led to execution. To avoid the contagion of example, the executions were now conducted secretly in the prisons.[657] But the mystery thus thrown around the fate of the unhappy sufferer only invested it with an additional horror. Complaints were made every day to the government by the states, the magistrates, and the people, denouncing the persecutions to which they were exposed. Spies, they said, were in every house, watching looks, words, gestures. No man was secure, either in person or property. The public groaned under an intolerable slavery.[658] Meanwhile, the Huguenot emissaries were busy as ever in propagating their doctrines; and with the work of reform was mingled the seed of revolution.

The regent felt the danger of this state of things, and her impotence to relieve it. She did all she could in freely exposing it to Philip, informing him at the same time of Egmont's disgust, and the general discontent of the nation, at the instructions from Spain. She ended, as usual, by beseeching her brother to come himself, if he would preserve his authority in the Netherlands.[659] To these communications the royal answers came but rarely; and, when they did come, were for the most part vague and unsatisfactory.

"Everything goes on with Philip," writes Chantonnay, formerly minister to France, to his brother Granvelle,—"Everything goes on from to-morrow{240} to to-morrow; the only resolution is, to remain irresolute.[660] The king will allow matters to become so entangled in the Low Countries, that, if he ever should visit them, he will find it easier to conform to the state of things than to mend it. The lords there are more of kings than the king himself.[661] They have all the smaller nobles in leading-strings. It is impossible that Philip should conduct himself like a man.[662] His only object is to cajole the Flemish nobles, so that he may be spared the necessity of coming to Flanders."

"It is a pity," writes the secretary, Perez, "that the king will manage affairs as he does, now taking counsel of this man, and now of that; concealing some matters from those he consults, and trusting them with others, showing full confidence in no one. With this way of proceeding, it is no wonder that despatches should be contradictory in their tenor."[663]

It is doubtless true, that procrastination and distrust were the besetting sins of Philip, and were followed by their natural consequences. He had, moreover, as we have seen, a sluggishness of nature, which kept him in Madrid when he should have been in Brussels,—where his father, in similar circumstances, would long since have been, seeing with his own eyes what Philip saw only with the eyes of others. But still his policy, in the present instance, may be referred quite as much to deliberate calculation as to his natural temper. He had early settled it as a fixed principle never to concede religious toleration to his subjects. He had intimated this pretty clearly in his different communications to the government of Flanders. That he did not announce it in a more absolute and unequivocal form may well have arisen from the apprehension, that, in the present irritable state of the people, this might rouse their passions into a flame. At least, it might be reserved for a last resort. Meanwhile, he hoped to weary them out by maintaining an attitude of cold reserve; until, convinced of the hopelessness of resistance, they would cease altogether to resist. In short, he seemed to deal with the Netherlands like a patient angler, who allows the trout to exhaust himself by his own efforts, rather than by a violent movement risk the loss of him altogether. It is clear Philip did not understand the character of the Netherlander,—as dogged and determined as his own.

Considering the natural bent of the king's disposition, there seems no reason to charge Granvelle, as was commonly done in the Low Countries, with having given a direction to his policy. It is, however, certain, that, on all great questions, the minister's judgment seems to have perfectly coincided with that of his master. "If your majesty mitigates the edicts," writes the cardinal, "affairs will become worse in Flanders than they are in France."[664] No change should be allowed in the council of state.[665] A meeting of the states-general would inflict an injury which the king would feel for thirty years to come![666] Granvelle maintained a busy correspondence with his partisans in the Low Countries, and sent the results of it—frequently the original letters themselves—to Madrid. Thus Philip, by means of the reports{241} of the great nobles on the one hand, and of the Cardinalists on the other, was enabled to observe the movements in Flanders from the most opposite points of view.

The king's replies to the letters of the minister were somewhat scanty, to judge from the complaints which Granvelle made of his neglect. With all this, the cardinal professes to be well pleased that he is rid of so burdensome an office as that of governing the Netherlands. "Here," he writes to his friend Viglius, "I make good cheer, busying myself with my own affairs, and preparing my despatches in quiet, seldom leaving the house, except to take a walk, to attend church, or to visit my mother."[667] In this simple way of life, the philosophic statesman seems to have passed his time to his own satisfaction, though it is evident, notwithstanding his professions, that he cast many a longing look back to the Netherlands, the seat of his brief authority. "The hatred the people of Flanders bear me," he writes to Philip, "afflicts me sorely; but I console myself that it is for the service of God and my king."[668] The cardinal, amid his complaints of the king's neglect, affected the most entire submission to his will. "I would go anywhere," he writes,—"to the Indies, anywhere in the world,—would even throw myself into the fire, did you desire it."[669] Philip, not long after, put these professions to the test. In October, 1565, he yielded to the regent's importunities, and commanded Granvelle to transfer his residence to Rome. The cardinal would not move. "Anywhere," he wrote to his master, "but to Rome. That is a place of ceremonies and empty show, for which I am nowise qualified. Besides, it would look too much like a submission on your part. My diocese of Mechlin has need of me; now, if I should go to Spain, it would look as if I went to procure the aid which it so much requires."[670] But the cabinet of Madrid were far from desiring the presence of so cunning a statesman to direct the royal counsels. The orders were reiterated, to go to Rome. To Rome, accordingly, the reluctant minister went; and we have a letter from him to the king, dated from that capital, the first of February, 1566, in which he counsels his master by no means to think of introducing the Spanish Inquisition into the Netherlands.[671] It might seem as if, contrary to the proverb, change of climate had wrought some change in the disposition of the cardinal.—From this period, Granvelle, so long the terror of the Low Countries, disappears from the management of their affairs. He does not, however, disappear from the political theatre. We shall again meet with the able and ambitious prelate, first as viceroy of Naples, and afterwards at Madrid occupying the highest station in the councils of his sovereign.

Early in July, 1565, the commission of reform appointed by Philip transmitted its report to Spain. It recommended no change in the present laws, except so far as to authorize the judges to take into consideration the age and sex of the accused, and in case of penitence to commute the capital punishment of the convicted heretic for banishment. Philip approved of the{242} report in all particulars,—except the only particular that involved a change, that of mercy to the penitent heretic.[672]

At length, the king resolved on such an absolute declaration of his will as should put all doubts on the matter at rest, and relieve him from further importunity. On the seventeenth of October, 1565, he addressed that memorable letter to his sister, from the Wood of Segovia, which may be said to have determined the fate of the Netherlands. Philip, in this, intimates his surprise that his letters should appear to Egmont inconsistent with what he had heard from his lips at Madrid. His desire was not for novelty in anything. He would have the Inquisition conducted by the inquisitors, as it had hitherto been, and as by right, divine and human, belonged to them.[673] For the edicts, it was no time in the present state of religion to make any change; both his own and those of his father must be executed. The Anabaptists—a sect for which, as the especial butt of persecution, much intercession had been made—must be dealt with according to the rigor of the law. Philip concluded by conjuring the regent and the lords in the council faithfully to obey his commands, as in so doing they would render the greatest service to the cause of religion and of their country,—which last, he adds, without the execution of these ordinances, would be of little worth.[674]

In a private letter to the regent of nearly the same date with these public despatches, Philip speaks of the proposed changes in the council of state as a subject on which he had not made up his mind.[675] He notices also the proposed convocation of the states-general as a thing, in the present disorders of the country, altogether inexpedient.[676]—Thus the king's despatches covered nearly all the debatable ground on which the contest had been so long going on between the crown and the country. There could be no longer any complaint of ambiguity or reserve in the expression of the royal will. "God knows," writes Viglius, "what wry faces were made in the council on learning the absolute will of his majesty!"[677] There was not one of its members, not even the president or Barlaimont, who did not feel the necessity of bending to the tempest so far as to suspend, if not to mitigate, the rigor of the law. They looked to the future with gloomy apprehension. Viglius strongly urged, that the despatches should not be made public till some further communication should be had with Philip to warn him of the consequences. In this he was opposed by the prince of Orange. "It was too late," he said, "to talk of what was expedient to be done. Since the will of his majesty was so unequivocally expressed, all that remained for the government was to execute it."[678] In vain did Viglius offer to take the whole responsibility of the{243} delay on himself. William's opinion, supported by Egmont and Hoorne, prevailed with the regent, too timid, by such an act of disobedience, to hazard the displeasure of her brother. As, late in the evening, the council broke up, William was heard to exclaim, "Now we shall see the beginning of a fine tragedy!"[679]

In the month of December, the regent caused copies of the despatches, with extracts from the letters to herself, to be sent to the governors and the councils of the several provinces, with orders that they should see to their faithful execution. Officers, moreover, were to be appointed, whose duty it was to ascertain the manner in which these orders were fulfilled, and to report thereon to the government.

The result was what had been foreseen. The publication of the despatches—to borrow the words of a Flemish writer—created a sensation throughout the country little short of what would have been caused by a declaration of war.[680] Under every discouragement, men had flattered themselves, up to this period, with the expectation of some change for the better. The constantly increasing number of the Reformers, the persevering resistance to the Inquisition, the reiterated remonstrances to the government, the general persuasion that the great nobles, even the regent, were on their side, had all combined to foster the hope that toleration, to some extent, would eventually be conceded by Philip.[681] This hope was now crushed. Whatever doubts had been entertained were dispelled by these last despatches, which came like a hurricane, sweeping away the mists that had so long blinded the eyes of men, and laying open the policy of the crown, clear as day, to the dullest apprehension. The people passed to the extremity of despair. The Spanish Inquisition, with its train of horrors, seemed to be already in the midst of them. They called to mind all the tales of woe they had heard of it. They recounted the atrocities perpetrated by the Spaniards in the New World, which, however erroneously, they charged on the Holy Office. "Do they expect," they cried, "that we shall tamely wait here, like the wretched Indians, to be slaughtered by millions?"[682] Men were seen gathering into knots, in the streets and public squares, discussing the conduct of the government, and gloomily talking of secret associations and foreign alliances. Meetings were stealthily held in the woods, and in the suburbs of the great towns, where the audience listened to fanatical preachers, who, while{244} discussing the doctrines of religious reform, darkly hinted at resistance. Tracts were printed, and widely circulated, in which the reciprocal obligations of lord and vassal were treated, and the right of resistance was maintained; and, in some instances, these difficult questions were handled with decided ability. A more common form was that of satire and scurrilous lampoon,—a favorite weapon with the early Reformers. Their satirical sallies were levelled indifferently at the throne and the Church. The bishops were an obvious mark. No one was spared. Comedies were written to ridicule the clergy. Never since the discovery of the art of printing—more than a century before—had the press been turned into an engine of such political importance as in the earlier stages of the revolution in the Netherlands. Thousands of the seditious pamphlets thus thrown off were rapidly circulated among a people, the humblest of whom possessed what many a noble in other lands, at that day, was little skilled in,—the art of reading. Placards were nailed to the doors of the magistrates, in some of the cities, proclaiming that Rome stood in need of her Brutus. Others were attached to the gates of Orange and Egmont, calling on them to come forth and save their country.[683]

Margaret was filled with alarm at these signs of disaffection throughout the land. She felt the ground trembling beneath her. She wrote again and again to Philip, giving full particulars of the state of the public sentiment, and the seditious spirit which seemed on the verge of insurrection. She intimated her wish to resign the government.[684] She besought him to allow the states-general to be summoned, and, at all events, to come in person and take the reins from her hands, too weak to hold them.—Philip coolly replied, that "he was sorry the despatches from Segovia had given such offence. They had been designed only for the service of God and the good of the country."[685]

In this general fermentation, a new class of men came on the stage, important by their numbers, though they had taken no part as yet in political affairs. These were the lower nobility of the country; men of honorable descent, and many of them allied by blood or marriage with the highest nobles of the land. They were too often men of dilapidated fortunes, fallen into decay through their own prodigality, or that of their progenitors. Many had received their education abroad, some in Geneva, the home of Calvin, where they naturally imbibed the doctrines of the great Reformer. In needy circumstances, with no better possession than the inheritance of honorable traditions, or the memory of better days, they were urged by a craving, impatient spirit, which naturally made them prefer any change to the existing order of things. They were, for the most part, bred to arms; and, in the days of Charles the Fifth, had found an ample career opened to their ambition under the imperial banners. But Philip, with less policy than his father, had neglected to court this class of his subjects, who, without fixed principles or settled motives of action, seemed to float on the surface of events, prepared to throw their weight, at any moment, into the scale of revolution.

Some twenty of these cavaliers, for the most part young men, met together in the month of November, in Brussels, at the house of Count Culemborg, a nobleman attached to the Protestant opinions. Their avowed purpose was to listen to the teachings of a Flemish divine, named Junius, a man of parts and learning, who had been educated in the school of Calvin, and who, having returned to the Netherlands, exercised, under the very eye of the regent, the{245} dangerous calling of the missionary. At this meeting of the discontented nobles, the talk naturally turned on the evils of the land, and the best means of remedying them. The result of the conferences was the formation of a league, the principal objects of which are elaborately set forth in a paper known as the "Compromise."[686]

This celebrated document declares that the king had been induced by evil counsellors,—for the most part foreigners,—in violation of his oath, to establish the Inquisition in the country; a tribunal opposed to all law, divine and human, surpassing in barbarity anything ever yet practised by tyrants,[687] tending to bring the land to utter ruin, and the inhabitants to a state of miserable bondage. The confederates, therefore, in order not to become the prey of those who, under the name of religion, seek only to enrich themselves at the expense of life and property,[688] bind themselves by a solemn oath to resist the establishment of the Inquisition, under whatever form it may be introduced, and to protect each other against it with their lives and fortunes. In doing this, they protest that, so far from intending anything to the dishonor of the king, their only intent is to maintain the king in his estate, and to preserve the tranquillity of the realm. They conclude with solemnly invoking the blessing of the Almighty on this their lawful and holy confederation.

Such are some of the principal points urged in this remarkable instrument, in which little mention is made of the edicts, every other grievance being swallowed up in that of the detested Inquisition. Indeed, the translations of the "Compromise," which soon appeared, in various languages, usually bore the title of "League of the Nobles of Flanders against the Spanish Inquisition."[689]

It will hardly be denied that those who signed this instrument had already made a decided move in the game of rebellion. They openly arrayed themselves against the execution of the law and the authority of the crown. They charged the king with having violated his oath, and they accused him of abetting a persecution which, under the pretext of religion, had no other object than the spoil of its victims. It was of little moment that all this was done under professions of loyalty. Such professions are the decent cover with which the first approaches are always made in a revolution.—The copies of the instrument differ somewhat from each other. One of these, before me, as if to give the edge of personal insult to their remonstrance, classes in the same category "the vagabond, the priest, and the Spaniard."[690]{246}

Among the small company who first subscribed the document, we find names that rose to eminence in the stormy scenes of the revolution. There was Count Louis of Nassau, a younger brother of the prince of Orange, the "bon chevalier," as William used to call him,—a title well earned by his generous spirit and many noble and humane qualities. Louis was bred a Lutheran, and was zealously devoted to the cause of reform, when his brother took but a comparatively languid interest in it. His ardent, precipitate temper was often kept in check, and more wisely directed, by the prudent counsels of William; while he amply repaid his brother by his devoted attachment, and by the zeal and intrepidity with which he carried out his plans. Louis, indeed, might be called the right hand of William.

Another of the party was Philip de Marnix, lord of St. Aldegonde. He was the intimate friend of William of Orange. In the words of a Belgian writer, he was one of the beautiful characters of the time;[691] distinguished alike as a soldier, a statesman, and a scholar. It is to his pen that the composition of the "Compromise" has generally been assigned. Some critics have found its tone inconsistent with the sedate and tranquil character of his mind. Yet St. Aldegonde's device, "Repos ailleurs,"[692] would seem to indicate a fervid imagination and an impatient spirit of activity.

But the man who seems to have entered most heartily into these first movements of the revolution was Henry, viscount of Brederode. He sprung from an ancient line, boasting his descent from the counts of Holland. The only possession that remained to him, the lordship of Viana, he still claimed to hold as independent of the king of Spain, or any other potentate. His patrimony had been wasted in a course of careless indulgence, and little else was left than barren titles and pretensions,—which, it must be owned, he was not diffident in vaunting. He was fond of convivial pleasures, and had a free, reckless humor, that took with the people, to whom he was still more endeared by his sturdy hatred of oppression. Brederode was, in short, one of those busy, vaporing characters, who make themselves felt at the outset of a revolution, but are soon lost in the course of it; like those ominous birds which with their cries and screams herald in the tempest that soon sweeps them out of sight for ever.

Copies of the "Compromise," with the names attached to it, were soon distributed through all parts of the country, and eagerly signed by great numbers, not merely of the petty nobility and gentry, but of substantial burghers and wealthy merchants, men who had large interests at stake in the community. Hames, king-at-arms of the Golden Fleece, who was a zealous confederate, boasted that the names of two thousand such persons were on his paper.[693] Among them were many Roman Catholics; and we are again called to notice, that in the outset this Protestant revolution received important support from the Catholics themselves, who forgot all religious differences in a common hatred of arbitrary power.

Few, if any, of the great nobles seem to have been among the number of those who signed the "Compromise,"—certainly none of the council of state. It would hardly have done to invite one of the royal councillors—in other words, one of the government—to join the confederacy, when they would have been bound by the obligations of their office to disclose it to the regent.{247}

But if the great lords did not become actual parties to the league, they showed their sympathy with the object of it, by declining to enforce the execution of the laws against which it was directed. On the twenty-fourth of January, 1566, the prince of Orange addressed, from Breda, a letter to the regent, on the occasion of her sending him the despatches from Segovia, for the rule of his government in the provinces. In this remarkable letter, William exposes, with greater freedom than he was wont, his reasons for refusing to comply with the royal orders. "I express myself freely and frankly," he says, "on a topic on which I have not been consulted; but I do so, lest by my silence I may incur the responsibility of the mischief that must ensue." He then briefly, and in a decided tone, touches on the evils of the Inquisition,—introduced, as he says, contrary to the repeated pledges of the king,—and on the edicts. Great indulgence had been of late shown in the interpretation of these latter; and to revive them on a sudden, so as to execute them with their ancient rigor, would be most disastrous. There could not be a worse time than the present, when the people were sorely pressed by scarcity of food, and in a critical state from the religious agitations on their borders. It might cost the king his empire in the Netherlands, and throw it into the hands of his neighbors.[694]

"For my own part," he concludes, "if his majesty insists on the execution of these measures, rather than incur the stain which must rest on me and my house by attempting it, I will resign my office into the hands of some one better acquainted with the humors of the people, and who will be better able to maintain order in the country."[695]

In the same tone several of the other provincial governors replied to Margaret, declaring that they could never coolly stand by and see fifty or sixty thousand of their countrymen burned to death for errors of religion.[696] The regent was sorely perplexed by this desertion of the men on whom she most relied. She wrote to them in a strain of expostulation, and besought the prince, in particular, not to add to the troubles of the time, by abandoning his post, where the attachment of the people gave him such unbounded influence.[697]

The agitations of the country, in the mean time, continued to increase. There was a scarcity of bread,—so often the forerunner of revolution,—and this article had risen to an enormous price. The people were menaced with famine, which might have led to serious consequences, but for a temporary relief from Spain.[698]

Rumors now began to be widely circulated of the speedy coming of Philip, with a large army, to chastise his vassals; and the rumors gained easy credit with those who felt they were already within the pale of rebellion. Duke Eric of Brunswick was making numerous levies on the German borders, and it was generally believed that their destination was Flanders. It was in vain that Margaret, who ascertained the falsehood of the report, endeavored to undeceive the people.[699]

A short time previously, in the month of June, an interview had taken place, at Bayonne, between the queen-mother, Catherine de Medicis, and her daughter, Isabella of Spain. Instead of her husband, Isabella was accompanied at this interview by the counsellor in whom he most trusted, the duke of Alva. The two queens were each attended by a splendid retinue of nobles. The meeting was prolonged for several days, amidst a succession of balls, tourneys, and magnificent banquets, at which the costly dress and equipage of the French nobility contrasted strangely enough with the no less ostentatious simplicity of the Spaniards. This simplicity, so contrary to the usual pomp of the Castilian, was in obedience to the orders of Philip, who, foreseeing the national emulation, forbade the indulgence of it at a foolish cost, which in the end was severely felt by the shattered finances of France.

Amid the brilliant pageants which occupied the public eye, secret conferences were daily carried on between Catherine and the duke of Alva. The results were never published, but enough found its way into the light to show that the principal object was the extermination of heresy in France and the Netherlands. The queen-mother was for milder measures,—though slower not less sure. But the iron-hearted duke insisted that to grant liberty of conscience was to grant unbounded licence. The only way to exterminate the evil was by fire and sword! It was on this occasion that, when Catherine suggested that it was easier to deal with the refractory commons than with the nobles, Alva replied, "True, but ten thousand frogs are not worth the head of a single salmon."[700]—an ominous simile, which was afterwards remembered against its author, when he ruled over the Netherlands.[701]

The report of these dark conferences had reached the Low Countries, where it was universally believed that the object of them was to secure the coöperation of France in crushing the liberties of Flanders.[702]{249}

In the panic thus spread throughout the country, the more timid or prudent, especially of those who dwelt in the seaports, began to take measures for avoiding these evils by emigration. They sought refuge in Protestant states, and especially in England, where no less than thirty thousand, we are told by a contemporary, took shelter under the sceptre of Elizabeth.[703] They swarmed in the cities of London and Sandwich, and the politic queen assigned them also the seaport of Norwich as their residence. Thus Flemish industry was transferred to English soil. The course of trade between the two nations now underwent a change. The silk and woollen stuffs, which had formerly been sent from Flanders to England, became the staple of a large export-trade from England to Flanders. "The Low Countries," writes the correspondent of Granvelle, "are the Indies of the English, who make war on our purses, as the French, some years since, made war on our towns."[704]

Some of the Flemish provinces, instead of giving way to despondency, appealed sturdily to their charters, to rescue them from the arbitrary measures of the crown. The principal towns of Brabant, with Antwerp at their head, intrenched themselves behind their Joyeuse Entrée. The question was brought before the council; a decree was given in favor of the applicants, and ratified by the regent; and the free soil of Brabant was no longer polluted by the presence of the Inquisition.[705]

The gloom now became deeper round the throne of the regent. Of all in the Netherlands, the person least to be envied was the one who ruled over them. Weaned from her attachment to Granvelle by the influence of the lords, Margaret now found herself compelled to resume the arbitrary policy which she disapproved, and to forfeit the support of the very party to which of late she had given all her confidence. The lords in the council withdrew from her, the magistrates in the provinces thwarted her, and large masses of the population were arrayed in actual resistance against the government. It may seem strange that it was not till the spring of 1566 that she received positive tidings of the existence of the league, when she was informed of it by Egmont, and some others of the council of state.[706] As usual, the rumor went beyond the truth. Twenty or thirty thousand men were said to be in arms, and half that number to be prepared to march on Brussels, and seize the person of the regent, unless she complied with their demands.[707]

For a moment Margaret thought of taking refuge in the citadel. But she{250} soon rallied, and showed the spirit to have been expected in the daughter of Charles the Fifth. She ordered the garrisons to be strengthened in the fortresses throughout the country. She summoned the companies of ordonnance to the capital, and caused them to renew their oaths of fidelity to the king. She wrote to the Spanish ministers at the neighboring courts, informed them of the league, and warned them to allow no aid to be sent to it from the countries where they resided. Finally, she called a meeting of the knights of the Golden Fleece and the council of state, for the twenty-seventh of March, to deliberate on the perilous situation of the country. Having completed these arrangements, the duchess wrote to her brother, informing him exactly of the condition of things, and suggesting what seemed to her counsellors the most effectual remedy. She wrote the more freely, as her love of power had yielded to a sincere desire to extricate herself from the trials and troubles which attended it.[708]

There were but two courses, she said, force or concession.[709] The former, to say nothing of the ruin it would bring on the land, was rendered difficult by want of money to pay the troops, and by the want of trustworthy officers, to command them. Concessions must consist in abolishing the Inquisition,—a useless tribunal where sectaries swarmed openly in the cities,—in modifying the edicts, and in granting a free pardon to all who had signed the Compromise, provided they would return to their duty.[710] On these terms, the lords of the council were willing to guaranty the obedience of the people. At all events, they promised Margaret their support in enforcing it. She would not express her own preference for either of the alternatives presented to Philip; but would faithfully execute his commands, whatever they might be, to the best of her ability.—Without directly expressing her preference, it was pretty clear on which side it lay. Margaret concluded by earnestly beseeching her brother to return an immediate answer to her despatches by the courier who bore them.

The person who seems to have enjoyed the largest share of Margaret's confidence, at this time, was Egmont. He remained at Brussels, and still kept his seat in council after William had withdrawn to his estates in Breda. Yet the prince, although he had left Brussels in disgust, had not taken part with the confederates; much less—as was falsely rumored, and to his great annoyance—put himself at their head.[711] His brother, it is true, and some of his particular friends, had joined the league. But Louis declares that he did so without the knowledge of William. When the latter, a fortnight afterwards, learned the existence of the league, he expressed his entire disapprobation of it.[712] He even used his authority, we are told, to prevent the confederates{251} from resorting to some violent measures, among others the seizure of Antwerp, promising that he would aid them to accomplish their ends in a more orderly way.[713] What he desired was, to have the states-general called together by the king. But he would not assume a hostile attitude, like that of the confederates, to force him into this unpalatable measure.[714] When convened, he would have had the legislature, without transcending its constitutional limits, remonstrate, and lay the grievances of the nation before the throne.

This temperate mode of proceeding did not suit the hot blood of the younger confederates. "Your brother," writes Hames to Louis, "is too slow and lukewarm. He would have us employ only remonstrance against these hungry wolves; against enemies who do nothing in return but behead, and banish, and burn us. We are to do the talking, and they the acting. We must fight with the pen, while they fight with the sword."[715]

The truth was, that William was not possessed of the fiery zeal which animated most of the Reformers. In his early years, as we have seen, he had been subjected to the influence of the Protestant religion at one period, and of the Roman Catholic at another. If the result of this had been to beget in him something like a philosophical indifference to the great questions in dispute, it had proved eminently favorable to a spirit of toleration. He shrunk from that system of persecution which proscribed men for their religious opinions. Soon after the arrival of the despatches from Segovia, William wrote to a friend: "The king orders, not only obstinate heretics, but even the penitent, to be put to death. I know not how I can endure this. It does not seem to me that such measures are either Christian-like or practicable."[716] In another letter he says: "I greatly fear these despatches will drive men into rebellion. I should be glad, if I could, to save my country from ruin, and so many innocent persons from slaughter. But when I say anything in the council, I am sure to be misinterpreted. So I am greatly perplexed; since speech and silence are equally bad."[717]

Acting with his habitual caution, therefore, he spoke little, and seldom expressed his sentiments in writing. "The less one puts in writing," he said to his less prudent brother, "the better."[718] Yet when the occasion demanded{252} it, he did not shrink from a plain avowal of his sentiments, both in speaking and writing. Such was the speech he delivered in council before Egmont's journey to Spain; and in the same key was the letter which he addressed to the regent on receiving the despatches from Segovia. But, whatever might be his reserve, his real opinions were not misunderstood. He showed them too plainly by his actions. When Philip's final instructions were made known to him by Margaret, the prince, as he had before done under Granvelle, ceased to attend the meetings of the council, and withdrew from Brussels.[719] He met in Breda, and afterwards in Hoogstraten, in the spring of 1566, a number of the principal nobles, under cover, as usual, of a banquet. Discussions took place on the state of the country, and some of the confederates who were present at the former place were for more violent measures than William approved. As he could not bring them over to his own temperate policy, he acquiesced in the draft of a petition, which, as we shall see in the ensuing chapter, was presented to the regent.[720] On the whole, up to the period at which we are arrived, the conduct of the prince of Orange must be allowed to have been wise and consistent. In some respects it forms a contrast to that of his more brilliant rival, Count Egmont.

This nobleman was sincerely devoted to the Roman Catholic faith. He was stanch in his loyalty to the king. At the same time he was ardently attached to his country, and felt a generous indignation at the wrongs she suffered from her rulers. Thus Egmont was acted on by opposite feelings; and, as he was a man of impulse, his conduct, as he yielded sometimes to the one and sometimes to the other of these influences, might be charged with inconsistency. None charged him with insincerity.

There was that in Egmont's character which early led the penetrating Granvelle to point him out to Philip as a man who by politic treatment might be secured to the royal cause.[721] Philip and his sister, the regent, both acted on this hint. They would hardly have attempted as much with William. Egmont's personal vanity made him more accessible to their approaches. It was this, perhaps, quite as much as any feeling of loyalty, which, notwithstanding the affront put on him, as he conceived, by the king, induced him to remain at Brussels, and supply the place in the councils of the regent which William had left vacant. Yet we find one of Granvelle's correspondents speaking of Egmont as too closely united with the lords to be detached from them. "To say truth," says the writer, "he even falters in his religion; and whatever he may say to-day on this point, he will be sure to say the contrary to-morrow."[722] Such a man, who could not be true to himself, could hardly become the leader of others.

"They put Egmont forward," writes the regent's secretary, "as the boldest, to say what other men dare not say."[723] This was after the despatches had{253} been received. "He complains bitterly," continues the writer, "of the king's insincerity. The prince has more finesse. He has also more credit with the nation. If you could gain him, you will secure all."[724] Yet Philip did not try to gain him. With all his wealth, he was not rich enough to do it. He knew this, and he hated William with the hatred which a despotic monarch naturally bears to a vassal of such a temper. He perfectly understood the character of William. The nation understood it too; and, with all their admiration for the generous qualities of Egmont, it was to his greater rival that they looked to guide them in the coming struggle of the revolution.

CHAPTER X.

The party of the malecontents in the Netherlands comprehended persons of very different opinions, who were by no means uniformly satisfied with the reasonable objects proposed by the compromise. Some demanded entire liberty of conscience. Others would not have stopped short of a revolution that would enable the country to shake off the Spanish yoke. And another class of men without principle of any kind—such as are too often thrown up in strong political fermentations—looked to these intestine troubles as offering the means of repairing their own fortunes out of the wreck of their country's. Yet, with the exception of the last, there were few who would not have been content to accept the compromise as the basis of their demands.

The winter had passed away, however, and the confederacy had wrought no change in the conduct of the government. Indeed, the existence of the confederacy would not appear to have been known to the regent till the latter part of February, 1566. It was not till the close of the following month that it was formally disclosed to her by some of the great lords.[725] If it was known to her before, Margaret must have thought it prudent to affect ignorance, till some overt action on the part of the league called for her notice.

It became, then, a question with the members of the league what was next to be done. It was finally resolved to present a petition, in the name of the whole body, to the regent, a measure which, as already intimated, received the assent, if not the approbation, of the prince of Orange. The paper was prepared, as it would seem, in William's own house at Brussels, by his brother Louis; and was submitted, we are told, to the revision of the prince, who thus had it in his power to mitigate, in more than one instance the vehemence, or rather violence, of the expressions.[726]{254}

To give greater effect to the petition, it was determined that a large deputation from the league should accompany its presentation to the regent. Notice was given to four hundred of the confederates to assemble at the beginning of April. They were to come well-mounted and armed, prepared at once to proceed to Brussels. Among the number thus enrolled, we find three gentlemen of Margaret's own household, as well as some members of the companies of ordonnance commanded by the prince, and by the Counts Egmont, Hoorne, and other great lords.[727]

The duchess, informed of these proceedings, called a meeting of the council of state and the knights of the Golden Fleece, to determine on the course to be pursued. The discussion was animated, as there was much difference of opinion. Some agreed with Count Barlaimont in regarding the measure in the light of a menace. Such a military array could have no other object than to overawe the government, and was an insult to the regent. In the present excited state of the people, it would be attended with the greatest danger to allow their entrance into the capital.[728]

The prince of Orange, who had yielded to Margaret's earnest entreaties that he would attend this meeting, took a different view of the matter. The number of the delegates, he said, only proved the interest taken in the petition. They were men of rank, some of them kinsmen or personal friends of those present. Their characters and position in the country were sufficient sureties that they meditated no violence to the state. They were the representatives of an ancient order of nobility; and it would be strange indeed, if they were to be excluded from the right of petition, enjoyed by the humblest individual.—In the course of the debate, William made some personal allusions to his own situation, delivering himself with great warmth. His enemies, he said, had the royal ear, and would persuade the king to kill him and confiscate his property.[729] He was even looked upon as the head of the confederacy. It was of no use for him to give his opinion in the council, where it was sure to be misinterpreted. All that remained for him was to ask leave to resign his offices, and withdraw to his estates.[730] Count Hoorne followed in much the same key, inveighing bitterly against the ingratitude of Philip. The two nobles yielded, at length, so far to Margaret's remonstrances, as to give their opinions on the course to be pursued. But when she endeavored to recall them to their duty by reminding them of their oaths to the king, they boldly replied, they would willingly lay down their lives for their country, but would never draw sword for the edicts or the Inquisition.[731]—William's views in regard to the admission of the confederates into Brussels were supported by much the greater part of the assembly, and finally prevailed with the regent.

On the third of April, 1566, two hundred of the confederates entered the gates of Brussels. They were on horseback, and each man was furnished{255} with a brace of pistols in his holsters, wearing in other respects only the usual arms of a private gentleman. The Viscount Brederode and Louis of Nassau rode at their head.[732] They prudently conformed to William's advice, not to bring any foreigners in their train, and to enter the city quietly, without attempting to stir the populace by any military display, or the report of fire-arms.[733] Their coming was welcomed with general joy by the inhabitants, who greeted them as a band of patriots ready to do battle for the liberties of the country. They easily found quarters in the houses of the principal citizens; and Louis and Brederode were lodged in the mansion of the prince of Orange.[734]

On the following day a meeting of the confederates was held at the hotel of Count Culemborg, where they listened to a letter which Brederode had just received from Spain, informing him of the death of Morone, a Flemish nobleman well known to them all, who had perished in the flames of the Inquisition.[735] With feelings exasperated by this gloomy recital, they renewed, in the most solemn manner, their oaths of fidelity to the league. An application was then made to Margaret for leave to lay their petition before her. The day following was assigned for the act; and at noon, on the fifth of April, the whole company walked in solemn procession through the streets of Brussels to the palace of the regent. She received them, surrounded by the lords, in the great hall adjoining the council-chamber. As they defiled before her, the confederates ranged themselves along the sides of the apartment. Margaret seems to have been somewhat disconcerted by the presence of so martial an array within the walls of her palace. But she soon recovered herself, and received them graciously.[736]

Brederode was selected to present the petition, and he prefaced it by a short address. They had come in such numbers, he said, the better to show their respect to the regent, and the deep interest they took in the cause. They had been accused of opening a correspondence with foreign princes, which he affirmed to be a malicious slander, and boldly demanded to be confronted with the authors of it.[737]—Notwithstanding this stout denial, it is very possible the audience did not place implicit confidence in the assertions of the speaker. He then presented the petition to the regent, expressing the hope that she would approve of it, as dictated only by their desire to promote the glory of the king and the good of the country. If this was its object, Margaret replied, she doubted not she should be content with it.[738] The following day was named for them again to wait on her, and receive her answer.

The instrument began with a general statement of the distresses of the land, much like that in the Compromise, but couched in more respectful language. The petitioners had hoped that the action of the great lords, or of the states-general, would have led to some reform. But finding these had not{256} moved in the matter, while the evil went on increasing from day to day, until ruin was at the gate, they had come to beseech her highness to lay the subject herself before the king, and implore his majesty to save the country from perdition by the instant abolition of both the Inquisition and the edicts. Far from wishing to dictate laws to their sovereign, they humbly besought her to urge on him the necessity of convoking the states-general, and devising with them some effectual remedy for the existing evils. Meanwhile they begged of her to suspend the further execution of the laws in regard to religion until his majesty's pleasure could be known. If their prayer were not granted, they at least were absolved from all responsibility as to the consequences, now that they had done their duty as true and loyal subjects.[739]—The business-like character of this document forms a contrast to the declamatory style of the Compromise; and in its temperate tone, particularly, we may fancy we recognize the touches of the more prudent hand of the prince of Orange.

On the sixth, the confederates again assembled in the palace of the regent, to receive her answer. They were in greater force than before, having been joined by a hundred and fifty of their brethren, who had entered the city the night previous, under the command of Counts Culemborg and Berg. They were received by Margaret in the same courteous manner as on the preceding day, and her answer was made to them in writing, being endorsed on their own petition.

She announced in it her purpose of using all her influence with her royal brother to persuade him to accede to their wishes. They might rely on his doing all that was conformable to his natural and accustomed benignity.[740] She had herself, with the advice of her council and the knights of the Golden Fleece, prepared a scheme for moderating the edicts, to be laid before his majesty, which she trusted would satisfy the nation. They must however, be aware, that she herself had no power to suspend the execution of the laws. But she would send instructions to the inquisitors to proceed with all discretion in the exercise of their functions, until they should learn the king's pleasure.[741] She trusted that the confederates would so demean themselves as not to make it necessary to give different orders. All this she had done with the greater readiness, from her conviction that they had no design to make any innovation in the established religion of the country, but desired rather to uphold it in all its vigor.

To this reply, as gracious in its expressions, and as favorable in its import, as the league could possibly have expected, they made a formal answer in writing, which they presented in a body to the duchess, on the eighth of the month. They humbly thanked her for the prompt attention she had given to their petition, but would have been still more contented if her answer had been more full and explicit. They knew the embarrassments under which she labored, and they thanked her for the assurance she had given,—which, it may be remarked, she never did give,—that all proceedings connected with the Inquisition and the edicts should be stayed until his majesty's pleasure should be ascertained. They were most anxious to conform to whatever the king, with the advice and consent of the states-general, duly assembled,{257} should determine in matters of religion,[742] and they would show their obedience by taking such order for their own conduct as should give entire satisfaction to her highness.

To this the duchess briefly replied, that, if there were any cause for offence hereafter, it would be chargeable, not on her, but on them. She prayed the confederates henceforth to desist from their secret practices, and to invite no new member to join their body.[743]

This brief and admonitory reply seems not to have been to the taste of the petitioners, who would willingly have drawn from Margaret some expression that might be construed into a sanction of their proceedings. After a short deliberation among themselves, they again addressed her by the mouth of one of their own number, the lord of Kerdes. The speaker, after again humbly thanking the regent for her favorable answer, said that it would have given still greater satisfaction to his associates, if she would but have declared, in the presence of the great lords assembled, that she took the union of the confederates in good part and for the service of the king;[744] and he concluded with promising that they would henceforth do all in their power to give contentment to her highness.

To all this the duchess simply replied, she had no doubt of it. When again pressed by the persevering deputy to express her opinion of this assembly, she bluntly answered, she could form no judgment in the matter.[745]—She gave pretty clear evidence, however, of her real opinion, soon after, by dismissing the three gentlemen of her household whom we have mentioned as having joined the league.[746]

As Margaret found that the confederates were not altogether satisfied with her response to their petition, she allowed Count Hoogstraten, one of her councillors, to inform some of them, privately, that she had already written to the provinces to have all processes in affairs of religion stayed until Philip's decision should be known. To leave no room for distrust, the count was allowed to show them copies of the letters.[747]

The week spent by the league in Brussels was a season of general jubilee. At one of the banquets given at Culemborg House, where three hundred confederates were present, Brederode presided. During the repast he related to some of the company, who had arrived on the day after the petition was delivered,{258} the manner in which it had been received by the duchess. She seemed at first disconcerted, he said, by the number of the confederates, but was reassured by Barlaimont, who told her "they were nothing but a crowd of beggars."[748] This greatly incensed some of the company,—with whom, probably, it was too true for a jest. But Brederode, taking it more good-humoredly, said that he and his friends had no objection to the name, since they were ready at any time to become beggars for the service of their king and country.[749] This sally was received with great applause by the guests, who, as they drank to one another, shouted forth, "Vivent les Gueux!"—"Long live the beggars!"

Brederode, finding the jest took so well,—an event, indeed, for which he seems to have been prepared,—left the room, and soon returned with a beggar's wallet, and a wooden bowl, such as was used by the mendicant fraternity in the Netherlands. Then, pledging the company in a bumper, he swore to devote his life and fortune to the cause. The wallet and the bowl went round the table; and, as each of the merry guests drank in turn to his confederates, the shout arose of "Vivent les Gueux!" until the hall rang with the mirth of the revellers.[750]

It happened that at the time the prince of Orange and the Counts Egmont and Hoorne were passing by on their way to the council. Their attention was attracted by the noise, and they paused a moment, when William, who knew well the temper of the jovial company, proposed that they should go in, and endeavor to break up their revels. "We may have some business of the council to transact with these men this evening," he said, "and at this rate they will hardly be in a condition for it." The appearance of the three nobles gave a fresh impulse to the boisterous merriment of the company; and as the new-comers pledged their friends in the wine-cup, it was received with the same thundering acclamations of "Vivent les Gueux!"[751] This incident, of so little importance in itself, was afterwards made of consequence by the turn that was given to it in the prosecution of the two unfortunate noblemen who accompanied the prince of Orange.

Every one knows the importance of a popular name to a faction,—a nom de guerre, under which its members may rally and make head together as an independent party. Such the name of "Gueux" now became to the confederates. It soon was understood to signify those who were opposed to the government, and, in a wiser sense, to the Roman Catholic religion. In every language in which the history of these acts has been recorded,—the Latin, German, Spanish, or English,—the French term Gueux is ever employed to designate this party of malecontents in the Netherlands.[752]{259}

It now became common to follow out the original idea by imitations of the different articles used by mendicants. Staffs were procured, after the fashion of those in the hands of the pilgrims, but more elaborately carved. Wooden bowls, spoons, and knives became in great request, though richly inlaid with silver, according to the fancy or wealth of the possessor. Medals resembling those stuck by the beggars in their bonnets were worn as a badge; and the "Gueux penny," as it was called,—a gold or silver coin,—was hung from the neck, bearing on one side the effigy of Philip, with the inscription, "Fidèles au roi;" and on the other, two hands grasping a beggar's wallet, with the further legend, "jusques à porter la besace;"—"Faithful to the king, even to carrying the wallet."[753] Even the garments of the mendicant were affected by the confederates, who used them as a substitute for their family liveries; and troops of their retainers, clad in the ash-gray habiliments of the begging friars, might be seen in the streets of Brussels and the other cities of the Netherlands.[754]

On the tenth of April, the confederates quitted Brussels, in the orderly manner in which they had entered it; except that, on issuing from the gate, they announced their departure by firing a salute in honor of the city which had given them so hospitable a welcome.[755] Their visit to Brussels had not only created a great sensation in the capital itself, but throughout the country. Hitherto the league had worked in darkness, as it were, like a band of secret conspirators. But they had now come forward into the light of day, boldly presenting themselves before the regent, and demanding redress of the wrongs under which the nation was groaning. The people took heart, as they saw this broad ægis extended over them to ward off the assaults of arbitrary power. Their hopes grew stronger, as they became assured of the interposition of the regent and the great lords in their favor; and they could hardly doubt that the voice of the country, backed as it was by that of the government, would make itself heard at Madrid, and that Philip would at length be compelled to abandon a policy which menaced him with the loss of the fairest of his provinces.—They had yet to learn the character of their sovereign.{260}

CHAPTER XI.

The Edicts suspended.—The Sectaries.—The Public Preachings.—Attempt to suppress them.—Meeting at St. Trond.—Philip's Concessions.

On quitting Brussels, the confederates left there four of their number as a sort of committee to watch over the interests of the league. The greater part of the remainder, with Brederode at their head, took the road to Antwerp. They were hardly established in their quarters in that city, when the building was surrounded by thousands of the inhabitants, eager to give their visitors a tumultuous welcome. Brederode came out on the balcony, and, addressing the crowd, told them that he had come there, at the hazard of his life, to rescue them from the miseries of the Inquisition. He called on his audience to take him as their leader in this glorious work; and as the doughty champion pledged them in a goblet of wine which he had brought with him from the table, the mob answered by such a general shout as was heard in the furthest corners of the city.[756] Thus a relation was openly established between the confederates and the people, who were to move forward together in the great march of the revolution.

Soon after the departure of the confederates from Brussels, the regent despatched an embassy to Madrid to acquaint the king with the recent proceedings, and to urge his acquiescence in the reforms solicited by the league. The envoys chosen were the baron de Montigny—who had taken charge, it may be remembered, of a similar mission before—and the marquis of Bergen, a nobleman of liberal principles, but who stood high in the regard of the regent.[757] Neither of the parties showed any alacrity to undertake a commission which was to bring them so closely in contact with the dread monarch in his capital. Bergen found an apology for some time in a wound from a tennis-ball, which disabled his leg; an ominous accident, interpreted by the chroniclers of the time into an intimation from Heaven of the disastrous issue of the mission.[758] Montigny reached Madrid some time before his companion, on the seventeenth of June, and met with a gracious reception from Philip, who listened with a benignant air to the recital of the measures suggested for the relief of the country, terminating, as usual, with an application for a summons of the states-general, as the most effectual remedy for the disorders. But although the envoy was admitted to more than one audience, he obtained no more comfortable assurance, than that the subject should receive the most serious consideration of his majesty.[759]

Meanwhile the regent was busy in digesting the plan of compromise to which she had alluded in her reply to the confederates. When concluded, it was sent to the governors of the several provinces, to be laid before their respective legislatures. Their sanction, it was hoped, would recommend its adoption to the people at large. It was first submitted to some of the smaller states, as Artois, Namur, and Luxemburg, as most likely to prove subservient to the wishes of the government. It was then laid before several of the larger states, as Brabant and Flanders, whose determination might be influenced by the example of the others. Holland, Zealand, Utrecht, and one or two other provinces, where the spirit of independence was highest, were not consulted at all. Yet this politic management did not entirely succeed; and although some few gave an unconditional assent, most of the provinces coupled their acquiescence with limitations that rendered it of little worth.[760]

This was not extraordinary. The scheme was one which, however large the concessions it involved on the part of the government, fell far short of those demanded by the people. It denounced the penalty of death on all ministers and teachers of the reformed religion, and all who harbored them; and while it greatly mitigated the punishment of other offenders, its few sanguinary features led the people sneeringly to call it, instead of "moderation," the act of "murderation."[761] It fared, indeed, with this compromise of the regent, as with most other half-way measures. It satisfied neither of the parties concerned in it. The king thought it as much too lenient as the people thought it too severe. It never received the royal sanction, and of course never became a law. It would therefore hardly have deserved the time I have bestowed on it, except as evidence of the conciliatory spirit of the regent's administration.

In the same spirit Margaret was careful to urge the royal officers to give a liberal interpretation to the existing edicts, and to show the utmost discretion in their execution. These functionaries were not slow in obeying commands, which released them from so much of the odium that attached to their ungrateful office. The amiable temper of the government received support from a singular fraud which took place at this time. An instrument was prepared, purporting to have come from the knights of the Golden Fleece, in which this body guarantied to the confederates that no one in the Low Countries should be molested on account of his religion until otherwise determined by the king and the states-general. This document, which carried its spurious origin on its face, was nevertheless eagerly caught up and circulated among the people, ready to believe what they most desired. In vain the regent, as soon as she heard of it, endeavored to expose the fraud. It was too late; and the influence of this imposture combined with the tolerant measures of the government to inspire a confidence in the community which was soon visible in its results. Some who had gone into exile returned to their country. Many, who had cherished the new doctrines in secret, openly avowed them; while others who were wavering, now that they were relieved from all fear of consequences, became fixed in their opinions. In short, the Reformation, in some form or other, was making rapid advances over the country.[762]

Of the three great sects who embraced it, the Lutherans, the least numerous, were the most eminent for their rank. The Anabaptists, far exceeding{262} them in number, were drawn almost wholly from the humbler classes of the people. It is singular that this sect, the most quiet and inoffensive of all, should have been uniformly dealt with by the law with peculiar rigor. It may, perhaps, be attributed to the bad name which attached to them from the excesses committed by their brethren, the famous Anabaptists of Münster. The third denomination, the Calvinists, far out-numbered both of the other two. They were also the most active in the spirit of proselytism. They were stimulated by missionaries trained in the schools of Geneva; and as their doctrines spread silently over the land, not only men of piety and learning, but persons of the highest social position, were occasionally drawn within the folds of the sect.

The head-quarters of the Calvinists were in Flanders, Hainault, Artois, and the provinces contiguous to France. The border land became the residence of French Huguenots, and of banished Flemings, who on this outpost diligently labored in the cause of the Reformation. The press teemed with publications,—vindications of the faith, polemical tracts, treatises, and satires against the Church of Rome and its errors,—those spiritual missiles, in short, which form the usual magazine for controversial warfare. These were distributed by means of peddlers and travelling tinkers, who carried them, in their distant wanderings, to the humblest firesides throughout the country. There they were left to do their work; and the ground was thus prepared for the laborers whose advent forms an epoch in the history of the Reformation.[763]

These were the ministers or missionaries, whose public preaching soon caused a great sensation throughout the land. They first made their appearance in Western Flanders, before small audiences gathered together stealthily in the gloom of the forest and in the silence of night. They gradually emerged into the open plains, thence proceeding to the villages, until, growing bolder with impunity, they showed themselves in the suburbs of the great towns and cities. On these occasions, thousands of the inhabitants, men, women, and children, in too great force for the magistrates to resist them, poured out of the gates to hear the preacher. In the centre of the ground a rude staging was erected, with an awning to protect him from the weather. Immediately round the rude pulpit was gathered the more helpless part of the congregation, the women and children. Behind them stood the men,—those in the outer circle usually furnished with arms,—swords, pikes, muskets,—any weapon they could pick up for the occasion. A patrol of horse occupied the ground beyond, to protect the assembly and prevent interruption. A barricade of wagons and other vehicles was thrown across the avenues that led to the place, to defend it against the assaults of the magistrates or the military. Persons stationed along the high roads distributed religious tracts, and invited the passengers to take part in the services.[764]

The preacher was frequently some converted priest or friar, accustomed to speak in public, who, having passed the greater part of his life in battling for the Church, now showed equal zeal in overturning it. It might be, however, that the orator was a layman; some peasant or artisan, who, gifted with more wit, or possibly more effrontery, than his neighbors, felt himself called on to assume the perilous vocation of a preacher. The discourse was in French or Flemish, whichever might be the language spoken in the neighborhood. It{263} was generally of the homely texture suited both to the speaker and his audience. Yet sometimes he descanted on the woes of the land with a pathos which drew tears from every eye; and at others gave vent to a torrent of fiery eloquence, that kindled the spirit of the ancient martyr in the bosoms of his hearers.

These lofty flights were too often degraded by coarse and scurrilous invectives against the pope, the clergy, and the Inquisition,—themes, peculiarly grateful to his audience, who testified their applause by as noisy demonstrations as if they had been spectators in a theatre. The service was followed by singing some portion of the Psalms in the French version of Marot, or in a Dutch translation which had recently appeared in Holland,[765] and which, although sufficiently rude, passed with the simple people for a wonderful composition. After this, it was common for those who attended to present their infants for baptism; and many couples profited by the occasion to have the marriage ceremony performed with the Calvinistic rites. The exercises were concluded by a collection for the poor of their own denomination. In fine, these meetings, notwithstanding the occasional licence of the preacher, seem to have been conducted with a seriousness and decorum which hardly merit the obloquy thrown on them by some of the Catholic writers.

The congregation, it is true, was made up of rather motley materials. Some went out merely to learn what manner of doctrine it was that was taught; others, to hear the singing, where thousands of voices blended together in rude harmony under the canopy of heaven; others, again, with no better motive than amusement, to laugh at the oddity—perhaps the buffoonery—of the preacher. But far the larger portion of the audience went with the purpose of joining in the religious exercises, and worshipping God in their own way.[766] We may imagine what an influence must have been exercised by these meetings, where so many were gathered together, under a sense of common danger, to listen to the words of the teacher, who taught them to hold all human law as light in comparison with the higher law of conscience seated in their own bosoms. Even of those who came to scoff, few there were, probably, who did not go away with some food for meditation, or, it may be, the seeds of future conversion implanted in their breasts.

The first of these public preachings—which began as early as May—took place in the neighborhood of Ghent. Between six and seven thousand persons were assembled. A magistrate of the city, with more valor than discretion, mounted his horse, and, armed with sword and pistol, rode in among the multitude, and undertook to arrest the minister. But the people hastened to his rescue, and dealt so roughly with the unfortunate officer, that he barely escaped with life from their hands.[767]

From Ghent the preachings extended to Ypres, Bruges, and other great towns of Flanders,—always in the suburbs,—to Valenciennes, and to Tournay, in the province of Hainault, where the Reformers were strong enough to demand a place of worship within the walls. Holland was ready for the Word. Ministers of the new religion, as it was called, were sent both to that quarter and to Zealand. Gatherings of great multitudes were held in the environs of Amsterdam, the Hague, Haarlem, and other large towns, at which the magistrates were sometimes to be found mingled with the rest of the burghers.

But the place where these meetings were conducted on the greatest scale was Antwerp, a city containing then more than a hundred thousand inhabitants, and the most important mart for commerce in the Netherlands. It{264} was the great resort of foreigners. Many of these were Huguenots, who, under the pretext of trade, were much more busy with the concerns of their religion. At the meetings without the walls, it was not uncommon for thirteen or fourteen thousand persons to assemble.[768] Resistance on the part of the magistrates was ineffectual. The mob got possession of the keys of the city; and, as most of the Calvinists were armed, they constituted a formidable force. Conscious of their strength, they openly escorted their ministers back to town, and loudly demanded that some place of worship should be appropriated to them within the walls of Antwerp. The quiet burghers became alarmed. As it was known that in the camp of the Reformers were many reckless and disorderly persons, they feared the town might be given over to pillage. All trade ceased. Many of the merchants secreted their effects, and some prepared to make their escape as speedily as possible.[769]

The magistrates, in great confusion, applied to the regent, and besought her to transfer her residence to Antwerp, where her presence might overawe the spirit of sedition. But Margaret's council objected to her placing herself in the hands of so factious a population; and she answered the magistrates by inquiring what guaranty they could give her for her personal safety. They then requested that the prince of Orange, who held the office of burgrave of Antwerp, and whose influence with the people was unbounded, might be sent to them. Margaret hesitated as to this; for she had now learned to regard William with distrust, as assuming more and more an unfriendly attitude towards her brother.[770] But she had no alternative, and she requested him to transfer his residence to the disorderly capital, and endeavor to restore it to tranquillity. The prince, on the other hand, disgusted with the course of public affairs, had long wished to withdraw from any share in their management. It was with reluctance he accepted the commission.

As he drew near to Antwerp the people flocked out by thousands to welcome him. It would seem as if they hailed him as their deliverer; and every window, verandah, and roof was crowded with spectators as he rode through the gates of the capital.[771] The people ran up and down the streets, singing psalms, or shouting, "Vivent les Gueux!" while they thronged round the prince's horse in so dense a mass that it was scarcely possible for him to force a passage.[772] Yet these demonstrations of his popularity were not altogether satisfactory; and he felt no pleasure at being thus welcomed as a chief of the league, which, as we have seen, he was far from regarding with{265} approbation. Waving his hand repeatedly to those around him, he called on them to disperse, impatiently exclaiming, "Take heed what you do, or, by Heaven, you will have reason to rue it."[773] He rode straight to the hall where the magistrates were sitting, and took counsel with them as to the best means of allaying the popular excitement, and of preventing the wealthy burghers from quitting the city. During the few weeks he remained there, the prince conducted affairs so discreetly, as to bring about a better understanding between the authorities and the citizens. He even prevailed on the Calvinists to lay aside their arms. He found more difficulty in persuading them to relinquish the design of appropriating to themselves some place of worship within the walls. It was not till William called in the aid of the military to support him, that he compelled them to yield.[774]

Thus the spirit of reform was rapidly advancing in every part of the country,—even in presence of the court, under the very eye of the regent. In Brussels the people went through the streets by night, singing psalms, and shouting the war-cry of Vivent les Gueux! The merchants and wealthy burghers were to be seen with the insignia of the confederates on their dress.[775] Preparations were made for a public preaching without the walls; but the duchess at once declared, that in that event she would make one of the company at the head of her guard, seize the preacher, and hang him up at the gates of the city![776] This menace had the desired effect.

During these troublous times, Margaret, however little she may have accomplished, could not be accused of sleeping on her post. She caused fasts to be observed, and prayers to be offered in all the churches, to avert the wrath of Heaven from the land. She did not confine herself to these spiritual weapons, but called on the magistrates of the towns to do their duty, and on all good citizens to support them. She commanded foreigners to leave Antwerp, except those only who were there for traffic. She caused placards to be everywhere posted up, reciting the terrible penalties of the law against heretical teachers and those who abetted them; and she offered a reward of six hundred florins to whoever should bring any such offender to punishment.[777] She strengthened the garrisoned towns, and would have levied a force to overawe the refractory; but she had not the funds to pay for it. She endeavored to provide these by means of loans from the great clergy and the principal towns; but with indifferent success. Most of them were already creditors of the government, and they liked the security too little to make further advances. In her extremity, Margaret had no resource but the one so often tried,—that of invoking the aid of her brother. "I have no refuge,"{266} she wrote, "but in God and your majesty. It is with anguish and dismay I must admit that my efforts have wholly failed to prevent the public preaching, which has spread over every quarter of the country."[778] She bitterly complains, in another letter, that, after "so many pressing applications, she should be thus left, without aid and without instructions, to grope her way at random."[779] She again beseeches Philip to make the concessions demanded, in which event the great lords assure her of their support in restoring order.

It was the policy of the cabinet of Madrid not to commit itself. The royal answers were brief, vague, never indicating a new measure, generally intimating satisfaction with the conduct of the regent, and throwing as far as possible all responsibility on her shoulders.

But besides his sister's letters, the king was careful to provide himself with other sources of information respecting the state of the Netherlands. From some of these the accounts he received of the conduct of the great lords were even less favorable than hers. A letter from the secretary, Armenteros, speaks of the difficulty he finds in fathoming the designs of the prince of Orange,—a circumstance which he attributes to his probable change of religion. "He relies much," says the writer, "on the support he receives in Germany, on his numerous friends at home, and on the general distrust entertained of the king. The prince is making preparations in good season," he concludes, "for defending himself against your majesty."[780]

Yet Philip did not betray any consciousness of this unfriendly temper in the nobles. To the prince of Orange, in particular, he wrote: "You err in imagining that I have not entire confidence in you. Should any one seek to do you an ill office with me, I should not be so light as to give ear to him, having had so large experience of your loyalty and your services."[781] "This is not the time," he adds, "for men like you to withdraw from public affairs." But William was the last man to be duped by these fair words. When others inveighed against the conduct of the regent, William excused her by throwing the blame on Philip. "Resolved to deceive all," he said, "he begins by deceiving his sister."[782]{267}

It was about the middle of July that an event occurred which caused still greater confusion in the affairs of the Netherlands. This was a meeting of the confederates at St. Trond, in the neighborhood of Liege. They assembled, two thousand in number, with Count Louis and Brederode at their head. Their great object was to devise some means for their personal security. They were aware that they were held responsible, to some extent, for the late religious movements among the people.[783] They were discontented with the prolonged silence of the king, and they were alarmed by rumors of military preparations, said to be designed against them. The discussions of the assembly, long and animated, showed some difference of opinion. All agreed to demand some guaranty from the government for their security. But the greater part of the body, no longer halting at the original limits of their petition, were now for demanding absolute toleration in matters of religion. Some few of the number, stanch Catholics at heart, who for the first time seem to have had their eyes opened to the results to which they were inevitably tending, now, greatly disgusted, withdrew from the league. Among these was the younger Count Mansfeldt,—a name destined to become famous in the annals of the revolution.

Margaret, much alarmed by these new demonstrations, sent Orange and Egmont to confer with the confederates, and demand why they were thus met in an unfriendly attitude towards the government which they had so lately pledged themselves to support in maintaining order. The confederates replied by sending a deputation of their body to submit their grievances anew to the regent.

The deputies, twelve in number, and profanely nicknamed at Brussels "the twelve apostles,"[784] presented themselves, with Count Louis at their head, on the twenty-eighth of July, at the capital. Margaret, who with difficulty consented to receive them in person, gave unequivocal signs of her displeasure. In the plain language of Louis, "the regent was ready to burst with anger."[785] The memorial, or rather remonstrance, presented to her was not calculated to allay it.

Without going into details, it is only necessary to say, that the confederates, after stating their grounds for apprehension, requested that an assurance should be given by the government that no harm was intended them. As to pardon for the past, they disclaimed all desire for it. What they had done called for applause, not condemnation. They only trusted that his majesty would be pleased to grant a convocation of the states-general, to settle the affairs of the country. In the mean time, they besought him to allow the concerns of the confederates to be placed in the hands of the prince of Orange, and the Counts Egmont and Hoorne, to act as their mediators with the crown, promising in all things to be guided by their counsel. Thus would tranquillity be restored. But without some guaranty for their safety, they should be obliged to protect themselves by foreign aid.[786]{268}

The haughty tone of this memorial forms a striking contrast with that of the petition presented by the same body not four months before, and shows with what rapid strides the revolution had advanced. The religious agitations had revealed the amount of discontent in the country, and to what extent, therefore, the confederates might rely on the sympathy of the people. This was most unequivocally proved during the meeting of St. Trond, where memorials were presented by the merchants, and by persons of the Reformed religion, praying the protection of the league to secure them freedom of worship, till otherwise determined by the states-general. This extraordinary request was granted.[787] Thus the two great parties leaned on each other for support, and gave mutual confidence to their respective movements. The confederates, discarding the idea of grace, which they had once solicited, now darkly intimated a possible appeal to arms. The Reformers, on their side, instead of the mitigation of penalties, now talked of nothing less than absolute toleration. Thus political Revolution and religious Reform went hand in hand together. The nobles and the commons, the two most opposite elements of the body politic, were united closely by a common interest; and a formidable opposition was organized to the designs of the monarch, which might have made any monarch tremble on his throne.

An important fact shows that the confederates coolly looked forward, even at this time, to a conflict with Spain. Louis of Nassau had a large correspondence with the leaders of the Huguenots in France, and of the Lutherans in Germany. By the former he had been offered substantial aid in the way of troops. But the national jealousy entertained of the French would have made it impolitic to accept it. He turned therefore to Germany, where he had numerous connections, and where he subsidized a force consisting of four thousand horse and forty companies of foot, to be at the disposal of the league. This negotiation was conducted under the eye, and, as it seems, partly through the agency, of his brother William.[788] From this moment, therefore, if not before, the prince of Orange may be identified with the party who were prepared to maintain their rights by an appeal to arms.

These movements of the league could not be kept so close but that they came to the knowledge of Margaret. Indeed, she had her secret agents at St. Trond, who put her in possession of whatever was done, or even designed, by the confederates.[789] This was fully exhibited in her correspondence with Philip, while she again called his attention to the forlorn condition of the government, without men, or money, or the means to raise it.[790] "The sectaries go armed," she writes, "and are organizing their forces. The league is with them. There remains nothing but that they should band together, and sack the towns, villages, and churches, of which I am in marvellous great fear."[791]—Her fears had gifted her with the spirit of prophecy. She implores{269} her brother, if he will not come himself to Flanders, to convoke the states-general, quoting the words of Egmont, that, unless summoned by the king they would assemble of themselves, to devise some remedy for the miseries of the land, and prevent its otherwise inevitable ruin.[792] At length came back the royal answer to Margaret's reiterated appeals. It had at least one merit, that of being perfectly explicit.

Montigny, on reaching Madrid, as we have seen, had ready access to Philip. Both he and his companion, the marquis of Bergen, were allowed to witness, it would seem, the deliberations of the council of state, when the subject of their mission was discussed. Among the members of that body, at this time, may be noticed the duke of Alva; Ruy Gomez de Silva, prince of Eboli, who divided with Alva the royal favor; Figueroa, count of Feria, a man of an acute and penetrating intellect, formerly ambassador to England, in Queen Mary's time; and Luis de Quixada, the major-domo of Charles the fifth. Besides these there were two or three councillors from the Netherlands, among whose names we meet with that of Hopper, the near friend and associate of Viglius. There was great unanimity in the opinions of this loyal body, where none, it will be readily believed, was disposed to lift his voice in favour of reform. The course of events in the Netherlands, they agreed, plainly showed a deliberate and well-concerted scheme of the great nobles to secure to themselves the whole power of the country. The first step was the removal of Granvelle, a formidable obstacle in their path. Then came the attempt to concentrate the management of affairs in the hands of the council of state. This was followed by assaults on the Inquisition and the edicts, as the things most obnoxious to the people; by the cry in favor of the states-general; by the league, the Compromise, the petitions, the religious assemblies; and, finally, by the present mission to Spain. All was devised by the great nobles, as part of a regular system of hostility to the crown, the real object of which was to overturn existing institutions, and to build up their own authority on the ruins. While the council regarded these proceedings with the deepest indignation, they admitted the necessity of bending to the storm, and under present circumstances judged it prudent for the monarch to make certain specified concessions to the people of the Netherlands. Above all, they earnestly besought Philip, if he would still remain master of this portion of his empire, to defer no longer his visit to the country.[793]

The discussions occupied many and long-protracted sittings of the council; and Philip deeply pondered, in his own closet, on the results, after the discussions were concluded. Even those most familiar with his habits were amazed at the long delay of his decision in the present critical circumstances.[794] The haughty mind of the monarch found it difficult to bend to the required concessions. At length his answer came.

The letter containing it was addressed to his sister, and was dated on the thirty-first of July, 1566, at the Wood of Segovia,—the same place from which he had dictated his memorable despatches the year preceding. Philip began, as usual, with expressing his surprise at the continued troubles of the country. He was not aware that any rigorous procedure could be charged on the tribunals, or that any change had been made in the laws since the days of Charles the Fifth. Still, as it was much more agreeable to his nature to{270} proceed with clemency and love than with severity,[795] he would conform as far as possible to the desires of his vassals.

He was content that the Inquisition should be abolished in the Netherlands, and in its place be substituted the inquisitorial powers vested in the bishops. As to the edicts, he was not pleased with the plan of Moderation devised by Margaret; nor did he believe that any plan would satisfy the people short of perfect toleration. Still, he would have his sister prepare another scheme, having due reference to the maintenance of the Catholic faith and his own authority. This must be submitted to him, and he would do all that he possibly could in the matter.[796] Lastly, in respect to a general pardon, as he abhorred rigor where any other course would answer the end,[797] he was content that it should be extended to whomever Margaret thought deserving of it,—always excepting those already condemned, and under a solemn pledge, moreover, that the nobles would abandon the league, and henceforth give their hearty support to the government.

Four days after the date of these despatches, on the second of August, Philip again wrote to his sister, touching the summoning of the states-general, which she had so much pressed. He had given the subject, he said, a most patient consideration, and was satisfied that she had done right in refusing to call them together. She must not consent to it. He never would consent to it.[798] He knew too well to what it must inevitably lead. Yet he would not have her report his decision in the absolute and peremptory terms in which he had given it to her, but as intended merely for the present occasion; so that the people might believe she was still looking for something of a different tenor, and cherish the hope of obtaining their object at some future day![799]

The king also wrote, that he should remit a sufficient sum to Margaret to enable her to take into her pay a body of ten thousand German foot and three thousand horse, on which she could rely in case of extremity. He further wrote letters with his own hand to the governors of the provinces and the principal cities, calling on them to support the regent in her efforts to enforce the laws and maintain order throughout the country.[800]

Such were the concessions granted by Philip, at the eleventh hour, to his subjects of the Netherlands!—concessions wrung from him by hard necessity; doled out, as it were, like the scanty charity of the miser,—too scanty and too late to serve the object for which it is intended. But slight as these concessions were, and crippled by conditions which rendered them nearly nugatory, it will hardly be believed that he was not even sincere in making them! This is proved by a revelation lately made of a curious document in the Archives of Simancas.

While the ink was scarcely dry on the despatches to Margaret, Philip summoned{271} a notary into his presence, and before the duke of Alva and two other persons, jurists, solemnly protested that the authority he had given to the regent in respect to a general pardon was not of his own free will. "He therefore did not feel bound by it, but reserved to himself the right to punish the guilty, and especially the authors and abettors of sedition in the Low Countries."[801] We feel ourselves at once transported into the depths of the Middle Ages. This feeling will not be changed when we learn the rest of the story of this admirable piece of kingcraft.

The chair of St. Peter, at this time, was occupied by Pius the Fifth, a pope who had assumed the same name as his predecessor, and who displayed a spirit of fierce, indeed frantic intolerance, surpassing even that of Paul the Fourth. At the accession of the new pope there were three Italian scholars, inhabitants of Milan, Venice, and Tuscany, eminent for their piety, who had done great service to the cause of letters in Italy, but who were suspected of too liberal opinions in matters of faith. Pius the Fifth demanded that these scholars should all be delivered into his hands. The three states had the meanness to comply. The unfortunate men were delivered up to the Holy Office, condemned, and burned at the stake. This was one of the first acts of the new pontificate. It proclaimed to Christendom that Pius the Fifth was the uncompromising foe of heresy, the pope of the Inquisition. Every subsequent act of his reign served to confirm his claim to this distinction.

Yet, as far as the interests of Catholicism were concerned, a character like that of Pius the Fifth must be allowed to have suited the times. During the latter part of the fifteenth century and the beginning of the sixteenth, the throne had been filled by a succession of pontiffs notorious for their religious indifference, and their carelessness, too often profligacy, of life. This, as is well known, was one of the prominent causes of the Reformation. A reaction followed. It was necessary to save the Church. A race of men succeeded, of ascetic temper, remarkable for their austere virtues, but without a touch of sympathy for the joys or sorrows of their species, and wholly devoted to the great work of regenerating the fallen Church. As the influence of the former popes had opened a career to the Reformation, the influence of these latter popes tended materially to check it; and long before the close of the sixteenth century the boundary line was defined, which it has never since been allowed to pass.

Pius, as may be imagined, beheld with deep anxiety the spread of the new religion in the Low Countries. He wrote to the duchess of Parma, exhorting her to resist to the utmost, and professing his readiness to supply her, if need were, with both men and money. To Philip he also wrote, conjuring him not to falter in the good cause, and to allow no harm to the Catholic faith, but to march against his rebellious vassals at the head of his army, and wash out the stain of heresy in the blood of the heretic.[802]{272}

The king now felt it incumbent on him to explain to the holy father his late proceedings. This he did through Requesens, his ambassador at the papal court. The minister was to inform his holiness that Philip would not have moved in this matter without his advice, had there been time for it. But perhaps it was better as it was; for the abolition of the Inquisition in the Low Countries could not take effect, after all, unless sanctioned by the pope, by whose authority it had been established. This, however, was to be said in confidence.[803] As to the edicts, Pius might be assured that his majesty would never approve of any scheme which favored the guilty by diminishing in any degree the penalties of their crimes. This also was to be considered as secret.[804] Lastly, his holiness need not be scandalized by the grant of a general pardon, since it referred only to what concerned the king personally, where he had a right to grant it. In fine, the pope might rest assured that the king would consent to nothing that could prejudice the service of God or the interests of religion. He deprecated force, as that would involve the ruin of the country. Still, he would march in person, without regard to his own peril, and employ force, though it should cost the ruin of the provinces, but he would bring his vassals to submission. For he would sooner lose a hundred lives, and every rood of empire, than reign a lord over heretics.[805]{273}

Thus all the concessions of Philip, not merely his promises of grace, but those of abolishing the Inquisition and mitigating the edicts, were to go for nothing,—mere words, to amuse the people until some effectual means could be decided on. The king must be allowed, for once at least, to have spoken with candor. There are few persons who would not have shrunk from acknowledging to their own hearts that they were acting on so deliberate a system of perfidy as Philip thus confided in his correspondence with another. Indeed, he seems to have regarded the pope in the light of his confessor, to whom he was to unburden his bosom as frankly as if he had been in the confessional. The shrift was not likely to bring down a heavy penance from one who doubtless held to the orthodox maxim of "No faith to be kept with heretics."

The result of these royal concessions was what might have been expected. Crippled as they were by conditions, they were regarded in the Low Countries with distrust, not to say contempt. In fact, the point at which Philip had so slowly and painfully arrived had been long since passed in the onward march of the revolution. The men of the Netherlands now talked much more of recompense than of pardon. By a curious coincidence, the thirty-first of July, the day on which the king wrote his last despatches from Segovia, was precisely the date of those which Margaret sent to him from Brussels, giving the particulars of the recent troubles, of the meeting at St. Trond, the demand for a guaranty, and for an immediate summons of the legislature.

But the fountain of royal grace had been completely drained by the late efforts. Philip's reply at this time was prompt and to the point. As to the guaranty, he said, that was superfluous when he had granted a general pardon. For the states-general, there was no need to alter his decision now, since he was so soon to be present in the country.[806]

This visit of the king to the Low Countries, respecting which so much was said and so little was done, seems to have furnished some amusement to the wits of the court. The prince of Asturias, Don Carlos, scribbled one day on the cover of a blank book, as its title, "The Great and Admirable Voyages of King Philip;" and within, for the contents, he wrote, "From Madrid to the Pardo, from the Pardo to the Escorial, from the Escorial to Aranjuez," &c., &c.[807] This jest of the graceless son had an edge to it. We are not told how far it was relished by his royal father.

CHAPTER XII.

Cathedral of Antwerp sacked.—Sacrilegious Outrages.—Alarm at Brussels.—Churches granted to Reformers.—Margaret repents her Concessions.—Feeling at Madrid.—Sagacity of Orange.—His Religious Opinions.

While Philip was thus tardily coming to concessions which even then were not sincere, an important crisis had arrived in the affairs of the Netherlands. In the earlier stages of the troubles, all orders, the nobles, the commons, even{274} the regent, had united in the desire to obtain the removal of certain abuses, especially the Inquisition and the edicts. But this movement, in which the Catholic joined with the Protestant, had far less reference to the interests of religion than to the personal rights of the individual. Under the protection thus afforded, however, the Reformation struck deep root in the soil. It nourished still more under the favor shown to it by the confederates, who, as we have seen, did not scruple to guaranty security of religions worship to some of the sectaries who demanded it.

But the element which contributed most to the success of the new religion was the public preachings. These in the Netherlands were what the Jacobin clubs were in France, or the secret societies in Germany and Italy,—an obvious means for bringing together such as were pledged to a common hostility to existing institutions, and thus affording them an opportunity for consulting on their grievances, and for concerting the best means of redress. The direct object of these meetings, it is true, was to listen to the teachings of the minister. But that functionary, far from confining himself to spiritual exercises, usually wandered to more exciting themes, as the corruptions of the Church and the condition of the land. He rarely failed to descant on the forlorn circumstances of himself and his flock, condemned thus stealthily to herd together like a band of outlaws, with ropes, as it were, about their necks, and to seek out some solitary spot in which to glorify the Lord, while their enemies, in all the pride of a dominant religion, could offer up their devotions openly and without fear, in magnificent temples. The preacher inveighed bitterly against the richly benefited clergy of the rival Church, whose lives of pampered ease too often furnished an indifferent commentary on the doctrines they inculcated. His wrath was kindled by the pompous ceremonial of the Church of Rome, so dazzling and attractive to its votaries, but which the Reformer sourly contrasted with the naked simplicity of the Protestant service. Of all abominations, however, the greatest in his eyes was the worship of images, which he compared to the idolatry that in ancient times had so often brought down the vengeance of Jehovah on the nations of Palestine; and he called on his hearers, not merely to remove idolatry from their hearts, but the idols from their sight.[808] It was not wonderful that, thus stimulated by their spiritual leaders, the people should be prepared for scenes similar to those enacted by the Reformers in France and in Scotland; or that Margaret, aware of the popular feeling, should have predicted such an outbreak. At length it came, and on a scale and with a degree of violence not surpassed either by the Huguenots or the disciples of Knox.

On the fourteenth of August, the day before the festival of the Assumption of the Virgin, a mob, some three hundred in number, armed with clubs, axes, and other implements of destruction, broke into the churches around St. Omer, in the province of Flanders, overturned the images, defaced the ornaments, and in a short time demolished whatever had any value or beauty in the buildings. Growing bolder from the impunity which attended their movements, they next proceeded to Ypres, and had the audacity to break into the cathedral, and deal with it in the same ruthless manner. Strengthened by the accession of other miscreants from the various towns, they proceeded along the banks of the Lys, and fell upon the churches of Menin, Comines, and other places on its borders. The excitement now spread over the country. Everywhere the populace was in arms. Churches, chapels, and convents were involved in indiscriminate ruin. The storm, after sweeping over Flanders, and desolating the flourishing cities of Valenciennes and{275} Tournay, descended on Brabant. Antwerp, the great commercial capital of the country, was its first mark.[809]

The usual population of the town happened to be swelled at this time by an influx of strangers from the neighboring country, who had come up to celebrate the great festival of the Assumption of the Virgin. Fortunately the prince of Orange was in the place, and by his presence prevented any molestation to the procession, except what arose from the occasional groans and hisses of the more zealous spectators among the Protestants. The priests, however, on their return, had the discretion to deposit the image in the chapel, instead of the conspicuous station usually assigned to it in the cathedral, to receive there during the coming week the adoration of the faithful.

On the following day, unluckily, the prince was recalled to Brussels. In the evening some boys, who had found their way into the church, called out to the Virgin, demanding "why little Mary had gone so early to her nest, and whether she were afraid to show her face in public."[810] This was followed by one of the party mounting into the pulpit, and there mimicking the tones and gestures of the Catholic preacher. An honest waterman who was present, a zealous son of the Church, scandalized by this insult to his religion, sprang into the pulpit, and endeavored to dislodge the usurper. The lad resisted. His comrades came to his rescue; and a struggle ensued, which ended in both the parties being expelled from the building by the officers.[811] This scandalous proceeding, it may be thought, should have put the magistrates of the city on their guard, and warned them to take some measures of defence for the cathedral. But the admonition was not heeded.

On the following day a considerable number of the reformed party entered the building, and were allowed to continue there after vespers, when the rest of the congregation had withdrawn. Left in possession, their first act was to break forth into one of the Psalms of David. The sound of their own voices seemed to rouse them to fury. Before the chant had died away, they rushed forward as by a common impulse, broke open the doors of the chapel, and dragged forth the image of the Virgin. Some called on her to cry, "Vivent les Gueux!" while others tore off her embroidered robes, and rolled the dumb idol in the dust, amidst the shouts of the spectators.

This was the signal for havoc. The rioters dispersed in all directions on the work of destruction. Nothing escaped their rage. High above the great altar was an image of the Saviour, curiously carved in wood, and placed between the effigies of the two thieves crucified with him. The mob contrived to get a rope round the neck of the statue of Christ, and dragged it to the ground. They then fell upon it with hatchets and hammers, and it was soon broken into a hundred fragments. The two thieves, it was remarked, were spared, as if to preside over the work of rapine below.

Their fury now turned against the other statues, which were quickly overthrown from their pedestals. The paintings that lined the walls of the cathedral were cut into shreds. Many of these were the choicest specimens of Flemish art, even then, in its dawn, giving promise of the glorious day which was to shed a lustre over the land.

But the pride of the cathedral, and of Antwerp, was the great organ, renowned throughout the Netherlands, not more for its dimensions than its perfect workmanship. With their ladders the rioters scaled the lofty fabric,{276} and with their implements soon converted it, like all else they laid their hands on, into a heap of rubbish.

The ruin was now universal. Nothing beautiful, nothing holy, was spared. The altars—and there were no less than seventy in the vast edifice—were overthrown one after another; their richly embroidered coverings rudely rent away; their gold and silver vessels appropriated by the plunderers. The sacramental bread was trodden under foot; the wine was quaffed by the miscreants, in golden chalices, to the health of one another, or of the Gueux; and the holy oil was profanely used to anoint their shoes and sandals. The sculptured tracery on the walls, the costly offerings that enriched the shrines, the screens of gilded bronze, the delicately carved wood-work of the pulpit, the marble and alabaster ornaments, all went down under the fierce blows of the iconoclasts. The pavement was strewed with the ruined splendors of a church, which in size and magnificence was perhaps second only to St. Peter's among the churches of Christendom.

As the light of day faded, the assailants supplied its place with such light as they could obtain from the candles which they snatched from the altars. It was midnight before the work of destruction was completed. Thus toiling in darkness, feebly dispelled by tapers the rays of which could scarcely penetrate the vaulted distances of the cathedral, it is a curious circumstance—if true—than no one was injured by the heavy masses of timber, stone, and metal that were everywhere falling around them.[812] The whole number engaged in this work is said not to have exceeded a hundred men, women, and boys,—women of the lowest description, dressed in men's attire.

When their task was completed, they sallied forth in a body from the doors of the cathedral, some singing the Psalms of David, others roaring out the fanatical war-cry of "Vivent les Gueux!" Flushed with success, and joined on the way by stragglers like themselves, they burst open the doors of one church after another; and by the time morning broke, the principal temples in the city had been dealt with in the same ruthless manner as the cathedral.[813]

No attempt all this time was made to stop these proceedings on the part of magistrates or citizens. As they beheld from their windows the bodies of armed men hurrying to and fro by the gleam of their torches, and listened to the sounds of violence in the distance, they seem to have been struck with a panic. The Catholics remained within doors, fearing a general rising of the Protestants. The Protestants feared to move abroad, lest they should be confounded with the rioters. Some imagined their own turn might come next, and appeared in arms at the entrances of their houses, prepared to defend them against the enemy.

When gorged with the plunder of the city, the insurgents poured out at the gates, and fell with the same violence on the churches, convents, and other religious edifices in the suburbs. For three days these dismal scenes continued, without resistance on the part of the inhabitants. Amidst the ruin in the cathedral, the mob had alone spared the royal arms and the escutcheons of the knights of the Golden Fleece, emblazoned on the walls. Calling this to mind, they now returned into the city to complete the work. But some of the knights,{277} who were at Antwerp, collected a handful of their followers, and, with a few of the citizens, forced their way into the cathedral, arrested ten or twelve of the rioters, and easily dispersed the remainder; while a gallows erected on an eminence admonished the offenders of the fate that awaited them. The facility with which the disorders were repressed by a few resolute men naturally suggests the inference, that many of the citizens had too much sympathy with the authors of the outrages to care to check them, still less to bring the culprits to punishment. An orthodox chronicler of the time vents his indignation against a people who were so much more ready to stand by their hearths than by their altars.[814]

The fate of Antwerp had its effect on the country. The flames of fanaticism, burning fiercer than ever, quickly spread over the northern, as they had done over the western provinces. In Holland, Utrecht, Friesland,—everywhere, in short, with a few exceptions on the southern borders,—mobs rose against the churches. In some places, as Rotterdam, Dort, Haarlem, the magistrates were wary enough to avert the storm by delivering up the images, or at least by removing them from the buildings.[815] It was rare that any attempt was made at resistance. Yet on one or two occasions this so far succeeded that a handful of troops sufficed to rout the iconoclasts. At Anchyn, four hundred of the rabble were left dead on the field. But the soldiers had no relish for their duty, and on other occasions, when called on to perform it, refused to bear arms against their countrymen.[816] The leaven of heresy was too widely spread among the people.

Thus the work of plunder and devastation went on vigorously throughout the land. Cathedral and chapel, monastery and nunnery, religious houses of every description, even hospitals, were delivered up to the tender mercies of the Reformers. The monks fled, leaving behind them treasures of manuscripts and well-stored cellars, which latter the invaders soon emptied of their contents, while they consigned the former to the flames. The terrified nuns, escaping half naked, at dead of night, from their convents, were too happy to find a retreat among their friends and kinsmen in the city.[817] Neither monk nor nun ventured to go abroad in the conventual garb. Priests might be sometimes seen hurrying away with some relic or sacred treasure under their robes, which they were eager to save from the spoilers. In the general sack not even the abode of the dead was respected; and the sepulchres of the counts of Flanders were violated, and laid open to the public gaze![818]

The deeds of violence perpetrated by the iconoclasts were accompanied by such indignities as might express their contempt for the ancient faith. They snatched the wafer, says an eye-witness, from the altar, and put it into{278} the mouth of a parrot. Some huddled the images of the saints together, and set them on fire, or covered them with bits of armor, and, shouting "Vivent les Gueux!" tilted rudely against them. Some put on the vestments stolen from the churches, and ran about the streets with them in mockery. Some basted the books with butter, that they might burn the more briskly.[819] By the scholar, this last enormity will not be held light among their transgressions. It answered their purpose, to judge by the number of volumes that were consumed. Among the rest, the great library of Vicogne, one of the noblest collections in the Netherlands, perished in the flames kindled by these fanatics.[820]

The amount of injury inflicted during this dismal period it is not possible to estimate. Four hundred churches were sacked by the insurgents in Flanders alone.[821] The damage to the cathedral of Antwerp, including its precious contents, was said to amount to not less than four hundred thousand ducats![822] The loss occasioned by the plunder of gold and silver plate might be computed. The structures so cruelly defaced might be repaired by the skill of the architect. But who can estimate the irreparable loss occasioned by the destruction of manuscripts, statuary, and paintings? It is a melancholy fact, that the earliest efforts of the Reformers were everywhere directed against those monuments of genius which had been created and cherished by the generous patronage of Catholicism. But if the first step of the Reformation was on the ruins of art, it cannot be denied that a compensation has been found in the good which it has done by breaking the fetters of the intellect, and opening a free range in those domains of science to which all access had been hitherto denied.

The wide extent of the devastation was not more remarkable than the time in which it was accomplished. The whole work occupied less than a fortnight. It seemed as if the destroying angel had passed over the land, and at a blow had consigned its noblest edifices to ruin! The method and discipline, if I may so say, in the movements of the iconoclasts, were as extraordinary as their celerity. They would seem to have been directed by some other hands than those which met the vulgar eye. The quantity of gold and silver plate purloined from the churches and convents was immense. Though doubtless sometimes appropriated by individuals, it seems not unfrequently to have been gathered in a heap, and delivered to the minister, who, either of himself, or by direction of the consistory, caused it to be melted down, and distributed among the most needy of the sectaries.[823] We may sympathize with the indignation of a Catholic writer of the time, who exclaims, that in this way the poor churchmen were made to pay for the scourges with which they had been beaten.[824]

The tidings of the outbreak fell heavily on the ears of the court of Brussels,{279} where the regent, notwithstanding her prediction of the event, was not any the better prepared for it. She at once called her counsellors together and demanded their aid in defending the religion of the country against its enemies. But the prince of Orange and his friends discouraged a resort to violent measures, as little likely to prevail in the present temper of the people. "First," said Egmont, "let us provide for the security of the state. It will be time enough then to think of religion." "No," said Margaret, warmly; "the service of God demands our first care; for the ruin of religion would be a greater evil than the loss of the country."[825] "Those who have anything to lose in it," replied the count, somewhat coolly, "will probably be of a different opinion,"[826]—an answer that greatly displeased the duchess.

Rumors now came thick on one another of the outrages committed by the image-breakers. Fears were entertained that their next move would be on the capital itself. Hitherto the presence of the regent had preserved Brussels, notwithstanding some transient demonstrations among the people, from the spirit of reform which had convulsed the rest of the country. No public meetings had been held either in the city or the suburbs; for Margaret had declared she would hang up, not only the preacher, but all those who attended him.[827] The menace had its effect. Thus keeping aloof from the general movement of the time, the capital was looked on with an evil eye by the surrounding country; and reports were rife, that the iconoclasts were preparing to march in such force on the place, as should enable them to deal with it as they had done with Antwerp and the other cities of Brabant.

The question now arose as to the course to be pursued in the present exigency. The prince of Orange and his friends earnestly advised that Margaret should secure the aid of the confederates by the concessions they had so strenuously demanded; in the next place, that she should conciliate the Protestants by consenting to their religious meetings. To the former she made no objection. But the latter she peremptorily refused. "It would be the ruin of our holy religion," she said. It was in vain they urged, that two hundred thousand sectaries were in arms; that they were already in possession of the churches; that, if she persisted in her refusal, they would soon be in Brussels, and massacre every priest and Roman Catholic before her eyes![828] Notwithstanding this glowing picture of the horrors in store for her, Margaret remained inflexible. But her agitation was excessive: she felt herself alone in her extremity. The party of Granvelle she had long since abandoned. The party of Orange seemed now ready to abandon her. "I am pressed by enemies within and without," she wrote to Philip; "there is no one on whom I can rely for counsel or for aid."[829] Distrust and anxiety brought on a fever, and for several days and nights she lay tossing about, suffering equally from distress of body and anguish of spirit.[830]{280}

Thus sorely perplexed, Margaret felt also the most serious apprehensions for her personal safety. With the slight means of defence at her command, Brussels seemed no longer a safe residence, and she finally came to the resolution to extricate herself from the danger and difficulties of her situation by a precipitate flight. After a brief consultation with Barlaimont, Arschot, and others of the party opposed to the prince of Orange, and hitherto little in her confidence, she determined to abandon the capital, and seek a refuge in Mons,—a strong town in Hainault, belonging to the duke of Arschot, which, from its sturdy attachment to the Romish faith, had little to fear from the fanatics.

Having completed her preparations with the greatest secrecy, on the day fixed for her flight Margaret called her council together to communicate her design. It met with the most decided opposition, not merely from the lords with whom she had hitherto acted, but from the president Viglius. They all united in endeavoring to turn her from a measure which would plainly intimate such a want of confidence on the part of the duchess as must dishonor them in the eyes of the world. The preparations for Margaret's flight had not been conducted so secretly but that some rumor of them had taken wind; and the magistrates of the city now waited on her in a body, and besought her not to leave them, defenceless as they were, to the mercy of their enemies.

The prince was heard to say, that, if the regent thus abandoned the government, it would be necessary to call the states-general together at once, to take measures for the protection of the country.[831] And Egmont declared that, if she fled to Mons, he would muster forty thousand men, and besiege Mons in person.[832] The threat was not a vain one, for no man in the country could have gathered such a force under his banner more easily than Egmont. The question seems to have been finally settled by the magistrates causing the gates of the town to be secured, and a strong guard placed over them, with orders to allow no passage either to the duchess or her followers.—Thus a prisoner in her own capital, Margaret conformed to necessity, and, with the best grace she could, consented to relinquish her scheme of departure.[833]

The question now recurred as to the course to be pursued; and the more she pondered on the embarrassments of her position, the more she became satisfied that no means of extricating herself remained but that proposed by the nobles. Yet, in thus yielding to necessity, she did so protesting that she was acting under compulsion.[834] On the twenty-third of August, Margaret executed an instrument, by which she engaged that no harm should come to the members of the league for anything hitherto done by them. She further authorized the lords to announce to the confederates her consent to the religious meetings of the Reformed, in places where they had been hitherto{281} held, until his majesty and the states-general should otherwise determine. It was on the condition, however, that they should go there unarmed, and nowhere offer disturbance to the Catholics.

On the twenty-fifth of the month the confederate nobles signed an agreement on their part and solemnly swore that they would aid the regent to the utmost in suppressing the disorders of the country, and in bringing their authors to justice; agreeing, moreover, that, so long as the regent should be true to the compact, the league should be considered as null and void.[835]

The feelings of Margaret, in making the concessions required of her, may be gathered from the perusal of her private correspondence with her brother. No act in her public life ever caused her so deep a mortification; and she never forgave the authors of it. "It was forced upon me," she writes to Philip; "but, happily, you will not be bound by it." And she beseeches him to come at once, in such strength as would enable him to conquer the country for himself, or to give her the means of doing so.[836]—Margaret, in early life, had been placed in the hands of Ignatius Loyola. More than one passage in her history proves that the lessons of the Jesuit had not been thrown away.

During these discussions the panic had been such, that it was thought advisable to strengthen the garrison under command of Count Mansfeldt, and keep the greater part of the citizens under arms day and night. When this arrangement was concluded, the great lords dispersed on their mission to restore order in their several governments. The prince went first to Antwerp, where, as we have seen, he held the office of burgrave. He made strict investigation into the causes of the late tumult, hung three of the ringleaders, and banished three others. He found it, however, no easy matter to come to terms with the sectaries, who had possession of all the churches, from which they had driven the Catholics. After long negotiation, it was arranged that they should be allowed to hold six, and should resign the rest to the ancient possessors. The arrangement gave general satisfaction, and the principal citizens and merchants congratulated William on having rescued them from the evils of anarchy.

Not so the regent. She knew well that the example of Antwerp would become a precedent for the rest of the country. She denounced the compact, as compromising the interests of Catholicism, and openly accused the prince of having transcended his powers, and betrayed the trust reposed in him. Finally, she wrote, commanding him at once to revoke his concessions.

William, in answer, explained to her the grounds on which they had been made, and their absolute necessity, in order to save the city from anarchy. It is a strong argument in his favor, that the Protestants, who already claimed the prince as one of their own sect, accused him, in this instance, of sacrificing their cause to that of their enemies; and caricatures of him were made, representing him with open hands and a double face.[837] William, while thus explaining his conduct, did not conceal his indignation at the charges brought against him by the regent, and renewed his request for leave to resign his offices, since he no longer enjoyed her confidence. But whatever disgust she may have felt at his present conduct, William's services were too important to Margaret in this crisis to allow her to dispense with them; and she made{282} haste to write to him in a conciliatory tone, explaining away as far as possible what had been offensive in her former letters. Yet from this hour the consciousness of mutual distrust raised a barrier between the parties never to be overcome.[838]

William next proceeded to his governments of Utrecht and Holland, which, by a similar course of measures to that pursued at Antwerp, he soon restored to order. While in Utrecht, he presented to the states of the province a memorial, in which he briefly reviewed the condition of the country. He urged the necessity of religious toleration, as demanded by the spirit of the age, and as particularly necessary in a country like that, the resort of so many foreigners, and inhabited by sects of such various denominations. He concluded by recommending them to lay a petition to that effect before the throne,—not, probably, from any belief that such a petition would be heeded by the monarch, but from the effect it would have in strengthening the principles of religious freedom in his countrymen. William's memorial is altogether a remarkable paper for the time, and in the wise and liberal tenor of its arguments strikingly contrasts with the intolerant spirit of the court of Madrid.[839]

The regent proved correct in her prediction that the example of Antwerp would be made a precedent for the country. William's friends, the Counts Hoorne and Hoogstraten, employed the same means for conciliating the sectaries in their own governments. It was otherwise with Egmont. He was too stanch a Catholic at heart to approve of such concessions. He carried matters, therefore, with a high hand in his provinces of Flanders and Artois, where his personal authority was unbounded. He made a severe scrutiny into the causes of the late tumult, and dealt with its authors so sternly, as to provoke a general complaint among the reformed party, some of whom, indeed, became so far alarmed for their own safety, that they left the provinces and went beyond sea.

Order now seemed to be reëstablished in the land, through the efforts of the nobles, aided by the confederates, who seem to have faithfully executed their part of the compact with the regent. The Protestants took possession of the churches assigned to them, or busied themselves with raising others on the ground before reserved for their meetings. All joined in the good work; the men laboring at the building, the women giving their jewels and ornaments to defray the cost of the materials. A calm succeeded,—a temporary lull after the hurricane; and Lutheran and Calvinist again indulged in the pleasing illusion, that, however distasteful it might be to the government, they were at length secure of the blessings of religious toleration.

During the occurrence of these events a great change had taken place in the relations of parties. The Catholic members of the league, who had proposed nothing beyond the reform of certain glaring abuses, and, least of all, anything prejudicial to their own religion, were startled as they saw the inevitable result of the course they were pursuing. Several of them, as we have seen, had left the league before the outbreak of the iconoclasts; and after that event, but very few remained in it. The confederates, on the other hand, lost ground with the people, who looked with distrust on their late arrangement with the regent, in which they had so well provided for their own security. The confidence of the people was not restored by the ready aid which their old allies seemed willing to afford the great nobles in bringing{283} to justice the authors of the recent disorders.[840] Thus deserted by many of its own members, distrusted by the Reformers, and detested by the regent, the league ceased from that period to exert any considerable influence on the affairs of the country.

A change equally important had taken place in the politics of the court. The main object with Margaret, from the first, had been to secure the public tranquillity. To effect this she had more than once so far deferred to the judgment of William and his friends, as to pursue a policy not the most welcome to herself. But it had never been her thought to extend that policy to the point of religious toleration. So far from it, she declared that, even though the king should admit two religions in the state, she would rather be torn in pieces than consent to it.[841] It was not till the coalition of the nobles, that her eyes were opened to the path she was treading. The subsequent outrages of the iconoclasts made her comprehend she was on the verge of a precipice. The concessions wrung from her, at that time, by Orange and his friends, filled up the measure of her indignation. A great gulf now opened between her and the party by whom she had been so long directed. Yet where could she turn for support? One course only remained; and it was with a bitter feeling that she felt constrained to throw herself into the arms of the very party which she had almost estranged from her counsels. In her extremity she sent for the president Viglius, on whose head she had poured out so many anathemas in her correspondence with Philip,—whom she had not hesitated to charge with the grossest peculation.

Margaret sent for the old councillor, and, with tears in her eyes, demanded his advice in the present exigency. The president naturally expressed his surprise at this mark of confidence from one who had so carefully excluded him from her counsels for the last two years. Margaret, after some acknowledgment of her mistake, intimated a hope that this would be no impediment to his giving her the counsel she now so much needed. Viglius answered by inquiring whether she were prepared faithfully to carry out what she knew to be the will of the king. On Margaret's replying in the affirmative, he recommended that she should put the same question to each member of her cabinet. "Their answers," said the old statesman, "will show you whom you are to trust." The question—the touchstone of loyalty—was accordingly put; and the minister, who relates the anecdote himself, tells us that three only, Mansfeldt, Barlaimont, and Arschot, were prepared to stand by the regent in carrying out the policy of the crown. From that hour the regent's confidence was transferred from the party with which she had hitherto acted, to their rivals.[842]{284}

It is amusing to trace the change of Margaret's sentiments in her correspondence of this period with her brother. "Orange and Hoorne prove themselves, by word and by deed, enemies of God and the king."[843] Of Egmont she speaks no better. "With all his protestations of loyalty," she fears he is only plotting mischief to the state. "He has openly joined the Gueux, and his eldest daughter is reported to be a Huguenot."[844] Her great concern is for the safety of Viglius, "almost paralyzed by his fears, as the people actually threaten to tear him in pieces."[845] The factious lords conduct affairs according to their own pleasure in the council; and it is understood they are negotiating at the present moment to bring about a collision between the Protestants of Germany, France, and England, hoping in the end to drive the house of Austria from the throne, to shake off the yoke of Spain from the Netherlands, and divide the provinces among themselves and their friends![846] Margaret's credulity seems to have been in proportion to her hatred, and her hatred in proportion to her former friendship. So it was in her quarrel with Granvelle, and she now dealt the same measure to the men who had succeeded that minister in her confidence.

The prince of Orange cared little for the regent's estrangement. He had long felt that his own path lay wide asunder from that of the government, and, as we have seen, had more than once asked leave to resign his offices, and withdraw into private life. Hoorne viewed the matter with equal indifference. He had also asked leave to retire, complaining that his services had been poorly requited by the government. He was a man of a bold, impatient temper. In a letter to Philip he told him that it was not the regent, but his majesty, of whom he complained, for compelling him to undergo the annoyance of dancing attendance at the court of Brussels![847] He further added, that he had not discussed his conduct with the duchess, as it was not his way to treat of affairs of honor with ladies![848] There was certainly no want of plain-dealing in this communication with majesty.

Count Egmont took the coolness of the regent in a very different manner. It touched his honor, perhaps his vanity, to be thus excluded from her confidence. He felt it the more keenly as he was so loyal at heart, and strongly attached to the Romish faith. On the other hand, his generous nature was deeply sensible to the wrongs of his countrymen. Thus drawn in opposite directions, he took the middle course,—by no means the safest in politics. Under these opposite influences he remained in a state of dangerous irresolution. His sympathy with the cause of the confederates lost him the confidence of the government. His loyalty to the government excluded him from the councils of the confederates. And thus, though perhaps the most popular{285} man in the Netherlands, there was no one who possessed less real influence in public affairs.[849]

The tidings of the tumults in the Netherlands, which travelled with the usual expedition of evil news, caused as great consternation at the court of Castile as it had done at that of Brussels. Philip, on receiving his despatches, burst forth, it is said, into the most violent fit of anger, and, tearing his beard, he exclaimed, "It shall cost them dear; by the soul of my father I swear it, it shall cost them dear!"[850] The anecdote, often repeated, rests on the authority of Granvelle's correspondent, Morillon. If it be true, it affords a solitary exception to the habitual self-command—displayed in circumstances quite as trying—of the "prudent" monarch. The account given by Hopper, who was with the court at the time, is the more probable of the two. According to that minister, the king, when he received the tidings, lay ill of a tertian fever at Segovia. As letter after letter came to him with particulars of the tumult, he maintained his usual serenity, exhibiting no sign of passion or vexation. Though enfeebled by his malady, he allowed himself no repose, but gave unremitting attention to business.[851] He read all the despatches; made careful notes of their contents, sending such information as he deemed best to his council, for their consideration; and, as his health mended, occasionally attended in person the discussions of that body.

One can feel but little doubt as to the light in which the proceedings in the Netherlands were regarded by the royal council of Castile. Yet it did not throw the whole, or even the chief blame, on the iconoclasts. They were regarded as mere tools in the hands of the sectaries. The sectaries, on their part, were, it was said, moved by the confederates, on whom they leaned for protection. The confederates, in their turn, made common cause with the great lords, to whom many of them were bound by the closest ties of friendship and of blood. By this ingenious chain of reasoning, all were made responsible for the acts of violence; but the chief responsibility lay on the heads of the great nobles, on whom all in the last resort depended. It was against them that the public indignation should be directed, not against the meaner offenders, over whom alone the sword of justice had been hitherto suspended. But the king should dissemble his sentiments until he was in condition to call these great vassals to account for their misdeeds. All joined in beseeching Philip to defer no longer his visit to Flanders; and most of them recommended that he should go in such force as to look down opposition, and crush the rebellion in its birth.

Such was the counsel of Alva, in conformity with that which he had always given on the subject. But although all concurred in urging the king to expedite his departure, some of the councillors followed the prince of Eboli in advising Philip that, instead of this warlike panoply, he should go in peaceable{286} guise, accompanied only by such a retinue as befitted the royal dignity. Each of the great rivals recommended the measures most congenial with his own temper, the direction of which would no doubt be intrusted to the man who recommended them. It is not strange that the more violent course should have found favor with the majority.[852]

Philip's own decision he kept, as usual, locked in his own bosom. He wrote indeed to his sister, warning her not to allow the meeting of the legislature, and announcing his speedy coming,—all as usual; and he added, that, in repressing the disorders of the country, he should use no other means than those of gentleness and kindness, under the sanction of the states.[853] These gentle professions weighed little with those who, like the prince of Orange, had surer means of arriving at the king's intent than what were afforded by the royal correspondence. Montigny, the Flemish envoy, was still in Madrid, held there, sorely against his will, in a sort of honorable captivity by Philip. In a letter to his brother, Count Hoorne, he wrote: "Nothing can be in worse odor than our affairs at the court of Castile. The great lords, in particular, are considered as the source of all the mischief. Violent counsels are altogether in the ascendant, and the storm may burst on you sooner than you think. Nothing remains but to fly from it like a prudent man, or to face it like a brave one!"[854]

William had other sources of intelligence, the secret agents whom he kept in pay at Madrid. From them he learned, not only what was passing at the court, but in the very cabinet of the monarch; and extracts, sometimes full copies, of the correspondence of Philip and Margaret, were transmitted to the prince. Thus the secrets which the most jealous prince in Europe supposed to be locked in his own breast were often in possession of his enemies; and William, as we are told, declared that there was no word of Philip's, public or private, but was reported to his ears![855]

This secret intelligence, on which the prince expended large sums of money, was not confined to Madrid. He maintained a similar system of espionage in Paris, where the court of Castile was busy with its intrigues for{287} the extermination of heresy. Those who look on these trickish proceedings as unworthy of the character of the prince of Orange and the position which he held, should consider that it was in accordance with the spirit of the age. It was but turning Philip's own arts against himself, and using the only means by which William could hope to penetrate the dark and unscrupulous policy of a cabinet whose chief aim, as he thought, was to subvert the liberties of his country.

It was at this time that his agents in France intercepted a letter from Alava, the Spanish minister at the French court. It was addressed to the duchess of Parma. Among other things, the writer says it is well understood at Madrid, that the great nobles are at the bottom of the troubles of Flanders. The king is levying a strong force, with which he will soon visit the country, and call the three lords to a heavy reckoning. In the mean time the duchess must be on her guard not by any change in her deportment to betray her consciousness of this intent.[856]

Thus admonished from various quarters, the prince felt that it was no longer safe for him to remain in his present position; and that in the words of Montigny, he must be prepared to fight or to fly. He resolved to take counsel with some of those friends who were similarly situated with himself. In a communication made to Egmont in order to persuade him to a conference, William speaks of Philip's military preparations as equally to be dreaded by Catholic and Protestant; for under the pretext of religion, Philip had no other object in view than to enslave the nation. "This has been always feared by us," he adds;[857] "and I cannot stay to witness the ruin of my country."

The parties met at Dendermonde on the third of October. Besides the two friends and Count Hoorne, there were William's brother, Louis, and a few other persons of consideration. Little is actually known of the proceedings at this conference, notwithstanding the efforts of more than one officious chronicler to enlighten us. Their contradictory accounts, like so many cross lights on his path, serve only to perplex the eye of the student. It seems probable, however, that the nobles generally, including the prince, considered the time had arrived for active measures; and that any armed intrusion on the part of Philip into the Netherlands should be resisted by force. But Egmont, with all his causes of discontent, was too loyal at heart not to shrink from the attitude of rebellion. He had a larger stake than most of the company, in a numerous family of children, who, in case of a disastrous revolution, would be thrown helpless on the world. The benignity with which he had been received by Philip on his mission to Spain, and which subsequent slights had not effaced from his memory, made him confide, most unhappily, in the favorable dispositions of the monarch. From whatever motives, the count refused to become a party to any scheme of resistance; and as his popularity with the troops made his coöperation of the last importance, the conference broke up without coming to a determination.[858]{288}

Egmont at once repaired to Brussels, whither he had been summoned by the regent to attend the council of state. Orange and Hoorne received, each, a similar summons, to which neither of them paid any regard. Before taking his seat at the board, Egmont showed the duchess Alava's letter, upbraiding her, at the same time, with her perfidious conduct towards the nobles. Margaret, who seems to have given way to temper or to tears, as the exigency demanded, broke forth into a rage, declaring it "an impudent forgery, and the greatest piece of villany in the world!"[859] The same sentiment she repeats in a letter addressed soon after to her brother, in which she asserts her belief that no such letter as that imputed to Alava had ever been written by him. How far the duchess was honest in her declaration it is impossible at this day to determine. Egmont, after passing to other matters, concludes with a remark which shows, plainly enough, his own opinion of her sincerity. "In fine, she is a woman educated in Rome. There is no faith to be given to her."[860]

In her communication above noticed Margaret took occasion to complain to Philip of his carelessness in regard to her letters. The contents of them, she said, were known in Flanders almost as soon as at Madrid; and not only copies, but the original autographs, were circulating in Brussels. She concludes by begging her brother, if he cannot keep her letters safe, to burn them.[861]

The king, in answer, expresses his surprise at her complaints, assuring Margaret that it is impossible any one can have seen her letters, which are safely locked up, with the key in his own pocket.[862] It is amusing to see Philip's incredulity in regard to the practice of those arts on himself which he had so often practised on others. His sister, however, seems to have relied henceforth more on her own precautions than on his, as we find her communications from this time frequently shrouded in cipher.

Rumors of Philip's warlike preparations were now rife in the Netherlands; and the Protestants began to take counsel as to the best means of providing for their own defence. One plan suggested was to send thirty thousand Calvinistic tracts to Seville for distribution among the Spaniards.[863] This would raise a good crop of heresy, and give the king work to do in his own dominions. It would, in short, be carrying the war into the enemy's country. The plan, it must be owned, had the merit of novelty.

In Holland the nobles and merchants mutually bound themselves to stand by one another in asserting the right of freedom of conscience.[864] Levies went forward briskly in Germany, under the direction of Count Louis of Nassau. It was attempted, moreover, to interest the Protestant princes of that country so far in the fate of their brethren in the Netherlands as to induce them to use their good offices with Philip to dissuade him from violent measures. The emperor had already offered privately his own mediation to the king, to bring about, if possible, a better understanding with his Flemish subjects.[865] The offer made in so friendly a spirit, though warmly commended by some of the council, seems to have found no favor in the eyes of their master.[866]

The princes of Germany who had embraced the Reformation were Lutherans. They had almost as little sympathy with the Calvinists as with the Catholics. Men of liberal minds in the Netherlands, like William and his brother, would gladly have seen the two great Protestant parties which divided their country united on some common basis. They would have had them, in short, in a true Christian spirit, seek out the points on which they could agree rather than those on which they differed,—points of difference which, in William's estimation, were after all of minor importance. He was desirous that the Calvinists should adopt a confession of faith accommodated in some degree to the "Confession of Augsburg,"—a step which would greatly promote their interests with the princes of Germany.[867]

But the Calvinists were altogether the dominant party in the Low Countries. They were thoroughly organized, and held their consistories, composed of a senate and a sort of lower house, in many of the great towns, all subordinate to the great consistory at Antwerp. They formed, in short, what the historian well calls an independent Protestant republic.[868] Strong in their power, sturdy in their principles, they refused to bend in any degree to circumstances, or to make any concession, or any compromise with the weaker party. The German princes, disgusted with this conduct, showed no disposition to take any active measures in their behalf, and, although they made some efforts in favor of the Lutherans, left their Calvinistic brethren in the Netherlands to their fate.

It was generally understood, at this time, that the prince of Orange had embraced Lutheran opinions. His wife's uncle, the landgrave of Hesse, pressed him publicly to avow his belief. To this the prince objected, that he should thus become the open enemy of the Catholics, and probably lose his influence with the Calvinists, already too well disposed to acts of violence.[869] Yet not long after we find William inquiring of the landgrave if it would not be well to advise the king, in terms as little offensive as possible, of his change of religion, asking the royal permission at the same time, to conform his worship to it.[870]

William's father had been a Lutheran, and in that faith had lived and died. In that faith he had educated his son. When only eleven years old, the latter,{290} as we have seen, was received into the imperial household. The plastic mind of boyhood readily took its impressions from those around, and without much difficulty, or indeed examination, William conformed to the creed fashionable at the court of Castile. In this faith—if so it should be called—the prince remained during the lifetime of the emperor. Then came the troubles of the Netherlands; and William's mind yielded to other influences. He saw the workings of Catholicism under a terrible aspect. He beheld his countrymen dragged from their firesides, driven into exile, thrown into dungeons, burned at the stake; and all this for no other cause than dissent from the dogmas of the Romish Church. His soul sickened at these enormities, and his indignation kindled at this invasion of the inalienable right of private judgment. Thus deeply interested for the oppressed Protestants, it was natural that William should feel a sympathy for their cause. His wife too was of the Lutheran persuasion. So was his mother, still surviving. So were his brothers and sisters, and indeed all those nearest akin to him. Under these influences, public and domestic, it was not strange, that he should have been led to review the grounds of his own belief; that he should have gradually turned to the faith of his parents,—the faith in which he had been nurtured in childhood.[871] At what precise period the change in his opinions took place we are not informed. But his letter to the landgrave of Hesse, in November, 1566, affords, so far as I am aware, the earliest evidence that exists, under his own hand, that he had embraced the doctrines of the Reformation.

CHAPTER XIII.

Reaction.—Appeal to Arms.—Tumult in Antwerp.—Siege of Valenciennes.—The Government triumphant.

The excesses of the iconoclasts, like most excesses, recoiled on the heads of those who committed them. The Roman Catholic members of the league withdrew, as we have seen, from an association which connected them, however remotely, with deeds so atrocious. Other Catholics, who had looked with no unfriendly eye on the revolution, now that they saw it was to go forward over the ruins of their religion, were only eager to show their detestation of it, and their loyalty to the government. The Lutherans, who, as already noticed, had never moved in much harmony with the Calvinists, were anxious to throw the whole blame of the excesses on the rival sect; and thus the breach, growing wider and wider between the two great divisions of the Protestants, worked infinite prejudice to the common cause of reform. Lastly, men like Egmont, who from patriotic motives had been led to dally{291} with the revolution in its infancy, seeming indeed almost ready to embrace it, now turned coldly away, and hastened to make their peace with the regent.

Margaret felt the accession of strength she was daily deriving from these divisions of her enemies, and she was not slow to profit by it. As she had no longer confidence in those on whom she had hitherto relied for support, she was now obliged to rely more exclusively on herself. She was indefatigable in her application to business. "I know not," writes her secretary, Armenteros, "how the regent contrives to live, amidst the disgusts and difficulties which incessantly beset her. For some months she has risen before dawn. Every morning and evening, sometimes oftener, she calls her council together. The rest of the day and night she is occupied with giving audiences, or with receiving despatches and letters, or in answering them."[872]

Margaret now bent all her efforts to retrace the humiliating path into which she had been led, and to reëstablish the fallen authority of the crown. If she did not actually revoke the concessions wrung from her, she was careful to define them so narrowly that they should be of little service to any one. She wrote to the governors of the provinces, that her license for public preaching was to be taken literally, and was by no means intended to cover the performance of other religious rites, as those of baptism, marriage, and burial, which she understood were freely practised by the reformed ministers. She published an edict reciting the terrible penalties of the law against all offenders in this way, and she enjoined the authorities to enforce the execution of it to the letter.[873]

The Protestants loudly complained of what they termed a most perfidious policy on the part of the regent. The right of public preaching, they said, naturally included that of performing the other religious ceremonies of the Reformed Church. It was a cruel mockery to allow men to profess a religion, and yet not to practise the rites which belong to it.—The construction given by Margaret to her edict must be admitted to savor somewhat of the spirit of that given by Portia to Shylock's contract. The pound of flesh might indeed be taken; but if so much as a drop of blood followed, woe to him that took it!

This measure was succeeded by others on the part of the government of a still more decisive character. Instead of the civil magistracy, Margaret now showed her purpose to call in the aid of a strong military force to execute the laws. She ordered into the country the levies lately raised for her in Germany. These she augmented by a number of Walloon regiments; and she placed them under the command of Aremberg, Megen, and other leaders in whom she confided. She did not even omit the prince of Orange, for though Margaret had but little confidence in William, she did not care to break with him. To the provincial governors she wrote to strengthen themselves as much as possible by additional recruits; and she ordered them to introduce garrisons into such places as had shown favor to the new doctrines.

The province of Hainault was that which gave the greatest uneasiness to the regent. The spirit of independence was proverbially high amongst the people; and the neighborhood of France gave easy access to the Huguenot ministers, who reaped an abundant harvest in the great towns of that district. The flourishing commercial city of Valenciennes was particularly{292} tainted with heresy. Margaret ordered Philip de Noircarmes, governor of Hainault, to secure the obedience of the place by throwing into it a garrison of three companies of horse and as many of foot.

When the regent's will was announced to the people of Valenciennes, it met at first with no opposition. But among the ministers in the town was a Frenchman named La Grange, a bold enthusiast, gifted with a stirring eloquence, which gave him immense ascendancy over the masses. This man told the people, that to receive a garrison would be the death-blow to their liberties, and that those of the reformed religion would be the first victims. Thus warned, the citizens were now even more unanimous in refusing a garrison than they had before been in their consent to admit one. Noircarmes, though much surprised by this sudden change, gave the inhabitants some days to consider the matter before placing themselves in open resistance to the government. The magistrates and some of the principal persons in the town were willing to obey his requisition, and besought La Grange to prevail on the people to consent to it. "I would rather," replied the high-spirited preacher, "that my tongue should cleave to the roof of my mouth, and that I should become dumb as a fish, than open my lips to persuade the people to consent to so cruel and outrageous an act."[874] Finding the inhabitants still obstinate, the general, by Margaret's orders, proclaimed the city to be in a state of rebellion,—proscribed the persons of the citizens as traitors to their sovereign, and confiscated their property. At the same time, active preparations were begun for laying siege to the place, and proclamation was made in the regent's name prohibiting the people of the Netherlands from affording any aid, by counsel, arms, or money, to the rebellious city, under the penalties incurred by treason.

But the inhabitants of Valenciennes, sustained by the promises of their preacher, were nothing daunted by these measures, nor by the formidable show of troops which Noircarmes was assembling under their walls. Their town was strongly situated, tolerably well victualled for a siege, and filled with a population of hardy burghers devoted to the cause, whose spirits were raised by the exhortations of the consistories in the neighboring provinces to be of good courage, as their brethren would speedily come to their relief.

The high-handed measures of the government caused great consternation through the country, especially amongst those of the reformed religion. A brisk correspondence went on between the members of the league and the consistories. Large sums were raised by the merchants well affected to the cause, in order to levy troops in Germany, and were intrusted to Brederode for the purpose. It was also determined that a last effort should be made to soften the duchess by means of a petition, which that chief, at the head of four hundred knights, was to bear to Brussels. But Margaret had had enough of petitions, and she bluntly informed Brederode, that, if he came in that guise, he would find the gates of Brussels shut against him.

Still the sturdy cavalier was not to be balked in his purpose; and, by means of an agent, he caused the petition to be laid before the regent. It was taken up mainly with a remonstrance on the course pursued by Margaret, so much at variance with her promises. It particularly enlarged on the limitation of her license for public preaching. In conclusion, it besought the regent to revoke her edict, to disband her forces, to raise the siege of Valenciennes, and to respect the agreement she had made with the league; in{293} which case they were ready to assure her of their support in maintaining order.

Margaret laid the document before her council, and on the sixteenth of February, 1567, an answer which might be rather said to be addressed to the country at large than to Brederode, was published. The duchess intimated her surprise that any mention should be made of the league, as she had supposed that body had ceased to exist, since so many of its members had been but too glad, after the late outrages, to make their peace with the government. As to her concession of public preaching, it could hardly be contended that that was designed to authorize the sectaries to lay taxes, levy troops, create magistrates, and to perform, among other religious rites, that of marriage, involving the transfer of large amounts of property. She could hardly be thought mad enough to invest them with powers like these. She admonished the petitioners not to compel their sovereign to forego his native benignity of disposition. It would be well for them, she hinted, to give less heed to public affairs, and more to their own; and she concluded with the assurance, that she would take good care that the ruin which they so confidently predicted for the country should not be brought about by them.[875]

The haughty tone of the reply showed too plainly that the times were changed; that Margaret was now conscious of her strength, and meant to use it. The confederates felt that the hour had come for action. To retrace their steps was impossible. Yet their present position was full of peril. The rumor went that King Philip was soon to come, at the head of a powerful force, to take vengeance on his enemies. To remain as they were, without resistance, would be to offer their necks to the stroke of the executioner. An appeal to arms was all that was left to them. This was accordingly resolved on. The standard of revolt was raised. The drum beat to arms in the towns and villages, and recruits were everywhere enlisted. Count Louis was busy in enforcing levies in Germany. Brederode's town of Viana was named as the place of rendezvous. That chief was now in his element. His restless spirit delighted in scenes of tumult. He had busied himself in strengthening the works of Viana, and in furnishing it with artillery and military stores. Thence he had secretly passed over to Amsterdam, where he was occupied in organizing resistance among the people, already, by their fondness for the new doctrines, well disposed to it.

Hostilities first broke out in Brabant, where Count Megen was foiled in an attempt on Bois-le-Duc, which had refused to receive a garrison. He was more fortunate in an expedition against the refractory city of Utrecht, which surrendered without a struggle to the royalist chief.

In other quarters the insurgents were not idle. A body of some two thousand men, under Marnix, lord of Thoulouse, brother of the famous St. Aldegonde, made a descent on the island of Walcheren, where it was supposed Philip would land. But they were baffled in their attempts on this place by the loyalty and valor of the inhabitants. Failing in this scheme, Thoulouse was compelled to sail up the Scheldt, until he reached the little village of Austruweel, about a league from Antwerp. There he disembarked his whole force, and took up his quarters in the dwellings of the inhabitants. From this place he sallied out, making depredations on the adjoining country, burning the churches, sacking the convents, and causing great alarm to the magistrates of Antwerp by the confidence which his presence gave to the reformed party in that city.{294}

Margaret saw the necessity of dislodging the enemy without delay from this dangerous position. She despatched a body of Walloons on the service, under command of an experienced officer named Launoy. Her orders show the mood she was in. "They are miscreants," she said, "who have placed themselves beyond the pale of mercy. Show them no mercy then, but exterminate with fire and sword!"[876] Launoy, by a rapid march, arrived at Austruweel. Though taken unawares, Thoulouse and his men made a gallant resistance; and a fierce action took place almost under the walls of Antwerp.

The noise of the musketry soon brought the citizens to the ramparts; and the dismay of the Calvinists was great, as they beheld the little army of Thoulouse thus closely beset by their enemies. Furious at the spectacle, they now called on one another to rush to the rescue of their friends. Pouring down from the ramparts, they hurried to the gates of the city. But the gates were locked. This had been done by the order of the prince of Orange, who had moreover caused a bridge across the Scheldt to be broken down to cut off all communication between the city and the camp of Thoulouse.

The people now loudly called on the authorities to deliver up the keys, demanding for what purpose the gates were closed. Their passions were kindled to madness by the sight of the wife—now, alas! the widow—of Thoulouse, who, with streaming eyes and dishevelled hair, rushing wildly into the crowd, besought them piteously to save her husband and their own brethren from massacre.

It was too late. After a short though stout resistance, the insurgents had been driven from the field, and taken refuge in their defences. These were soon set on fire. Thoulouse, with many of his followers, perished in the flames. Others, to avoid this dreadful fate, cut their way through the enemy, and plunged into the Scheldt, which washes the base of the high land occupied by the village. There they miserably perished in the waters, or were pierced by the lances of the enemy, who hovered on its borders. Fifteen hundred were slain. Three hundred, who survived, surrendered themselves prisoners. But Launoy feared an attempt at rescue from the neighboring city; and, true to the orders of the regent, he massacred nearly all of them on the spot![877]

While this dismal tragedy was passing, the mob imprisoned within the walls of Antwerp was raging and bellowing like the waves of the ocean chafing wildly against the rocks that confine them. With fierce cries, they demanded that the gates should be opened, calling on the magistrates with bitter imprecations to deliver up the keys. The magistrates had no mind to face the infuriated populace. But the prince of Orange fortunately, at this crisis, did not hesitate to throw himself into the midst of the tumult, and take on himself the whole responsibility of the affair. It was by his command that the gates had been closed, in order that the regent's troops, if victorious, might not enter the city, and massacre those of the reformed religion. This plausible explanation did not satisfy the people. Some called out that the true motive was, not to save the Calvinists in the city, but to prevent their assisting their brethren in the camp. One man, more audacious{295} than the rest, raised a musket to the prince's breast, saluting him, at the same time, with the epithet of "traitor!" But the fellow received no support from his companions, who, in general, entertained too great respect for William to offer any violence to his person.

Unable to appease the tumult, the prince was borne along by the tide, which now rolled back from the gates to the Meer Bridge, where it soon received such accessions that the number amounted to more than ten thousand. The wildest schemes were then agitated by the populace, among whom no one appeared to take the lead. Some were for seizing the Hôtel de Ville, and turning out the magistrates. Others were for sacking the convents, and driving their inmates, as well as all priests, from the city. Meanwhile, they had got possession of some pieces of artillery from the arsenal, with which they fortified the bridge. Thus passed the long night;—the armed multitude gathered together like a dark cloud, ready at any moment to burst in fury on the city, while the defenceless burghers, especially those who had any property at stake, were filled with the most dismal apprehensions.

Yet the Catholics contrived to convey some casks of powder, it is said, under the Meer Bridge, resolving to blow it into the air with all upon it, as soon as their enemies should make a hostile movement.

All eyes were now turned on the prince of Orange as the only man at all capable of extricating them from their perilous situation. William had stationed a guard over the mint, and another at the Hôtel de Ville, to protect these buildings from the populace. A great part of this anxious night he spent in endeavoring to bring about such an understanding between the two great parties of the Catholics and the Lutherans as should enable them to act in concert. This was the less difficult, on account of the jealousy which the latter sect entertained of the Calvinists. The force thus raised was swelled by the accession of the principal merchants and men of substance, as well as most of the foreigners resident in the city, who had less concern for spiritual matters than for the security of life and fortune. The following morning beheld the mob of Calvinists formed into something like a military array, their green and white banners bravely unfurled, and the cannon which they had taken from the arsenal posted in front. On the opposite side of the great square before the Hôtel de Ville were gathered the forces of the prince of Orange, which, if wanting artillery, were considerably superior in numbers to their adversaries. The two hosts now stood face to face, as if waiting only the signal to join in mortal conflict. But no man was found bold enough to give the signal—for brother to lift his hand against brother.

At this juncture William, with a small guard, and accompanied by the principal magistrates, crossed over to the enemy's ranks, and demanded an interview with the leaders. He represented to them the madness of their present course; which, even if they were victorious, must work infinite mischief to the cause. It would be easy for them to obtain by fair means all they could propose by violence; and for his own part, he concluded, however well disposed to them he now might be, if a single drop of blood were shed in this quarrel, he would hold them from that hour as enemies.

The remonstrance of the prince, aided by the conviction of their own inferiority in numbers, prevailed over the stubborn temper of the Calvinists. They agreed to an accommodation, one of the articles of which was, that no garrison should be admitted within the city. The prince of Orange subscribed and swore to the treaty, on behalf of his party: and it is proof of the confidence that even the Calvinists reposed in him, that they laid down their arms sooner than either the Lutherans or the Catholics. Both these, however, speedily followed their example. The martial array, which had assumed so menacing an aspect, soon melted away. The soldier of an hour, subsiding into the quiet burgher, went about his usual business; and tranquillity{296} and order once more reigned within the walls of Antwerp.—Thus, by the coolness and discretion of a single man, the finest city in the Netherlands was saved from irretrievable ruin.[878]

It was about the middle of March, 1567, that the disturbances occurred at Antwerp. During this time Noircarmes was enforcing the blockade of Valenciennes, but with little prospect of bringing it to a speedy issue. The inhabitants, confident in their strength, had made more than one successful sally, burning the cloisters in which the general had lodged part of his troops, and carrying back considerable booty into the city. It was evident that to reduce the place by blockade would be a work of no little time.

Margaret wrote to her brother to obtain his permission to resort to more vigorous measures, and, without further delay, to bombard the place. But Philip peremptorily refused. It was much to his regret, he said, that the siege of so fair a city had been undertaken. Since it had been, nothing remained but to trust to a blockade for its reduction.[879]

At this time an army of the confederates, some three or four thousand strong, appeared in the neighborhood of Tournay, designed partly to protect that town, which had refused a garrison, and partly to create a diversion in favor of Valenciennes. No sooner had Noircarmes got tidings of this, than, leaving a sufficient detachment to carry on the blockade, he made a rapid march with the rest of his forces, came suddenly on the enemy, engaged him in a pitched battle, completely routed him, and drove his scattered legions up to the walls of Tournay. That city, now incapable of resistance, opened its gates at once, and submitted to the terms of the conqueror, who soon returned, with his victorious army, to resume the siege of Valenciennes.

But the confidence of the inhabitants was not shaken. On the contrary, under the delusive promises of their preacher, it seemed to rise higher than ever, and they rejected with scorn every invitation to surrender. Again the regent wrote to her brother, that, unless he allowed more active operations, there was great danger the place would be relieved by the Huguenots on the frontier, or by the Gueux, whose troops were scattered through the country.

Urged by the last consideration, Philip yielded a reluctant assent to his sister's wishes. But in his letter, dated on the thirteenth of March, he insisted that, before resorting to violence, persuasion and menace should be first tried; and that, in case of an assault, great care should be had that no harm came to the old and infirm, to women or children, to any, in short, who were not found actually in arms against the government.[880]—The clemency shown by Philip on this occasion reflects infinite credit on him; and if it be disposed of by some as mere policy, it must be allowed to be a policy near akin to humanity. It forms a striking contrast with the ferocious mood in which Margaret indulged at this time, when she seems to have felt that a long arrear of vengeance was due for the humiliations she had been compelled to endure.

The regent lost no time in profiting by the royal license. She first, however,{297} proposed, in obedience to her instructions, to see what could be done by milder measures. She sent two envoys, Count Egmont and the duke of Arschot, to Valenciennes, in order to expostulate with the citizens, and if possible bring them to reason. The two nobles represented to the people the folly of attempting to cope, thus single-handed, as it were, with the government. Their allies had been discomfited one after another. With the defeat before Tournay must have faded the last ray of hope. They besought the citizens to accept, while there was time, the grace proffered them by the duchess, who was willing, if the town submitted, that such as chose to leave it might take their effects and go wherever they listed.

But the people of Valenciennes, fortified by the promises of their leaders, and with a blind confidence in their own resources, which had hitherto proved effectual, held lightly both the arguments and offers of the envoys, who returned to the camp of Noircarmes greatly disgusted with the ill-success of their mission. There was no room for further delay, and preparations were made for reducing the place by more active operations.

Valenciennes stands on the crest of an eminence that sweeps down by a gradual slope towards the river Scheldt, which, washing the walls of the city, forms a good defence on that quarter. The ramparts encompassing the town, originally strong and of great thickness, were now somewhat impaired by age. They were protected by a wide ditch, which in some places was partially choked up with rubbish. The walls were well lined with artillery, and the magazines provided with ammunition. In short, the place was one which, in earlier days, from the strength of its works as well as its natural position, might have embarrassed an army more formidable than that which now lay before it.

The first step of Noircarmes was to contract his lines, and closely to invest the town. He next availed himself of a dark and stormy night to attack one of the suburbs, which he carried after a sharp engagement, and left in the charge of some companies of Walloons.

The following day these troops opened a brisk fire on the soldiers who defended the ramparts, which was returned by the latter with equal spirit. But while amusing the enemy in this quarter, Noircarmes ordered a battery to be constructed, consisting at first of ten, afterwards of twenty, heavy guns and mortars, besides some lighter pieces. From this battery he opened a well-directed and most disastrous fire on the city, demolishing some of the principal edifices, which, from their size, afforded a prominent mark. The great tower of St. Nicholas, on which some heavy ordnance was planted, soon crumbled, under this fierce cannonade, and its defenders were buried in its ruins. At length, at the end of four hours, the inhabitants, unable longer to endure the storm of shot and shells which penetrated every quarter of the town, so far humbled their pride as to request a parley. To this Noircarmes assented, but without intermitting his fire for a moment.

The deputies informed the general, that the city was willing to capitulate on the terms before proposed by the Flemish nobles. But Noircarmes contemptuously told them that "things were not now as they then were, and it was not his wont to talk of terms with a fallen enemy."[881] The deputies, greatly discomfited by the reply, returned to report the failure of their mission to their townsmen.

Meanwhile the iron tempest continued with pitiless fury. The wretched people could find no refuge from it in their dwellings, which filled the streets with their ruins. It was not, however, till two-and-thirty hours more had{298} passed away that a practicable breach was made in the walls; while the rubbish which had tumbled into the fosse from the crumbling ramparts afforded a tolerable passage for the besiegers, on a level nearly with the breach itself. By this passage Noircarmes now prepared to march into the city, through the open breach, at the head of his battalions.

The people of Valenciennes too late awoke from their delusion. They were no longer cheered by the voice of their fanatical leader, for he had provided for his own safety by flight; and, preferring any fate to that of being delivered over to the ruthless soldiery of Noircarmes, they offered at once to surrender the town at discretion, throwing themselves on the mercy of their victor. Six-and-thirty hours only had elapsed since the batteries of the besiegers had opened their fire, and during that time three thousand bombs had been thrown into the city;[882] which was thought scarcely less than a miracle in that day.

On the second of April, 1567, just four months after the commencement of the siege, the victorious army marched into Valenciennes. As it defiled through the long and narrow streets, which showed signs of the dismal fray in their shattered edifices, and in the dead and dying still stretched on the pavement, it was met by troops of women and young maidens bearing green branches in their hands, and deprecating with tears and piteous lamentations the wrath of the conquerors. Noircarmes marched at once to the town-house, where he speedily relieved the municipal functionaries of all responsibility, by turning them out of office. His next care was to seize the persons of the zealous ministers and the other leaders. Many had already contrived to make their escape. Most of these were soon after taken, the preacher La Grange among the rest, and to the number of thirty-six were sentenced either to the scaffold or the gallows.[883] The general then caused the citizens to be disarmed, and the fortifications, on which were mounted eighty pieces of artillery, to be dismantled. The town was deprived of its privileges and immunities, and a heavy fine imposed on the inhabitants to defray the charges of the war. The Protestant worship was abolished, the churches were restored to their former occupants, and none but the Roman Catholic service was allowed henceforth to be performed in the city. The bishop of Arras was invited to watch over the spiritual concerns of the inhabitants, and a strong garrison of eight battalions was quartered in the place, to secure order and maintain the authority of the cr own.[884]

The keys of Valenciennes, it was commonly said, opened to the regent the gates of all the refractory cities of the Netherlands. Maestricht, Tornhut, Ghent, Ypres, Oudenarde, and other places which had refused to admit a{299} garrison within their walls, now surrendered, one after another, to Margaret, and consented to receive her terms. In like manner Megen established the royal authority in the province of Gueldres, and Aremberg, after a more prolonged resistance, in Gröningen and Friesland. In a few weeks, with the exception of Antwerp and some places in Holland, the victorious arms of the regent had subdued the spirit of resistance in every part of the country.[885] The movement of the insurgents had been premature.

CHAPTER XIV.

Oath imposed by Margaret.—Refused by Orange.—He leaves the Netherlands.—Submission of the Country.—New Edict.—Order restored.

The perplexities in which the regent had been involved had led her to conceive a plan, early in January, 1567, the idea of which may have been suggested by the similar plan of Viglius. This was to require an oath from the great nobles, the knights of the Golden Fleece, and those in high stations, civil or military, that they would yield implicit and unqualified obedience to the commands of the king, of whatever nature they might be. Her object in this measure was not to secure a test of loyalty. She knew full well who were the friends and who were the foes of the government. But she wished a decent apology for ridding herself of the latter; and it was made a condition, that those who refused to take the oath were to be dismissed from office.

The measure seems to have met with no opposition when first started in the council; where Mansfeldt, Arschot, Megen, Barlaimont, all signified their readiness to sign the oath. Egmont indeed raised some scruples. After the oath of allegiance he had once taken, a new one seemed superfluous. The bare word of a man of honor and a chevalier of the Toison ought to suffice.[886] But after a short correspondence on the subject, his scruples vanished before the arguments or persuasions of the regent.

Brederode, who held a military command, was not of so accommodating a temper. He indignantly exclaimed, that it was a base trick of the government, and he understood the drift of it. He refused to subscribe the oath, and at once threw up his commission. The Counts Hoorne and Hoogstraten declined also, but in more temperate terms, and resigning their employments, withdrew to their estates in the country.

The person of most importance was the prince of Orange; and it was necessary to approach him with the greatest caution. Margaret, it is true, had long since withdrawn from him her confidence. But he had too much consideration and authority in the country for her to wish to break with him.{300} Nor would she willingly give him cause of disgust. She accordingly addressed him a note, couched in the most insinuating terms she had at her command.

She could not doubt he would be ready to set a good example, when his example would be so important in the perplexed condition of the country. Rumors had been circulated to the prejudice of his loyalty. She did not give them credit. She could not for a moment believe that he would so far dishonor his great name and his illustrious descent as to deserve such a reproach; and she had no doubt he would gladly avail himself of the present occasion to wipe away all suspicion.[887]

The despatch inclosed a form of the oath, by which the party was to bind himself to "serve the king, and act for or against whomever his majesty might command, without restriction or limitation,"[888] on pain of being dismissed from office.

William was not long in replying to a requisition, to obey which would leave him less freedom than might be claimed by the meanest peasant in the country. On the twenty-eighth of April, the same day on which he received the letter, he wrote to the regent, declining in the most positive terms to take the oath. Such an act, he said, would of itself imply that he had already violated the oath he had previously taken. Nor could he honorably take it, since it might bind him to do what would be contrary to the dictates of his own conscience, as well as to what he conceived to be the true interests of his majesty and the country.[889] He was aware that such a demand on the regent's part was equivalent to a dismissal from office. He begged her, therefore, to send some one fully empowered to receive his commissions, since he was ready forthwith to surrender them. As for himself, he should withdraw from the Netherlands, and wait until his sovereign had time to become satisfied of his fidelity. But wherever he might be, he should ever be ready to devote both life and property to the service of the king and the common weal of the country.[890]

Whatever hesitation the prince of Orange may have before felt as to the course he was to take, it was clear the time had now come for decisive action. Though the steady advocate of political reform, his policy, as we have seen, had been to attempt this by constitutional methods, not by violence. But all his more moderate plans had been overthrown by the explosion of the iconoclasts. The outrages then perpetrated had both alienated the Catholics and disgusted the more moderate portion of the Protestants; while the divisions of the Protestants among themselves had so far paralyzed their action, that the whole strength of the party of reform had never been fairly exerted in the conflict. That conflict, unprepared as the nation was for it, had been most disastrous. Everywhere the arms of the regent had been victorious. It was evident the hour for resistance had not yet come.

Yet for William to remain in his present position was hazardous in the extreme. Rumors had gone abroad that the duke of Alva would soon be in the{301} Netherlands, at the head of a force sufficient to put down all opposition. "Beware of Alva," said his wife's kinsman, the landgrave of Hesse, to William; "I know him well."[891] The prince of Orange also knew him well,—too well to trust him. He knew the hard, inexorable nature of the man who was now coming with an army at his back, and clothed with the twofold authority of judge and executioner. The first blow would, he knew, be aimed at the highest mark. To await Alva's coming would be to provoke his fate. Yet the prince felt all the dreariness of his situation. "I am alone," he wrote to the Landgrave William of Hesse, "with dangers menacing me on all sides, yet without one trusty friend to whom I can open my heart."[892]

Margaret seems to have been less prepared than might have been expected for the decision of Orange. Yet she determined not to let him depart from the country without an effort to retain him. She accordingly sent her secretary, Berty, to the prince at Antwerp, to enter into the matter more freely, and, if possible, prevail on him to review the grounds of his decision. William freely, and at some length, stated his reasons for declining the oath. "If I thus blindly surrender myself to the will of the king, I may be driven to do what is most repugnant to my principles, especially in the stern mode of dealing with the sectaries. I may be compelled to denounce some of my own family, even my wife, as Lutherans, and to deliver them into the hands of the executioner. Finally," said he, "the king may send some one in his royal name to rule over us, to whom it would be derogatory for me to submit." The name of "Alva" escaped, as if involuntarily, from his lips,—and he was silent.[893]

Berty endeavored to answer the objections of the prince, but the latter, interrupting him before he had touched on the duke of Alva, bluntly declared that the king would never be content while one of his great vassals was wedded to a heretic. It was his purpose, therefore, to leave the country at once, and retire to Germany; and with this remark he abruptly closed the conference.

The secretary, though mortified at his own failure, besought William to consent to an interview, before his departure, with Count Egmont, who, Berty trusted, might be more successful. To this William readily assented. This celebrated meeting took place at Willbroek, a village between Antwerp and Brussels. Besides the two lords there were only present Count Mansfeldt and the secretary.

After some discussion, in which each of the friends endeavored to win over the other to his own way of thinking, William expressed the hope that Egmont would save himself in time from the bloody tempest that, he predicted, was soon to fall on the heads of the Flemish nobles.[894] "I trust in the clemency of my sovereign," answered the count; "he cannot deal harshly with men who have restored order to the country." "This clemency you so extol," replied William, "will be your ruin. Much I fear that the Spaniards will make use of you as a bridge to effect their entrance into the country!"[895] With this ominous prediction on his lips, he tenderly embraced the count,{302} with tears in his eyes, bidding him a last farewell. And thus the two friends parted, like men who were never to meet again.

The different courses pursued by the two nobles were such as might be expected from the difference of both their characters and their circumstances. Egmont, ardent, hopeful, and confiding, easily surrendered himself to the illusions of his own fancy, as if events were to shape themselves according to his wishes. He had not the far-seeing eye of William, which seemed to penetrate into events as it did into characters. Nor had Egmont learned, like William, not to put his trust in princes. He was, doubtless, as sincerely attached to his country as the prince of Orange, and abhorred, like him, the system of persecution avowed by the government. But this persecution fell upon a party with whom he had little sympathy. William, on the other hand, was a member of that party. A blow aimed at them was aimed also at him. It is easy to see how different were the stakes of the two nobles in the coming contest, both in respect to their sympathies and their interests. Egmont was by birth a Fleming. His estates were in Flanders, and there, too, were his hopes of worldly fortune. Exile to him would have been beggary and ruin. But a large, if not the larger part of William's property, lay without the confines of the Netherlands. In withdrawing to Germany, he went to his native land. His kindred were still there. With them he had maintained a constant correspondence, and there he would be welcomed by troops of friends. It was a home, and no place of exile, that William was to find in Germany.

Shortly after this interview, the prince went to his estates at Breda, there to remain a few days before quitting the country.[896] From Breda he wrote to Egmont, expressing the hope that, when he had weighed them in his mind, he would be contented with the reasons assigned for his departure. The rest he would leave to God, who would order all for his own glory. "Be sure," he added, "you have no friend more warmly devoted to you than myself; for the love of you is too deeply rooted in my heart to be weakened either by time or distance."[897] It is pleasing to see that party spirit had not, as in the case of more vulgar souls, the power to rend asunder the ties which had so long bound these great men to each other; to see them still turning back, with looks of accustomed kindness, when they were entering the paths that were to lead in such opposite directions.

William wrote also to the king, acquainting him with what he had done, and explaining the grounds of it; at the same time renewing the declaration that, wherever he might be, he trusted never to be found wanting to the obligations of a true and faithful vassal. Before leaving Breda, the prince received a letter from the politic regent, more amiable in its import than might have been expected. Perhaps it was not wholly policy that made her unwilling to part with him in anger. She expressed her readiness to do him any favor in her power. She had always felt for him, she said, the same affection as for her own son, and should ever continue to do so.[898]{303}

On the last of April, William departed for Germany. He took with him all his household except his eldest son, the count of Buren, then a boy thirteen years old, who was pursuing his studies at the university of Louvain.[899] Perhaps William trusted to the immunities of Brabant, or to the tender age of the youth, for his protection. If so, he grievously miscalculated. The boy would serve as too important a hostage for his father, and Philip caused him to be transferred to Madrid; where, under the monarch's eye, he was educated in religious as well as in political sentiments very little in harmony with those of the prince of Orange. Fortunately, the younger brother, Maurice, who inherited the genius of his father, and was to carry down his great name to another generation, was allowed to receive his training under the paternal roof.[900]

Besides his family, William was accompanied by a host of friends and followers, some of them persons of high consideration, who preferred banishment with him to encountering the troubles that awaited them at home. Thus attended, he fixed his residence at Dillemburg, in Nassau, the seat of his ancestors, and the place of his own birth. He there occupied himself with studying the Lutheran doctrine under an experienced teacher of that persuasion;[901] and, while he kept a watchful eye on the events passing in his unhappy country, he endeavored to make himself acquainted with the principles of that glorious Reformation, of which, in connection with political freedom, he was one day to become the champion.

The departure of the prince of Orange caused general consternation in the Netherlands. All who were in anyway compromised by the late disturbances watched more anxiously than ever the signs of the coming tempest, as they felt they had lost the pilot who alone could enable them to weather it. Thousands prepared to imitate his example by quitting the country before it was too late. Among those who fled were the Counts Culemborg, Berg, Hoogstraten, Louis of Nassau, and others of inferior note, who passed into Germany, where they gathered into a little circle round the prince, waiting, like him, for happier days.

Some of the great lords, who had held out against the regent, now left alone, intimated their willingness to comply with her demands. "Count Hoorne," she writes to Philip, "has offered his services to me, and declares his readiness to take the oath. If he has spoken too freely, he says, it was not from any disaffection to the government, but from a momentary feeling of pique and irritation. I would not drive him to desperation, and from regard to his kindred I have consented that he should take his seat in the council{304} again."[902] The haughty tone of the duchess shows that she felt herself now so strongly seated as to be nearly indifferent whether the person she dealt with were friend or foe.[903]

Egmont, at this time, was endeavoring to make amends for the past by such extraordinary demonstrations of loyalty as should efface all remembrance of it. He rode through the land at the head of his troops, breaking up the consistories, arresting the rioters, and everywhere reëstablishing the Catholic worship. He loudly declared that those who would remain his friends must give unequivocal proofs of loyalty to the crown and the Roman Catholic faith. Some of those with whom he had been most intimate, disgusted with, this course, and distrusting, perhaps, such a deposit for their correspondence, sent back the letters they had received from him, and demanded their own in return.[904]

At Brussels Egmont entered into all the gayeties of the court, displaying his usual magnificence in costly fêtes and banquets, which the duchess of Parma sometimes honored with her presence. The count's name appears among those which she mentions to Philip as of persons well affected to the government. "It is impossible," she says, "not to be satisfied with his conduct."[905] Thus elated by the favor of the regent—next in importance to that of royalty itself—the ill-fated nobleman cherished the fond hope that the past would now be completely effaced from the memory of his master,—a master who might forget a benefit, but who was never known to forgive an injury.

The great towns throughout the land had now generally intimated their willingness to submit to the requisitions of Margaret, and many of them had admitted garrisons within their walls. Antwerp only, of the cities of Brabant, remained intractable. At length it yielded to the general impulse, and a deputation was sent to the regent to sue for her forgiveness, and to promise that the leaders in the late disturbances should be banished from the city. This was a real triumph to the royal party, considering the motley character of the population, in which there was so large an infusion of Calvinism. But Margaret, far from showing her satisfaction, coolly answered that they must first receive a garrison; then she would intercede for them with the king, and would herself consent to take up her residence in the city. In this the inhabitants, now well humbled, affected willingly to acquiesce; and soon after Count Mansfeldt, at the head of sixteen companies of foot, marched into Antwerp in battle array, and there quartered his soldiers as in a conquered capital.

A day was fixed for the regent's entry, which was to be made with all becoming pomp. Detachments of troops were stationed in the principal avenues, and on the thirtieth of April Margaret rode into Antwerp, escorted by twelve hundred Walloons, and accompanied by the knights of the Golden Fleece, the great lords, and the provincial magistrates. As the glittering procession passed through the files of the soldiery, along the principal streets,{305} it was greeted with the huzzas of the fickle populace. Thus cheered on her way, the regent proceeded first to the cathedral, where Te Deum was chanted, and on her knees she returned thanks to the Almighty, that this great city had been restored without battle or bloodshed to the king and the true faith.[906] As her eyes wandered over the desecrated altars and the walls despoiled of their ornaments, their rich sculpture and paintings, by the rude hand of violence, Margaret could not restrain her tears. Her first care was to recover, as far as possible, the stolen property, and repair the injuries to the building; the next, to punish the authors of these atrocities; and the execution in the market-place of four of the ringleaders proclaimed to the people of Antwerp that the reign of anarchy was over.

Margaret next caused the churches of the reformed party to be levelled with the ground. Those of the Romish faith, after being purified, and the marks of violence, as far as practicable, effaced, were restored to their ancient occupants. The Protestant schools were everywhere closed. The children who had been baptized with Protestant rites were now re-baptized after the Catholic.[907] In fine, the reformed worship was interdicted throughout the city, and that of the Romish church, with its splendid ritual, was established in its place.

On occupying Antwerp, Margaret had allowed all who were not implicated in the late riots to leave the city with their effects. Great numbers now availed themselves of this permission, and the streets presented the melancholy spectacle of husbands parting from their wives, parents from their children, or, it might be, taking their families along with them to some kinder land, where they would be allowed to worship God according to the dictates of their own consciences.

But even this glimmering of a tolerant spirit,—if so it can be called,—which Margaret exhibited at the outset, soon faded away before the dark spirit of the Inquisition. On the twenty-fourth of May, she published an edict, written in the characters of blood which distinguished the worst times of Charles and of Philip. By this edict, all who had publicly preached, or who had performed the religions exercises after the Protestant manner, all who had furnished the places of meeting, or had harbored or aided the preachers, all printers of heretical tracts, or artists who with their pencil had brought ridicule on the Church of Rome,—all, in short, who were guilty of these or similar iniquities, were to be punished with death and confiscation of property. Lighter offences were to be dealt with according to the measure of their guilt. The edict containing these humane provisions is of considerable length, and goes into a large specification of offences, from which few, if any, of the reformed could have been entirely exempt.[908] When this ordinance of the regent was known at Madrid, it caused great dissatisfaction. The king pronounced it "indecorous, illegal, and altogether repugnant to the true spirit of Christianity;"[909] and he ordered Margaret forthwith to revoke the edict. It was accordingly repealed on the twenty-third of July following. The reader who may be disposed to join heartily in the malediction may not be prepared to learn that the cause of the royal indignation was not that the{306} edict was too severe, but that it was too lenient! It nowhere denounced the right of private worship. A man might still be a heretic at heart and at his own fireside, so long as he did not obtrude it on the public. This did not suit the Inquisition, whose jealous eye penetrated into the houses and the hearts of men, dragging forth their secret thoughts into open day, and punishing these like overt acts. Margaret had something yet to learn in the school of persecution.[910]

While at Antwerp, the regent received an embassy from the elector of Saxony, the landgrave of Hesse, and other Protestant princes of Germany, interceding for the oppressed Lutherans, and praying that she would not consent to their being so grievously vexed by the Catholic government. Margaret, who was as little pleased with the plain terms in which this remonstrance was conveyed as with the object of it, coldly replied, that the late conduct of the Flemish Protestants doubtless entitled them to all this sympathy from the German princes; but she advised the latter to busy themselves with their own affairs, and leave the king of Spain to manage his as he thought best.[911]

Of all the provinces, Holland was the only one which still made resistance to the will of the regent. And here, as we have already seen, was gathered a military array of some strength. The head-quarters were at Brederode's town of Viana. But that chief had left his followers for the present, and had been secretly introduced into Amsterdam, where, as before noticed, he was busy in rousing a spirit of resistance in the citizens, already well prepared for it by their Protestant preachers. The magistrates, sorely annoyed, would gladly have rid themselves of Brederode's presence, but he had too strong a hold on the people. Yet, as hour after hour brought fresh tidings of the disasters of his party, the chief himself became aware that all hopes of successful resistance must be deferred to another day. Quitting the city by night, he contrived, with the aid of his friends, to make his escape into Germany. Some months he passed in Westphalia, occupied with raising forces for a meditated invasion of the Netherlands, when, in the summer of 1568, he was carried off by a fever, brought on, it is said, by his careless, intemperate way of life.[912]

Brederode was a person of a free and fearless temper,—with the defects, and the merits too, that attach to that sort of character. The friendship with which he seems to have been regarded by some of the most estimable persons of his party—Louis of Nassau, especially—speaks well for his heart. The reckless audacity of the man is shown in his correspondence; and the free manner in which he deals with persons and events makes his letters no less interesting than important for the light they throw on these troubled times. Yet it cannot be denied that, after all, Brederode is indebted much{307} more to the circumstances of his situation than to his own character for the space he occupies in the pages of history.[913]

Thus left without a leader, the little army which Brederode had gathered under his banner soon fell to pieces. Detachments, scattering over the country, committed various depredations, plundering the religious houses and engaging in encounters with the royal troops under Megen and Aremberg, in which the insurgents fared the worst. Thus broken on all sides, those who did not fall into the enemy's hands, or on the field, were too glad to make their escape into Germany. One vessel, containing a great number of fugitives, was wrecked, and all on board were made prisoners. Among them were two brothers, of the name of Battenberg; they were of a noble family, and prominent members of the league. They were at once, with their principal followers, thrown into prison, to await their doom from the bloody tribunal of Alva.

Deprived of all support from without, the city of Amsterdam offered no further resistance, but threw open its gates to the regent, and consented to accept her terms. These were the same that had been imposed on all the other refractory towns. The immunities of the city were declared to be forfeited, a garrison was marched into the place, and preparations were made for building a fortress, to guard against future commotions. Those who chose—with the customary exceptions—were allowed to leave the city. Great numbers availed themselves of the permission. The neighboring dikes were crowded with fugitives from the territory around, as well as from the city, anxiously waiting for vessels to transport them to Embden, the chief asylum of the exiles. There they stood, men, women, and children, a melancholy throng, without food, almost without raiment or any of the common necessaries of life, exciting the commiseration of even their Catholic adversaries.[914]

The example of Amsterdam was speedily followed by Delft, Haarlem, Rotterdam, Leyden, and the remaining towns of Holland, which now seemed to vie with one another in demonstrations of loyalty to the government. The triumph of the regent was complete. Her arms had been everywhere successful, and her authority was fully recognized throughout the whole extent of the Netherlands. Doubtful friends and open foes, Catholics and Reformers, were alike prostrate at her feet.[915] With the hour of triumph came also the hour of vengeance. And we can hardly doubt that the remembrance of past humiliation gave a sharper edge to the sword of justice. Fortresses, to overawe the inhabitants, were raised in the principal towns;[916] and the expense{308} of their construction, as well as of maintaining their garrison, was defrayed by fines laid on the refractory cities.[917] The regent's troops rode over the country, and wherever the reformed were gathered to hear the word, they were charged by the troopers, who trampled them under their horses' hoofs, shooting them down without mercy, or dragging them off by scores to execution. No town was so small that fifty at least did not perish in this way, while the number of the victims sometimes rose to two or even three hundred.[918] Everywhere along the road-side the traveller beheld the ghastly spectacle of bodies swinging from gibbets, or met with troops of miserable exiles flying from their native land.[919] Confiscation followed, as usual, in the train of persecution. At Tournay, the property of a hundred of the richest merchants was seized and appropriated by the government. Even the populace, like those animals who fall upon and devour one of their own number when wounded, now joined in the cry against the Reformers. They worked with the same alacrity as the soldiers in pulling down the Protestant churches; and from the beams, in some instances, formed the very gallows from which their unhappy victims were suspended.[920] Such is the picture, well charged with horrors, left to us by Protestant writers. We may be quite sure that it lost nothing of its darker coloring under their hands.

So strong was now the tide of emigration, that it threatened to depopulate some of the fairest provinces of the country. The regent, who at first rejoiced in this as the best means of ridding the land of its enemies, became alarmed, as she saw it was drawing off so large a portion of the industrious population. They fled to France, to Germany, and very many to England, where the wise Elizabeth provided them with homes, knowing well that, though poor, they brought with them a skill in the mechanic arts which would do more than gold and silver for the prosperity of her kingdom.

Margaret would have stayed this tide of emigration by promises of grace, if not by a general amnesty for the past. But though she had power to punish, Philip had not given her the power to pardon. And indeed promises of grace would have availed little with men flying from the dread presence of Alva.[921] It was the fear of him which gave wings to their flight, as Margaret herself plainly intimated in a letter to the duke, in which she deprecated his coming with an army, when nothing more was needed than a vigilant police.[922]

In truth, Margaret was greatly disgusted by the intended mission of the duke of Alva, of which she had been advised by the king some months before. She knew well the imperious temper of the man, and that, however high-sounding might be her own titles, the power would be lodged in his{309} hands. She felt this to be a poor requital for her past services,—a personal indignity, no less than an injury to the state. She gave free vent to her feelings on the subject in more than one letter to her brother.

In a letter of the fifth of April she says: "You have shown no regard for my wishes or my reputation. By your extraordinary restrictions on my authority, you have prevented my settling the affairs of the country entirely to my mind. Yet, seeing things in so good a state, you are willing to give all the credit to another, and leave me only the fatigue and danger.[923] But I am resolved, instead of wasting the remainder of my days, as I have already done my health, in this way, to retire and dedicate myself to a tranquil life in the service of God." In another letter, dated four weeks later, on the third of May, after complaining that the king withdraws his confidence more and more from her, she asks leave to withdraw, as the country is restored to order, and the royal authority more assured than in the time of Charles the Fifth.[924]

In this assurance respecting the public tranquillity, Margaret was no doubt sincere; as are also the historians who have continued to take the same view of the matter, down to the present time, and who consider the troubles of the country to have been so far composed by the regent, that, but for the coming of Alva, there would have been no revolution in the Netherlands. Indeed, there might have seemed to be good ground for such a conclusion. The revolt had been crushed. Resistance had everywhere ceased. The authority of the regent was recognized throughout the land. The league, which had raised so bold a front against the government, had crumbled away. Its members had fallen in battle, or lay waiting their sentence in dungeons, or were wandering as miserable exiles in distant lands. The name of Gueux, and the insignia of the bowl and the beggar's scrip, which they had assumed in derision, were now theirs by right. It was too true for a jest.

The party of reform had disappeared, as if by magic. Its worship was everywhere proscribed. On its ruins the Catholic religion had risen in greater splendor than ever. Its temples were restored, its services celebrated with more than customary pomp. The more austere and uncompromising of the Reformers had fled the country. Those who remained purchased impunity by a compulsory attendance on mass; or the wealthier sort, by the aid of good cheer or more substantial largesses, bribed the priest to silence.[925] At no time since the beginning of the Reformation had the clergy been treated with greater deference, or enjoyed a greater share of authority in the land. The dark hour of revolution seemed, indeed, to have passed away.

Yet a Fleming of that day might well doubt whether the prince of Orange were a man likely to resign his fair heritage and the land so dear to his heart without striking one blow in their defence. One who knew the wide spread of the principles of reform, and the sturdy character of the reformer, might distrust the permanence of a quiet which had been brought about by so much violence. He might rather think that, beneath the soil he was treading, the elements were still at work, which, at no distant time perhaps, would burst forth with redoubled violence, and spread ruin over the land! {310}

BOOK III.

CHAPTER I.

Alva's Appointment.—His remarkable March.—He arrives at Brussels.—Margaret disgusted.—Policy of the Duke.—Arrest of Egmont and Hoorne.

While Margaret was thus successful in bringing the country to a state of at least temporary tranquillity, measures were taken at the court of Madrid for shifting the government of the Netherlands into other hands, and for materially changing its policy.

We have seen how actively the rumors had been circulated, throughout the last year, of Philip's intended visit to the country. These rumors had received abundant warrant from his own letters, addressed to the regent and to his ministers at the different European courts. Nor did the king confine himself to professions. He applied to the French government to allow a free passage for his army through its territories. He caused a survey to be made of that part of Savoy through which his troops would probably march, and a map of the proposed route to be prepared. He ordered fresh levies from Germany to meet him on the Flemish frontier. And finally, he talked of calling the cortes together, to provide for the regency during his absence.

Yet whoever else might be imposed on, there was one potentate in Europe whose clear vision was not to be blinded by the professions of Philip, nor by all this bustle of preparation. This was the old pontiff, Pius the Fifth, who had always distrusted the king's sincerity. Pius had beheld with keen anguish the spread of heresy in the Low Countries. Like a true son of the Inquisition as he was, he would gladly have seen its fires kindled in every city of this apostate land. He had observed with vexation the apathy manifested by Philip. And he at length resolved to despatch a special embassy to Spain, to stimulate the monarch, if possible, to more decided action.

The person employed was the bishop of Ascoli, and the good father delivered his rebuke in such blunt terms as caused a sensation at the court of Madrid. In a letter to his ambassador at Rome, Philip complained that the pope should have thus held him up to Christendom as one slack in the performance of his duty. The envoy had delivered himself in so strange a manner, Philip added, that, but for the respect and love he bore his holiness, he might have been led to take precisely the opposite course to the one he intended.[926]{311}

Yet notwithstanding this show of indignation, had it not been for the outbreak of the iconoclasts, it is not improbable that the king might still have continued to procrastinate, relying on his favorite maxim, that "Time and himself were a match for any other two."[927] But the event which caused such a sensation throughout Christendom roused every feeling of indignation in the royal bosom,—and this from the insult offered to the crown as well as to the Church. Contrary to his wont, the king expressed himself with so much warmth on the subject, and so openly, that the most sceptical began at last to believe that the long talked of visit was at hand. The only doubt was as to the manner in which it should be made; whether the king should march at the head of an army, or attended only by so much of a retinue as was demanded by his royal state.

The question was warmly discussed in the council. Ruy Gomez, the courtly favorite of Philip, was for the latter alternative. A civil war he deprecated, as bringing ruin even to the victor.[928] Clemency was the best attribute of a sovereign, and the people of Flanders were a generous race, more likely to be overcome by kindness than by arms.[929] In these liberal and humane views the prince of Eboli was supported by the politic secretary, Antonio Perez, and by the duke of Feria, formerly ambassador to London, a man who to polished manners united a most insinuating eloquence.

But very different opinions, as might be expected, were advanced by the duke of Alva. The system of indulgence, he said, had been that followed by the regent, and its fruits were visible. The weeds of heresy were not to be extirpated by a gentle hand; and his majesty should deal with his rebellious vassals as Charles the Fifth had dealt with their rebel fathers at Ghent.[930] These stern views received support from the Cardinal Espinosa, who held the office of president of the council, as well as of grand inquisitor, and who doubtless thought the insult offered to the Inquisition not the least of the offences to be charged on the Reformers.

Each of the great leaders recommended the measures most congenial with his own character, and which, had they been adopted, would probably have{312} required his own services to carry them into execution. Had the pacific course been taken, Feria, or more probably Ruy Gomez, would have been intrusted with the direction of affairs. Indeed, Montigny and Bergen, still detained in reluctant captivity at Madrid, strongly urged the king to send the prince of Eboli, as a man, who, by his popular manners and known discretion, would be most likely to reconcile opposite factions.[931] Were violent measures, on the other hand, to be adopted, to whom could they be so well intrusted as to the duke himself, the most experienced captain of his time?

The king, it is said, contrary to his custom, was present at the meeting of the council, and listened to the debate. He did not intimate his opinion. But it might be conjectured to which side he was most likely to lean, from his habitual preference for coercive measures.[932]

Philip came to a decision sooner than usual. In a few days he summoned the duke, and told him that he had resolved to send him forthwith, at the head of an army, to the Netherlands. It was only, however, to prepare the way for his own coming, which would take place as soon as the country was in a state sufficiently settled to receive him.

All was now alive with the business of preparation in Castile. Levies were raised throughout the country. Such was the zeal displayed, that even the Inquisition and the clergy advanced a considerable sum towards defraying the expenses of an expedition which they seemed to regard in the light of a crusade.[933] Magazines of provisions were ordered to be established at regular stations on the proposed line of march. Orders were sent, that the old Spanish garrisons in Lombardy, Naples, Sicily, and Sardinia, should be transported to the place of rendezvous in Piedmont, to await the coming of the duke, who would supply their places with the fresh recruits brought with him from Castile.

Philip meanwhile constantly proclaimed that Alva's departure was only the herald of his own. He wrote this to Margaret, assuring her of his purpose to go by water, and directing her to have a squadron of eight vessels in readiness to convoy him to Zealand, where he proposed to land. The vessels were accordingly equipped. Processions were made, and prayers put up in all the churches, for the prosperous passage of the king. Yet there were some in the Netherlands who remarked that prayers to avert the dangers of the sea were hardly needed by the monarch in his palace at Madrid![934] Many of those about the royal person soon indulged in the same scepticism in regard to the king's sincerity, as week after week passed away, and no arrangements were made for his departure. Among the contradictory rumors at court in respect to the king's intention, the pope's nuncio wrote, it was impossible to get at the truth.[935] It was easy to comprehend the general policy of Philip,{313} but impossible to divine the particular plans by which, it was to be carried out. If such was the veil which hid the monarch's purposes even from the eyes of those who had nearest access to his person, how can we hope at this distance of time to penetrate it? Yet the historian of the nineteenth century is admitted to the perusal of many an authentic document revealing the royal purpose, which never came under the eye of the courtier of Madrid.

With all the light thus afforded, it is still difficult to say whether Philip ever was sincere in his professions of visiting the Netherlands. If he were so at any time, it certainly was not after he had decided on the mission of Alva. Philip widely differed from his father in a sluggishness of body which made any undertaking that required physical effort exceedingly irksome. He shrunk from no amount of sedentary labor, would toil from morning till midnight in his closet, like the humblest of his secretaries. But a journey was a great undertaking. After his visits, during his father's lifetime, to England and the Low Countries, he rarely travelled farther, as his graceless son satirically hinted, than from Madrid to Aranjuez, or Madrid to the Escorial. A thing so formidable as an expedition to Flanders, involving a tedious journey through an unfriendly land, or a voyage through seas not less unfriendly, was what, under ordinary circumstances, the king would have never dreamed of.

The present aspect of affairs, moreover, had nothing in it particularly inviting,—especially to a prince of Philip's temper. Never was there a prince more jealous of his authority; and the indignities to which he might have been exposed, in the disorderly condition of the country, might well have come to the aid of his constitutional sluggishness to deter him from the visit.

Under these circumstances, it is not strange that Philip, if he had ever entertained a vague project of a journey to the Netherlands, should have yielded to his natural habit of procrastination. The difficulties of a winter's voyage, the necessity of summoning the cortes and settling the affairs of the kingdom, his own protracted illness, furnished so many apologies for postponing the irksome visit, until the time had passed when such a visit could be effectual.

That he should so strenuously have asserted his purpose of going to the Netherlands may be explained by a desire in some sort to save his credit with those who seemed to think that the present exigency demanded he should go. He may have also thought it politic to keep up the idea of a visit to the Low Countries, in order to curb—as it no doubt had the effect in some degree of curbing—the licence of the people, who believed they were soon to be called to a reckoning for their misdeeds by their prince in person. After all, the conduct of Philip on this occasion, and the motives assigned for his delay in his letters to Margaret, must be allowed to afford a curious coincidence with those ascribed, in circumstances not dissimilar, by the Roman historian to Tiberius.[936]

On the fifteenth of April, 1567, Alva had his last audience of Philip at Aranjuez. He immediately after departed for Carthagena, where a fleet of thirty-six vessels, under the Genoese Admiral Doria, lay riding at anchor to receive him. He was detained some time for the arrival of the troops, and while there he received despatches from court containing his commission of captain-general, and particular instructions as to the course he was to pursue in the Netherlands. They were so particular, that, notwithstanding the broad extent of his powers, the duke wrote to his master complaining of his{314} want of confidence, and declaring that he had never been hampered by instructions so minute, even under the emperor.[937] One who has studied the character of Philip will find no difficulty in believing it.

On the twenty-seventh of April, the fleet weighed anchor; but in consequence of a detention of some days at several places on the Catalan coast, it did not reach the Genoese port of Savona till the seventeenth of the next month. The duke had been ill when he went on board; and his gouty constitution received no benefit from the voyage. Yet he did not decline the hospitalities offered by the Genoese nobles, who vied with the senate in showing the Spanish commander every testimony of respect. At Asti he was waited on by Albuquerque, the Milanese viceroy, and by ambassadors from different Italian provinces, eager to pay homage to the military representative of the Spanish monarch. But the gout under which Alva labored was now aggravated by an attack of tertian ague, and for a week or more he was confined to his bed.

Meanwhile the troops had assembled at the appointed rendezvous; and the duke, as soon as he had got the better of his disorder, made haste to review them. They amounted in all to about ten thousand men, of whom less than thirteen hundred were cavalry. But though small in amount, it was a picked body of troops, such as was hardly to be matched in Europe. The infantry, in particular, were mostly Spaniards,—veterans who had been accustomed to victory under the banner of Charles the Fifth, and many of them trained to war under the eye of Alva himself. He preferred such a body, compact and well disciplined as it was, to one which, unwieldy from its size, would have been less fitted for a rapid march across the mountains.[938]

Besides those of the common file, there were many gentlemen and cavaliers of note, who, weary of repose, came as volunteers to gather fresh laurels under so renowned a chief as the duke of Alva. Among these was Vitelli, marquis of Cetona, a Florentine soldier of high repute in his profession, but who, though now embarked in what might be called a war of religion, was held so indifferent to religion of any kind, that a whimsical epitaph on the sceptic denies him the possession of a soul.[939] Another of these volunteers was Mondragone, a veteran of Charles the Fifth, whose character for chivalrous exploit was unstained by those deeds of cruelty and rapine which were so often the reproach of the cavalier of the sixteenth century. The duties of the commissariat, particularly difficult in a campaign like the present, were intrusted to an experienced Spanish officer named Ibarra. To the duke of Savoy Alva was indebted for an eminent engineer named Paciotti, whose services proved of great importance in the construction of fortresses{315} in the Netherlands. Alva had also brought with him his two sons, Frederic and Ferdinand de Toledo,—the latter an illegitimate child, for whom the father showed as much affection as it was in his rugged nature to feel for any one. To Ferdinand was given the command of the cavalry, composed chiefly of Italians.[940]

Having reviewed his forces, the duke formed them into three divisions. This he did in order to provide the more easily for their subsistence on his long and toilsome journey. The divisions were to be separated from one another by a day's march; so that each would take up at night the same quarters which had been occupied by the preceding division on the night before. Alva himself led the van.[941]

He dispensed with artillery, not willing to embarrass his movements in his passage across the mountains. But he employed what was then a novelty in war. Each company of foot was flanked by a body of soldiers, carrying heavy muskets with rests attached to them. This sort of fire-arms, from their cumbrous nature, had hitherto been used only in the defence of fortresses. But with these portable rests, they were found efficient for field service, and as such came into general use after this period.[942] Their introduction by Alva may be regarded, therefore, as an event of some importance in the history of military art.

The route that Alva proposed to take was that over Mount Cenis, the same, according to tradition, by which Hannibal crossed the great barrier some eighteen centuries before.[943] If less formidable than in the days of the Carthaginian,{316} it was far from being the practicable route so easily traversed, whether by trooper or tourist, at the present day. Steep rocky heights, shaggy with forests, where the snows of winter still lingered in the midst of June; fathomless ravines, choked up with the débris washed down by the mountain torrent; paths scarcely worn by the hunter and his game, affording a precarious footing on the edge of giddy precipices; long and intricate defiles, where a handful of men might hold an army at bay, and from the surrounding heights roll down ruin on their heads;—these were the obstacles which Alva and his followers had to encounter, as they threaded their toilsome way through a country where the natives bore no friendly disposition to the Spaniards.

Their route lay at no great distance from Geneva, that stronghold of the Reformers; and Pius the Fifth would have persuaded the duke to turn from his course, and exterminate this "nest of devils and apostates,"[944]—as the Christian father was pleased to term them. The people of Geneva, greatly alarmed at the prospect of an invasion, applied to their Huguenot brethren for aid. The prince of Condé and the Admiral Coligni—the leaders of that party—offered their services to the French monarch to raise fifty thousand men, fall upon his old enemies, the Spaniards, and cut them off in the passes of the mountains. But Charles the Ninth readily understood the drift of this proposal. Though he bore little love to the Spaniards, he bore still less to the Reformers. He therefore declined this offer of the Huguenot chiefs, adding that he was able to protect France without their assistance.[945] The Genevans were accordingly obliged to stand to their own defence, though they gathered confidence from the promised support of their countrymen of Berne; and the whole array of these brave mountaineers was in arms, ready to repel any assault of the Spaniards on their own territory or on that of their allies, in their passage through the country. But this was unnecessary. Though Alva passed within six leagues of Geneva, and the request of the pontiff was warmly seconded by the duke of Savoy, the Spanish general did not deem it prudent to comply with it, declaring that his commission extended no further than to the Netherlands. Without turning to the right or to the left he held on, therefore, straight towards the mark, anxious only to extricate himself as speedily as possible from the perilous passes where he might be taken at so obvious disadvantage by an enemy.

Yet such were the difficulties he had to encounter, that a fortnight elapsed before he was able to set foot on the friendly plains of Burgundy,—that part of the ancient duchy which acknowledged the authority of Spain. Here he received the welcome addition to his ranks of four hundred horse, the flower of the Burgundian chivalry. On his way across the country he was accompanied by a French army of observation, some six thousand strong, which moved in a parallel direction, at the distance of six or seven leagues only from the line of march pursued by the Spaniards,—though without offering them any molestation.

Soon after entering Lorraine, Alva was met by the duke of that province, who seemed desirous to show him every respect, and entertained him with princely hospitality. After a brief detention, the Spanish general resumed{317} his journey, and on the 8th of August crossed the frontiers of the Netherlands.[946]

His long and toilsome march had been accomplished without an untoward accident, and with scarcely a disorderly act on the part of the soldiers. No man's property had been plundered. No peasant's hut had been violated. The cattle had been allowed to graze unmolested in the fields, and the flocks to wander in safety over their mountain pastures. One instance only to the contrary is mentioned,—that of three troopers, who carried off one or two straggling sheep as the army was passing through Lorraine. But they were soon called to a heavy reckoning for their transgression. Alva, on being informed of the fact, sentenced them all to the gallows. At the intercession of the duke of Lorraine, the sentence was so far mitigated by the Spanish commander, that one only of the three, selected by lot, was finally executed.[947]

The admirable discipline maintained among Alva's soldiers was the more conspicuous in an age when the name of soldier was synonymous with that of marauder. It mattered little whether it were a friendly country or that of a foe through which lay the line of march. The defenceless peasant was everywhere the prey of the warrior; and the general winked at the outrages of his followers, as the best means of settling their arrears.

What made the subordination of the troops, in the present instance, still more worthy of notice, was the great number of camp followers, especially courtesans, who hung on the skirts of the army. These latter mustered in such force, that they were divided into battalions and companies, marching each under its own banner, and subjected to a sort of military organization, like the men.[948] The duke seems to have been as careless of the morals of his soldiers as he was careful of their discipline; perhaps willing by his laxity in the one to compensate for his severity in the other.

It was of the last importance to Alva that his soldiers should commit no trespass, nor entangle him in a quarrel with the dangerous people through the midst of whom he was to pass; and who, from their superior knowledge of the country, as well as their numbers, could so easily overpower him. Fortunately, he had received such intimations before his departure as put him on his guard. The result was, that he obtained such a mastery over his followers, and enforced so perfect a discipline, as excited the general admiration of his contemporaries, and made his march to the Low Countries one of the most memorable events of the period.[949]{318}

At Thionville the duke was waited on by Barlaimont and Noircarmes, who came to offer the salutations of the regent, and at the same time to request to see his powers. At the same place, and on the way to the capital, the duke was met by several of the Flemish nobility, who came to pay their respects to him; among the rest, Egmont, attended by forty of his retainers. On his entering Alva's presence, the duke exclaimed to one of his officers, "Here comes a great heretic!" The words were overheard by Egmont, who hesitated a moment, naturally disconcerted by what would have served as an effectual warning to any other man. But Alva made haste to efface the impression caused by his heedless exclamation, receiving Egmont with so much cordiality as reassured the infatuated nobleman, who, regarding the words as a jest, before his departure presented the duke with two beautiful horses.—Such is the rather singular story which comes down to us on what must be admitted to be respectable authority.[950]

Soon after he had entered the country, the duke detached the greater part of his forces to garrison some of the principal cities, and relieve the Walloon troops on duty there, less to be trusted than his Spanish veterans. With the Milanese brigade he took the road to Brussels, which he entered on the twenty-second of August. His cavalry he established at ten leagues' distance from the capital, and the infantry he lodged in the suburbs. Far from being greeted by acclamations, no one came out to welcome him as he entered the city, which seemed like a place deserted. He went straight to the palace, to offer his homage to the regent. An altercation took place on the threshold between his halberdiers and Margaret's body-guard of archers, who disputed the entrance of the Spanish soldiers. The duke himself was conducted to the bed-chamber of the duchess, where she was in the habit of giving audience. She was standing, with a few Flemish nobles by her side; and she remained in that position, without stirring a single step to receive her visitor. Both parties continued standing during the interview, which lasted half an hour; the duke during the greater part of the time with his hat in his hand, although Margaret requested him to be covered. The curious spectators of this conference amused themselves by contrasting the courteous and even deferential manners of the haughty Spaniard with the chilling reserve and stately demeanor of the duchess.[951] At the close of the interview Alva withdrew to his own quarters at Culemborg House,—the place, it will be remembered, where the Gueux held their memorable banquet on their visit to Brussels.

The following morning, at the request of the council of state, the duke of Alva furnished that body with a copy of his commission. By this he was invested with the title of captain-general, and in that capacity was to exercise supreme control in all military affairs.[952] By another commission, dated two{319} months later, these powers were greatly enlarged. The country was declared in a state of rebellion; and, as milder means had failed to bring it to obedience, it was necessary to resort to arms. The duke was therefore commanded to levy war on the refractory people, and reduce them to submission. He was moreover to inquire into the causes of the recent troubles, and bring the suspected parties to trial, with full authority to punish or to pardon as he might judge best for the public weal.[953] Finally, a third commission, of more startling import than the two preceding, and which, indeed, might seem to supersede them altogether, was dated on the first of March, 1567. In the former instruments the duke was so far required to act in subordination to the regent, that her authority was declared to be unimpaired. But by virtue of this last commission he was invested with supreme control in civil as well as military affairs; and persons of every degree, including the regent herself, were enjoined to render obedience to his commands, as to those of the king.[954] Such a commission, which placed the government of the country in the hands of Alva, was equivalent to a dismissal of Margaret. The title of "regent," which still remained to her, was an empty mockery; nor could it be thought that she would be content to retain a barren sceptre in the country over which she had so long ruled.

It is curious to observe the successive steps by which Philip had raised Alva from the rank of captain-general of the army to supreme authority in the country. It would seem as if the king were too tenacious of power readily to part with it; and that it was only by successive efforts, as the conviction of the necessity of such a step pressed more and more on his mind, that he determined to lodge the government in the hands of Alva.

Whether the duke acquainted the council with the full extent of his powers, or, as seems more probable, communicated to that body only his first two commissions, it is impossible to say. At all events, the members do not appear to have been prepared for the exhibition of powers so extensive, and which, even in the second of the commissions, transcended those exercised by the regent herself. A consciousness that they did so had led Philip, in more than one instance, to qualify the language of the instrument, in such a manner as not to rouse the jealousy of his sister,—an artifice so obvious, that it probably produced a contrary effect. At any rate, Margaret did not affect to conceal her disgust, but talked openly of the affront put on her by the king, and avowed her determination to throw up the government.[955]

She gave little attention to business, passing most of her days in hunting, of which masculine sport she was excessively fond. She even threatened to{320} amuse herself with journeying about from place to place, leaving public affairs to take care of themselves, till she should receive the king's permission to retire.[956] From this indulgence of her spleen she was dissuaded by her secretary, Armenteros, who, shifting his sails to suit the breeze, showed, soon after Alva's coming, his intention to propitiate the new governor. There were others of Margaret's adherents less accommodating. Some high in office intimated very plainly their discontent at the presence of the Spaniards, from which they boded only calamity to the country.[957] Margaret's confessor, in a sermon preached before the regent, did not scruple to denounce the Spaniards as so many "knaves, traitors, and ravishers."[958] And although the remonstrance of the loyal Armenteros induced the duchess to send back the honest man to his convent, it was plain, from the warm terms in which she commended the preacher, that she was far from being displeased with his discourse.

The duke of Alva cared little for the hatred of the Flemish lords.[959] But he felt otherwise towards the regent. He would willingly have soothed her irritation; and he bent his haughty spirit to show, in spite of her coldness, a deference in his manner that must have done some violence to his nature. As a mark of respect, he proposed at once to pay her another visit, and in great state, as suited her rank. But Margaret, feigning or feeling herself too ill to receive him, declined his visit for some days, and at last, perhaps to mortify him the more, vouchsafed him only a private audience in her own apartment.

Yet at this interview she showed more condescension than before, and even went so far as to assure the duke that there was no one whose appointment would have been more acceptable to her.[960] She followed this, by bluntly demanding why he had been sent at all. Alva replied, that, as she had often intimated her desire for a more efficient military force, he had come to aid her in the execution of her measures, and to restore peace to the country before the arrival of his majesty.[961]—The answer could hardly have pleased the duchess, who doubtless considered she had done that without his aid, already.

The discourse fell upon the mode of quartering the troops. Alva proposed to introduce a Spanish garrison into Brussels. To this Margaret objected with great energy. But the duke on this point was inflexible. Brussels was the royal residence, and the quiet of the city could only be secured by a garrison. "If people murmur," he concluded, "you can tell them I am a headstrong man, bent on having my own way. I am willing to take all the odium{321} of the measure on myself."[962] Thus thwarted, and made to feel her inferiority when any question of real power was involved, Margaret felt the humiliation of her position even more keenly than before. The appointment of Alva had been from the first, as we have seen, a source of mortification to the duchess. In December, 1566, soon after Philip had decided on sending the duke, with the authority of captain-general, to the Low Countries, he announced it in a letter to Margaret. He had been as much perplexed, he said, in the choice of a commander, as she could have been; and it was only at her suggestion of the necessity of some one to take the military command, that he had made such a nomination. Alva was, however, only to prepare the way for him, to assemble a force on the frontier, establish the garrisons, and enforce discipline among the troops till he came.[963] Philip was careful not to alarm his sister by any hint of the extraordinary powers to be conferred on the duke, who thus seemed to be sent only in obedience to her suggestion, and in subordination to her authority.—Margaret knew too well that Alva was not a man to act in subordination to any one. But whatever misgivings she may have had, she hardly betrayed them in her reply to Philip, in the following February, 1567, when she told the king she "was sure he would never be so unjust, and do a thing so prejudicial to the interests of the country, as to transfer to another the powers he had vested in her."[964]

The appointment of Alva may have stimulated the regent to the extraordinary efforts she then made to reduce the country to order. When she had achieved this, she opened her mind more freely to her brother, in a letter dated July 12, 1567. "The name of Alva was so odious in the Netherlands that it was enough to make the whole Spanish nation detested.[965] She could never have imagined that the king would make such an appointment without consulting her." She then, alluding to orders lately received from Madrid, shows extreme repugnance to carry out the stern policy of Philip;[966]—a repugnance, it must be confessed, that seems to rest less on the character of the measures than on the difficulty of their execution.

When the duchess learned that Alva was in Italy, she wrote also to him, hoping at this late hour to arrest his progress by the assurance that the troubles were now at an end, and that his appearance at the head of an army would only serve to renew them. But the duke was preparing for his march across the Alps, and it would have been as easy to stop the avalanche in its descent, as to stay the onward course of this "man of destiny."

The state of Margaret's feelings was shown by the chilling reception she gave the duke on his arrival in Brussels. The extent of his powers, so much beyond what she had imagined, did not tend to soothe the irritation of the regent's temper; and the result of the subsequent interview filled up the measure of her indignation. However forms might be respected, it was clear the power had passed into other hands. She wrote at once to Philip, requesting, or rather requiring, his leave to withdraw without delay from the country. "If he had really felt the concern he professed for her welfare and reputation, he{322} would have allowed her to quit the government before being brought into rivalry with a man like the duke of Alva, who took his own course in everything, without the least regard to her. It afflicted her to the bottom of her soul to have been thus treated by the king."[967]

It may have given some satisfaction to Margaret, that in her feelings towards the duke she had the entire sympathy of the nation. In earlier days, in the time of Charles the Fifth, Alva had passed some time both in Germany and in the Netherlands, and had left there no favorable impression of his character. In the former country, indeed, his haughty deportment on a question of etiquette had caused some embarrassment to his master. Alva insisted on the strange privilege of the Castilian grandee to wear his hat in the presence of his sovereign. The German nobles, scandalized by this pretension in a subject, asserted that their order had as good a right to it as the Spaniards. It was not without difficulty that the proud duke was content to waive the contested privilege till his return to Spain.[968]

Another anecdote of Alva had left a still more unfavorable impression of his character. He had accompanied Charles on his memorable visit to Ghent, on occasion of its rebellion. The emperor asked the duke's counsel as to the manner in which he should deal with his refractory capital. Alva instantly answered, "Raze it to the ground!" Charles, without replying, took the duke with him to the battlements of the castle; and as their eyes wandered over the beautiful city spread out far and wide below, the emperor asked him, with a pun on the French name of Ghent (Gand), how many Spanish hides it would take to make such a glove (gant). Alva, who saw his master's displeasure, received the rebuke in silence. The story, whether true or not, was current among the people of Flanders, on whom it produced its effect.[969]

Alva was now sixty years old. It was not likely that age had softened the asperity of his nature. He had, as might be expected, ever shown himself the uncompromising enemy of the party of reform in the Low Countries. He had opposed the concession made to the nation by the recall of Granvelle. The only concessions he recommended to Philip were in order to lull the suspicions of the great lords, till he could bring them to a bloody reckoning for their misdeeds.[970] The general drift of his policy was perfectly understood in the Netherlands, and the duchess had not exaggerated when she dwelt on the detestation in which he was held by the people.

His course on his arrival was not such as to diminish the fears of the nation. His first act was to substitute in the great towns his own troops, men who knew no law but the will of their chief, for the Walloon garrisons, who might naturally have some sympathy with their countrymen. His next was to construct some fortresses, under the direction of one of the ablest engineers in Europe. The hour had come when, in the language of the prince of Orange, his countrymen were to be bridled by the Spaniard.

The conduct of Alva's soldiers underwent an ominous change. Instead of the discipline observed on the march, they now indulged in the most reckless licence. "One hears everywhere," writes a Fleming of the time, "of the oppressions of the Spaniards. Confiscation is going on to the right and left. If{323} a man has anything to lose, they set him down at once as a heretic."[971] If the writer may be thought to have borrowed something from his fears,[972] it cannot be doubted that the panic was general in the country. Men emigrated by thousands and tens of thousands, carrying with them to other lands the arts and manufactures which had so long been the boast and the source of prosperity of the Netherlands.[973] Those who remained were filled with a dismal apprehension,—a boding of coming evil, as they beheld the heavens darkening around them, and the signs of the tempest at hand.

A still deeper gloom lay upon Brussels, once the gayest city in the Netherlands,—now the residence of Alva. All business was suspended. Places of public resort were unfrequented. The streets were silent and deserted. Several of the nobles and wealthier citizens had gone to their estates in the country, to watch there the aspect of events.[974] Most of the courtiers who remained—the gilded insects that loved the sunshine—had left the regent's palace, and gone to pay their homage to her rival at Culemborg House. There everything went merrily as in the gayest time of Brussels. For the duke strove, by brilliant entertainments and festivities, to amuse the nobles and dissipate the gloom of the capital.[975]

In all this Alva had a deeper motive than met the public eye. He was carrying out the policy which he had recommended to Philip. By courteous and conciliatory manners he hoped to draw around him the great nobles, especially such as had been at all mixed up with the late revolutionary movements. Of these, Egmont was still at Brussels; but Hoorne had withdrawn to his estates at Weert.[976] Hoogstraten was in Germany with the prince of{324} Orange. As to the latter, Alva, as he wrote to the king, could not flatter himself with the hope of his return.[977]

The duke and his son Ferdinand both wrote to Count Hoorne in the most friendly terms, inviting him to come to Brussels.[978] But this distrustful nobleman still kept aloof. Alva, in a conversation with the count's secretary, expressed the warmest solicitude for the health of his master. He had always been his friend, he said, and had seen with infinite regret that the count's services were no better appreciated by the king.[979] But Philip was a good prince, and if slow to recompense, the count would find him not ungrateful. Could the duke but see the count, he had that to say which would content him. He would find he was not forgotten by his friends.[980] This last assurance had a terrible significance. Hoorne yielded at length to an invitation couched in terms so flattering. With Hoogstraten, Alva was not so fortunate. His good genius, or the counsel of Orange, saved him from the snare, and kept him in Germany.[981]

Having nothing further to gain by delay, Alva determined to proceed at once to the execution of his scheme. On the ninth of September the council of state was summoned to meet at Culemborg House. Egmont and Hoorne were present; and two or three of the officers, among them Paciotti, the engineer, were invited to discuss a plan of fortification for some of the Flemish cities. In the mean time, strong guards had been posted at all the avenues of the house, and cavalry drawn together from the country and established in the suburbs.

The duke prolonged the meeting until information was privately communicated to him of the arrest of Backerzele, Egmont's secretary, and Van Stralen, the burgomaster of Antwerp. The former was a person of great political sagacity, and deep in the confidence of Egmont; the latter, the friend of Orange, with whom he was still in constant correspondence. The arrest of Backerzele, who resided in Brussels, was made without difficulty, and possession was taken of his papers. Van Stralen was surrounded by a body of horse, as he was driving out of Antwerp in his carriage; and both of the unfortunate gentlemen were brought prisoners to Culemborg House.

As soon as these tidings were conveyed to Alva, he broke up the meeting of the council. Then, entering into conversation with Egmont, he strolled with him through the adjoining rooms, in one of which was a small body of soldiers. As the two nobles entered the apartment, Sancho Davila, the captain of the duke's guard, went up to Egmont, and in the king's name demanded his sword, telling him at the same time he was his prisoner.[982] The{325} count, astounded by the proceeding, and seeing himself surrounded by soldiers, made no attempt at resistance, but calmly, and with much dignity in his manner, gave up his sword, saying at the same time, "It has done the king service more than once."[983] And well might he say so; for with that sword he had won the fields of Gravelines and St. Quentin.[984]

Hoorne fell into a similar ambuscade, in another part of the palace, whither he was drawn while conversing with the duke's son Ferdinand de Toledo, who, according to his father's account, had the whole merit of arranging this little drama.[985] Neither did the admiral make any resistance; but, on learning Egmont's fate, yielded himself up, saying "he had no right to expect to fare better than his friend."[986]

It now became a question as to the disposal of the prisoners. Culemborg House was clearly no fitting place for their confinement. Alva caused several castles in the neighborhood of Brussels to be examined, but they were judged insecure. He finally decided on Ghent. The strong fortress of this city was held by one of Egmont's own partisans; but an order was obtained from the count requiring him to deliver up the keys into the hands of Ulloa, one of Alva's most trusted captains, who, at the head of a corps of Spanish veterans, marched to Ghent, and relieved the Walloon garrison of their charge. Ulloa gave proof of his vigilance, immediately on his arrival, by seizing a heavy wagon loaded with valuables belonging to Egmont, as it was leaving the castle gate.[987]

Having completed these arrangements, the duke lost no time in sending the two lords, under a strong military escort, to Ghent. Two companies of mounted arquebusiers rode in the front. A regiment of Spanish infantry, which formed the centre, guarded the prisoners; one of whom, Egmont, was borne in a litter carried by mules, while Hoorne was in his own carriage. The rear was brought up by three companies of light horse.

Under this strong guard the unfortunate nobles were conducted through the province where Egmont had lately ruled "with an authority," writes Alva's secretary, "greater even than that of the king."[988] But no attempt was made at a rescue; and as the procession entered the gates of Ghent, where Egmont's popularity was equal to his power, the people gazed in stupefied silence on the stern array that was conducting their lord to the place of his confinement.[989]{326}

The arrest of Egmont and Hoorne was known, in a few hours after it took place, to every inhabitant of Brussels; and the tidings soon spread to the furthest parts of the country. "The imprisonment of the lords," writes Alva to the king, "has caused no disturbance. The tranquillity is such that your majesty would hardly credit it."[990] True; but the tranquillity was that of a man stunned by a heavy blow. If murmurs were not loud, however, they were deep. Men mourned over the credulity of the two counts, who had so blindly fallen into the snare, and congratulated one another on the forecast of the prince of Orange, who might one day have the power to avenge them.[991] The event gave a new spur to emigration. In the space of a few weeks no loss than twenty thousand persons are said to have fled the country.[992] And the exiles were not altogether drawn from the humbler ranks; for no one, however high, could feel secure when he saw the blow aimed at men like Egmont and Hoorne, the former of whom, if he had given some cause of distrust, had long since made his peace with the government.

Count Mansfeldt made haste to send his son out of the country, lest the sympathy he had once shown for the confederates, notwithstanding his recent change of opinion, might draw on him the vengeance of Alva. The old count, whose own loyalty could not be impeached, boldly complained of the arrest of the lords as an infringement on the rights of the Toison d'Or, which body alone had cognizance of the causes that concerned their order, intimating, at the same time, his intention to summon a meeting of the members. But he was silenced by Alva, who plainly told him, that, if the chevaliers of the order did meet, and said so much as the credo, he would bring them to a heavy reckoning for it. As to the rights of the Toison, his majesty has pronounced on them, said the duke, and nothing remains for you but to submit.[993]

The arrest and imprisonment of the two highest nobles in the land, members of the council of state, and that without any communication with her, was an affront to the regent which she could not brook. It was in vain that Alva excused it by saying it had been done by the order of the king, who wished to spare his sister the unpopularity which must attach to such a proceeding. Margaret made no reply. She did not complain. She was too deeply wounded to complain. But she wrote to Philip, asking him to consider "whether it could be advantageous to him, or decorous for her, whom he did not disdain to call his sister, that she should remain longer in a place of which the authority was so much abridged, or rather annihilated."[994] She sent her secretary, Machiavelli, with her despatches, requesting an immediate reply from Philip, and adding that, if it were delayed, she should take silence for assent, and forthwith leave the country.

The duke of Alva was entirely resigned to the proposed departure of Margaret. However slight the restraint her presence might impose on his conduct, it exacted more deference than was convenient, and compelled him to{327} consult appearances. Now that he had shown his hand, he was willing to play it out boldly to the end. His first step, after the arrest of the lords, was to organize that memorable tribunal for inquiring into the troubles of the country, which has no parallel in history save the revolutionary tribunal of the French republic. The duke did not shrink from assuming the sole responsibility of his measures. He said, "it was better for the king to postpone his visit to the Netherlands, so that his ministers might bear alone the odium of these rigorous acts. When these had been performed, he might come like a gracious prince, dispensing promises and pardon."[995]

This admirable coolness must be referred in part to Alva's consciousness that his policy would receive the unqualified sanction of his master. Indeed, his correspondence shows that all he had done in the Low Countries was in accordance with a plan preconcerted with Philip. The arrest of the Flemish lords, accordingly, gave entire satisfaction at the court of Madrid, where it was looked on as the first great step in the measures of redress. It gave equal contentment to the court of Rome, where it was believed that the root of heresy was to be reached only by the axe of the executioner. Yet there was one person at that court of more penetration than those around him, the old statesman, Granvelle, who, when informed of the arrest of Egmont and Hoorne, inquired if the duke had "also drawn into his net the Silent one,"—as the prince of Orange was popularly called. On being answered in the negative, "Then," said the cardinal, "if he has not caught him, he has caught nothing."[996]

CHAPTER II.

The Council of Blood.—Its Organization.—General Prosecutions.—Civil War in France.—Departure of Margaret.—Her administration reviewed.

"Thank God," writes the duke of Alva to his sovereign, on the twenty-fourth of October, "all is tranquil in the Low Countries."[997] It was the same sentiment he had uttered a few weeks before. All was indeed tranquil. Silence reigned throughout the land. Yet it might have spoken more eloquently to the heart than the murmurs of discontent, or the loudest tumult of insurrection. "They say many are leaving the country," he writes in another despatch. "It is hardly worth while to arrest them. The repose of the nation is not to be brought about by cutting off the heads of those who are led astray by others."[998]{328}

Yet in less than a week after this, we find a royal ordinance, declaring that, "whereas his majesty is averse to use rigor towards those who have taken part in the late rebellion; and would rather deal with them in all gentleness and mercy,[999] it is forbidden to any one to leave the land, or to send off his effects, without obtaining a license from the authorities, under pain of being regarded as having taken part in the late troubles, and of being dealt with accordingly. All masters and owners of vessels, who shall aid such persons in their flight, shall incur the same penalties."[1000] The penalties denounced in this spirit of "gentleness and mercy," were death and confiscation of property.

That the law was not a dead letter was soon shown by the arrest of ten of the principal merchants of Tournay, as they were preparing to fly to foreign parts, and by the immediate confiscation of their estates.[1001] Yet Alva would have persuaded the world that he, as well as his master, was influenced only by sentiments of humanity. To the Spanish ambassador at Rome he wrote, soon after the seizure of the Flemish lords: "I might have arrested more; but the king is averse to shedding the blood of his people. I have the same disposition myself.[1002] I am pained to the bottom of my soul by the necessity of the measure."

But now that the great nobles had come into the snare, it was hardly necessary to keep up the affectation of lenity; and it was not long before he threw away the mask altogether. The arm of justice—of vengeance—was openly raised to strike down all who had offended by taking part in the late disturbances.

The existing tribunals were not considered as competent to this work. The regular forms of procedure were too dilatory, and the judges themselves would hardly be found subservient enough to the will of Alva. He created, therefore, a new tribunal, with extraordinary powers, for the sole purpose of investigating the causes of the late disorders, and for bringing the authors to punishment. It was called originally the "Council of his Excellency." The name was soon changed for that of the "Council of Tumults." But the tribunal is better known in history by the terrible name it received from the people, of the "Council of Blood."[1003]

It was composed of twelve judges, "the most learned, upright men, and of the purest lives"—if we may take the duke's word for it—that were to be found in the country.[1004] Among them were Noircarmes and Barlaimont, both members of the council of state. The latter was a proud noble, of one of the most ancient families in the land, inflexible in his character, and stanch in his{329} devotion to the crown. Besides these there were the presidents of the councils of Artois and Flanders, the chancellor of Gueldres, and several jurists of repute in the country. But the persons of most consideration in the body were two lawyers who had come in the duke's train from Castile. One of these, the doctor Del Rio, though born in Bruges, was of Spanish extraction. His most prominent trait seems to have been unlimited subserviency to the will of his employer.[1005] The other, Juan de Vargas, was to play the most conspicuous part in the bloody drama that followed. He was a Spaniard, and had held a place in the council of the Indies. His character was infamous; and he was said to have defrauded an orphan ward of her patrimony.[1006] When he left Spain, two criminal prosecutions are reported to have been hanging over him. This only made him the more dependent on Alva's protection. He was a man of great energy of character, unwearied in application to business, unscrupulous in the service of his employer, ready at any price to sacrifice to his own interest, not only every generous impulse, but the common feelings of humanity. Such, at least, are the dark colors in which he is portrayed by the writers of a nation which held him in detestation. Yet his very vices made him so convenient to the duke, that the latter soon bestowed on him more of his confidence than on any other of his followers;[1007] and in his correspondence with Philip we perpetually find him commending Vargas to the monarch's favor, and contrasting his "activity, altogether juvenile," with the apathy of others of the council.[1008] As Vargas was unacquainted with Flemish, the proceedings of the court were conducted, for his benefit, in Latin.[1009] Yet he was such a bungler, even in this language, that his blunders furnished infinite merriment to the people of Flanders, who took some revenge for their wrongs in the ridicule of their oppressor.

As the new court had cognizance of all cases, civil as well as criminal, which grew out of the late disorders, the amount of business soon pressed on them so heavily, that it was found expedient to distribute it into several departments among the different members. Two of the body had especial charge of the processes of the prince of Orange, his brother Louis, Hoogstraten, Culemborg, and the rest of William's noble companions in exile. To Vargas and Del Rio was intrusted the trial of the Counts Egmont and Hoorne. And two others, Blasere and Hessels, had the most burdensome and important charge of all such causes as came from the provinces.[1010]

The latter of these two worthies was destined to occupy a place second only to that of Vargas on the bloody roll of persecution. He was a native of Ghent, of sufficient eminence in his profession to fill the office of attorney-general of his province under Charles the Fifth. In that capacity he enforced the edicts with so much rigor as to make himself odious to his countrymen. In the new career now opened to him, he found a still wider field for his mischievous talents, and he entered on the duties of his office with such hearty zeal as soon roused general indignation in the people, who at a later day took terrible vengeance on their oppressor.[1011]{330}

As soon as the Council of Troubles was organized, commissioners were despatched into the provinces to hunt out the suspected parties. All who had officiated as preachers, or had harbored or aided them, who had joined the consistories, who had assisted in defacing or destroying the Catholic churches or in building the Protestant, who had subscribed the Compromise, or who, in short, had taken an active part in the late disorders, were to be arrested as guilty of treason. In the hunt after victims informations were invited from every source. Wives were encouraged to depose against husbands, children against parents. The prisons were soon full to overflowing, and the provincial and the local magistrates were busy in filing informations of the different cases, which were forwarded to the court at Brussels. When deemed of sufficient importance, the further examination of a case was reserved for the council itself. But for the most part the local authorities, or a commission sent expressly for the purpose, were authorized to try the cause, proceeding even to a definitive sentence, which, with the grounds of it, they were to lay before the Council of Troubles. The process was then revised by the committee for the provinces, who submitted the result of their examination to Vargas and Del Rio. The latter were alone empowered to vote in the matter; and their sentence, prepared in writing, was laid before the duke, who reserved to himself the right of a final decision. This he did, as he wrote to Philip, that he might not come too much under the direction of the council. "Your majesty well knows," he concludes, "that gentlemen of the law are unwilling to decide anything except upon evidence, while measures of state policy are not to be regulated by the laws."[1012]

It might be supposed that the different judges to whom the prisoner's case was thus separately submitted for examination, would have afforded an additional guaranty for his security. But quite the contrary; it only multiplied the chances of his conviction. When the provincial committee presented their report to Vargas and Del Rio,—to whom a Spanish jurist, auditor of the chancery of Valladolid, named Roda, was afterwards added,—if it proposed sentence of death, these judges declared it "was right, and that there was no necessity of reviewing the process." If, on the contrary, a lower penalty was recommended, the worthy ministers of the law were in the habit of returning the process, ordering the committee, with bitter imprecations, to revise it more carefully![1013]

As confiscation was one of the most frequent as well as momentous penalties adjudged by the Council of Blood, it necessarily involved a large number of civil actions; for the estate thus forfeited was often burdened with heavy claims on it by other parties. These were all to be established before the council. One may readily comprehend how small was the chance of justice before such a tribunal, where the creditor was one of the parties, and the crown the other. Even if the suit was decided in favor of the{331} creditor, it was usually so long protracted, and attended with such ruinous expense, that it would have been better for him never to have urged it.[1014]

The jurisdiction of the court, within the limits assigned to it, wholly superseded that of the great court of Mechlin, as well as of every other tribunal, provincial or municipal, in the country. Its decisions were final. By the law of the land, established by repeated royal charters in the provinces, no man in the Netherlands could be tried by any but a native judge. But of the present court, one member was a native of Burgundy, and two were Spaniards.

It might be supposed that a tribunal with such enormous powers, which involved so gross an outrage on the constitutional rights and long-established usages of the nation, would at least have been sanctioned by some warrant from the crown. It could pretend to nothing of the kind,—not even a written commission from the duke of Alva, the man who created it. By his voice alone he gave it an existence. The ceremony of induction into office was performed by the new member placing his hands between those of the duke, and swearing to remain true to the faith; to decide in all cases according to his sincere conviction; finally, to keep secret all the doings of the council, and to denounce any one who disclosed them.[1015] A tribunal clothed with such unbounded power, and conducted on a plan so repugnant to all principles of justice, fell nothing short, in its atrocity, of that inquisition so much dreaded in the Netherlands.

Alva, in order to be the better able to attend the council, appointed his own palace for the place of meeting. At first the sittings were held morning and afternoon, lasting sometimes seven hours in a day.[1016] There was a general attendance of the members, the duke presiding in person. After a few months, as he was drawn to a distance by more pressing affairs, he resigned his place to Vargas. Barlaimont and Noircarmes, disgusted with the atrocious character of the proceedings, soon absented themselves from the meetings. The more respectable of the members imitated their example. One of the body, a Burgundian, a follower of Granvelle, having criticised the proceedings somewhat too freely, had leave to withdraw to his own province;[1017] till at length only three or four councillors remained,—Vargas, Del Rio, Hessels, and his colleague,—on whom the despatch of the momentous business wholly devolved. To some of the processes we find not more than{332} three names subscribed. The duke was as indifferent to forms, as he was to the rights of the nation.[1018]

It soon became apparent, that, as in most proscriptions, wealth was the mark at which persecution was mainly directed. At least, if it did not actually form a ground of accusation, it greatly enhanced the chances of a conviction. The commissioners sent to the provinces received written instructions to ascertain the exact amount of property belonging to the suspected parties. The expense incident to the maintenance of so many officials, as well as of a large military force, pressed heavily on the government; and Alva soon found it necessary to ask for support from Madrid. It was in vain he attempted to obtain a loan from the merchants. "They refuse," he writes; "to advance a real on the security of the confiscations, till they see how the game we have begun is likely to prosper!"[1019]

In another letter to Philip, dated on the twenty-fourth of October, Alva, expressing his regret at the necessity of demanding supplies, says that the Low Countries ought to maintain themselves, and be no tax upon Spain. He is constantly thwarted by the duchess, and by the council of finance, in his appropriation of the confiscated property. Could he only manage things in his own way, he would answer for it that the Flemish cities, uncertain and anxious as to their fate, would readily acquiesce in the fair means of raising a revenue proposed by the king.[1020] The ambitious general, eager to secure the sole authority to himself, artfully touched on the topic which would be most likely to operate with his master. In a note on this passage, in his own handwriting, Philip remarked that this was but just; but as he feared that supplies would never be raised with the consent of the states, Alva must devise some expedient by which their consent in the matter might be dispensed with, and communicate it privately to him.[1021] This pregnant thought he soon after develops more fully in a letter to the duke.[1022]—It is edifying to observe the cool manner in which the king and his general discuss the best{333} means for filching a revenue from the pockets of the good people of the Netherlands.

Margaret,—whose name now rarely appears,—scandalized by the plan avowed of wholesale persecution, and satisfied that blood enough had been shed already, would fain have urged her brother to grant a general pardon. But to this the duke strongly objected. "He would have every man," he wrote to Philip, "feel that any day his house might fall about his ears.[1023] Thus private individuals would be induced to pay larger sums by way of composition for their offences."

As the result of the confiscations, owing to the drains upon them above alluded to, proved less than he expected, the duke, somewhat later, proposed a tax of one per cent. on all property, personal and real. But to this some of the council had the courage to object, as a thing not likely to be relished by the states. "That depends," said Alva, "on the way in which they are approached." He had as little love for the states-general as his master, and looked on applications to them for money as something derogatory to the crown. "I would take care to ask for it," he said, "as I did when I wanted money to build the citadel of Antwerp,—in such a way that they should not care to refuse it."[1024]

The most perfect harmony seems to have subsisted between the king and Alva in their operations for destroying the liberties of the nation,—so perfect, indeed, that it could have been the result only of some previous plan, concerted probably while the duke was in Castile. The details of the execution were doubtless left, as they arose, to Alva's discretion. But they so entirely received the royal sanction,—as is abundantly shown by the correspondence,—that Philip may be said to have made every act of his general his own. And not unfrequently we find the monarch improving on the hints of his correspondent by some additional suggestion.[1025] Whatever evils grew out of the male-administration of the duke of Alva, the responsibility for the measures rests ultimately on the head of Philip.

One of the early acts of the new council was to issue a summons to the prince of Orange, and to each of the noble exiles in his company, to present themselves at Brussels, and answer the charges against them. In the summons addressed to William, he was accused of having early encouraged a spirit of disaffection in the nation; of bringing the Inquisition into contempt; of promoting the confederacy of the nobles, and opening his own palace of Breda for their discussions; of authorizing the exercise of the reformed religion in Antwerp; in fine, of being at the bottom of the troubles, civil and religious, which had so long distracted the land. He was required, therefore, under pain of confiscation of his property and perpetual exile, to present himself before the council at Brussels within the space of six weeks, and answer{334} the charges against him. This summons was proclaimed by the public crier, both in Brussels and in William's own city of Breda; and a placard containing it was affixed to the door of the principal church in each of those places.[1026]

Alva followed up this act by another, which excited general indignation through the country. He caused the count of Buren, William's eldest son, then a lad pursuing his studies at Louvain, to be removed from the university, and sent to Spain. His tutor and several of his domestics were allowed to accompany him. But the duke advised the king to get rid of these attendants as speedily as possible, and fill their places with Spaniards.[1027] This unwarrantable act appears to have originated with Granvelle, who recommends it in one of his letters from Rome.[1028] The object, no doubt, was to secure some guaranty for the father's obedience, as well as to insure the loyalty of the heir of the house of Nassau, and to retain him in the Catholic faith. In the last object the plan succeeded. The youth was kindly treated by Philip; and his long residence in Spain nourished in him so strong an attachment to both Church and crown, that he was ever after divorced from the great cause in which his father and his countrymen were embarked.

The prince of Orange published to the world his sense of the injury done to him by this high-handed proceeding of the duke of Alva; and the university of Louvain boldly sent a committee to the council to remonstrate on the violation of their privileges. Vargas listened to them with a smile of contempt, and, as he dismissed the deputation, exclaimed, "Non curamus vestros privilegios,"—an exclamation long remembered for its bad Latin as well as for its insolence.[1029]

It may well be believed that neither William nor his friends obeyed the summons of the Council of Blood. The prince, in a reply which was printed and circulated abroad, denied the authority of Alva to try him. As a knight of the Golden Fleece, he had a right to be tried by his peers; as a citizen of Brabant, by his countrymen. He was not bound to present himself before an incompetent tribunal,—one, moreover, which had his avowed personal enemy at its head.[1030]

The prince, during his residence in Germany, experienced all those alleviations of his misfortunes which the sympathy and support of powerful friends could afford. Among these the most deserving of notice was William the Wise, a worthy son of the famous old landgrave of Hesse who so stoutly maintained the Protestant cause against Charles the Fifth. He and the elector of Saxony, both kinsmen of William's wife, offered to provide an establishment for the prince, while he remained in Germany, which, if it was not on the magnificent scale to which he had been used in the Netherlands, was still not unsuited to the dignity of his rank.[1031]

The little court of William received every day fresh accessions from those who fled from persecution in the Netherlands. They brought with them appeals to him from his countrymen to interpose in their behalf. The hour{335} had not yet come. But still he was not idle. He was earnestly endeavoring to interest the German princes in the cause, was strengthening his own resources, and steadily, though silently, making preparation for the great struggle with the oppressors of his country.

While these events were passing in the Netherlands, the neighboring monarchy of France was torn by those religious dissensions, which, at this period, agitated, in a greater or less degree, most of the states of Christendom. One half of the French nation was in arms against the other half. At the time of our history, the Huguenots had gained a temporary advantage; their combined forces were beleaguering the capital, in which the king and Catherine de Medicis, his mother, were then held prisoners. In this extremity, Catherine appealed to Margaret to send a body of troops to her assistance. The regent hesitated as to what course to take, and referred the matter to Alva. He did not hesitate. He knew Philip's disposition in regard to France, and had himself, probably, come to an understanding on the subject with the queen-mother in the famous interview at Bayonne. He proposed to send a body of three thousand horse to her relief. At the same time he wrote to Catherine, offering to leave the Low Countries, and march himself to her support with his whole strength, five thousand horse and fifteen thousand foot, all his Spanish veterans included, provided she would bring matters to an issue, and finish at once with the enemies of their religion. The duke felt how powerfully such a result would react on the Catholic cause in the Netherlands.

He besought Catherine to come to no terms with the rebels; above all, to make them no concessions. "Such concessions must, of necessity, be either spiritual or temporal. If spiritual, they would be opposed to the rights of God; if temporal, to the rights of the king. Better to reign over a ruined land, which yet remains true to its God and its king, than over one left unharmed for the benefit of the Devil and his followers the heretics."[1032] In this declaration, breathing the full spirit of religious and political absolutism, may be found the true key to the policy of Alva and of his master.

Philip heartily approved of the views taken by his general.[1033] As the great champion of Catholicism, he looked with the deepest interest on the religious struggle going forward in the neighboring kingdom, which exercised so direct an influence on the revolutionary movements in the Netherlands. He strongly encouraged the queen-mother to yield nothing to the heretics. "With his own person," he declared, "and with all that he possessed, he was ready to serve the French crown in its contests with the rebels."[1034] Philip's zeal in the cause was so well understood in France, that some of the Catholic leaders did not scruple to look to him, rather than to their own government, as the true head of their party.[1035]{336}

Catherine de Medicis did not discover the same uncompromising spirit, and had before this disgusted her royal son-in-law by the politic views which mingled with her religion. On the present occasion she did not profit by the brilliant offer made to her by Alva to come in person at the head of his army. She may have thought so formidable a presence might endanger the independence of the government. Roman Catholic as she was at heart, she preferred, with true Italian policy, balancing the rival factions against each other, to exterminating either of them altogether. The duke saw that Catherine was not disposed to strike at the root of the evil, and that the advantages to be secured by success would be only temporary. He contented himself, therefore, with despatching a smaller force, chiefly of Flemish troops, under Aremberg. Before the count reached Paris, the battle of St. Denis had been fought. Montmorenci fell; but the royal party was victorious. Catherine made a treaty with the discomfited Huguenots, as favorable to them as if they, not she, had won the fight. Alva, disgusted with the issue, ordered the speedy return of Aremberg, whose presence, moreover, was needed, on a more active theatre of operations.

During all this while Margaret's position afforded a pitiable contrast to the splendid elevation which she had occupied for so many years as head of the government. Not only had the actual power passed from her hands, but she felt that all her influence had gone with it. She hardly enjoyed even the right of remonstrance. In this position, she had the advantage of being more favorably situated for criticizing the conduct of the administration, than when she was herself at the head of it. She became more sensible of the wrongs of the people,—now that they were inflicted by other hands than her own. She did not refuse to intercede in their behalf. She deprecated the introduction of a garrison into the good city of Brussels. If this were necessary, she still besought the duke not to allow the loyal inhabitants to be burdened with the maintenance of the soldiers.[1036] But he turned a deaf ear to her petition. She urged that, after the chastisement already inflicted on the nation, the only way to restore quiet was by a general amnesty. The duke replied, that no amnesty could be so general but there must be some exceptions, and it would take time to determine who should be excepted. She recommended that the states be called together to vote the supplies. He evaded this also by saying it would be necessary first to decide on the amount of the subsidy to be raised.[1037] The regent felt that in all matters of real moment she had as little weight as any private individual in the country.

From this state of humiliation she was at last relieved by the return of her secretary, Machiavelli, who brought with him despatches from Ruy Gomez, Philip's favorite minister. He informed the duchess that the king, though, reluctantly, had at last acceded to her request, and allowed her to resign the government of the provinces. In token of his satisfaction with her conduct, his majesty had raised the pension which she had hitherto enjoyed, of eight thousand florins, to fourteen thousand, to be paid her yearly during the{337} remainder of her life. This letter was dated on the sixth of October.[1038] Margaret soon after received one, dated four days later, from Philip himself, of much the same tenor with that of his minister. The king, in a few words, intimated the regret he felt at his sister's retirement from office, and the sense he entertained of the services she had rendered him by her long and faithful administration.[1039]

The increase of the pension showed no very extravagant estimate of these services; and the parsimonious tribute which, after his long silence, he now, in a few brief sentences, paid to her deserts, too plainly intimated, that all she had done had failed to excite even a feeling of gratitude in the bosom of her brother.[1040] At the same time with the letter to Margaret came a commission to the duke of Alva, investing him with the title of regent and governor-general, together with all the powers that had been possessed by his predecessor.[1041]

Margaret made only one request of Philip previous to her departure. This he denied her. Her father, Charles the Fifth, at the time of his abdication, had called the states-general together, and taken leave of them in a farewell address, which was still cherished as a legacy by his subjects. Margaret would have imitated his example. The grandeur of the spectacle pleased her imagination; and she was influenced, no doubt, by the honest desire of manifesting, in the hour of separation, some feelings of a kindly nature for the people over whom she had ruled for so many years.

But Philip, as we have seen, had no relish for these meetings of the states. He had no idea of consenting to them on an emergency no more pressing than the present. Margaret was obliged, therefore, to relinquish the pageant, and to content herself with taking leave of the people by letters addressed to the principal cities of the provinces. In these she briefly touched on the difficulties which had lain in her path, and on the satisfaction which she felt at having, at length, brought the country to a state of tranquillity and order. She besought them to remain always constant in the faith in which they had been nurtured, as well as in their loyalty to a prince so benign and merciful as the king, her brother. In so doing the blessing of Heaven would rest upon them; and for her own part, she would ever be found ready to use her good offices in their behalf.[1042]

She proved her sincerity by a letter written to Philip, before her departure, in which she invoked his mercy in behalf of his Flemish subjects. "Mercy," she said, "was a divine attribute. The greater the power possessed by a monarch, the nearer he approached the Deity, and the more should he strive to imitate the divine clemency and compassion.[1043] His royal predecessors had{338} contented themselves with punishing the leaders of sedition, while they spared the masses who repented. Any other course would confound the good with the bad, and bring such calamities on the country as his majesty could not fail to appreciate."[1044]—Well had it been for the fair fame of Margaret, if her counsels had always been guided by such wise and magnanimous sentiments.

The tidings of the regent's abdication were received with dismay throughout the provinces. All the errors of her government, her acts of duplicity, the excessive rigor with which she had of late visited offences,—all were forgotten in the regret felt for her departure. Men thought only of the prosperity which the country had enjoyed under her rule, the confidence which in earlier years she had bestowed on the friends of the people, the generous manner in which she had interposed, on more than one occasion, to mitigate the hard policy of the court of Madrid. And as they turned from these more brilliant passages of her history, their hearts were filled with dismay while they looked gloomily into the future.

Addresses poured in upon her from all quarters. The different cities vied with one another in expressions of regret for her departure, while they invoked the blessings of Heaven on her remaining days. More than one of the provinces gave substantial evidence of their good-will by liberal donatives. Brabant voted her the sum of twenty-five thousand florins, and Flanders, thirty thousand.[1045] The neighboring princes, and among them Elizabeth of England, joined with the people of the Netherlands in professions of respect for the regent, as well as of regret that she was to relinquish the government.[1046]

Cheered by these assurances of the consideration in which she was held both at home and abroad, Margaret quitted Brussels at the close of December, 1567. She was attended to the borders of Brabant by Alva, and thence conducted to Germany, by Count Mansfeldt and an escort of Flemish nobles.[1047] There bidding adieu to all that remained of her former state, she pursued her journey quietly to Italy. For some time she continued with her husband in his ducal residence at Parma. But, wherever lay the fault, it was Margaret's misfortune to taste but little of the sweets of domestic intercourse. Soon afterwards she removed to Naples, and there permanently established her abode on estates which had been granted her by the crown. Many years later, when her son, Alexander Farnese, was called to the government of the Netherlands, she quitted her retirement to take part with him in the direction of public affairs. It was but for a moment; and her present departure from the Netherlands may be regarded as the close of her political existence.

The government of Margaret continued from the autumn of 1559 to the end of 1567, a period of eight years. It was a stormy and most eventful period; for it was then that the minds of men were agitated to their utmost depths by the new doctrines which gave birth to the revolution. Margaret's regency, indeed, may be said to have furnished the opening scenes of that great drama. The inhabitants of the Low Countries were accustomed to the sway of a{339} woman. Margaret was the third of her line that had been intrusted with the regency. In qualifications for the office she was probably not inferior to her predecessors. Her long residence in Italy had made her acquainted with the principles of government in a country where political science was more carefully studied than in any other quarter of Europe. She was habitually industrious; and her robust frame was capable of any amount of labor. If she was too masculine in her nature to allow of the softer qualities of her sex, she was, on the other hand, exempt from the fondness for pleasure and from most of the frivolities which belonged to the women of the voluptuous clime in which she had lived. She was stanch in her devotion to the Catholic faith; and her loyalty was such, that, from the moment of assuming the government, she acknowledged no stronger motive than that of conformity to the will of her sovereign. She was fond of power; and she well knew that, with Philip, absolute conformity to his will was the only condition on which it was to be held.

With her natural good sense, and the general moderation of her views, she would, doubtless, have ruled over the land as prosperously as her predecessors, had the times been like theirs. But, unhappily for her, the times had greatly changed. Still Margaret, living on the theatre of action, and feeling the pressure of circumstances, would have gone far to conform to the change. But unfortunately she represented a prince, dwelling at a distance, who knew no change himself, allowed no concessions to others,—whose conservative policy rested wholly on the past.

It was unfortunate for Margaret, that she never fully possessed the confidence of Philip. Whether from distrust of her more accommodating temper, or of her capacity for government, he gave a larger share of it, at the outset, to Granvelle than to her. If the regent could have been blind to this, her eyes would soon have been opened to the fact by the rivals who hated the minister. It was not long before she hated him too. But the removal of Granvelle did not establish her in her brother's confidence. It rather increased his distrust, by the necessity it imposed on her of throwing herself into the arms of the opposite party, the friends of the people. From this moment Philip's confidence was more heartily bestowed on the duke of Alva, even on the banished Granvelle, than on the regent. Her letters remained too often unanswered. The answers, when they did come, furnished only dark and mysterious hints of the course to be pursued. She was left to work out the problem of government by herself, sure for every blunder to be called to a strict account. Rumors of the speedy coming of the king suggested the idea that her own dominion was transitory, soon to be superseded by that of a higher power.

Under these disadvantages she might well have lost all reliance on herself. She was not even supplied with the means of carrying out her own schemes. She was left without money, without arms, without the power to pardon,—more important, with a brave and generous race, than the power to punish. Thus, destitute of resources, without the confidence of her employer, with the people stoutly demanding concessions on the one side, with the sovereign sternly refusing them on the other, it is little to say that Margaret was in a false position: her position was deplorable. She ought not to have remained in it a day after she found that she could not hold it with honor. But Margaret was too covetous of power readily to resign it. Her misunderstanding with her husband made her, moreover, somewhat dependent on her brother.

At last came the Compromise and the league. Margaret's eyes seemed now to be first opened to the direction of the course she was taking. This was followed by the explosion of the iconoclasts. The shock fully awoke her from her delusion. She was as zealous for the Catholic Church as Philip{340} himself; and she saw with horror that it was trembling to its foundations. A complete change seemed to take place in her convictions,—in her very nature. She repudiated all those with whom she had hitherto acted. She embraced, as heartily as he could desire, the stern policy of Philip. She proscribed, she persecuted, she punished,—and that with an excess of rigor that does little honor to her memory. It was too late. The distrust of Philip was not to be removed by this tardy compliance with his wishes. A successor was already appointed; and at the very moment when she flattered herself that the tranquillity of the country and her own authority were established on a permanent basis, the duke of Alva was on his march across the mountains.

Yet it was fortunate for Margaret's reputation that she was succeeded in the government by a man like Alva. The darkest spots on her administration became light when brought into comparison with his reign of terror. From this point of view it has been criticized by the writers of her own time and those of later ages.[1048] And in this way, probably, as the student who ponders the events of her history may infer, a more favorable judgment has been passed upon her actions than would be warranted by a calm and deliberate scrutiny.

CHAPTER III.

Numerous Arrests.—Trials and Executions.—Confiscations.—Orange assembles an Army.—Battle of Heyligerlee.—Alva's Proceedings.

In the beginning of 1568, Philip, if we may trust the historians, resorted to a very extraordinary measure for justifying to the world his rigorous proceedings against the Netherlands. He submitted the case to the Inquisition at Madrid; and that ghostly tribunal, after duly considering the evidence derived from the information of the king and of the inquisitors in the Netherlands, came to the following decision. All who had been guilty of heresy, apostasy, or sedition, and all, moreover, who, though professing themselves good Catholics, had offered no resistance to these, were, with the exception of a few specified individuals, thereby convicted of treason in the highest degree.[1049]

This sweeping judgment was followed by a royal edict, dated on the same day, the sixteenth of February, in which, after reciting the language of the Inquisition, the whole nation, with the exception above stated, was sentenced, without distinction of sex or age, to the penalties of treason,—death and confiscation of property; and this, the decree went on to say, "without any hope{341} of grace whatever, that it might serve for an example and a warning to all future time!"[1050]

It is difficult to give credit to a story so monstrous, repeated though it has been by successive writers without the least distrust of its correctness. Not that anything can be too monstrous to be believed of the Inquisition. But it is not easy to believe that a sagacious prince like Philip the Second, however willing he might be to shelter himself under the mantle of the Holy Office, could have lent himself to an act as impolitic as it was absurd; one that, confounding the innocent with the guilty, would drive both to desperation,—would incite the former, from a sense of injury, to take up rebellion, by which there was nothing more to lose, and the latter to persist in it, since there was nothing more to hope.[1051]

The messenger who brought to Margaret the royal permission to resign the regency delivered to Alva his commission as captain-general of the Netherlands. This would place the duke, as Philip wrote to him, beyond the control of the council of finance, in the important matter of the confiscations.[1052] It raised him, indeed, not only above that council, but above every other council in the country. It gave him an authority not less than that of the sovereign himself. And Alva prepared to stretch this to an extent greater than any sovereign of the Netherlands had ever ventured on. The time had now come to put his terrible machinery into operation. The regent was gone, who, if she could not curb, might at least criticize his actions. The prisons were full; the processes were completed. Nothing remained but to pass sentence and to execute.

On the fourth of January, 1568, we find eighty-four persons sentenced to death at Valenciennes, on the charge of having taken part in the late movements,—religious or political.[1053] On the twentieth of February, ninety-five persons were arraigned before the Council of Blood, and thirty-seven capitally convicted.[1054] On the twentieth of March thirty-five more were condemned.[1055] The governor's emissaries were out in every direction. "I heard that preaching was going on at Antwerp," he writes to Philip; "and I sent my own provost there, for I cannot trust the authorities. He arrested a good number of heretics. They will never attend another such meeting. The magistrates complain that the interference of the provost was a violation of their privileges. The magistrates may as well take it patiently."[1056] The pleasant manner in which the duke talks over the fate of his victims{342} with his master may remind one of the similar dialogues between Petit André and Louis the Eleventh, in "Quentin Durward."

The proceedings in Ghent may show the course pursued in the other cities. Commissioners were sent to that capital, to ferret out the suspected. No than a hundred and forty-seven were summoned before the council at Brussels. Their names were cried about the streets, and posted up in placards on the public buildings. Among them were many noble and wealthy individuals. The officers were particularly instructed to ascertain the wealth of the parties. Most of the accused contrived to make their escape. They preferred flight to the chance of an acquittal by the bloody tribunal,—though flight involved certain banishment and confiscation of property. Eighteen only answered the summons by repairing to Brussels. They were all arrested on the same day, at their lodgings, and, without exception, were sentenced to death! Five or six of the principal were beheaded. The rest perished on the gallows.[1057]

Impatient of what seemed to him a too tardy method of following up his game, the duke determined on a bolder movement, and laid his plans for driving a goodly number of victims into the toils at once. He fixed on Ash Wednesday for the time,—the beginning of Lent, when men, after the Carnival was past, would be gathered soberly in their own dwellings.[1058] The officers of justice entered their premises at dead of night; and no less than five hundred citizens were dragged from their beds and hurried off to prison.[1059] They all received sentence of death![1060] "I have reiterated the sentence again and again," he writes to Philip, "for they torment me with inquiries whether in this or that case it might not be commuted for banishment. They weary me of my life with their importunities."[1061] He was not too weary, however, to go on with the bloody work; for in the same letter we find him reckoning{343} that three hundred heads more must fall before it will be time to talk of a general pardon.[1062]

It was common, says an old chronicler, to see thirty or forty persons arrested at once. The wealthier burghers might be seen, with their arms pinioned behind them, dragged at the horse's tail to the place of execution.[1063] The poorer sort were not even summoned to take their trial in Brussels. Their cases were despatched at once, and they were hung up, without further delay, in the city or in the suburbs.[1064]

Brandt, in his History of the Reformation, has collected many particulars respecting the persecution, especially in his own province of Holland, during that "reign of terror." Men of lower consideration, when dragged to prison, were often cruelly tortured on the rack, to extort confessions, implicating themselves or their friends. The modes of death adjudged by the bloody tribunal were various. Some were beheaded with the sword,—a distinction reserved, as it would seem, for persons of condition. Some were sentenced to the gibbet, and others to the stake.[1065] This last punishment, the most dreadful of all, was confined to the greater offenders against religion. But it seems to have been left much to the caprice of the judges, sometimes even of the brutal soldiery who superintended the executions. At least we find the Spanish soldiers, on one occasion, in their righteous indignation, throwing into the flames an unhappy Protestant preacher whom the court had sentenced to the gallows.[1066]

The soldiers of Alva were many of them veterans who had borne arms against the Protestants under Charles the Fifth,—comrades of the men who at that very time were hunting down the natives of the New World, and slaughtering them by thousands in the name of religion. With them the sum and substance of religion were comprised in a blind faith in the Romish Church, and in uncompromising hostility to the heretic. The life of the heretic was the most acceptable sacrifice that could be offered to Jehovah. With hearts thus seared by fanaticism, and made callous by long familiarity with human suffering, they were the very ministers to do the bidding of such a master as the duke of Alva.

The cruelty of the persecutors was met by an indomitable courage on the part of their victims. Most of the offences were, in some way or other, connected with religion. The accused were preachers, or had aided and comforted the preachers, or had attended their services, or joined the consistories, or afforded evidence, in some form, that they had espoused the damnable doctrines of heresy. It is precisely in such a case, where men are called to suffer for conscience' sake, that they are prepared to endure all,—to die in defence of their opinions. The storm of persecution fell on persons of every condition; men and women, the young, the old, the infirm and helpless. But the weaker the party, the more did the spirit rise to endure his sufferings. Many affecting instances are recorded of persons who, with no support but their trust in heaven, displayed the most heroic fortitude in the presence of{344} their judges, and, by the boldness with which they asserted their opinions, seemed even to court the crown of martyrdom. On the scaffold and at the stake this intrepid spirit did not desert them; and the testimony they bore to the truth of the cause for which they suffered had such an effect on the bystanders, that it was found necessary to silence them. A cruel device for more effectually accomplishing this was employed by the officials. The tip of the tongue was seared with a red-hot iron, and the swollen member then compressed between two plates of metal screwed fast together. Thus gagged, the groans of the wretched sufferer found vent in strange sounds, that excited the brutal merriment of his tormentors.[1067]

But it is needless to dwell longer on the miseries endured by the people of the Netherlands in this season of trial. Yet, if the cruelties perpetrated in the name of religion are most degrading to humanity, they must be allowed to have called forth the most sublime spectacle which humanity can present,—that of the martyr offering up his life on the altar of principle.

It is difficult—in fact, from the data in my possession, not possible—to calculate the number of those who fell by the hand of the executioner in this dismal persecution.[1068] The number, doubtless, was not great as compared with the population of the country,—not so great as we may find left, almost every year of our lives, on a single battle-field. When the forms of legal proceedings are maintained, the movements of justice—if the name can be so profaned—are comparatively tardy. It is only, as in the French Revolution, when thousands are swept down by the cannon, or whole cargoes of wretched victims are plunged at once into the waters, that death moves on with the gigantic stride of pestilence and war.

But the amount of suffering from such a persecution is not to be estimated merely by the number of those who have actually suffered death, when the fear of death hung like a naked sword over every man's head. Alva had expressed to Philip the wish that every man, as he lay down at night, or as he rose in the morning, "might feel that his house, at any hour, might fall and crush him!"[1069] This humane wish was accomplished. Those who escaped death had to fear a fate scarcely less dreadful, in banishment and confiscation of property. The persecution very soon took this direction; and persecution when prompted by avarice is even more odious than when it springs from{345} fanaticism, which, however degrading in itself, is but the perversion of the religious principle.

Sentence of perpetual exile and confiscation was pronounced at once against all who fled the country.[1070] Even the dead were not spared; as is shown by the process instituted against the marquis of Bergen, for the confiscation of his estates on the charge of treason. That nobleman had gone with Montigny, as the reader may remember, on his mission to Madrid, where he had recently died,—more fortunate than his companion, who survived for a darker destiny. The duke's emissaries were everywhere active in making inventories of the property of the suspected parties. "I am going to arrest some of the richest and worst offenders," writes Alva to his master, "and bring them to a pecuniary composition."[1071] He shall next proceed, he says, against the delinquent cities. In this way a round sum will flow into his majesty's coffers.[1072] The victims of this class were so numerous, that we find a single sentence of the council sometimes comprehending eighty or a hundred individuals. One before me, in fewer words than are taken up by the names of the parties, dooms no less than a hundred and thirty-five inhabitants of Amsterdam to confiscation and exile.[1073]

One may imagine the distress brought on this once flourishing country by this wholesale proscription; for besides the parties directly interested, there was a host of others incidentally affected,—hospitals and charitable establishments, widows and helpless orphans, now reduced to want by the failure of the sources which supplied them with their ordinary subsistence.[1074] Slow and sparing must have been the justice doled out to such impotent creditors, when they preferred their claims to a tribunal like the Council of Blood! The effect was soon visible in the decay of trade and the rapid depopulation of the towns. Notwithstanding the dreadful penalties denounced against fugitives, great numbers, especially from the border states, contrived to make their escape. The neighboring districts of Germany opened their arms to the wanderers; and many a wretched exile from the northern provinces, flying across the frozen waters of the Zuyder Zee, found refuge within the hospitable walls of Embden.[1075] Even in an inland city like Ghent, half the houses, if we may credit the historian, were abandoned.[1076] Not a family was there, he says, but some of its members had tasted the bitterness of exile or of death.[1077] "The fury of persecution," writes the prince of Orange, "spreads such horror throughout the nation, that thousands, and among them some of{346} the principal Papists, have fled a country where tyranny seems to be directed against all, without distinction of faith."[1078]

Yet in a financial point of view the results did not keep pace with Alva's wishes. Notwithstanding the large amount of the confiscations, the proceeds, as he complains to Philip, were absorbed in so many ways, especially by the peculation of his agents, that he doubted whether the expense would not come to more than the profits![1079] He was equally dissatisfied with the conduct of other functionaries. The commissioners sent into the provinces, instead of using their efforts to detect the guilty, seemed disposed, he said, rather to conceal them. Even the members of the Council of Troubles manifested so much apathy in their vocation, as to give him more annoyance than the delinquents themselves![1080] The only person who showed any zeal in the service was Vargas. He was worth all the others of the council put together.[1081] The duke might have excepted from this sweeping condemnation Hessels, the lawyer of Ghent, if the rumors concerning him were true. This worthy councillor, it is said, would sometimes fall asleep in his chair, worn out by the fatigue of trying causes and signing death-warrants. In this state, when suddenly called on to pronounce the doom of the prisoner, he would cry out, half awake, and rubbing his eyes, "Ad patibulum! Ad patibulum!"—"To the gallows! To the gallows!"[1082]

But Vargas was after the duke's own heart. Alva was never weary of commending his follower to the king. He besought Philip to interpose in his behalf, and cause three suits which had been brought against that functionary to be suspended during his absence from Spain. The king accordingly addressed the judge on the subject. But the magistrate (his name should have been preserved) had the independence to reply, that "justice must take its course, and could not be suspended from favor to any one." "Nor would I have it so," answered Philip, (it is the king who tells it;) "I would do only what is possible to save the interests of Vargas from suffering by his absence." In conclusion he tells the duke, that Vargas should give no heed to what is said of the suits, since he must be assured, after the letter he has received under the royal hand, that his sovereign fully approves his conduct.[1083] But if Vargas, by his unscrupulous devotion to the cause, won the confidence of his employers, he incurred, on the other hand, the unmitigated hatred of the people,—a hatred deeper, it would almost seem, than even that which attached to Alva; owing perhaps to the circumstance that, as the instrument{347} for the execution of the duke's measures, Vargas was brought more immediately in contact with the people than the duke himself.

As we have already seen, many, especially of those who dwelt in the border provinces, escaped the storm of persecution by voluntary exile. The suspected parties would seem to have received, not unfrequently, kindly intimations from the local magistrates of the fate that menaced them.[1084] Others, who lived in the interior, were driven to more desperate courses. They banded together in considerable numbers, under the name of the "wild Gueux,"—"Gueux sauvages,"—and took refuge in the forests, particularly of West Flanders. Thence they sallied forth, fell upon unsuspecting travellers, especially the monks and ecclesiastics, whom they robbed, and sometimes murdered. Occasionally they were so bold as to invade the monasteries and churches, stripping them of their rich ornaments, their plate and other valuables, when, loaded with booty, they hurried back to their fastnesses. The evil proceeded to such a length, that the governor-general was obliged to order out a strong force to exterminate the banditti, while at the same time he published an edict, declaring that every district should be held responsible for the damage done to property within its limits by these marauders.[1085]

It might be supposed that, under the general feeling of resentment provoked by Alva's cruel policy, his life would have been in constant danger from the hand of the assassin. Once, indeed, he had nearly fallen a victim to a conspiracy headed by two brothers, men of good family in Flanders, who formed a plan to kill him while attending mass at an abbey in the neighborhood of Brussels.[1086] But Alva was not destined to fall by the hand of violence.

We may well believe that wise and temperate men, like Viglius, condemned the duke's proceedings as no less impolitic than cruel. That this veteran councillor did so is apparent from his confidential letters, though he was too prudent to expose himself to Alva's enmity by openly avowing it.[1087] There were others, however,—the princes of Germany, in particular,—who had no such reasons for dissembling, and who carried their remonstrances to a higher tribunal than that of the governor-general.

On the second of March, 1568, the Emperor Maximilian, in the name of the electors, addressed a letter to Philip, in behalf of his oppressed subjects in the Netherlands. He reminded the king that he had already more than once, and in most affectionate terms, interceded with him for a milder and more merciful policy towards his Flemish subjects. He entreated his royal kinsman to reflect whether it were not better to insure the tranquillity of the state by winning the hearts of his people, than by excessive rigor to drive them to extremity. And he concluded by intimating that, as a member of the Germanic body, the Netherlands had a right to be dealt with in that spirit of clemency which was conformable to the constitutions of the empire.[1088]

Although neither the arguments nor the importunity of Maximilian had power to shake the constancy of Philip, he did not refuse to enter into some explanation, if not vindication, of his conduct. "What I have done," he replied, "has been for the repose of the provinces, and for the defence of the{348} Catholic faith. If I had respected justice less, I should have despatched the whole business in a single day. No one acquainted with the state of affairs will find reason to censure my severity. Nor would I do otherwise than I have done, though I should risk the sovereignty of the Netherlands,—no, though the world should fall in ruins around me!"[1089]—Such a reply effectually closed the correspondence.

The wretched people of the Netherlands, meanwhile, now looked to the prince of Orange as the only refuge left them, under Providence. Those who fled the country, especially persons of higher condition, gathered round his little court at Dillemburg, where they were eagerly devising plans for the best means of restoring freedom to their country. They brought with them repeated invitations from their countrymen to William that he would take up arms in their defence. The Protestants of Antwerp, in particular, promised that, if he would raise funds by coining his plate, they would agree to pay him double the value of it.[1090]

William had no wish nearer his heart than that of assuming the enterprise. But he knew the difficulties that lay in the way, and, like a wise man, he was not disposed to enter on it till he saw the means of carrying it through successfully. To the citizens of Antwerp he answered, that not only would he devote his plate, but his person and all that he possessed, most willingly, for the freedom of religion and of his country.[1091] But the expenses of raising a force were great,—at the very least, six hundred thousand florins; nor could he now undertake to procure that amount, unless some of the principal merchants, whom he named, would consent to remain with him as security.[1092]

In the mean time he was carrying on an extensive correspondence with the German princes, with the leaders of the Huguenot party in France, and even with the English government,—endeavoring to propitiate them to the cause, as one in which every Protestant had an interest. From the elector of Saxony and the landgrave of Hesse he received assurances of aid. Considerable sums seem to have been secretly remitted from the principal towns in the Low Countries; while Culemborg, Hoogstraten, Louis of Nassau, and the other great lords who shared his exile, contributed as largely as their dilapidated fortunes would allow.[1093] The prince himself parted with his most precious effects, pawning his jewels, and sending his plate to the mint,—"the fit ornaments of a palace," exclaims an old writer, "but yielding little for the necessities of war."[1094]{349}

By these sacrifices a considerable force was assembled before the end of April, consisting of the most irregular and incongruous materials. There were German mercenaries, who had no interest in the cause beyond their pay; Huguenots from France, who brought into the field a hatred of the Roman Catholics which made them little welcome, even as allies, to a large portion of the Netherlands; and, lastly, exiles from the Netherlands,—the only men worthy of the struggle,—who held life cheap in comparison with the great cause to which they devoted it. But these, however strong in their patriotism, were for the most part simple burghers untrained to arms, and ill fitted to cope with the hardy veterans of Castile.

Before completing his levies, the prince of Orange, at the suggestion of his friend, the landgrave of Hesse, prepared and published a document, known as his "Justification," in which he vindicated himself and his cause from the charges of Alva. He threw the original blame of the troubles on Granvelle, denied having planned or even promoted the confederacy of the nobles, and treated with scorn the charge of having, from motives of criminal ambition, fomented rebellion in a country where he had larger interests at stake than almost any other inhabitant. He touched on his own services, as well as those of his ancestors, and the ingratitude with which they had been requited by the throne. And in conclusion, he prayed that his majesty might at length open his eyes to the innocence of his persecuted subjects, and that it might be made apparent to the world that the wrongs inflicted on them had come from evil counsellors rather than himself.[1095]

The plan of the campaign was, to distract the duke's attention, and, if possible, create a general rising in the country, by assailing it on three several points at once. A Huguenot corps, under an adventurer named Cocqueville, was to operate against Artois. Hoogstraten, with the lord of Villers, and others of the banished nobles, were to penetrate the country in a central direction through Brabant. While William's brothers, the Counts Louis and Adolphus, at the head of a force, partly Flemish, partly German, were to carry the war over the northern borders, into Groningen; the prince himself, who established his head-quarters in the neighborhood of Cleves, was busy in assembling a force prepared to support any one of the divisions, as occasion might require.{350}

It was the latter part of April, before Hoogstraten and Louis took the field. The Huguenots ware still later; and William met with difficulties which greatly retarded the formation of his own corps. The great difficulty—one which threatened to defeat the enterprise at its commencement—was the want of money, equally felt in raising troops and in enforcing discipline among them when they were raised. "If you have any love for me," he writes to his friend, the "wise" landgrave of Hesse, "I beseech you to aid me privately with a sum sufficient to meet the pay of the troops for the first month. Without this I shall be in danger of failing in my engagements,—to me worse than death; to say nothing of the ruin which such a failure must bring on our credit and on the cause."[1096] We are constantly reminded, in the career of the prince of Orange, of the embarrassments under which our own Washington labored in the time of the Revolution, and of the patience and unconquerable spirit which enabled him to surmount them.

Little need be said of two of the expeditions, which were failures. Hoogstraten had scarcely crossed the frontier, towards the end of April, when he was met by Alva's trusty lieutenant, Sancho Davila, and beaten, with considerable loss. Villers and some others of the rebel lords, made prisoners, escaped the sword of the enemy in the field, to fall by that of the executioner in Brussels. Hoogstraten, with the remnant of his forces, made good his retreat, and effected a junction with the prince of Orange.[1097]

Cocqueville met with a worse fate. A detachment of French troops was sent against him by Charles the Ninth, who thus requited the service of the same kind he had lately received from the duke of Alva. On the approach of their countrymen, the Huguenots basely laid down their arms. Cocqueville and his principal officers were surrounded, made prisoners, and perished ignominiously on the scaffold.[1098]

The enterprise of Louis of Nassau was attended with different results. Yet after he had penetrated into Groningen, he was sorely embarrassed by the mutinous spirit of the German mercenaries. The province was defended by Count Aremberg, its governor, a brave old officer, who had studied the art of war under Charles the Fifth; one of those models of chivalry on whom the men of a younger generation are ambitious to form themselves. He had been employed on many distinguished services; and there were few men at the court of Brussels who enjoyed higher consideration under both Philip and his father. The strength of his forces lay in his Spanish infantry. He was deficient in cavalry, but was soon to be reinforced by a body of horse under Count Megen, who was a day's march in his rear.

Aremberg soon came in sight of Louis, who was less troubled by the presence of his enemy than by the disorderly conduct of his German soldiers, clamorous for their pay. Doubtful of his men, Louis declined to give battle to a foe so far superior to him in everything but numbers. He accordingly established himself in an uncommonly strong position, which the nature of the ground fortunately afforded. In his rear, protected by a thick wood, stood the convent of Heyligerlee, which gave its name to the battle. In front the land sloped towards an extensive morass. His infantry, on the left, was partly screened by a hill from the enemy's fire; and on the right he stationed his cavalry, under the command of his brother Adolphus, who was to fall on the enemy's flank, should they be hardy enough to give battle.{351}

But Aremberg was too well acquainted with the difficulties of the ground to risk an engagement, at least till he was strengthened by the reinforcement under Megen. Unfortunately, the Spanish infantry, accustomed to victory, and feeling a contempt for the disorderly levies opposed to them, loudly called to be led against the heretics. In vain their more prudent general persisted in his plan. They chafed at the delay, refusing to a Flemish commander the obedience which they might probably have paid to one of their own nation. They openly accused him of treachery, and of having an understanding with his countrymen in the enemy's camp. Stung by their reproaches, Aremberg had the imprudence to do what more than one brave man has been led to do, both before and since; he surrendered his own judgment to the importunities of his soldiers. Crying out that "they should soon see if he were a traitor!"[1099] he put himself at the head of his little army, and marched against the enemy. His artillery, meanwhile, which he had posted on his right, opened a brisk fire on Louis's left wing, where, owing to the nature of the ground, it did little execution.

Under cover of this fire the main body of the Spanish infantry moved forward; but, as their commander had foreseen, the men soon became entangled in the morass; their ranks were thrown into disorder; and when at length, after long and painful efforts, they emerged on the firm ground, they were more spent with toil than they would have been after a hard day's march. Thus jaded, and sadly in disarray, they were at once assailed in front by an enemy who, conscious of his own advantage, was all fresh and hot for action. Notwithstanding their distressed condition, Aremberg's soldiers maintained their ground for some time, like men unaccustomed to defeat. At length, Louis ordered the cavalry on his right to charge Aremberg's flank. This unexpected movement, occurring at a critical moment, decided the day. Assailed in front and in flank, hemmed in by the fatal morass in the rear, the Spaniards were thrown into utter confusion. In vain their gallant leader, proof against danger, though not against the taunts of his followers, endeavored to rally them. His horse was killed under him; and as he was mounting another, he received a shot from a foot-soldier, and fell mortally wounded from his saddle.[1100] The rout now became general. Some took to the morass, and fell into the hands of the victors. Some succeeded in cutting their way through the ranks of their assailants, while many more lost their lives in the attempt. The ground was covered with the wounded and the dead. The victory was complete.

Sixteen hundred of the enemy were left on that fatal field. In the imagination of the exile thirsting for vengeance, it might serve in some degree to balance the bloody roll of victims whom the pitiless duke had sent to their account. Nine pieces of artillery, with a large quantity of ammunition and military stores, a rich service of plate belonging to Aremberg, and a considerable sum of money lately received by him to pay the arrears of the soldiers, fell into the hands of the patriots. Yet as serious a loss as any inflicted{352} on the Spaniards was that of their brave commander. His corpse, disfigured by wounds, was recognized, amid a heap of the slain, by the insignia of the Golden Fleece, which he wore round his neck, and which Louis sent to the prince, his brother, as a proud trophy of his victory.[1101] The joy of the conquerors was dimmed by one mournful event, the death of Count Adolphus of Nassau, who fell bravely fighting at the head of his troops, one of the first victims in the war of the revolution. He was a younger brother of William, only twenty-seven years of age. But he had already given promise of those heroic qualities which proved him worthy of the generous race from which he sprung.[1102]

The battle was fought on the twenty-third of May, 1568. On the day following, Count Megen arrived with a reinforcement; too late to secure the victory, but not, as it proved, too late to snatch the fruits of it from the victors. By a rapid movement, he succeeded in throwing himself into the town of Groningen, and thus saved that important place from falling into the hands of the patriots.[1103]

The tidings of the battle of Heyligerlee caused a great sensation through the country. While it raised the hopes of the malecontents, it filled the duke of Alva with indignation,—the greater as he perceived that the loss of the battle was to be referred mainly to the misconduct of his own soldiers. He saw with alarm the disastrous effect likely to be produced by so brilliant a success on the part of the rebels, in the very beginning of the struggle. The hardy men of Friesland would rise to assert their independence. The prince of Orange, with his German levies, would unite with his victorious brother, and, aided by the inhabitants, would be in condition to make formidable head against any force that Alva could muster. It was an important crisis, and called for prompt and decisive action. The duke, with his usual energy, determined to employ no agent here, but to take the affair into his own hands, concentrate his forces, and march in person against the enemy.

Yet there were some things he deemed necessary to be done, if it were only for their effect on the public mind, before entering on the campaign. On the twenty-eighth of May, sentence was passed on the prince of Orange, his brother Louis, and their noble companions. They were pronounced guilty of contumacy in not obeying the summons of the council, and of levying war against the king. For this they were condemned to perpetual banishment, and their estates confiscated to the use of the crown. The sentence was{353} signed by the duke of Alva.[1104] William's estates had been already sequestrated, and a body of Spanish troops was quartered in his town of Breda.

Another act, of a singular nature, intimated pretty clearly the dispositions of the government. The duke caused the Hôtel de Culemborg, where he had fixed his own residence before the regent's departure, and where the Gueux had held their meetings on coming to Brussels, to be levelled with the ground. On the spot a marble column was raised, bearing on each side of the base the following inscription: "Here once stood the mansion of Florence Pallant,"—the name of the count of Culemborg,—"now razed to the ground for the execrable conspiracy plotted therein against religion, the Roman Catholic Church, the king's majesty, and the country."[1105] Alva by this act intended doubtless to proclaim to the world, not so much his detestation of the confederacy—that would have been superfluous—as his determination to show no mercy to those who had taken part in it. Indeed, in his letters, on more than one occasion, he speaks of the signers of the Compromise as men who had placed themselves beyond the pale of mercy.

But all these acts were only the prelude to the dismal tragedy which was soon to be performed. Nearly nine months had elapsed since the arrest of the Counts Egmont and Hoorne. During all this time they had remained prisoners of state, under a strong guard, in the castle of Ghent. Their prosecution had been conducted in a deliberate, and indeed dilatory manner, which had nourished in their friends the hope of a favorable issue. Alva now determined to bring the trial to a close,—to pass sentence of death on the two lords, and to carry it into execution before departing on his expedition.

It was in vain that some of his counsellors remonstrated on the impolicy, at a crisis like the present, of outraging the feelings of the nation, by whom Egmont in particular was so much beloved. In vain they suggested that the two nobles would serve as hostages for the good behavior of the people during his absence, since any tumult must only tend to precipitate the fate of the prisoners.[1106] Whether it was that Alva distrusted the effect on his master of the importunities, from numerous quarters, in their behalf; or, what is far more likely, that he feared lest some popular rising, during his absence, might open the gates to his prisoners, he was determined to proceed at once to their execution. His appetite for vengeance may have been sharpened by mortification at the reverse his arms had lately experienced; and he may have felt that a blow like the present would be the most effectual to humble the arrogance of the nation.

There were some other prisoners of less note, but of no little consideration, who remained to be disposed of. Their execution would prepare the public mind for the last scene of the drama. There were nineteen persons who, at this time, lay in confinement in the castle of Vilvoorde, a fortress of great strength, two leagues distant from Brussels. They were chiefly men of rank, and for the most part members of the Union. For these latter, of course, there was no hope. Their trials were now concluded, and they were only{354} waiting their sentences. On the ominous twenty-eighth of May, a day on which the Council of Blood seems to have been uncommonly alert, they were all, without exception, condemned to be beheaded, and their estates were confiscated to the public use.

On the first of June, they were brought to Brussels, having been escorted there by nine companies of Spanish infantry, were conducted to the great square in front of the Hôtel de Ville, and, while the drums beat to prevent their last words from reaching the ears of the by-standers, their heads were struck off by the sword of the executioner. Eight of the number, who died in the Roman Catholic faith, were graciously allowed the rites of Christian burial. The heads of the remaining eleven were set upon poles, and their bodies left to rot upon the gibbet, like those of the vilest malefactors.[1107]

On the second of June, ten or twelve more, some of them persons of distinction, perished on the scaffold, in the same square in Brussels. Among these was Villers, the companion of Hoogstraten in the ill-starred expedition to Brabant, in which he was made prisoner. Since his captivity he had made some disclosures respecting the measures of Orange and his party, which might have entitled him to the consideration of Alva. But he had signed the Compromise.

On the following day, five other victims were led to execution within the walls of Vilvoorde, where they had been long confined. One of these has some interest for us, Casembrot, lord of Backerzele, Egmont's confidential secretary. That unfortunate gentleman had been put to the rack more than once, to draw from him disclosures to the prejudice of Egmont. But his constancy proved stronger than the cruelty of his persecutors. He was now to close his sufferings by an ignominious death; so far fortunate, however, that it saved him from witnessing the fate of his beloved master.[1108] Such were the gloomy scenes which ushered in the great catastrophe of the fifth of June.{355}

CHAPTER IV.

The Examination.—Efforts in their Behalf.—Specification of Charges.—Sentence of Death.—The Processes reviewed.

Nine months had now elapsed since the Counts Egmont and Hoorne had been immured within the strong citadel of Ghent. During their confinement they had met with even less indulgence than was commonly shown to prisoners of state. They were not allowed to take the air of the castle, and were debarred from all intercourse with the members of their families. The sequestration of their property at the time of their arrest had moreover reduced them to such extreme indigence, that but for the care of their friends they would have wanted the common necessaries of life.[1109]

During this period their enemies had not been idle. We have seen, at the time of the arrest of the two nobles, that their secretaries and their private papers had been also seized. "Backerzele," writes the duke of Alva to Philip, "makes disclosures every day respecting his master Count Egmont. When he is put to the torture, wonders may be expected from him in this way!"[1110] But all that the rack extorted from the unhappy man was some obscure intimation respecting a place in which Egmont had secreted a portion of his effects. After turning up the ground in every direction round the castle of Ghent, the Spaniards succeeded in disinterring eleven boxes filled with plate, and some caskets of jewels, and other precious articles,—all that now remained of Egmont's once splendid fortune.[1111]

Meanwhile commissioners were sent into the provinces placed under the rule of the two noblemen to collect information respecting their government. The burgomasters of the towns were closely questioned, and, where they showed reluctance, were compelled by menaces to answer. But what Alva chiefly relied on was the examination of the prisoners themselves.

On the twelfth of November, 1567, a commission composed of Vargas, Del Rio, and the secretary Pratz, proceeded to Ghent, and began a personal examination of Egmont. The interrogatories covered the whole ground of the recent troubles. They were particularly directed to ascertain Egmont's relations with the reformed party, but above all, his connection with the confederates,—the offence of deepest dye in the view of the commissioners. The examination continued through five days; and a record, signed and sworn to by the several parties, furnished the basis of the future proceedings against the prisoner. A similar course was then taken in regard to Hoorne.[1112]{356}

In the mean time the friends of the two nobles were making active exertions in their behalf. Egmont, as we have already seen, was married to a German princess, Sabina, sister of the elector of Bavaria,—a lady who, from her rank, the charm of her manners, and her irreproachable character, was the most distinguished ornament of the court of Brussels. She was the mother of eleven children, the eldest of them still of tender age. Surrounded by this numerous and helpless family, thus suddenly reduced from affluence to miserable penury, the countess became the object of general commiseration. Even the stern heart of Alva seems to have been touched, as he notices her "lamentable situation," in one of his letters to Philip.[1113]

The unhappy lady was fortunate in securing the services of Nicolas de Landas, one of the most eminent jurists of the country, and a personal friend of her husband. In her name, he addressed letters to several of the German princes, and to the Emperor Maximilian, requesting their good offices in behalf of her lord. He also wrote both to Alva and the king, less to solicit the release of Egmont—a thing little to be expected—than to obtain the removal of the cause from the Council of Blood to a court consisting of the knights of the Golden Fleece. To this both Egmont and Hoorne had a good claim, as belonging to that order, the statutes of which, solemnly ratified by Philip himself, guarantied to its members the right of being tried only by their peers. The frank and independent tone with which the Flemish jurist, himself also one of the order, and well skilled in the law, urged this claim on the Spanish monarch, reflects honor on his memory.

Hoorne's wife, also a German lady of high connection, and his step-mother, the countess-dowager, were unwearied in their exertions in his behalf. They wrote to the knights of the Golden Fleece, in whatever country residing, and obtained their written testimony to the inalienable right of the accused to be tried by his brethren.[1114] This was obviously a point of the last importance, since a trial by the Council of Blood was itself equivalent to a condemnation.

Several of the electors, as well as other princes of the empire, addressed Philip directly on the subject, beseeching him to deal with the two nobles according to the statutes of the order. Maximilian wrote two letters to the same purpose; and, touching on the brilliant services of Egmont, he endeavored to excite the king's compassion for the desolate condition of the countess and her children.[1115]

But it was not foreigners only who interceded in behalf of the lords. Mansfeldt, than whom Philip had not a more devoted subject in the Netherlands, implored his sovereign to act conformably to justice and reason in the matter.[1116] Count Barlaimont, who on all occasions had proved himself no less stanch in his loyalty, found himself now in an embarrassing situation,—being both a knight of the order and a member of the Council of Troubles. He wrote accordingly to Philip, beseeching his majesty to relieve him from the{357} necessity of either acting like a disloyal subject or of incurring the reproaches of his brethren.[1117]

Still more worthy of notice is the interference of Cardinal Granvelle, who, forgetting his own disgrace, for which he had been indebted to Egmont perhaps as much as to any other person, now generously interceded in behalf of his ancient foe. He invoked the clemency of Philip, as more worthy of a great prince than rigor. He called to mind the former good deeds of the count, and declared, if he had since been led astray, the blame was chargeable on others rather than on himself.[1118] But although the cardinal wrote more than once to the king in this strain, it was too late to efface the impression made by former communications, in which he had accused his rival of being a party to the treasonable designs of the prince of Orange.[1119] This impression had been deepened by the reports from time to time received from the regent, who at one period, as we have seen, withdrew her confidence altogether from Egmont. Thus the conviction of that nobleman's guilt was so firmly settled in the king's mind, that, when Alva received the government of the Netherlands, there can be little doubt that Egmont was already marked out as the first great victim to expiate the sins of the nation. The arguments and entreaties, therefore, used on the present occasion to dissuade Philip from his purpose, had no other effect than to quicken his movements. Anxious to rid himself of importunities so annoying, he ordered Alva to press forward the trial, adding, at the same time, that all should be made so clear that the world, whose eyes were now turned on these proceedings, might be satisfied of their justice.[1120]

Before the end of December the attorney-general Du Bois had prepared the articles of accusation against Egmont. They amounted to no less than ninety, some of them of great length. They chiefly rested on evidence derived from the personal examination, sustained by information gathered from other quarters. The first article, which, indeed, may be said to have been the key to all the rest, charged Egmont with having conspired with William and the other banished lords to shake off the Spanish rule, and divide the government among themselves. With this view he had made war on the faithful Granvelle, had sought to concentrate the powers of the various councils into one, had resisted the Inquisition, had urged the meeting of the states-general, in short, had thwarted, as far as possible, in every particular, the intentions of the king. He was accused, moreover, of giving encouragement to the sectaries. He had not only refused his aid when asked to repress their violence, but had repeatedly licensed their meetings, and allowed them to celebrate their religious rites. Egmont was too stanch a Catholic to warrant his own faith being called into question. It was only in connection with the political movements of the country that he was supposed to have countenanced the party of religious reform. Lastly he was charged, not only with abetting the confederacy of the nobles, but with having, in conjunction with the prince of Orange and his associates, devised the original plan of it. It was proof of the good-will he bore the league, that he had retained in his {358}service more than one member of his household after they had subscribed the Compromise. On these various grounds, Egmont was declared to be guilty of treason.[1121]

The charges, which cover a great space, would seem at the first glance to be crudely put together, confounding things trivial, and even irrelevant to the question, with others of real moment.[1122] Yet they must be admitted to have been so cunningly prepared as to leave an impression most unfavorable to the innocence of the prisoner. The attorney-general, sometimes audaciously perverting the answers of Egmont,[1123] at other times giving an exaggerated importance to his occasional admissions, succeeded in spreading his meshes so artfully, that it required no slight degree of coolness and circumspection, even in an innocent party, to escape from them.

The instrument was delivered to Egmont on the twenty-ninth of December. Five days only were allowed him to prepare his defence,—and that too without the aid of a friend to support, or of counsel to advise him. He at first resolutely declined to make a defence at all, declaring that he was amenable to no tribunal but that of the members of the order. Being informed, however, that if he persisted he would be condemned for contumacy, he consented, though with a formal protest against the proceeding as illegal, to enter on his defence.

He indignantly disclaimed the idea of any design to subvert the existing government. He admitted the charges in regard to his treatment of Granvelle, and defended his conduct on the ground of expediency,—of its being demanded by the public interest. On the same ground he explained his course in reference to some of the other matters charged on him, and especially in relation to the sectaries,—too strong in numbers, he maintained, to be openly resisted. He positively denied the connection imputed to him with the confederates; declaring that, far from countenancing the league, he had always lamented its existence, and discouraged all within his reach from joining it. In reply to the charge of not having dismissed Backerzele after it was known that he had joined the confederates, he excused himself by alleging the good services which his secretary had rendered the government, more especially in repressing the disorders of the iconoclasts. On the whole, his answers seem to have been given in good faith, and convey the impression—probably not far from the truth—of one who, while he did not approve of the policy of the crown, and thought, indeed, some of its measures impracticable, had no design to overturn the government.[1124]

The attorney-general next prepared his accusation of Count Hoorne, consisting of sixty-three separate charges. They were of much the same import with those brought against Egmont. The bold, impatient temper of the{359} admiral made him particularly open to the assault of his enemies. He was still more peremptory than his friend in his refusal to relinquish his rights as a knight of the Golden Fleece, and appear before the tribunal of Alva. When prevailed on to waive his scruples, his defence was couched in language so direct and manly as at once engages our confidence. "Unskilled as I am in this sort of business," he remarks, "and without the aid of counsel to guide me, if I have fallen into errors, they must be imputed, not to intention, but to the want of experience.... I can only beseech those who shall read my defence to believe that it has been made sincerely and in all truth, as becomes a gentleman of honorable descent."[1125]

By the remonstrances of the prisoners and their friends, the duke was at length prevailed on to allow them counsel. Each of the two lords obtained the services of five of the most eminent jurists of the country; who, to their credit, seem not to have shrunk from a duty which, if not attended with actual danger, certainly did not lie in the road to preferment.[1126]

The counsel of the two lords lost no time in preparing the defence of their clients, taking up each charge brought against them by the attorney-general, and minutely replying to it. Their defence was substantially the same with that which had been set up by the prisoners themselves, though more elaborate, and sustained by a greater array both of facts and arguments.[1127] Meanwhile the counsel did not remit their efforts to have the causes brought before the tribunal of the Toison d'Or. Unless this could be effected, they felt that all endeavors to establish the innocence of their clients would be unavailing.

Alva had early foreseen the embarrassment to which he would be exposed on this ground. He had accordingly requested Philip to stop all further solicitations by making known his own decision in the matter.[1128] The king in reply assured the duke that men of authority and learning, to whom the subject had been committed, after a full examination, entirely confirmed the decision made before Alva's departure, that the case of treason did not come within the cognizance of the Toison d'Or.[1129] Letters patent accompanied{360} this note, empowering the duke to try the cause.[1130] With these credentials Alva now strove to silence, if not to satisfy, the counsel of the prisoners; and, by a formal decree, all further applications for transferring the cause from his own jurisdiction to that of the Golden Fleece were peremptorily forbidden.

Yet all were not to be thus silenced. Egmont's countess still continued unwearied in her efforts to excite a sympathy in her lord's behalf in all those who would be likely to have any influence with the government. Early in 1568 she again wrote to Philip, complaining that she had not been allowed so much as to see her husband. She implored the king to take her and her children as sureties for Egmont, and permit him to be removed to one of his own houses. If that could not be, she begged that he might at least be allowed the air of the castle, lest, though innocent, his confinement might cost him his life. She alludes to her miserable condition, with her young and helpless family, and trusts in the king's goodness and justice that she shall not be forced to seek a subsistence in Germany, from which country she had been brought to Flanders by his father the emperor.[1131] The letter, says a chronicler of the time, was not to be read by any one without sincere commiseration for the writer.[1132]

The German princes, at the same time, continued their intercessions with the king for both the nobles; and the duke of Bavaria, and the duke and duchess of Lorraine, earnestly invoked his clemency in their behalf. Philip, wearied by this importunity but not wavering in his purpose, again called on Alva to press the trial to a conclusion.[1133]

Towards the end of April, 1568, came that irruption across the borders by Hoogstraten and the other lords, described in the previous chapter. Alva, feeling probably that his own presence might be required to check the invaders, found an additional motive for bringing the trials to a decision.

On the sixth of May, the attorney-general presented a remonstrance against the dilatory proceedings of Egmont's counsel, declaring that, although so many months had elapsed, they had neglected to bring forward their witnesses in support of their defence. He prayed that a day might be named for the termination of the process.[1134]

In the latter part of May, news came of the battle won by Louis of Nassau in the north. That now became certain which had before been only probable,—that Alva must repair in person to the seat of war, and assume the command{361} of the army. There could be no further delay. On the first of June, a decree was published declaring that the time allowed for the defence of the prisoners had expired, and that no evidence could henceforth be admitted.[1135] The counsel for the accused loudly protested against a decision which cut them off from all means of establishing the innocence of their clients. They had abundant testimony at hand, they said, and had only waited until the government should have produced theirs. This was plausible, as it was in the regular course for the prosecuting party to take precedence. But one can hardly doubt that the wary lawyers knew that too little was to be expected from a tribunal like the Council of Blood to wish to have the case brought to a decision. By delaying matters, some circumstance might occur,—perhaps some stronger expression of the public sentiment,—to work a favorable change in the mind of the king. Poor as it was, this was the only chance for safety; and every day that the decision was postponed was a day gained to their clients.

But no time was given for expostulation. On the day on which Alva's decree was published, the affair was submitted to the decision of the Council of Blood; and on the following morning, the second of June, that body—or rather Vargas and Del Rio, the only members who had a voice in the matter—pronounced both the prisoners guilty of treason, and doomed them to death. The sentence was approved by Alva.

On the evening of the fourth, Alva went in person to the meeting of the council. The sentences of the two lords, each under a sealed envelope, were produced, and read aloud by the secretary. They were both of precisely the same import. After the usual preamble, they pronounced the Counts Egmont and Hoorne to have been proved parties to the abominable league and conspiracy of the prince of Orange and his associates; to have given aid and protection to the confederates; and to have committed sundry malepractices in their respective governments in regard to the sectaries, to the prejudice of the holy Catholic faith. On these grounds they were adjudged guilty of treason and rebellion, and were sentenced accordingly to be beheaded with the sword, their heads to be set upon poles, and there to continue during the pleasure of the duke; their possessions, fiefs, and rights, of every description, to be confiscated to the use of the crown.[1136] These sentences were signed only with the name of Alva, and countersigned with that of the secretary Pratz.[1137]

Such was the result of these famous trials, which, from the peculiar circumstances that attended them, especially their extraordinary duration and the illustrious characters and rank of the accused, became an object of general interest throughout Europe. In reviewing them, the first question that occurs is in regard to the validity of the grounds on which the causes{362} were removed from the jurisdiction of the Toison d'Or. The decision of the "men of authority and learning," referred to by the king, is of little moment considering the influences under which such a decision in the court of Madrid was necessarily given. The only authority of any weight in favor of this interpretation seems to have been that of the president Viglius; a man well versed in the law, with the statutes of the order before him, and, in short, with every facility at his command for forming an accurate judgment in the matter.

His opinion seems to have mainly rested on the fact that, in the year 1473, a knight of the order, charged with a capital crime, submitted to be tried by the ordinary courts of law. But, on the other hand, some years later, in 1490, four knights accused of treason, the precise crime alleged against Egmont and Hoorne, were arraigned and tried before the members of the Toison. A more conclusive argument against Viglius was afforded by the fact, that in 1531 a law was passed, under the Emperor Charles the Fifth, that no knight of the Golden Fleece could be arrested or tried, for any offence whatever, by any other body than the members of his own order. This statute was solemnly confirmed by Philip himself in 1550; and no law, surely, could be devised covering more effectually the whole ground in question. Yet Viglius had the effrontery to set this aside as of no force, being so clearly in contempt of all precedents and statutes. A subterfuge like this, which might justify the disregard of any law whatever, found no favor with the members of the order. Arschot and Barlaimont, in particular, the most devoted adherents of the crown, and among the few knights of the Toison then in Brussels, openly expressed their dissent. The authority of a jurist like Viglius was of great moment, however, to the duke, who did not fail to parade it.[1138] But sorely was it to the disgrace of that timid and time-serving councillor, that he could thus lend himself, and in such a cause, to become the tool of arbitrary power. It may well lead us to give easier faith than we should otherwise have done to those charges of peculation and meanness which the regent, in the heat of party dissensions, so liberally heaped on him.[1139]

But whatever may be thought of the rights possessed by the Toison d'Or in this matter, there can be no doubt as to the illegality of the court before which the cause was brought;—a court which had no warrant for its existence but the will of Alva; where the judges, contrary to the law of the land, were foreigners; where the presiding officer was not even necessarily present at the trial of the causes on which he alone was to pass sentence.

If so little regard was paid to the law in the composition of this tribunal, scarcely more was shown to it in the forms of proceeding. On the present occasion it does not appear that any evidence was brought forward by the prisoners. And as we are in possession of only a small part of that which sustained the prosecution, it is not easy to form an opinion how far the{363} parties were or were not guilty of the crime imputed to them; still less whether that crime, according to the laws of the land, amounted to treason.[1140] The gravest charge made, with any apparent foundation, was that of a secret understanding with the confederates. The avowed object of the confederates was, in certain contingencies, to resist the execution of a particular ordinance;[1141] but without any design to overturn the government. This, by our law, could hardly be construed into treason. But in the Netherlands, in the time of the Spanish rule, the law may have been more comprehensive in its import; nor is it likely that the word "treason" was limited in so explicit a manner as by the English statute-book under the Plantagenets.[1142]

We have information of a curious document of the time, that may throw light on the matter. Peter d'Arset, president of Artois, was one of the original members of the Council of Troubles, but had retired from office before the trial of the two lords. It may have been from the high judicial station he held in one of Egmont's provinces, that he was consulted in regard to that nobleman's process. After an examination of the papers, he returned an answer, written in Latin, at great length, and with a purity of style that shows him to have been a scholar. In this, he goes over the whole ground of the accusation, article by article, showing the insufficiency of proof on every charge, and by argument and legal reference fully establishing the innocence of the accused. The president's opinion, so independently given, we may readily believe, found too little favor with the duke of Alva to be cited as authority.[1143]

But even though it were true that the two lords, in that season of public excitement, had been seduced from their allegiance for a time, some charity might have been shown to men who had subsequently broken with their former friends, and displayed the utmost zeal in carrying out the measures{364} of the government; a zeal in the case of Egmont, at least, which drew from the regent unqualified commendation.[1144] Something more might have been conceded to the man who had won for his sovereign the most glorious trophies of his reign. But Philip's nature, unhappily, as I have had occasion to notice, was of that sort which is more sensible to injuries than to benefits.

Under the circumstances attending this trial, it may seem to have been a waste of time to inquire into the legality of the court which tried the cause, or the regularity of the forms of procedure. The real trial took place, not in Flanders, but in Castile. Who can doubt that, long before the duke of Alva began his march, the doom of the two nobles had been pronounced in the cabinet of Madrid?[1145]

CHAPTER V.

The Counts removed to Brussels.—Informed of the Sentence.—Procession to the Scaffold.—The Execution.—Character of Egmont.—Fate of his Family.—Sentiment of the People.

On the second of June, 1568, a body of three thousand men was ordered to Ghent to escort the Counts Egmont and Hoorne to Brussels. No resistance was offered, although the presence of the Spaniards caused a great sensation among the inhabitants of the place, who too well foreboded the fate of their beloved lord.

The nobles, each accompanied by two officers, were put into separate chariots. They were guarded by twenty companies of pikemen and arquebusiers; and a detachment of lancers, among whom was a body of the duke's own horse, rode in the van, while another of equal strength protected the rear. Under this strong escort they moved slowly towards Brussels. One night they halted at Dendermonde, and towards evening, on the fourth of the month, entered the capital.[1146] As the martial array defiled through its streets, there was no one, however stout-hearted he might be, says an eye-witness, who{365} could behold the funeral pomp of the procession, and listen to the strains of melancholy music, without a feeling of sickness at his heart.[1147]

The prisoners were at once conducted to the Brodhuys, or "Bread-House," usually known as the Maison du Roi,—that venerable pile in the market-place of Brussels, still visited by every traveller for its curious architecture, and yet more as the last resting-place of the Flemish lords. Here they were lodged in separate rooms, small, dark, and uncomfortable, and scantily provided with furniture. Nearly the whole of the force which had escorted them to Brussels was established in the great square, to defeat any attempt at a rescue. But none was made; and the night passed away without disturbance, except what was occasioned by the sound of busy workmen employed in constructing a scaffold for the scene of execution on the following day.[1148]

On the afternoon of the fourth, the duke of Alva had sent for Martin Rithovius, bishop of Ypres; and, communicating to him the sentence of the nobles, he requested the prelate to visit the prisoners, acquaint them with their fate, and prepare them for their execution on the following day. The bishop, an excellent man, and the personal friend of Egmont, was astounded by the tidings. He threw himself at Alva's feet, imploring mercy for the prisoners, and, if he could not spare their lives, beseeching him at least to grant them more time for preparation. But Alva sternly rebuked the prelate, saying that he had been summoned, not to thwart the execution of the law, but to console the prisoners, and enable them to die like Christians.[1149] The bishop, finding his entreaties useless, rose and addressed himself to his melancholy mission.

It was near midnight when he entered Egmont's apartment, where he found the poor nobleman, whose strength had been already reduced by confinement, and who was wearied by the fatigue of the journey, buried in slumber. It is said that the two lords, when summoned to Brussels, had indulged the vain hope that it was to inform them of the conclusion of their trial and their acquittal![1150] However this may be, Egmont seems to have been but ill prepared for the dreadful tidings he received. He turned deadly pale as he listened to the bishop, and exclaimed, with deep emotion: "It is a terrible sentence. Little did I imagine that any offence I had committed against God or the king could merit such a punishment. It is not death that I fear. Death is the common lot of all. But I shrink from dishonor. Yet I may hope that my sufferings will so far expiate my offences, that my innocent family will not be involved in my ruin by the confiscation of my property. Thus much, at least, I think I may claim in consideration of my past services." Then, after a pause, he added, "Since my death is the will of God and his majesty, I will try to meet it with patience."[1151] He asked the bishop{366} if there were no hope. On being answered, "None whatever," he resolved to devote himself at once to preparing for the solemn change.

He rose from his couch, and hastily dressed himself. He then made his confession to the prelate, and desired that mass might be said, and the sacrament administered to him. This was done with great solemnity; and Egmont received the communion in the most devout manner, manifesting the greatest contrition for his sins. He next inquired of the bishop to what prayer he could best have recourse to sustain him in this trying hour. The prelate recommended to him that prayer which our Saviour had commended to his disciples. The advice pleased the count, who earnestly engaged in his devotions. But a host of tender recollections crowded on his mind; and the images of his wife and children drew his thoughts in another direction, till the kind expostulations of the prelate again restored him to himself.

Egmont asked whether it would be well to say anything on the scaffold for the edification of the people. But the bishop discouraged him, saying that he would be imperfectly heard, and that the people, in their present excitement, would be apt to misinterpret what he said to their own prejudice.

Having attended to his spiritual concerns, Egmont called for writing materials, and wrote a letter to his wife, whom he had not seen during his long confinement; and to her he now bade a tender farewell. He then addressed another letter, written in French, in a few brief and touching sentences, to the king,—which fortunately has been preserved to us. "This morning," he says, "I have been made acquainted with the sentence which it has pleased your majesty to pass upon me. And although it has never been my intent to do aught against the person or the service of your majesty, or against our true, ancient, and Catholic faith, yet I receive in patience what it has pleased God to send me.[1152] If during these troubles I have counselled or permitted aught which might seem otherwise, I have done so from a sincere regard for the service of God and your majesty, and from what I believed the necessity of the times. Wherefore I pray your majesty to pardon it, and for the sake of my past services to take pity on my poor wife, my children, and my servants. In this trust, I commend myself to the mercy of God." The letter is dated Brussels, "on the point of death," June 5, 1568.[1153]

Having time still left, the count made a fair copy of the two letters, and gave them to the bishop, entreating him to deliver them according to their destination. He accompanied that to Philip with a ring, to be given at the same time to the monarch.[1154] It was of great value; and as it had been the{367} gift of Philip himself during the count's late visit to Madrid, it might soften the heart of the king by reminding him of happier days, when he had looked with an eye of favor on his unhappy vassal.

Having completed all his arrangements, Egmont became impatient for the hour of his departure; and he expressed the hope that there would be no unnecessary delay.[1155] At ten in the morning the soldiers appeared who were to conduct him to the scaffold. They brought with them cords, as usual, to bind the prisoner's hands. But Egmont remonstrated, and showed that he had, himself, cut off the collar of his doublet and shirt, in order to facilitate the stroke of the executioner. This he did to convince them that he meditated no resistance; and on his promising that he would attempt none, they consented to his remaining with his hands unbound.

Egmont was dressed in a crimson damask robe, over which was a Spanish, mantle fringed with gold. His breeches were of black silk; and his hat, of the same material, was garnished with white and sable plumes.[1156] In his hand, which, as we have seen, remained free, he held a white handkerchief. On his way to the place of execution, he was accompanied by Julian de Romero, maître de camp, by the captain, Salinas, who had charge of the fortress of Ghent, and by the bishop of Ypres. As the procession moved slowly forward, the count repeated some portion of the fifty-first psalm,—"Have mercy on me, O God!"—in which the good prelate joined with him. In the centre of the square, on the spot where so much of the best blood of the Netherlands has been shed, stood the scaffold, covered with black cloth. On it were two velvet cushions with a small table, shrouded likewise in black, and supporting a silver crucifix. At the corners of the platform were two poles, pointed at the end with steel, intimating the purpose for which they were intended.[1157]

In front of the scaffold was the provost of the court, mounted on horseback and bearing the red wand of office in his hand.[1158] The executioner remained, as usual, below the platform, screened from view, that he might not, by his presence before it was necessary, outrage the feelings of the prisoners.[1159] The{368} troops, who had been under arms all night, were drawn up around in order of battle; and strong bodies of arquebusiers were posted in the great avenues which led to the square. The space left open by the soldiery was speedily occupied by a crowd of eager spectators. Others thronged the roofs and windows of the buildings that surrounded the market-place, some of which, still standing at the present day, show, by their quaint and venerable architecture, that they must have looked down on the tragic scene we are now depicting.

It was indeed a gloomy day for Brussels,—so long the residence of the two nobles, where their forms were as familiar, and where they were held in as much love and honor as in any of their own provinces. All business was suspended. The shops were closed. The bells tolled in all the churches. An air of gloom, as of some impending calamity, settled on the city. "It seemed," says one residing there at the time, "as if the day of judgment were at hand!"[1160]

As the procession slowly passed through the ranks of the soldiers, Egmont saluted the officers—some of them his ancient companions—with such a sweet and dignified composure in his manner as was long remembered by those who saw it. And few even of the Spaniards could refrain from tears, as they took their last look at the gallant noble who was to perish by so miserable an end.[1161]

With a steady step he mounted the scaffold, and, as he crossed it, gave utterance to the vain wish, that, instead of meeting such a fate, he had been allowed to die in the service of his king and country.[1162] He quickly, however, turned to other thoughts, and, kneeling on one of the cushions, with the bishop beside him on the other, he was soon engaged earnestly in prayer. With his eyes raised towards Heaven with a look of unutterable sadness,[1163] he prayed so fervently and loud as to be distinctly heard by the spectators. The prelate, much affected, put into his hands the silver crucifix, which Egmont repeatedly kissed; after which, having received absolution for the last time, he rose and made a sign to the bishop to retire. He then stripped off his mantle and robe; and again kneeling, he drew a silk cap, which he had brought for the purpose, over his eyes, and repeating the words, "Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit," he calmly awaited the stroke of the executioner.

The low sounds of lamentation, which from time to time had been heard among the populace, were now hushed into silence,[1164] as the minister of justice appearing on the platform, approached his victim, and with a single blow of the sword severed the head from the body. A cry of horror rose from the multitude, and some frantic with grief, broke through the ranks of the soldiers, and wildly dipped their handkerchiefs in the blood that streamed from the scaffold, treasuring them up, says the chronicler, as precious memorials of love and incitements to vengeance.[1165]—The head was then set on one of the{369} poles at the end of the platform, while a mantle thrown over the mutilated trunk hid it from the public gaze.[1166]

It was near noon, when orders were sent to lead forth the remaining prisoner to execution. It had been assigned to the curate of La Chapelle to acquaint Count Hoorne with his fate. That nobleman received the awful tidings with less patience than was shown by his friend. He gave way to a burst of indignation at the cruelty and injustice of the sentence. It was a poor requital, he said, for eight and twenty years of faithful services to his sovereign. Yet, he added, he was not sorry to be released from a life of such incessant fatigue.[1167] For some time he refused to confess, saying he had done enough in the way of confession.[1168] When urged not to throw away the few precious moments that were left to him, he at length consented.

The count was dressed in a plain suit of black, and wore a Milanese cap upon his head. He was, at this time, about fifty years of age. He was tall, with handsome features, and altogether of a commanding presence.[1169] His form was erect, and as he passed with a steady step through the files of soldiers, on his way to the place of execution, he frankly saluted those of his acquaintance whom he saw among the spectators. His look had in it less of sorrow than of indignation, like that of one conscious of enduring wrong. He was spared one pang, in his last hour, which had filled Egmont's cup with bitterness; though, like him, he had a wife, he was to leave no orphan family to mourn him.

As he trod the scaffold, the apparatus of death seemed to have no power to move him. He still repeated the declaration, that, "often as he had offended his Maker, he had never, to his knowledge, committed any offence against the king." When his eyes fell on the bloody shroud that enveloped the remains of Egmont, he inquired if it were the body of his friend. Being answered in the affirmative, he made some remark in Castilian, not understood. He then prayed for a few moments, but in so low a tone, that the words were not caught by the by-standers, and, rising, he asked pardon of those around if he had ever offended any of them, and earnestly besought their prayers. Then, without further delay, he knelt down, and, repeating the words "In manus tuas, Domine," he submitted himself to his fate.[1170]{370}

His bloody head was set up opposite to that of his fellow-sufferer. For three hours these ghastly trophies remained exposed to the gaze of the multitude. They were then taken down, and, with the bodies, placed in leaden coffins, which were straightway removed,—that containing the remains of Egmont to the convent of Santa Clara, and that of Hoorne to the ancient church of St. Gudule. To these places, especially to Santa Clara, the people now flocked, as to the shrine of a martyr. They threw themselves on the coffin, kissing it and bedewing it with their tears, as if it had contained the relics of some murdered saint;[1171] while many of them, taking little heed of the presence of informers, breathed vows of vengeance; some even swearing not to trim either hair or beard till these vows were executed.[1172] The government seems to have thought it prudent to take no notice of this burst of popular feeling. But a funeral hatchment, blazoned with the arms of Egmont, which, as usual after the master's death, had been fixed by his domestics on the gates of his mansion, was ordered to be instantly removed; no doubt, as tending to keep alive the popular excitement.[1173] The bodies were not allowed to remain long in their temporary places of deposit, but were transported to the family residences of the two lords in the country, and laid in the vaults of their ancestors.[1174]

Thus by the hand of the common executioner perished these two unfortunate noblemen, who, by their rank, possessions, and personal characters, were the most illustrious victims that could have been selected in the Netherlands. Both had early enjoyed the favor of Charles the Fifth, and both had been intrusted by Philip with some of the highest offices in the state. Philip de Montmorency, Count Hoorne, the elder of the two, came of the ancient house of Montmorency in France. Besides filling the high post of Admiral of the Low Countries, he was made governor of the provinces of Gueldres and Zutphen, was a councillor of state, and was created by the emperor a knight of the Golden Fleece. His fortune was greatly inferior to that of Count Egmont; yet its confiscation afforded a supply by no means unwelcome to the needy exchequer of the duke of Alva.

However nearly on a footing they might be in many respects, Hoorne was altogether eclipsed by his friend in military renown. Lamoral, Count Egmont, inherited through his mother, the most beautiful woman of her time,[1175] the title of prince of Gavre,—a place on the Scheldt, not far from Ghent. He preferred, however, the more modest title of count of Egmont, which came to him by the father's side, from ancestors who had reigned over the duchy of Gueldres. The uncommon promise which he early gave served, with his high{371} position, to recommend him to the notice of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, who, in 1544, honored by his presence Egmont's nuptials with Sabina, countess-palatine of Bavaria. In 1546, when scarcely twenty-four years of age, he was admitted to the order of the Golden Fleece,—and, by a singular coincidence, on the same day on which that dignity was bestowed on the man destined to become his mortal foe, the duke of Alva.[1176] Philip, on his accession, raised him to the dignity of a councillor of state, and made him governor of the important provinces of Artois and Flanders.

But every other title to distinction faded away before that derived from those two victories, which left the deepest stain on the French arms that they had received since the defeat at Pavia. "I have seen," said the French ambassador, who witnessed the execution of Egmont, "I have seen the head of that man fall who twice caused France to tremble."[1177]

Yet the fame won by his success was probably unfortunate for Egmont. For this, the fruit of impetuous valor and of a brilliant coup-de-main, was very different from the success of a long campaign, implying genius and great military science in the commander. Yet the éclat it gave was enough to turn the head of a man less presumptuous than Egmont. It placed him at once on the most conspicuous eminence in the country; compelling him, in some sort, to take a position above his capacity to maintain. When the troubles broke out, Egmont was found side by side with Orange, in the van of the malecontents. He was urged to this rather by generous sensibility to the wrongs of his countrymen, than by any settled principle of action. Thus acting from impulse, he did not, like William, calculate the consequences of his conduct. When those consequences came, he was not prepared to meet them; he was like some unskilful necromancer, who has neither the wit to lay the storm which he has raised, nor the hardihood to brave it. He was acted on by contrary influences. In opposition to the popular movement came his strong feeling of loyalty, and his stronger devotion to the Roman Catholic faith. His personal vanity coöperated with these; for Egmont was too much of a courtier willingly to dispense with the smiles of royalty. Thus the opposite forces by which he was impelled served to neutralize each other. Instead of moving on a decided one of conduct, like his friend, William of Orange, he appeared weak and vacillating. He hesitated where he should have acted. And as the storm thickened, he even retraced his steps, and threw himself on the mercy of the monarch whom he had offended. William better understood the character of his master,—and that of the minister who was to execute his decrees.[1178]

Still, with all his deficiencies, there was much both in the personal qualities of Egmont and in his exploits to challenge admiration. "I knew him," says Brantôme, "both in France and in Spain, and never did I meet with a nobleman{372} of higher breeding, or more gracious in his manners."[1179] With an address so winning, a heart so generous, and with so brilliant a reputation, it is not wonderful that Egmont should have been the pride of his court and the idol of his countrymen. In their idolatry they could not comprehend that Alva's persecution should not have been prompted by a keener feeling than a sense of public duty or obedience to his sovereign. They industriously sought in the earlier history of the rival chiefs the motives for personal pique. On Alva's first visit to the Netherlands, Egmont, then a young man, was said to have won of him a considerable sum at play. The ill-will thus raised in Alva's mind was heightened by Egmont's superiority over him at a shooting-match, which the people, regarding as a sort of national triumph, hailed with an exultation that greatly increased the mortification of the duke.[1180] But what filled up the measure of his jealousy was his rival's military renown; for the Fabian policy which directed Alva's campaigns, however it established his claims to the reputation of a great commander, was by no means favorable to those brilliant feats of arms which have such attraction for the multitude. So intense, indeed, was the feeling of hatred, it was said, in Alva's bosom, that, on the day of his rival's execution, he posted himself behind a lattice of the very building in which Egmont had been confined, that he might feast his eyes with the sight of his mortal agony.[1181]

The friends of Alva give a very different view of his conduct. According to them, an illness under which he labored, at the close of Egmont's trial, was occasioned by his distress of mind at the task imposed on him by the king. He had written more than once to the court of Castile, to request some mitigation of Egmont's sentence, but was answered, that "this would have been easy to grant, if the offence had been against the king; but against the faith, it was impossible."[1182] It was even said that the duke was so much moved, that he was seen to shed tears as big as peas on the day of the execution![1183]{373}

I must confess, I have never seen any account that would warrant a belief in the report that Alva witnessed in person the execution of his prisoners. Nor, on the other hand, have I met with any letter of his deprecating the severity of their sentence, or advising a mitigation of their punishment. This, indeed, would be directly opposed to his policy, openly avowed. The reader may, perhaps, recall the homely simile by which he recommended to the queen-mother, at Bayonne, to strike at the great nobles in preference to the commoners. "One salmon," he said, "was worth ten thousand frogs."[1184] Soon after Egmont's arrest, some of the burghers of Brussels waited on him to ask why it had been made. The duke bluntly told them, "When he had got together his troops, he would let them know."[1185] Everything shows that, in his method of proceeding in regard to the two lords, he had acted on a preconcerted plan, in the arrangement of which he had taken his full part. In a letter to Philip, written soon after the execution, he speaks with complacency of having carried out the royal views in respect to the great offenders.[1186] In another, he notices the sensation caused by the death of Egmont; and "the greater the sensation," he adds, "the greater will be the benefit to be derived from it."[1187]—There is little in all this of compunction for the act, or of compassion for its victims.

The truth seems to be, that Alva was a man of an arrogant nature, an inflexible will, and of the most narrow and limited views. His doctrine of implicit obedience went as far as that of Philip himself. In enforcing it, he disdained the milder methods of argument or conciliation. It was on force, brute force alone, that he relied. He was bred a soldier, early accustomed to the stern discipline of the camp. The only law he recognized was martial law; his only argument, the sword. No agent could have been fitter to execute the designs of a despotic prince. His hard, impassible nature was not to be influenced by those affections which sometimes turn the most obdurate from their purpose. As little did he know of fear; nor could danger deter him from carrying out his work. The hatred he excited in the Netherlands was such, that, as he was warned, it was not safe for him to go out after dark. Placards were posted up in Brussels menacing his life if he persisted in the prosecution of Egmont.[1188] He held such menaces as light as he did the entreaties of the countess, or the arguments of her counsel. Far from being moved by personal considerations, no power could turn him from that narrow path which he professed to regard as the path of duty. He went surely, though it might be slowly, towards the mark, crushing by his iron will every obstacle that lay in his track. We shudder at the contemplation of such a character, relieved by scarcely a single touch of humanity. Yet we must admit there is something which challenges our admiration in the stern, uncompromising manner, without fear or favor, with which a man of this indomitable temper carries his plans into execution.

It would not be fair to omit, in this connection, some passages from Alva's{374} correspondence, which suggest the idea that he was not wholly insensible to feelings of compassion,—when they did not interfere with the performance of his task. In a letter to the king, dated the ninth of June, four days only after the death of the two nobles, the duke says: "Your majesty will understand the regret I feel at seeing these poor lords brought to such an end, and myself obliged to bring them to it.[1189] But I have not shrunk from doing what is for your majesty's service. Indeed, they and their accomplices have been the cause of very great present evil, and one which will endanger the souls of many for years to come. The Countess Egmont's condition fills me with the greatest pity, burdened as she is with a family of eleven children, none old enough to take care of themselves;—and she too a lady of so distinguished rank, sister of the count-palatine, and of so virtuous, truly Catholic, and exemplary life.[1190] There is no man in the country who does not grieve for her! I cannot but commend her," he concludes, "as I do now, very humbly, to the good grace of your majesty, beseeching you to call to mind that if the count, her husband, came to trouble at the close of his days, he formerly rendered great service to the state."[1191] The reflection, it must be owned, came somewhat late.

In another letter to Philip, though of the same date, Alva recommends the king to summon the countess and her children to Spain; where her daughters might take the veil, and her sons be properly educated. "I do not believe," he adds, "that there is so unfortunate a family in the whole world. I am not sure that the countess has the means of procuring a supper this very evening!"[1192]

Philip, in answer to these letters, showed that he was not disposed to shrink from his own share of responsibility for the proceedings of his general. The duke, he said, had only done what justice and his duty demanded.[1193] He could have wished that the state of things had warranted a different result; nor could he help feeling deeply that measures like those to which he had been forced should have been necessary in his reign. "But," continued the king, "no man has a right to shrink from his duty.[1194]—I am well pleased," he concludes, "to learn that the two lords made so good and Catholic an end. As to what you recommend in regard to the countess of Egmont and her eleven children, I shall give all proper heed to it."[1195]

The condition of the countess might well have moved the hardest heart to{375} pity. Denied all access to her husband, she had been unable to afford him that consolation which he so much needed during his long and dreary confinement. Yet she had not been idle; and, as we have seen, she was unwearied in her efforts to excite a sympathy in his behalf. Neither did she rely only on the aid which this world can give; and few nights passed during her lord's imprisonment in which she and her daughters might not be seen making their pious pilgrimages, barefooted, to the different churches of Brussels, to invoke the blessing of Heaven on their labors. She had been supported through this trying time by a reliance on the success of her endeavors, in which she was confirmed by the encouragement she received from the highest quarters. It is not necessary to give credit to the report of a brutal jest attributed to the duke of Alva, who, on the day preceding the execution, was said to have told the countess "to be of good cheer; for her husband would leave the prison on the morrow!"[1196] There is more reason to believe that the Emperor Maximilian, shortly before the close of the trial, sent a gentleman with a kind letter to the countess, testifying the interest he took in her affairs, and assuring her she had nothing to fear on account of her husband.[1197] On the very morning of Egmont's execution, she was herself, we are told, paying a visit of condolence to the countess of Aremberg, whose husband had lately fallen in the battle of Heyligerlee; and at her friend's house the poor lady is said to have received the first tidings of the fate of her lord.[1198]

The blow fell the heavier, that she was so ill prepared for it. On the same day she found herself, not only a widow, but a beggar,—with a family of orphan children in vain looking up to her for the common necessaries of life.[1199] In her extremity, she resolved to apply to the king himself. She found an apology for it in the necessity of transmitting to Philip her husband's letter to him, which, it seems, had been intrusted to her care.[1200] She apologizes for not sooner sending this last and most humble petition of her deceased lord, by the extreme wretchedness of her situation, abandoned, as she is, by all, far from kindred and country.[1201] She trusts in his majesty's benignity and compassion [1202] to aid her sons by receiving them into his service when they shall be of sufficient age. This will oblige her, during the remainder of her sad days, and her children after her, to pray God for the long and happy life of his majesty.[1203]—It must have given another pang to the heart of the{376} widowed countess, to have been thus forced to solicit aid from the very hand that had smitten her. But it was the mother pleading for her children.

Yet Philip, notwithstanding his assurances to the duke of Alva, showed no alacrity in relieving the wants of the countess. On the first of September the duke again wrote, to urge the necessity of her case, declaring that, if it had not been for a "small sum that he had himself sent, she and the children would have perished of hunger!"[1204]

The misfortunes of this noble lady excited commiseration not only at home, but in other countries of Europe, and especially in Germany, the land of her birth.[1205] Her brother, the elector of Bavaria, wrote to Philip, to urge the restitution of her husband's estates to his family. Other German princes preferred the same request, which was moreover formally made by the emperor, through his ambassador at Madrid. Philip coolly replied, that "the time for this had not yet come."[1206] A moderate pension, meanwhile, was annually paid by Alva to the countess of Egmont, who survived her husband ten years,—not long enough to see her children established in possession of their patrimony.[1207] Shortly before her death, her eldest son, then grown to man's estate, chafing under the sense of injustice to himself and his family, took part in the war against the Spaniards. Philip, who may perhaps have felt some compunction for the ungenerous requital he had made for the father's services, not only forgave this act of disloyalty in the son, but three years later allowed the young man to resume his allegiance, and placed him in full possession of the honors and estates of his ancestors.[1208]

Alva, as we have seen, in his letters to Philip, had dwelt on the important effects of Egmont's execution. He did not exaggerate these effects. But he sorely mistook the nature of them. Abroad, the elector of Bavaria at once threw his whole weight into the scale of Orange and the party of reform.[1209] Others of the German princes followed his example; and Maximilian's ambassador at Madrid informed Philip that the execution of the two nobles, by the indignation it had caused throughout Germany, had wonderfully served the designs of the prince of Orange.[1210]{377}

At home the effects were not less striking. The death of these two illustrious men, following so close upon the preceding executions, spread a deep gloom over the country. Men became possessed with the idea that the reign of blood was to be perpetual.[1211] All confidence was destroyed, even that confidence which naturally exists between parent and child, between brother and brother.[1212] The foreign merchant caught somewhat of this general distrust, and refused to send his commodities to a country where they were exposed to confiscation.[1213] Yet among the inhabitants indignation was greater than even fear or sorrow;[1214] and the Flemings who had taken part in the prosecution of Egmont trembled before the wrath of an avenging people.[1215] Such were the effects produced by the execution of men whom the nation reverenced as martyrs in the cause of freedom. Alva notices these consequences in his letters to the king. But though he could discern the signs of the times, he little dreamed of the extent of the troubles they portended. "The people of this country," he writes, "are of so easy a temper, that, when your majesty shall think fit to grant them a general pardon, your clemency, I trust, will make them as prompt to render you their obedience as they are now reluctant to do it."[1216]—The haughty soldier, in his contempt for the peaceful habits of a burgher population, comprehended as little as his master the true character of the men of the Netherlands.{378}

CHAPTER VI.

Bergen and Montigny.—Their Situation in Spain.—Death of Bergen.—Arrest of Montigny.—Plot for his Escape.—His Process.—Removal to Simancas.—Closer Confinement.—Midnight Execution.

Before bidding a long adieu to the Netherlands, it will be well to lay before the reader an account of a transaction which has proved a fruitful theme of speculation to the historian, but which, until the present time, has been shrouded in impenetrable mystery.

It may be remembered that, in the year 1566, two noble Flemings, the marquis of Bergen and the baron of Montigny, were sent on a mission to the court of Madrid, to lay before the king the critical state of affairs, imperatively demanding some change in the policy of the government. The two lords went on the mission; but they never returned. Many conjectures were made respecting their fate; and historians have concluded that Bergen possibly,[1217] and certainly Montigny, came to their end by violence.[1218] But, in the want of evidence, it was only conjecture, while the greatest discrepancy has prevailed in regard to details. It is not till very recently that the veil has been withdrawn through the access that has been given to the Archives of Simancas, that dread repository, in which the secrets of the Castilian kings have been buried for ages. Independently of the interest attaching to the circumstances of the present narrative, it is of great importance for the light it throws on the dark, unscrupulous policy of Philip the Second. It has, moreover, the merit of resting on the most authentic grounds of the correspondence of the king and his ministers.

Both envoys were men of the highest consideration. The marquis of Bergen, by his rank and fortune, was in the first class of the Flemish aristocracy.[1219] Montigny was of the ancient house of the Montmorencys, being a younger brother of the unfortunate Count Hoorne. At the time of Charles the Fifth's abdication he had the honor of being selected by the emperor as one of those Flemish nobles who were to escort him to his monastic residence in Spain. He occupied several important posts,—among others, that of governor of Tournay,—and, like Bergen, was a knight of the Golden Fleece. In the political disturbances of the time, although not placed in the front of disaffection, the two lords had taken part with the discontented faction, had joined in the war upon Granvelle, and had very generally disapproved of the policy of the crown. They had, especially, raised their voices against the system of religious persecution, with a manly independence which had{379} secured for them—it seems undeservedly—the reputation of being the advocates of religious reform. This was particularly the case with Bergen, who, to one that asked how heretics should be dealt with, replied, "If they were willing to be converted, I would not trouble them. If they refused, still I would not take their lives, as they might hereafter be converted." This saying, duly reported to the ears of Philip, was doubtless treasured up against the man who had the courage to utter it.[1220]

The purpose of their embassy was to urge on the king the necessity of a more liberal and lenient policy, to which Margaret, who had not yet broken with the nobles, was herself inclined. It was not strange that the two lords should have felt the utmost reluctance to undertake a mission which was to bring them so directly within the power of the monarch whom they knew they had offended, and who, as they also knew, was not apt to forgive an offence. True, Egmont had gone on a similar mission to Madrid, and returned uninjured to Brussels. But it was at an earlier period, when the aspect of things was not so dangerous. His time had not yet come.

It was not till after much delay that the other nobles, with the regent, prevailed on Bergen and Montigny to accept the trust, by urging on them its absolute importance for assuring the tranquillity of the country. Even then, an injury which confined the marquis some weeks to his house furnished him with a plausible excuse for not performing his engagement, of which he would gladly have availed himself. But his scruples again vanished before the arguments and entreaties of his friends; and he consented to follow, as he could not accompany, Montigny.

The latter reached Madrid towards the middle of June, 1566, was graciously received by the king, and was admitted to repeated audiences, at which he did not fail to urge the remedial measures countenanced by Margaret. Philip appeared to listen with complacency; but declined giving an answer till the arrival of the other ambassador, who, having already set out on his journey, was attacked, on his way through France, by a fever. There Bergen halted, and again thought of abandoning the expedition. His good genius seemed ever willing to interpose to save him. But his evil genius, in the shape of Philip, who wrote to him, in the most condescending terms, to hasten his journey, beckoned him to Madrid.[1221]

Besides the two envoys there was another person of consequence from the Low Countries at that time in the capital,—Simon Renard, once Charles's minister at the English court, the inexorable foe of Granvelle. He had been persuaded by Philip to come to Spain, although to do so, he knew, was to put himself on trial for his manifold offences against the government. He was arrested; proceedings were commenced against him; and he was released only by an illness which terminated in his death. There seems to have been a mysterious fascination possessed by Philip, that he could thus draw within his reach the very men whom every motive of self-preservation should have kept at an immeasurable distance.

The arrival of the marquis did not expedite the business of the mission. Unfortunately, about that period news came to Madrid of the outbreak of the iconoclasts, exciting not merely in Spain, but throughout Christendom, feelings of horror and indignation. There was no longer a question as to a more temperate policy. The only thought now was of vengeance. It was in vain that the Flemish envoys interposed to mitigate the king's anger, and turn him{380} from those violent measures which must bring ruin on the country. Their remonstrances were unheeded. They found access to his person by no means so easy a thing as before. They felt that somewhat of the odium of the late transactions attached to them. Even the courtiers, with the ready instinct that detects a sovereign's frown, grew cold in their deportment. The situation of the envoys became every day more uncomfortable. Their mission was obviously at an end, and all they now asked was leave to return to the Netherlands.

But the king had no mind to grant it. He had been long since advised by Granvelle, and others in whom he trusted, that both the nobles had taken a decided part in fostering the troubles of the country.[1222] To that country they were never to return. Philip told them he had need of their presence for some time longer, to advise with him on the critical state of affairs in Flanders. So thin a veil could not impose on them, and they were idled with the most serious apprehensions. They wrote to Margaret, begging her to request the king to dismiss them; otherwise they should have good cause to complain both of her and of the nobles, who had sent them on a mission from which they would gladly have been excused.[1223] But Margaret had already written to her brother to keep them in Spain until the troubles in Flanders should be ended.[1224] On the reception of the letter of her envoys, however, she replied that she had already written to the king to request leave for them to return.[1225] I have found no record of such a letter.

In the spring of 1567, the duke of Alva was sent to take command of the Netherlands. Such an appointment, at such a crisis, plainly intimated the course to be pursued, and the host of evils it would soon bring on the devoted country. The conviction of this was too much for Bergen, heightened as his distress was by his separation, at such a moment, from all that was most dear to him on earth. He fell ill of a fever, and grew rapidly worse, till at length, it was reported to Philip that there was no chance for his recovery unless he were allowed to return to his native land.[1226]

This placed the king in a perplexing dilemma. He was not disposed to let the marquis escape from his hands even by the way of a natural death. He was still less inclined to assent to his return to Flanders. In this emergency he directed Ruy Gomez, the prince of Eboli, to visit the sick nobleman, who was his personal friend. In case Gomez found the marquis so ill that his recovery was next to impossible, he was to give him the king's permission to return home. If, however, there seemed a prospect of his recovery, he was only to hold out the hope of such a permission.[1227] In case of the sick man's{381} death, Gomez was to take care to have his obsequies performed in such a manner as to show the sorrow of the king and his ministers at his loss, and their respect for the lords of the Low Countries![1228] He was, moreover, in that event, to take means to have the marquis's property in the Netherlands sequestered, as, should rebellion be proved against him, it would be forfeited to the crown.—This curious, and, as it must be allowed, highly confidential epistle, was written with the king's own hand. The address ran, "Ruy Gomez—to his hands. Not to be opened nor read in the presence of the bearer."

Which part of the royal instruction the minister thought best to follow for the cure of the patient,—whether he gave him an unconditional permission to return, or only held out the hope that he would do so,—we are not informed. It matters little, however. The marquis, it is probable, had already learned not to put his trust in princes. At all events, the promises of the king did as little for the patient as the prescriptions of the doctor. On the twenty-first of May he died,—justifying the melancholy presentiment with which he had entered on his mission.

Montigny was the only victim that now remained to Philip; and he caused him to be guarded with redoubled vigilance. He directed Ruy Gomez to keep an eye on all his movements, and to write to the governors of Navarre, Catalonia, and other frontier places, to take precautions to intercept the Flemish lord, in case of his attempting to fly the country.[1229] Montigny was in fact a prisoner, with Madrid for the limits of his prison. Yet, after this, the regent could write to him from Brussels, that she was pleased to learn from her brother that he was soon to give him his congé.[1230]—If the king said this, he had a bitter meaning in his words, beyond what the duchess apprehended.

It was not long, however, that Montigny was allowed to retain even this degree of liberty. In September, 1567, arrived the tidings of the arrest of the Counts Egmont and Hoorne. Orders were instantly issued for the arrest of Montigny. He was seized by a detachment of the royal guard, and borne off to the alcazar of Segovia.[1231] He was not to be allowed to leave the fortress day or night; but as much indulgence was shown to him as was compatible with this strict confinement; and he was permitted to take with him the various retainers who composed his household, and to maintain his establishment in prison. But what indulgence could soften the bitterness of a captivity far from kindred and country, with the consciousness, moreover, that the only avenue from his prison conducted to the scaffold!

In his extremity, Montigny looked around for the means of effecting his own escape; and he nearly succeeded. One, if not more, of the Spaniards on guard, together with his own servants, were in the plot. It was arranged that the prisoner should file through the bars of a window in his apartment, and lower himself to the ground by means of a rope ladder. Relays of horses were provided to take him rapidly on to the seaport of Santander, in the north, whence he was to be transported in a shallop to St. Jean de Luz. The materials for executing his part of the work were conveyed to Montigny in{382} the loaves of bread daily sent to him by his baker. Everything seemed to promise success. The bars of the window were removed.[1232] They waited only for a day when the alcayde of the castle would not be likely to visit it. At this juncture the plot was discovered through the carelessness of the maître d'hôtel.

This person neglected to send one of the loaves to his master, which contained a paper giving sundry directions respecting the mode of escape, and mentioning the names of several of the parties. The loaf fell into the hands of a soldier.[1233] On breaking it, the paper was discovered, and taken by him to the captain of the guard. The plot was laid open; the parties were arrested, and sentenced to death or the galleys. The king allowed the sentence to take effect in regard to the Spaniards. He granted a reprieve to the Flemings, saying that what they had done was in some sort excusable, as being for the service of their master. Besides, they might be of use hereafter, in furnishing testimony in the prosecution of Montigny.[1234] On this compound principle their lives were spared. After languishing some time in prison, they were allowed to return to the Low Countries, bearing with them letters from Montigny, requesting his friends to provide for them in consideration of their sacrifices for him. But they were provided for in a much more summary manner by Alva, who, on their landing, caused them to be immediately arrested, and banished them all from the country, under pain of death if they returned to it![1235]

The greatest sympathy was felt for Montigny in the Netherlands, where the nobles were filled with indignation at the unworthy treatment their envoy had received from Philip. His step-mother, the dowager-countess of Hoorne, was as untiring in her efforts for him as she had been for his unfortunate brother. These were warmly seconded by his wife, a daughter of the prince of Epinoy, to whom Montigny had been married but a short time before his mission to Spain. This lady wrote a letter in the most humble tone of supplication to Philip. She touched on the blight brought on her domestic happiness, spoke with a strong conviction of the innocence of Montigny, and with tears and lamentations implored the king, by the consideration of his past services, by the passion of the blessed Saviour, to show mercy to her husband.[1236]

Several months elapsed, after the execution of the Counts Egmont and Hoorne, before the duke commenced proceedings against Montigny; and it was not till February, 1569, that the licentiate Salazar, one of the royal council, was sent to Segovia in order to interrogate the prisoner. The charges{383} were of the same nature with those brought against Egmont and Hoorne. Montigny at first, like them, refused to make any reply,—standing on his rights as a member of the Golden Fleece. He was, however, after a formal protest, prevailed on to waive this privilege. The examination continued several days. The various documents connected with it are still preserved in the Archives of Simancas. M. Gachard has given no abstract of their contents. But that sagacious inquirer, after a careful perusal of the papers, pronounces Montigny's answers to be "a victorious refutation of the charges of the attorney-general."[1237]

It was not a refutation that Philip or his viceroy wanted. Montigny was instantly required to appoint some one to act as counsel in his behalf. But no one was willing to undertake the business, till a person of little note at length consented, or was rather compelled to undertake it by the menaces of Alva.[1238] Any man might well have felt a disinclination for an office which must expose him to the ill-will of the government, with little chance of benefit to his client.

Even after this, Montigny was allowed to languish another year in prison before sentence was passed on him by his judges. The proceedings of the Council of Blood on this occasion were marked by a more flagitious contempt of justice, if possible, than its proceedings usually were. The duke, in a letter of the eighteenth of March, 1570, informed the king of the particulars of the trial. He had submitted the case, not to the whole court, but to a certain number of the councillors, selected by him for the purpose.[1239] He does not tell on what principle the selection was made. Philip could readily divine it. In the judgment of the majority, Montigny was found guilty of high treason. The duke accordingly passed sentence of death on him. The sentence was dated March 4, 1570. It was precisely of the same import with the sentences of Egmont and Hoorne. It commanded that Montigny be taken from prison, and publicly beheaded with a sword. His head was to be stuck on a pole, there to remain during the pleasure of his majesty. His goods and estates were to be confiscated to the crown.[1240]

The sentence was not communicated even to the Council of Blood. The only persons aware of its existence were the duke's secretary and his two trusty councillors, Vargas and Del Rio. Alva had kept it thus secret until he should learn the will of his master.[1241] At the same time he intimated to Philip that he might think it better to have the execution take place in Castile, as under existing circumstances more eligible than the Netherlands.

Philip was in Andalusia, making a tour in the southern provinces, when the despatches of his viceroy reached him. He was not altogether pleased with their tenor. Not that he had any misgivings in regard to the sentence; for he was entirely satisfied, as he wrote to Alva, of Montigny's guilt.[1242] But he did not approve of a public execution. Enough blood, it might be thought in the Netherlands, had been already spilt; and men there might complain that, shut up in a foreign prison during his trial, Montigny had{384} not met with justice.[1243] There were certainly some grounds for such a complaint.

Philip resolved to defer taking any decisive step in the matter till his return to the north. Meanwhile he commended Alva's discretion in keeping the sentence secret, and charged him on no account to divulge it, even to members of the council.

Some months elapsed after the king's return to Madrid before he came to a decision,—exhibiting the procrastination, so conspicuous a trait in him, even among a people with whom procrastination was no miracle. It may have been that he was too much occupied with an interesting affair which pressed on him at that moment. About two years before, Philip had had the misfortune to lose his young and beautiful queen, Isabella of the Peace. Her place was now to be supplied by a German princess, Anne of Austria, his fourth wife, still younger than the one he had lost. She was already on her way to Castile; and the king may have been too much engrossed by his preparations for the nuptial festivities, to have much thought to bestow on the concerns of his wretched prisoner.

The problem to be solved was how to carry the sentence into effect, and yet leave the impression on the public that Montigny died a natural death. Most of the few ministers whom the king took into his confidence on the occasion were of opinion that it would be best to bring the prisoner's death about by means of a slow poison administered in his drink, or some article of his daily food. This would give him time, moreover, to provide for the concerns of his soul.[1244] But Philip objected to this, as not fulfilling what he was pleased to call the ends of justice.[1245] He at last decided on the garrote,—the form of execution used for the meaner sort of criminals in Spain, but which, producing death by suffocation, would be less likely to leave its traces on the body.[1246]

To accomplish this, it would be necessary to remove Montigny from the town of Segovia, the gay residence of the court, and soon to be the scene of the wedding ceremonies, to some more remote and less frequented spot. Simancas was accordingly selected, whose stern, secluded fortress seemed to be a fitting place for the perpetration of such a deed. The fortress was of great strength, and was encompassed by massive walls, and a wide moat, across which two bridges gave access to the interior. It was anciently used as a prison for state criminals. Cardinal Ximenes first conceived the idea of turning it to the nobler purpose of preserving the public archives.[1247] Charles{385} the Fifth carried this enlightened project into execution; but it was not fully consummated till the time of Philip, who prescribed the regulations, and made all the necessary arrangements for placing the institution on a permanent basis,—thus securing to future historians the best means for guiding their steps through the dark and tortuous passages of his reign. But even after this change in its destination, the fortress of Simancas continued to be used occasionally as a place of confinement for prisoners of state. The famous bishop of Zamora, who took so active a part in the war of the comunidades, was there strangled by command of Charles the Fifth. The quarter of the building in which he suffered is still known by the name of "el cubo del obispo,"—"The Bishop's Tower."[1248]

To this strong place Montigny was removed from Segovia, on the nineteenth of August, 1570, under a numerous guard of alguazils and arquebusiers. For greater security he was put in irons,—a superfluous piece of cruelty, from which Philip, in a letter to Alva, thought it necessary to vindicate himself, as having been done without his orders.[1249] We might well imagine that the last ray of hope must have faded away in Montigny's bosom, as he entered the gloomy portals of his new abode. Yet hope, as we are assured, did not altogether desert him. He had learned that Anne of Austria had expressed much sympathy for his sufferings. It was but natural that the daughter of the emperor Maximilian should take an interest in the persecuted people of the Netherlands. It was even said that she promised the wife and step-mother of Montigny to make his liberation the first boon she would ask of her husband on coming to Castile.[1250] And Montigny cherished the fond hope that the influence of the young bride would turn the king from his purpose, and that her coming to Castile would be the signal for his liberation. That Anne should have yielded to such an illusion is not so strange, for she had never seen Philip; but that Montigny should have been beguiled by it is more difficult to understand.

In his new quarters he was treated with a show of respect, if not indulgence. He was even allowed some privileges. Though the guards were doubled over him, he was permitted to have his own servants, and, when it suited him, to take the fresh air and sunshine in the corridor.

Early in October the young Austrian princess landed on the northern shores of the kingdom, at Santander. The tidings of this may have induced the king to quicken his movements in regard to his prisoner, willing perhaps to relieve himself of all chance of importunity from his bride, as well as from the awkwardness of refusing the first favor she should request. As a preliminary step, it would be necessary to abridge the liberty which Montigny at present enjoyed, to confine him to his apartment, and cutting off his communications even with those in the castle, to spread the rumor of his illness, which should prepare the minds of the public for a fatal issue.

To furnish an apology for his close confinement, a story was got up of an attempt to escape, similar to what had actually occurred at Segovia. Peralta, alcayde of the fortress, a trustworthy vassal, to whom was committed the{386} direction of the affair, addressed a letter to the king, inclosing a note in Latin, which he pretended had been found under Montigny's window, containing sundry directions for his flight. The fact of such a design, the writer said, was corroborated by the appearance of certain persons in the disguise of friars about the castle. The governor, in consequence, had been obliged to remove his prisoner to other quarters, of greater security. He was accordingly lodged in the Bishop's Tower,—ominous quarters!—where he was no longer allowed the attendance of his own domestics, but placed in strict confinement. Montigny had taken this proceeding so ill, and with such vehement complaints of its injustice, that it had brought on a fever, under which he was now laboring. Peralta concluded by expressing his regret at being forced by Montigny's conduct into a course so painful to himself, as he would gladly have allowed him all the indulgence compatible with his own honor.[1251]—This letter, which had all been concocted in the cabinet at Madrid, was shown openly at court. It gained easier credit from the fact of Montigny's former attempt to escape; and the rumor went abroad that he was now lying dangerously ill.

Early in October, the licentiate Alonzo de Arellano had been summoned from Seville, and installed in the office of alcalde of the chancery of Valladolid, distant only two leagues from Simancas. Arellano was a person in whose discretion and devotion to himself Philip knew he could confide; and to him he now intrusted the execution of Montigny. Directions for the course he was to take, as well as the precautions he was to use to prevent suspicion, were set down in the royal instructions with great minuteness. They must be allowed to form a remarkable document, such as has rarely proceeded from a royal pen. The alcalde was to pass to Simancas, and take with him a notary, an executioner, and a priest. The last should be a man of undoubted piety and learning, capable of dispelling any doubts or errors that might unhappily have arisen in Montigny's mind in respect to the faith. Such a man appeared to be Fray Hernando del Castillo, of the order of St. Dominic, in Valladolid; and no better person could have been chosen, nor one more open to those feelings of humanity which are not always found under the robe of the friar.[1252]

Attended by these three persons, the alcalde left Valladolid soon after nightfall on the evening of the fourteenth of October. Peralta had been advised of his coming; and the little company were admitted into the castle so cautiously as to attract no observation. The governor and the judge at once proceeded to Montigny's apartment, where they found the unhappy man lying on his pallet, ill not so much of the fever that was talked of, as of that sickness of the heart which springs from hope deferred. When informed of his sentence by Arellano, in words as kind as so cruel a communication would permit, he was wholly overcome by it, and for some time continued in a state of pitiable agitation. Yet one might have thought that the warnings he had already received were such as might have prepared his mind in some degree for the blow. For he seems to have been in the condition of the tenant of one of those inquisitorial cells in Venice, the walls of which, we are told, were so constructed as to approach each other gradually every day, until the wretched inmate was crushed between them. After Montigny had sufficiently recovered from his agitation to give heed to it, the sentence was read to{387} him by the notary. He was still to be allowed a day before the execution, in order to gain time, as Philip had said, to settle his affairs with Heaven. And although, as the alcalde added, the sentence passed on him was held by the king as a just sentence, yet, in consideration of his quality, his majesty, purely out of his benignity and clemency, was willing so far to mitigate it, in regard to the form, as to allow him to be executed, not in public, but in secret, thus saving his honor, and suggesting the idea of his having come to his end by a natural death.[1253] For this act of grace Montigny seems to have been duly grateful. How true were the motives assigned for it, the reader can determine.

Having thus discharged their painful office, Arellano and the governor withdrew, and, summoning the friar, left the prisoner to the spiritual consolations he so much needed. What followed, we have from Castillo himself. As Montigny's agitation subsided, he listened patiently to the exhortations of the good father; and when at length restored to something like his natural composure, he joined with him earnestly in prayer. He then confessed and received the sacrament, seeming desirous of employing the brief space that yet remained to him in preparation for the solemn change. At intervals, when not actually occupied with his devotions, he read the compositions of Father Luis de Granada, whose spiritualized conceptions had often solaced the hours of his captivity.

Montigny was greatly disturbed by the rumor of his having been shaken in his religious principles, and having embraced the errors of the Reformers. To correct this impression, he briefly drew up, with his own hand, a confession of faith, in which he avows as implicit a belief in all the articles sanctioned by the Roman Catholic Church, and its head, the Vicar of Christ, as Pius the Fifth himself could have desired.[1254] Having thus relieved his mind, Montigny turned to settle some temporal affairs which he was desirous to settle. They did not occupy much time. For, as Philip had truly remarked, there was no occasion for him to make a will, since he had nothing to bequeath,—all his property having been confiscated to the crown.[1255] If, however, any debt pressed heavily on his conscience, he was to be allowed to indicate it, as well as any provision which he particularly desired to make for a special purpose. This was on the condition, however, that he should allude to himself as about to die a natural death.[1256]

Montigny profited by this to express the wish that masses, to the number of seven hundred, might be said for his soul, that sundry sums might be appropriated to private uses, and that some gratuities might be given to certain of his faithful followers. It may interest the reader to know that the masses were punctually performed. In regard to the pious legacies, the king wrote to Alva, he must first see if Montigny's estate would justify the appropriation;{388} as for the gratuities to servants, they were wholly out of the question.[1257]

One token of remembrance, which he placed in the hands of Castillo, doubtless reached its destination. This was a gold chain of delicate workmanship, with a seal or signet ring attached to it, bearing his arms. This little token he requested might be given to his wife. It had been his constant companion ever since they were married; and he wished her to wear it in memory of him,—expressing at the same time his regret that a longer life had not been granted him, to serve and honor her. As a dying injunction he besought her not to be entangled by the new doctrines, or to swerve from the faith of her ancestors.—If ever Montigny had a leaning to the doctrines of the Reformation, it could hardly have deepened into conviction; for early habit and education reasserted their power so entirely, at this solemn moment, that the Dominican by his side declared that he gave evidence of being as good and Catholic a Christian as he could wish to be himself.[1258] The few hours in which Montigny had thus tasted of the bitterness of death seemed to have done more to wean him from the vanities of life than the whole years of dreary imprisonment he had passed within the walls of Segovia and Simancas. Yet we shall hardly credit the friar's assertion, that he carried his resignation so far, that, though insisting on his own innocence, he admitted the sentence of his judges to be just![1259]

At about two o'clock on the morning of the sixteenth of October, when the interval allowed for this solemn preparation had expired, Father Castillo waited on the governor and the alcalde, to inform them that the hour had come, and that their prisoner was ready to receive them. They went, without further delay, to the chamber of death, attended by the notary and the executioner. Then, in their presence, while the notary made a record of the proceedings, the grim minister of the law did his work on his unresisting victim.[1260]

No sooner was the breath out of the body of Montigny, than the alcalde, the priest, and their two companions were on their way back to Valladolid, reaching it before dawn, so as to escape the notice of the inhabitants. All were solemnly bound to secrecy in regard to the dark act in which they had been engaged. The notary and the hangman were still further secured by the menace of death, in case they betrayed any knowledge of the matter; and they knew full well that Philip was not a man to shrink from the execution of his menaces.[1261]

The corpse was arrayed in a Franciscan habit, which, coming up to the throat, left the face only exposed to observation. It was thus seen by Montigny's servants, who recognised the features of their master, hardly more distorted than sometimes happens from disease, when the agonies of death{389} have left their traces. The story went abroad that their lord had died of the fever with which he had been so violently attacked.

The funeral obsequies were performed, according to the royal orders, with all due solemnity. The vicar and beneficiaries of the church of St. Saviour officiated on the occasion. The servants of the deceased were clad in mourning,—a token of respect recommended by Philip, who remarked, the servants were so few, that mourning might as well be given to them;[1262] and he was willing to take charge of this and the other expenses of the funeral, provided Montigny had not left money sufficient for the purpose. The place selected for his burial was a vault under one of the chapels of the building; and a decent monument indicated the spot where reposed the ashes of the last of the envoys who came from Flanders on the ill-starred mission to Madrid.[1263]

Such is a true account of this tragical affair, as derived from the king's own letters and those of his agents. Far different was the story put in circulation at the time. On the seventeenth of October, the day after Montigny's death, despatches were received at court from Peralta, the alcayde of the fortress. They stated that, after writing his former letter, his prisoner's fever had so much increased, that he had called in the aid of a physician; and as the symptoms became more alarming, the latter had entered into a consultation with the medical adviser of the late regent, Joanna, so that nothing that human skill could afford should be wanting to the patient. He grew rapidly worse, however, and as, happily, Father Hernando del Castillo, of Valladolid, chanced to be then in Simancas, he came and administered the last consolations of religion to the dying man. Having done all that a good Christian at such a time should do, Montigny expired early on the morning of the sixteenth, manifesting at the last so Catholic a spirit, that good hopes might be entertained of his salvation.[1264]

This hypocritical epistle, it is hardly necessary to say, like the one that preceded it, had been manufactured at Madrid. Nor was it altogether devoid of truth. The physician of the place, named Viana, had been called in; and it was found necessary to intrust him with the secret. Every day he paid his visit to the castle, and every day returned with more alarming accounts of the condition of the patient; and thus the minds of the community were prepared for the fatal termination of his disorder. Not that, after all, this was unattended with suspicions of foul play in the matter, as people reflected how opportune was the occurrence of such an event. But suspicions were not proof. The secret was too well guarded for any one to penetrate the veil of mystery; and the few who were behind that veil loved their lives too well to raise it.

Despatches written in cipher, and containing a full and true account of the affair, were sent to the duke of Alva. The two letters of Peralta, which indeed were intended for the meridian of Brussels rather than of Madrid, were forwarded with them. The duke was told to show them incidentally, as it were, without obtruding them on any one's notice,[1265] that Montigny's friends in the Netherlands might be satisfied of their truth.{390}

In his own private communication to Alva, Philip, in mentioning the orthodox spirit manifested by his victim in his last moments, shows that with the satisfaction which he usually expressed on such occasions was mingled some degree of scepticism. "If his inner man," he writes of Montigny, "was penetrated with as Christian a spirit as he exhibited in the outer, and as the friar who confessed him has reported, God, we may presume, will have mercy on his soul."[1266] In the original draft of the letter, as prepared by the king's secretary, it is further added: "Yet, after all, who can tell but this was a delusion of Satan, who, as we know, never deserts the heretic in his dying hour." This sentence—as appears from the manuscript still preserved in Simancas—was struck out by Philip, with the remark in his own hand, "Omit this, as we should think no evil of the dead!"[1267]

Notwithstanding this magnanimous sentiment, Philip lost no time in publishing Montigny to the world as a traitor, and demanding the confiscation of his estates. The Council of Blood learned a good lesson from the Holy Inquisition, which took care that even Death should not defraud it of its victims. Proceedings were instituted against the memory of Montigny, as had before been done against the memory of the marquis of Bergen.[1268] On the twenty-second of March, 1571, the duke of Alva pronounced sentence, condemning the memory of Florence de Montmorency, lord of Montigny, as guilty of high treason, and confiscating his goods and estates to the use of the crown; "it having come to his knowledge," the instrument went on to say, "that the said Montigny had deceased by natural death in the fortress of Simancas, where he had of late been held a prisoner!"[1269]

The proceedings of the Council of Blood against Montigny were characterized, as I have already said, by greater effrontery and a more flagrant contempt of the common forms of justice than were usually to be met with even in that tribunal. A bare statement of the facts is sufficient. The party accused was put on his trial—if trial it can be called—in one country, while he was held in close custody in another. The court before which he was tried—or rather the jury, for the council seems to have exercised more of the powers of a jury than of a judge—was on this occasion a packed body, selected to suit the purposes of the prosecution. Its sentence, instead of being publicly pronounced, was confided only to the party interested to obtain it,—the king. Even the sentence itself was not the one carried into effect; but another was substituted in its place, and a public execution was supplanted by a midnight assassination. It would be an abuse of language to dignify such a proceeding with the title of a judicial murder.

Yet Philip showed no misgivings as to his own course in the matter. He had made up his mind as to the guilt of Montigny. He had been false to his king and false to his religion; offences which death only could expiate. Still we find Philip resorting to a secret execution, although Alva, as we have seen, had supposed that sentence was to be executed on Montigny in the{391} same open manner as it had been on the other victims of the bloody tribunal. But the king shrunk from exposing a deed to the public eye, which, independently of its atrocity in other respects, involved so flagrant a violation of good faith towards the party who had come, at his sovereign's own desire, on a public mission to Madrid. With this regard to the opinions of his own age, it may seem strange that Philip should not have endeavored to efface every vestige of his connection with the act, by destroying the records which established it. On the contrary, he not only took care that such records should be made, but caused them, and all other evidence of the affair, to be permanently preserved in the national archives. There they lay for the inspection of posterity, which was one day to sit in judgment on his conduct.

BOOK IV.

CHAPTER I.

Condition of Turkey.—African Corsairs.—Expedition against Tripoli.—War on the Barbary Coast.

There are two methods of writing history;—one by following down the stream of time, and exhibiting events in their chronological order; the other by disposing of these events according to their subjects. The former is the most obvious; and where the action is simple and continuous, as in biography, for the most part, or in the narrative of some grand historical event, which concentrates the interest, it is probably the best. But when the story is more complicated, covering a wide field, and embracing great variety of incident, the chronological system, however easy for the writer, becomes tedious and unprofitable to the reader. He is hurried along from one scene to another without fully apprehending any; and as the thread of the narrative is perpetually broken by sudden transition, he carries off only such scraps in his memory as it is hardly possible to weave into a connected and consistent whole. Yet this method, as the most simple and natural, is one most affected by the early writers,—by the old Castilian chroniclers more particularly, who form the principal authorities in the present work. Their wearisome pages, mindful of no order but that of time, are spread over as miscellaneous a range of incidents, and having as little relation to one another, as the columns of a newspaper.

To avoid this inconvenience, historians of a later period have preferred to conduct their story on more philosophical principles, having regard rather to the nature of the events described, than to the precise time of their occurrence. And thus the reader, possessed of one action, its causes and its consequences, before passing on to another, is enabled to treasure up in his memory distinct impressions of the whole.

In conformity to this plan, I have detained the reader in the Netherlands until he had seen the close of Margaret's administration, and the policy which marked the commencement of her successor's. During this period, Spain was at peace with her European neighbors, most of whom were too much occupied with their domestic dissensions to have leisure for foreign war. France, in particular, was convulsed by religious feuds, in which Philip, as the champion of the Faith, took not only the deepest interest, but an active part. To this I shall return hereafter.

But while at peace with her Christian brethren, Spain was engaged in perpetual hostilities with the Moslems, both of Africa and Asia. The relations of Europe with the East were altogether different in the sixteenth century from what they are in our day. The Turkish power lay like a dark cloud on the Eastern horizon, to which every eye was turned with apprehension; and the same people for whose protection European nations are now willing to{394} make common cause, were viewed by them, in the sixteenth century, in the light of a common enemy.

It was fortunate for Islamism that, as the standard of the Prophet was falling from the feeble grasp of the Arabs, it was caught up by a nation like the Turks, whose fiery zeal urged them to bear it still onward in the march of victory. The Turks were to the Arabs what the Romans were to the Greeks. Bold, warlike, and ambitious, they had little of that love of art which had been the dominant passion of their predecessors, and still less of that refinement which, with the Arabs, had degenerated into effeminacy and sloth. Their form of government was admirably suited to their character. It was an unmixed despotism. The sovereign, if not precisely invested with the theocratic character of the caliphs, was hedged round with so much sanctity, that resistance to his authority was an offence against religion as well as law. He was placed at an immeasurable distance above his subjects. No hereditary aristocracy was allowed to soften the descent, and interpose a protecting barrier for the people. All power was derived from the sovereign, and, on the death of its proprietor, returned to him. In the eye of the sultan, his vassals were all equal, and all equally his slaves.

The theory of an absolute government would seem to imply perfection in the head of it. But, as perfection is not the lot of humanity, it was prudently provided by the Turkish constitution that the sultan should have the benefit of a council to advise him. It consisted of three or four great officers, appointed by himself, with the grand-vizier at their head. This functionary was possessed of an authority far exceeding that of the prime-minister of any European prince. All the business of state may be said to have passed through his hands. The persons chosen for this high office were usually men of capacity and experience; and in a weak reign they served by their large authority to screen the incapacity of the sovereign from the eyes of his subjects, while they preserved the state from detriment. It might be thought that powers so vast as those bestowed on the vizier might have rendered him formidable, if not dangerous, to his master. But his master was placed as far above him as above the meanest of his subjects. He had unlimited power of life and death; and how little he was troubled with scruples in the exercise of this power is abundantly shown in history. The bowstring was too often the only warrant for the deposition of a minister.

But the most remarkable of the Turkish institutions, the one which may be said to have formed the keystone of the system, was that relating to the Christian population of the empire. Once in five years a general conscription was made, by means of which all the children of Christian parents who had reached the age of seven, and gave promise of excellence in mind or body, were taken from their homes and brought to the capital. They were then removed to different quarters, and placed in seminaries where they might receive such instruction as would fit them for the duties of life. Those giving greatest promise of strength and endurance were sent to places prepared for them in Asia Minor. Here they were subjected to a severe training, to abstinence, to privations of every kind, and to the strict discipline which should fit them for the profession of a soldier. From this body was formed the famous corps of the janizaries.

Another portion were placed in schools in the capital, or the neighboring cities, where, under the eye of the sultan, as it were, they were taught various manly accomplishments, with such a smattering of science as Turkish, or rather Arabian, scholarship could supply. When their education was finished, some went into the sultan's body-guard, where a splendid provision was made for their maintenance. Others, intended for civil life, entered on a career which might lead to the highest offices in the state.

As all these classes of Christian youths were taken from their parents at{395} that tender age when the doctrines of their own faith could hardly have taken root in their minds, they were, without difficulty, won over to the faith of the Koran; which was further commended to their choice as the religion of the state, the only one which opened to them the path of preferment. Thus set apart from the rest of the community, and cherished by royal favor, the new converts, as they rallied round the throne of their sovereign, became more stanch in their devotion to his interests, as well as to the interests of the religion they had adopted, than even the Turks themselves.

This singular institution bore hard on the Christian population, who paid this heavy tax of their own offspring. But it worked well for the monarchy, which, acquiring fresh vigor from the constant infusion of new blood into its veins, was slow in exhibiting any signs of decrepitude or decay.

The most important of these various classes was that of the janizaries, whose discipline was far from terminating with the school. Indeed, their whole life may be said to have been passed in war, or in preparation for it. Forbidden to marry, they had no families to engage their affections, which, as with the monks and friars in Christian countries, were concentrated on their own order, whose prosperity was inseparably connected with that of the state. Proud of the privileges which distinguished them from the rest of the army, they seemed desirous to prove their title to them by their thorough discipline, and by their promptness to execute the most dangerous and difficult services. Their post was always the post of danger. It was their proud vaunt, that they had never fled before an enemy. Clad in their flowing robes, so little suited to the warrior, armed with the arquebuse and the scymitar,—in their hands more than a match for the pike or sword of the European,—with the heron's plume waving above their heads, their dense array might ever be seen bearing down in the thickest of the fight; and more than once, when the fate of the empire trembled in the balance, it was this invincible corps that turned the scale, and by their intrepid conduct decided the fortune of the day. Gathering fresh reputation with age, so long as their discipline remained unimpaired, they were a match for the best soldiers of Europe. But in time this admirable organization experienced a change. One sultan allowed them to marry; another, to bring their sons into the corps; a third opened the ranks to Turks as well as Christians; until, forfeiting their peculiar character, the janizaries became confounded with the militia of the empire. These changes occurred in the time of Philip the Second; but their consequences were not fully unfolded till the following century.[1270]

It was fortunate for the Turks, considering the unlimited power lodged in the hands of their rulers, that these should have so often been possessed of the courage and capacity for using it for the advancement of the nation. From Othman the First, the founder of the dynasty, to Solyman the Magnificent, the contemporary of Philip, the Turkish throne was filled by a succession of able princes, who, bred to war, were every year enlarging the boundaries of the empire, and adding to its resources. By the middle of the sixteenth century, besides their vast possessions in Asia, they held the eastern portions of Africa. In Europe, together with the countries at this day acknowledging their sceptre, they were masters of Greece; and Solyman, overrunning Transylvania and Hungary, had twice carried his victorious{396} banners up to the walls of Vienna. The battle-ground of the Cross and the Crescent was transferred from the west to the east of Europe; and Germany in the sixteenth century became what Spain and the Pyrenees had been in the eighth, the bulwark of Christendom.

Nor was the power of Turkey on the sea less formidable than on the land. Her fleet rode undisputed mistress of the Levant; for Venice, warned by the memorable defeat at Prevesa, in 1538, and by the loss of Cyprus and other territories, hardly ventured to renew the contest. That wily republic found that it was safer to trust to diplomacy than to arms, in her dealings with the Ottomans.

The Turkish navy, sweeping over the Mediterranean, combined with the corsairs of the Barbary coast,—who, to some extent, owed allegiance to the Porte,—and made frequent descents on the coasts of Italy and Spain, committing worse ravages than those of the hurricane. From these ravages France only was exempt; for her princes, with an unscrupulous policy which caused general scandal in Christendom, by an alliance with the Turks, protected her territories somewhat at the expense of her honor.

The northern coast of Africa, at this time, was occupied by various races, who, however they may have differed in other respects, all united in obedience to the Koran. Among them was a large infusion of Moors descended from the Arab tribes who had once occupied the south of Spain, and who, on its reconquest by the Christians, had fled that country rather than renounce the religion of their fathers. Many even of the Moors then living were among the victims of this religious persecution; and they looked with longing eyes on the beautiful land of their inheritance, and with feelings of unquenchable hatred on the Spaniards who had deprived them of it.

The African shore was studded with towns,—some of them, like Algiers, Tunis, Tripoli, having a large extent of territory adjacent,—which owned the sway of some Moslem chief, who ruled them in sovereign state, or, it might be, acknowledging, for the sake of protection, a qualified allegiance to the sultan. These rude chiefs, profiting by their maritime position, followed the dreadful trade of the corsair. Issuing from their strongholds, they fell on the unprotected merchantmen, or, descending on the opposite coasts of Andalusia and Valencia, sacked the villages, and swept off the wretched inhabitants into slavery.

The Castilian government did what it could for the protection of its subjects. Fortified posts were established along the shores. Watch-towers were raised on the heights, to give notice of the approach of an enemy. A fleet of galleys, kept constantly on duty, rode off the coasts to intercept the corsairs. The war was occasionally carried into the enemy's country. Expeditions were fitted out, to sweep the Barbary shores, or to batter down the strongholds of the pirates. Other states, whose territories bordered on the Mediterranean, joined in these expeditions; among them Tuscany, Rome, Naples, Sicily,—the two last the dependencies of Spain,—and above all Genoa, whose hardy seamen did good service in these maritime wars. To these should be added the Knights of St. John, whose little island of Malta, with its iron defences, boldly bidding defiance to the enemy, was thrown into the very jaws, as it were, of the African coast. Pledged by their vows to perpetual war with the infidel, these brave knights, thus stationed on the outposts of Christendom, were the first to sound the alarm of invasion, as they were the foremost to repel it.

The Mediterranean, in that day, presented a very different spectacle from what it shows at present,—swarming, as it does, with the commerce of many a distant land, and its shores glittering with towns and villages, that echo to the sounds of peaceful and protected industry. Long tracts of deserted territory might then be seen on its borders, with the blackened ruins of many{397} a hamlet, proclaiming too plainly the recent presence of the corsair. The condition of the peasantry of the south of Spain, in that day, was not unlike that of our New England ancestors, whose rural labors might, at any time, be broken by the warwhoop of the savage, as he burst on the peaceful settlement, sweeping off its wretched inmates—those whom he did not massacre—to captivity in the wilderness. The trader, instead of pushing out to sea, crept timidly along the shore, under the protecting wings of its fortresses, fearful lest the fierce enemy might dart on him unawares, and bear him off to the dungeons of Africa. Or, if he ventured out into the open deep, it was under a convoy of well-armed galleys, or, armed to the teeth himself, prepared for war.

Scarcely a day passed without some conflict between Christian and Moslem on the Mediterranean waters. Not unfrequently, instead of a Moor, the command was intrusted to some Christian renegade, who, having renounced his country and his religion for the roving life of a corsair, felt, like most apostates, a keener hatred than even its natural enemies for the land he had abjured.[1271] In these encounters, there were often displayed, on both sides, such deeds of heroism as, had they been performed on a wider theatre of action, would have covered the actors with immortal glory. By this perpetual warfare a race of hardy and experienced seamen was formed, in the countries bordering on the Mediterranean; and more than one name rose to eminence for nautical science as well as valor, with which it would not be easy to find a parallel in other quarters of Christendom. Such were the Dorias of Genoa,—a family to whom the ocean seemed their native element; and whose brilliant achievements on its waters, through successive generations, shed an undying lustre on the arms of the republic.

The corsair's life was full of maritime adventure. Many a tale of tragic interest was told of his exploits, and many a sad recital of the sufferings of the Christian captive, tugging at the oar, or pining in the dungeons of Tripoli and Algiers. Such tales formed the burden of the popular minstrelsy of the period, as well as of more elegant literature,—the drama, and romantic fiction. But fact was stranger than fiction. It would have been difficult to exaggerate the number of the Christian captives, or the amount of their sufferings. On the conquest of Tunis by Charles the Fifth, in 1535, ten thousand of these unhappy persons, as we are assured, walked forth from its dungeons, and knelt, with tears of gratitude and joy, at the feet of their liberator. Charitable associations were formed in Spain, for the sole purpose of raising funds to ransom the Barbary prisoners. But the ransom demanded was frequently exorbitant, and the efforts of these benevolent fraternities made but a feeble impression on the whole number of captives.

Thus the war between the Cross and the Crescent was still carried on along the shores of the Mediterranean, when the day of the Crusades was past in most of the other quarters of Christendom. The existence of the Spaniard—as I have often had occasion to remark—was one long crusade; and in the sixteenth century he was still doing battle with the infidel, as stoutly as in the heroic days of the Cid. The furious contests with the petty pirates of Barbary engendered in his bosom feelings of even keener hostility than that which grew up in his contests with the Arabs, where there was no skulking, predatory foe, but army was openly arrayed against army, and they fought for the sovereignty of the Peninsula. The feeling of religious hatred{398} rekindled by the Moors of Africa extended in some degree to the Morisco population, who still occupied those territories on the southern borders of the monarchy which had belonged to their ancestors, the Spanish Arabs. This feeling was increased by the suspicion, not altogether without foundation, of a secret correspondence between the Moriscos and their brethren on the Barbary coast. These mingled sentiments of hatred and suspicion sharpened the sword of persecution, and led to most disastrous consequences, which before long will be unfolded to the reader.

Among the African corsairs was one by the name of Dragut, distinguished for his daring spirit, and the pestilent activity with which he pursued the commerce of the Spaniards. In early life he had been made prisoner by Andrew Doria; and the four years during which he was chained to the oar in the galleys of Genoa did not serve to mitigate the feelings of hatred which he had always borne to the Christians. On the recovery of his freedom, he resumed his desperate trade of a corsair with renewed activity. Having made himself master of Tripoli, he issued out, with his galleys, from that stronghold, fell on the defenceless merchantman, ravaged the coasts, engaged boldly in fight with the Christian squadrons, and made his name as terrible, throughout the Mediterranean, as that of Barbarossa had been in the time of Charles the Fifth.

The people of the southern provinces, smarting under their sufferings, had more than once besought Philip to send an expedition against Tripoli, and, if possible, break up this den of thieves, and rid the Mediterranean of the formidable corsair. But Philip, who was in the midst of his victorious campaigns against the French, had neither the leisure nor the resources, at that time, for such an enterprise. In the spring of 1559, however, he gave orders to the duke of Medina Celi, viceroy of Sicily, to fit out an armament for the purpose, to obtain the coöperation of the Italian states, and to take command of the expedition.

A worse choice for the command could not have been made; and this not so much from the duke's inexperience; for an apprenticeship to the sea was not deemed necessary to form a naval commander, in an age when men passed indifferently from the land-service to the sea-service. But, with the exception of personal courage, the duke of Medina Celi seems to have possessed none of the qualities requisite in a commander, whether by land or sea.

The different Italian powers—Tuscany, Rome, Naples, Sicily, Genoa—all furnished their respective quotas. John Andrew Doria, nephew of the great Andrew, and worthy of the name he bore, had command of the galleys of the republic. To these was added the reinforcement of the grand-master of Malta. The whole fleet amounted to more than a hundred sail, fifty-four of which were galleys; by much the larger part being furnished by Spain and her Italian provinces. Fourteen thousand troops embarked on board the squadron. So much time was consumed in preparation, that the armament was not got ready for sea till late in October, 1559,—too late for acting with advantage on the stormy African coast.

This did not deter the viceroy, who, at the head of the combined fleet, sailed out of the port of Syracuse in November. But the elements conspired against this ill-starred expedition. Scarcely had the squadron left the port, when it was assailed by a tempest, which scattered the vessels, disabled some, and did serious damage to others. To add to the calamity, an epidemic broke out among the men, caused by the bad quality of the provisions furnished by the Genoese contractors. In his distress, the duke of Medina Celi put in at the island of Malta. He met with a hospitable reception from the grand-master; for hospitality was one of the obligations of the order. Fall{399} two mouths elapsed before the duke was in a condition to reëmbark, with his force reduced nearly one third by disease and death.

Meanwhile Dragut, having ascertained the object of the expedition, had made every effort to put Tripoli in a posture of defence. At the same time he sent to Constantinople, to solicit the aid of Solyman. The Spanish admiral, in the crippled condition of his armament, determined to postpone the attack on Tripoli to another time, and to direct his operations for the present against the island of Jerbah, or, as it was called by the Spaniards, Gelves. This place, situated scarcely a league from the African shore, in the neighborhood of Tripoli, had long been known as a nest of pirates, who did great mischief in the Mediterranean. It was a place of ill-omen to the Spaniards, whose arms had met there with a memorable reverse in the reign of Ferdinand the Catholic.[1272] The duke, however, landing with his whole force, experienced little resistance from the Moors, and soon made himself master of the place. It was defended by a fortress fallen much out of repair; and, as the Spanish commander proposed to leave a garrison there, he set about restoring the fortifications, or rather constructing new ones. In this work the whole army actively engaged; but nearly two months were consumed before it was finished. The fortress was then mounted with artillery, and provided with ammunition, and whatever was necessary for its defence. Finally, a garrison was introduced into it, and the command intrusted to a gallant officer, Don Alonzo de Sandé.

Scarcely had these arrangements been completed, and the troops prepared to reëmbark, when advices reached the duke that a large Turkish fleet was on its way from Constantinople to the assistance of Dragut. The Spanish admiral called a council of war on board of his ship. Opinions were divided. Some, among whom was Doria, considering the crippled condition of their squadron, were for making the best of their way back to Sicily. Others, regarding this as a course unworthy of Spaniards, were for standing out to sea, and giving battle to the enemy. The duke, perplexed by the opposite opinions, did not come to a decision. He was soon spared the necessity of it by the sight of the Ottoman fleet, under full sail, bearing rapidly down on him. It consisted of eighty-six galleys, each carrying a hundred janizaries; and it was commanded by the Turkish admiral, Piali, a name long dreaded in the Mediterranean.

At the sight of this formidable armament, the Christians were seized with a panic. They scarcely offered any resistance to the enemy; who, dashing into the midst of them, sent his broadsides to the right and left, sinking some of the ships, disabling others, while those out of reach of his guns shamefully sought safety in flight. Seventeen of the combined squadron were sunk; four-and-twenty, more or less injured, struck their colors; a few succeeded in regaining the island, and took shelter under the guns of the fortress. Medina Celi and Doria were among those who thus made their way to the shore; and under cover of the darkness, on the following night, they effected their escape in a frigate, passing, as by a miracle, without notice, through the enemy's fleet, and thus securing their retreat to Sicily. Never was there a victory more humiliating to the vanquished, or one which reflected less glory on the victors.[1273]

Before embarking, the duke ordered Sandé to defend the place to the last extremity, promising him speedy assistance. The garrison, thus left to carry{400} on the contest with the whole Turkish army, amounted to about five thousand men; its original strength being considerably augmented by the fugitives from the fleet.

On the following morning, Piali landed with his whole force, and instantly proceeded to open trenches before the citadel. When he had established his batteries of cannon, he sent a summons to the garrison to surrender. Sandé returned for answer, that, "if the place were won, it would not be, like Piali's late victory, without bloodshed." The Turkish commander waited no longer, but opened a lively cannonade on the ramparts, which he continued for some days, till a practicable breach was made. He then ordered a general assault. The janizaries rushed forward with their usual impetuosity, under a murderous discharge of artillery and small arms from the fortress as well as from the shipping, which was so situated as to support the fire of the besieged. Nothing daunted, the brave Moslems pushed forward over the bodies of their fallen comrades; and, scrambling across the ditch, the leading files succeeded in throwing themselves into the breach. But here they met with a spirit as determined as their own, from the iron array of warriors, armed with pike and arquebuse, who, with Sandé at their head, formed a wall as impenetrable as the ramparts of the fortress. The contest was now carried on man against man, and in a space too narrow to allow the enemy to profit by his superior numbers. The besieged, meanwhile, from the battlements, hurled down missiles of every description on the heads of the assailants. The struggle lasted for some hours. But Spanish valor triumphed in the end, and the enemy was driven back in disorder across the moat, while his rear files were sorely galled, in his retreat, by the incessant fire of the fortress.

Incensed by the failure of his attack and the slaughter of his brave followers, Piali thought it prudent to wait till he should be reinforced by the arrival of Dragut with a fresh supply of men and of battering ordnance. The besieged profited by the interval to repair their works, and when Dragut appeared they were nearly as well prepared for the contest as before.

On the corsair's arrival, Piali, provided with a heavier battering train, opened a more effective fire on the citadel. The works soon gave way, and the Turkish commander promptly returned to the assault. It was conducted with the same spirit, was met with the same desperate courage, and ended, like the former, in the total discomfiture of the assailants, who withdrew, leaving the fosse choked up with the bodies of their slaughtered comrades. Again and again the attack was renewed, by an enemy whose numbers allowed the storming parties to relieve one another, while the breaches made by an unintermitting cannonade gave incessant occupation to the besieged in repairing them. Fortunately, the number of the latter enabled them to perform this difficult service; and though many were disabled, and there were few who were not wounded, they still continued to stand to their posts, with the same spirit as on the first day of the siege.

But the amount of the garrison, so serviceable in this point of view, was fatal in another. The fortress had been provisioned with reference to a much smaller force. The increased number of mouths was thus doing the work of the enemy. Notwithstanding the strictest economy, there was already a scarcity of provisions; and, at the end of six weeks, the garrison was left entirely without food. The water too had failed. A soldier had communicated to the Spanish commander an ingenious process for distilling fresh water from salt.[1274] This afforded a most important supply, though in a very{401} limited quantity. But the wood which furnished the fuel necessary for the process was at length exhausted, and to hunger was added the intolerable misery of thirst.

Thus reduced to extremity, the brave Sandé was not reduced to despair. Calling his men together, he told them that liberty was of more value than life. Anything was better than to surrender to such an enemy. And he proposed to them to sally from the fortress that very night, and cut their way, if possible, through the Turkish army, or fall in the attempt. The Spaniards heartily responded to the call of their heroic leader. They felt, like him, that the doom of slavery was more terrible than death.

That night, or rather two hours before dawn on the twenty-ninth of June, Don Alvaro sallied out of the fortress, at the head of all those who were capable of bearing arms. But they amounted to scarcely more than a thousand men, so greatly had the garrison been diminished by death, or disabled by famine and disease. Under cover of the darkness, they succeeded in passing through the triple row of intrenchments, without alarming the slumbering enemy. At length, roused by the cries of their sentinels, the Turks sprang to their arms, and, gathering in dark masses round the Christians, presented an impenetrable barrier to their advance. The contest now became furious; but it was short. The heroic little band were too much enfeebled by their long fatigues, and by the total want of food for the last two days, to make head against the overwhelming number of their assailants. Many fell under the Turkish scymitars, and the rest, after a fierce struggle, were forced back on the path by which they had come, and took refuge in the fort. Their dauntless leader, refusing to yield, succeeded in cutting his way through the enemy, and threw himself into one of the vessels in the port. Here he was speedily followed by such a throng as threatened to sink the bark, and made resistance hopeless. Yielding up his sword, therefore, he was taken prisoner, and led off in triumph to the tent of the Turkish commander.

On the same day the remainder of the garrison, unable to endure another assault, surrendered at discretion. Piali had now accomplished the object of the expedition; and, having reëstablished the Moorish authorities in possession of the place, he embarked, with his whole army, for Constantinople. The tidings of his victory had preceded him; and, as he proudly sailed up the Bosphorus, he was greeted with thunders of artillery from the seraglio and the heights surrounding the capital. First came the Turkish galleys, in beautiful order, with the banners taken from the Christians ignominiously trailing behind them through the water. Then followed their prizes,—the seventeen vessels taken in the action,—the battered condition of which formed a striking contrast to that of their conquerors. But the prize greater than all was the prisoners, amounting to nearly four thousand, who, manacled like so many malefactors, were speedily landed, and driven through the streets, amidst the shouts and hootings of the populace, to the slave-market of Constantinople. A few only, of the higher order, were reserved for ransom. Among them were Don Alvaro de Sandé and a son of Medina Celi. The young nobleman did not long survive his captivity. Don Alvaro recovered his freedom, and lived to take ample vengeance for all he had suffered on his conquerors.[1275]

Such was the end of the disastrous expedition against Tripoli, which left a{402} stain on the Spanish arms that even the brave conduct of the garrison at Gelves could not wholly wipe away. The Moors were greatly elated by the discomfiture of their enemies; and the Spaniards were filled with a proportionate degree of despondency, as they reflected to what extent their coasts and their commerce would be exposed to the predatory incursions of the corsairs. Philip was especially anxious in regard to the safety of his possessions on the African coast. The two principal of these were Oran and Mazarquivir, situated not far to the west of Algiers. They were the conquests of Cardinal Ximenes. The former place was won by an expedition fitted out at his own expense. The enterprises of this remarkable man were conducted on a gigantic scale, which might seem better suited to the revenues of princes. Of the two places Oran was the more considerable; yet hardly more important than Mazarquivir, which possessed an excellent harbor,—a thing of rare occurrence on the Barbary shore. Both had been cherished with care by the Castilian government, and by no monarch more than by Philip the Second, who perfectly understood the importance of these possessions, both for the advantages of a commodious harbor, and for the means they gave him of bridling the audacity of the African cruisers.[1276]

In 1562, the king ordered a squadron of four and twenty galleys, under the command of Don Juan de Mendoza, to be got ready in the port of Malaga, to carry supplies to the African colonies. But in crossing the Mediterranean, the ships were assailed by a furious tempest, which compelled them to take refuge in the little port of Herradura. The fury of the storm, however, continued to increase; and the vessels, while riding at anchor, dashed against one another with such violence, that many of them foundered, and others, parting their cables, drifted on shore, which was covered far and wide with the dismal wrecks. Two or three only, standing out to sea, and braving the hurricane on the deep, were so fortunate as to escape. By this frightful shipwreck, four thousand men, including their commander, were swallowed up by the waves. The southern provinces were filled with consternation at this new calamity, coming so soon after the defeat at Gelves. It seemed as if the hand of Providence was lifted against them in their wars with the Mussulmans.[1277]

The Barbary Moors, encouraged by the losses of the Spanish navy, thought this a favorable time for recovering their ancient possessions on the coast. Hassem, the dey of Algiers, in particular, a warlike prince, who had been engaged in more than one successful encounter with the Christians, set on foot an expedition against the territories of Oran and Mazarquivir. The government of these places was intrusted, at that time, to Don Alonzo de Cordova, count of Alcaudete. In this post he had succeeded his father, a gallant soldier, who, five years before, had been slain in battle by this very Hassem, the lord of Algiers. Eight thousand Spaniards had fallen with him on the field, or had been made prisoners of war.[1278] Such were the sad{403} auspices under which the reign of Philip the Second began, in his wars with the Moslems.[1279]

Oran, at this time, was garrisoned by seventeen hundred men; and twenty-seven pieces of artillery were mounted on its walls. Its fortifications were in good repair; but it was in no condition to stand a siege by so formidable a force as that which Hassem was mustering in Algiers. The count of Alcaudete, the governor, a soldier worthy of the illustrious stock from which he sprang, lost no time in placing both Oran and Mazarquivir in the best state of defence which his means allowed, and in acquainting Philip with the peril in which he stood.

Meanwhile, the Algerine chief was going briskly forward with his preparations. Besides his own vassals, he summoned to his aid the petty princes of the neighboring country; and in a short time he had assembled a host in which Moors, Arabs, and Turks were promiscuously mingled, and which, in the various estimates of the Spaniards, rose from fifty to a hundred thousand men.

Little reliance can be placed on the numerical estimates of the Spaniards in their wars with the infidel. The gross exaggeration of the numbers brought by the enemy into the field, and the numbers he was sure to leave there, with the corresponding diminution of their own in both particulars, would seem to infer that, in these religious wars, they thought some miracle was necessary to show that Heaven was on their side, and the greater the miracle the greater the glory. This hyperbolical tone, characteristic of the old Spaniards, and said to have been imported from the East, is particularly visible in the accounts of their struggles with the Spanish Arabs, where large masses were brought into the field on both sides, and where the reports of a battle took indeed the coloring of an Arabian tale. The same taint of exaggeration, though somewhat mitigated, continued to a much later period, and may be observed in the reports of the contests with the Moslems, whether Turks or Moors, in the sixteenth century.

On the fifteenth of March, 1563, Hassem left Algiers, at the head of his somewhat miscellaneous array, sending his battering train of artillery round by water, to meet him at the port of Mazarquivir. He proposed to begin by the siege of this place, which, while it would afford a convenient harbor for his navy, would, by its commanding position, facilitate the conquest of Oran. Leaving a strong body of men, therefore, for the investment of the latter, he continued his march on Mazarquivir, situated at only two leagues' distance. The defence of this place was intrusted by Alcaudete to his brother, Don Martin de Cordova. Its fortifications were in good condition, and garnished with near thirty pieces of artillery. It was garrisoned by five hundred men, was well provided with ammunition, and was victualled for a two months' siege. It was also protected by a detached fort, called St. Michael, built by the count of Alcaudete, and, from its commanding position,{404} now destined to be the first object of attack. The fort was occupied by a few hundred Spaniards, who, as it was of great moment to gain time for the arrival of succors from Spain, were ordered to maintain it to the last extremity.

Hassem was not long in opening trenches. Impatient, however, of the delay of his fleet, which was detained by the weather, he determined not to wait for the artillery, but to attempt to carry the fort by escalade. In this attempt, though conducted with spirit, he met with so decided a repulse, that he abandoned the project of further operations till the arrival of his ships. No sooner did this take place, than, landing his heavy guns, he got them into position as speedily as possible, and opened a lively cannonade on the walls of the fortress. The walls were of no great strength. A breach was speedily made; and Hassem gave orders for the assault.

No sooner was the signal given, than Moor, Turk, Arab,—the various races in whose veins glowed the hot blood of the south,—sprang impetuously forward. In vain the leading files, as they came on, were swept away by the artillery of the fortress, while the guns of Mazarquivir did equal execution on their flank. The tide rushed on, with an enthusiasm that overleaped every obstacle. Each man seemed emulous of his comrade, as if desirous to show the superiority of his own tribe or race. The ditch, choked up with the débris of the rampart and the fascines that had been thrown into it, was speedily crossed; and while some sprang fearlessly into the breach, others endeavored to scale the walls. But everywhere they were met by men as fresh for action as themselves, and possessed of a spirit as intrepid. The battle raged along the parapet, and in the breach, where the struggle was deadliest. It was the old battle, so often fought, of the Crescent and the Cross, the fiery African and the cool, indomitable European. Arquebuse and pike, sabre and scymitar, clashed fearfully against each other; while high above the din rose the war-cries of "Allah!" and "St. Jago!" showing the creeds and countries of the combatants.

At one time it seemed as if the enthusiasm of the Moslems would prevail; and twice the standard of the Crescent was planted on the walls. But it was speedily torn down by the garrison, and the bold adventurers who had planted it thrown headlong into the moat.

Meanwhile an incessant fire of musketry was kept up from the ramparts; and hand-grenades, mingled with barrels of burning pitch, were hurled down on the heads of the assailants, whose confusion was increased, as their sight was blinded by the clouds of smoke which rose from the fascines that had taken fire in the ditch. But although their efforts began to slacken, they were soon encouraged by fresh detachments sent to their support by Hassem, and the fight was renewed with redoubled fury. These efforts, however, proved equally ineffectual. The Moors were driven back on all points; and, giving way before the invincible courage of the Spaniards, they withdrew in such disorder across the fosse, now bridged over with the bodies of the slain, that, if the garrison had been strong enough in numbers, they might have followed the foe to his trenches, and inflicted such a blow as would at once have terminated the siege. As it was, the loss of the enemy was fearful; while that of the Spaniards, screened by their defences, was comparatively light. Yet a hundred lives of the former, so overwhelming were their numbers, were of less account than a single life among the latter. The heads of fifty Turks, who had fallen in the breach or in the ditch, were cut off, as we are told, by the garrison, and sent, as the grisly trophies of their victory, to Oran;[1280] showing the feelings of bitter hatred—perhaps of fear—with which this people was regarded by the Christians.

The Moorish chief, chafing under this loss, reopened his fire on the fortress with greater fury than ever. He then renewed the assault, but with no better success. A third and a fourth time he returned to the attack, but in vain. In vain too Hassem madly tore off his turban, and, brandishing his scymitar, with imprecations on his men, drove them forward to the fight. There was no lack of spirit in his followers, who poured out their blood like water. But it could not shake the constancy of the Spaniards, which seemed even to grow stronger as their situation became more desperate; and as their defences were swept away, they threw themselves on their knees, and from behind the ruins still poured down their volleys of musketry on the assailants.

Yet they could not have maintained their ground so long, but for a seasonable reinforcement received from Mazarquivir. But, however high the spirit, there is a limit to the powers of endurance; and the strength of the garrison was rapidly giving way under incessant vigils and want of food. Their fortifications, moreover, pierced through and through by the enemy's shot, were no longer tenable; and a mine, which Hassem was now prepared to run under the ramparts, would complete the work of destruction. They had obeyed their orders, and stood to their defence gallantly to the last; and they now obtained leave to abandon the fort. On the seventh of May, after having sustained eight assaults and a siege of three weeks, from a host so superior to them in numbers, the garrison marched out of the fortress of St. Michael. Under cover of the guns of Mazarquivir, they succeeded in rejoining their comrades there with but little loss, and were gladly welcomed by their commander, Don Martin de Cordova, who rendered them the honor due to their heroic conduct. That same day Hassem took possession of the fortress. He found only a heap of ruins.[1281]

The Moorish prince, stung with mortification at the price he had paid for his victory, and anxious, moreover, to anticipate the arrival of succors from Spain, now eagerly pressed forward the siege of Mazarquivir. With the assistance of his squadron, the place was closely invested by sea and land. Batteries of heavy guns were raised on opposite sides of the castle; and for ten days they thundered, without interruption, on its devoted walls. When these had been so far shaken as to afford an opening to the besiegers, Hassem, willing to spare the further sacrifice of his men, sent a summons to Don Martin to surrender, intimating, at the same time, that the works were in too ruinous a condition to be defended. To this the Spaniard coolly replied, that, "if they were in such a condition, Hassem might come and take them."

On the signal from their chief, the Moors moved rapidly forward to the attack, and were soon brought face to face with their enemy. A bloody conflict followed, in the breach and on the ramparts. It continued more than five hours. The assailants found they had men of the same mettle to deal with as before, and with defences yet stronger than those they had encountered in the fortress of St. Michael. Here again the ardor of the African proved no match for the cool and steady courage of the European; and Hassem's forces, repulsed on every quarter, withdrew in so mangled a condition to their trenches, that he was in no state for several days to renew the assault.[1282]{406}

It would be tedious to rehearse the operations of a siege so closely resembling in its details that of the fortress of St. Michael. The most conspicuous figure in the bloody drama was the commander of the garrison, Don Martin de Cordova. Freely exposing himself to hardship and danger with the meanest of his followers, he succeeded in infusing his own unconquerable spirit into their bosoms. On the eve of an assault he might be seen passing through the ranks with a crucifix in his hand, exhorting his men, by the blessed sign of their redemption, to do their duty, and assuring them of the protection of Heaven.[1283] Every soldier, kindling with the enthusiasm of his leader, looked on himself as a soldier of the Cross, and felt assured that the shield of the Almighty must be stretched over those who were thus fighting the battles of the Faith. The women caught somewhat of the same generous ardor, and, instead of confining themselves to the feminine occupations of nursing the sick and the wounded, took an active part in the duties of the soldiers, and helped to lighten their labors.

Still the condition of the garrison became daily more precarious, as their strength diminished, and their defences crumbled around them under the incessant fire of the besiegers. The count of Alcaudete in vain endeavored to come to their relief, or at least to effect a diversion in their favor. Sallying out of Oran, he had more than one sharp encounter with the enemy. But the odds against him were too great; and though he spread carnage among the Moslem ranks, he could ill afford the sacrifice of life that it cost him. In the mean time, the two garrisons were assailed by an enemy from within, more inexorable than the enemy at their gates. Famine had begun to show itself in some of its hideous forms. They were already reduced to the necessity of devouring the flesh of their horses and asses;[1284] and even that was doled out so scantily, as too plainly intimated that this sustenance, wretched as it was, was soon to fail them. Under these circumstances, their spirits would have sunk, had they not been sustained by the expectation of succor from Spain; and they cast many a wistful glance on the Mediterranean, straining their eyes to the farthest verge of the horizon, to see if they could not descry some friendly sail upon the waters.

But Philip was not unmindful of them. Independently of the importance of the posts, he felt his honor to be deeply concerned in the protection of the brave men, who were battling there, for the cause not merely of Castile, but of Christendom. No sooner had he been advised by Alcaudete of the peril in which he stood, than he gave orders that a fleet should be equipped to go to his relief. But such orders, in the disabled condition of the navy, were more easily given than executed. Still, efforts were made to assemble an armament, and get it ready in the shortest possible time. Even the vessels employed to convoy the India galleons were pressed into the service. The young cavaliers of the southern provinces eagerly embarked as volunteers in an expedition which afforded them an opportunity for avenging the insults offered to the Spanish arms. The other states bordering on the Mediterranean, which had, in fact, almost as deep an interest in the cause as Spain herself, promptly furnished their contingents. To these were to be added, as usual, the galleys of the Knights of Malta, always foremost to unfurl the banner in a war with the infidel. In less than two months an armament consisting of forty-two large galleys, besides smaller vessels, well manned and abundantly supplied with provisions and military stores, was assembled in the port of Malaga. It was placed under the command of Don Antonio de Mendoza; who, on the sixth of June, weighed anchor, and steered directly for the Barbary coast.

On the morning of the eighth, at early dawn, the sentinels on the ramparts of Mazarquivir descried the fleet like a dark speck on the distant waters. As it drew nearer, and the rising sun, glancing on the flag of Castile, showed that the long-promised succor was at hand, the exhausted garrison, almost on the brink of despair, gave themselves up to a delirium of joy. They embraced one another, like men rescued from a terrible fate, and, with swelling hearts, offered up thanksgivings to the Almighty for their deliverance. Soon the cannon of Mazarquivir proclaimed the glad tidings to the garrison of Oran, who replied, from their battlements, in thunders which carried dismay into the hearts of the besiegers. If Hassem had any doubt of the cause of these rejoicings, it was soon dispelled by several Moorish vessels, which, scudding before the enemy, like the smaller birds before the eagle, brought report that a Spanish fleet under full sail was standing for Mazarquivir.

No time was to be lost. He commanded his ships lying in the harbor to slip their cables and make the best of their way to Algiers. Orders were given at once to raise the siege. Everything was abandoned. Whatever could be of service to the enemy was destroyed. Hassem caused his guns to be overcharged, and blew them to pieces.[1285] He disencumbered himself of whatever might retard his movements, and, without further delay, began his retreat.

No sooner did Alcaudete descry the army of the besiegers on its march across the hills, than he sallied out, at the head of his cavalry, to annoy them on their retreat. He was soon joined by his brother from Mazarquivir, with such of the garrison as were in condition for service. But the enemy had greatly the start of them. When the Spaniards came up with his rear-guard, they found it entirely composed of janizaries; and this valiant corps, maintaining its usual discipline, faced about and opposed so determined a front to the assailants, that Alcaudete, not caring to risk the advantages he had already gained, drew off his men, and left a free passage to the enemy. The soldiers of the two garrisons now mingled together, and congratulated one another on their happy deliverance, recounting their exploits, and the perils and privations they had endured; while Alcaudete, embracing his heroic brother, could hardly restrain his tears, as he gazed on his wan, emaciated countenance, and read there the story of his sufferings.

The tidings of the repulse of the Moslems were received with unbounded joy throughout Spain. The deepest sympathy had been felt for the brave men who, planted on the outposts of the empire, seemed to have been abandoned to their fate. The king shared in the public sentiment, and showed his sense of the gallant conduct of Alcaudete and his soldiers, by the honors and emoluments he bestowed on them. That nobleman, besides the grant of a large annual revenue, was made viceroy of Navarre. His brother, Don Martin de Cordova, received the encomienda of Hornachos, with the sum of six thousand ducats. Officers of inferior rank obtained the recompense due to their merits. Even the common soldiers were not forgotten; and the government, with politic liberality, settled pensions on the wives and children of those who had perished in the siege.[1286]{408}

Philip now determined to follow up his success; and, instead of confining himself to the defensive, he prepared to carry the war into the enemy's country. His first care, however, was to restore the fortifications of Mazarquivir, which soon rose from their ruins in greater strength and solidity than before. He then projected an expedition against Peñon de Velez de la Gomera, a place situated to the west of his own possessions on the Barbary coast. It was a rocky island fortress, which, from the great strength of its defences, as well as from its natural position, was deemed impregnable. It was held by a fierce corsair, whose name had long been terrible in these seas. In the summer of 1564, the king, with the aid of his allies, got together a powerful armament, and sent it at once against Peñon de Velez. This fortress did not make the resistance to have been expected; and, after a siege of scarcely a week's duration, the garrison submitted to the superior valor—or numbers—of the Christians.[1287]

This conquest was followed up, the ensuing year, by an expedition under Don Alvaro Bazan, the first marquis of Santa Cruz,—a name memorable in the naval annals of Castile. The object of the expedition was to block up the entrance to the river Tetuan, in the neighborhood of the late conquest. The banks of this river had long been the refuge of a horde of pestilent marauders, who, swarming out of its mouth, spread over the Mediterranean, and fell heavily on the commerce of the Christians. Don Alvaro accomplished his object in the face of a desperate enemy, and, after some hard fighting, succeeded in sinking nine brigantines laden with stones in the mouth of the river, and thus effectually obstructed its navigation.[1288]

These brilliant successes caused universal rejoicing through Spain and the neighboring countries. They were especially important for the influence they exerted on the spirits of the Christians, depressed as these had been by a long series of maritime reverses. The Spaniards resumed their ancient confidence, as they saw that victory had once more returned to their banner; and their ships, which had glided like spectres under the shadow of the coast, now, losing their apprehensions of the corsair, pushed boldly out upon the deep. The Moslems, on the other hand, as they beheld their navies discomfited, and one strong place after another wrested from their grasp, lost heart, and for a time, at least, were in no condition for active enterprise.

But while the arms of Spain were thus successful in chastising the Barbary corsairs, rumors reached the country of hostile preparations going forward in the East, of a more formidable character than any on the shores of Africa. The object of these preparations was not Spain itself, but Malta. Yet this little island, the bulwark of Christendom, was so intimately connected with the fortunes of Spain, that an account of its memorable siege can hardly be deemed an episode in the history of Philip the Second.

CHAPTER II.

Masters of Rhodes.—Driven from Rhodes.—Established at Malta.—Menaced by Solyman.—La Valette.—His Preparations for Defence.

The order of the Knights of Malta traces its origin to a remote period—to the time of the first crusade, in the eleventh century. A religious association was then formed in Palestine, under the title of Hospitallers of St. John the Baptist, the object of which, as the name imports, was to minister to the wants of the sick. There was a good harvest of these among the poor pilgrims who wandered from all parts of Europe to the Holy Land. It was not long before the society assumed other duties, of a military nature, designed for the defence of the pilgrim no less than his relief; and the new society, under the name of the Knights Hospitallers of St. John, besides the usual monastic vows, pledged themselves to defend the Holy Sepulchre, and to maintain perpetual war against the infidel.[1289]

In its new form, so consonant with the spirit of the age, the institution found favor with the bold crusaders, and the accession of members from different parts of Christendom greatly enlarged its power and political consequence. It soon rivalled the fraternity of the Templars, and, like that body, became one of the principal pillars of the throne of Jerusalem. After the fall of that kingdom, and the expulsion of the Christians from Palestine, the Knights of St. John remained a short while in Cyprus, when they succeeded in conquering Rhodes from the Turks, and thus secured to themselves a permanent residence.

Placed in the undisputed sovereignty of this little island, the Knights of Rhodes, as they were now usually called, found themselves on a new and independent theatre of action, where they could display all the resources of their institutions, and accomplish their glorious destinies. Thrown into the midst of the Mussulmans, on the borders of the Ottoman Empire, their sword was never in the scabbard. Their galleys spread over the Levant, and, whether alone or with the Venetians,—the rivals of the Turks in those seas,—they faithfully fulfilled their vow of incessant war with the infidel. Every week saw their victorious galleys returning to port with the rich prizes taken from the enemy; and every year the fraternity received fresh accessions of princes and nobles from every part of Christendom, eager to obtain admission into so illustrious an order. Many of these were possessed of large estates, which, on their admission, were absorbed in those of the community. Their manors, scattered over Europe, far exceeded in number those of their rivals, the Templars, in their most palmy state.[1290] And on the suppression of that order, such of its vast possessions as were not seized by the rapacious princes in whose territories they were lodged, were suffered to pass into the hands of the Knights of St. John. The commanderies of the{410} latter—those conventual establishments which faithfully reflected the parent institution in their discipline—were so prudently administered, that a large surplus from their revenues was annually remitted to enrich the treasury of the order.

The government of this chivalrous fraternity, as provided by the statutes which formed its written constitution, was in its nature aristocratical. At the head was the grand-master, elected by the knights from their own body, and, like the doge of Venice, holding his office for life, with an authority scarcely larger than that of this dignitary. The legislative and judicial functions were vested in councils, in which the grand-master enjoyed no higher privilege than that of a double vote. But his patronage was extensive, for he had the nomination to the most important offices, both at home and abroad. The variety and high-sounding titles of these offices may provoke a smile in the reader, who might fancy himself occupied with the concerns of a great empire, rather than those of a little brotherhood of monks. The grand-master, indeed, in his manner of living, affected the state of a sovereign prince. He sent his ambassadors to the principal European courts; and a rank was conceded to him next to that of crowned heads,—above that of any ducal potentate.[1291]

He was enabled to maintain this position by the wealth which, from the sources already enumerated, flowed into the exchequer. Great sums were spent in placing the island in the best state of defence, in constructing public works, palaces for the grand-master, aad ample accommodations for the various languages,—a technical term, denoting the classification of the members according to their respective nations; finally, in the embellishment of the capital, which vied in the splendor of its architecture with the finest cities of Christendom.

Yet, with this show of pomp and magnificence, the Knights of Rhodes did not sink into the enervating luxury which was charged on the Templars, nor did they engage in those worldly, ambitious schemes which provoked the jealousy of princes, and brought ruin on that proud order. In prosperity as in poverty, they were still true to the principles of their institution. Their galleys still spread over the Levant, and came back victorious from their caravans, as their cruises against the Moslems were termed. In every enterprise set on foot by the Christian powers against the enemies of the Faith, the red banner of St. John, with his eight-pointed cross of white, was still to be seen glittering in the front of battle. There is no example of a military institution having religion for its object which, under every change of condition, and for so many centuries, maintained so inflexibly the purity of its principles, and so conscientiously devoted itself to the great object for which it was created.

It was not to be expected that a mighty power, like that of the Turks, would patiently endure the existence of a petty enemy on its borders, which, if not formidable from extent of population and empire, like Venice, was even more annoying by its incessant hostilities, and its depredations on the Turkish commerce. More than one sultan, accordingly, hoping to rid themselves of the annoyance, fitted out expeditions against the island, with the design of crushing the hornets in their nest. But in every attempt they were foiled by the valor of this little band of Christian chivalry. At length, in 1522, Solyman the Second led an expedition in person against Rhodes. For six months the brave knights, with their own good swords, unaided by a single European power, withstood the whole array of the Ottoman empire;{411} and when at length, compelled to surrender, they obtained such honorable terms from Solyman as showed he knew how to respect valor, though in a Christian foe.

Once more without a home, the Knights of St. John were abroad on the world. The European princes, affecting to consider the order as now extinct, prepared to confiscate whatever possessions it had in their several dominions. From this ruin it was saved by the exertions of L'Isle Adam, the grand-master, who showed, at this crisis, as much skill in diplomacy as he had before shown prowess in the field. He visited the principal courts in person, and by his insinuating address, as well as arguments, not only turned the sovereigns from their purpose, but secured effectual aid for his unfortunate brethren. The pope offered them a temporary asylum in the papal territory; and Charles the Fifth was induced to cede to the order the island of Malta, and its dependencies, with entire jurisdiction over them, for their permanent residence.

Malta, which had been annexed by Charles's predecessors to Sicily, had descended to that monarch as part of the dominions of the crown of Aragon. In thus ceding it to the Knights of St. John, the politic prince consulted his own interests quite as much as those of the order. He drew no revenue from the rocky isle, but, on the contrary, was charged with its defence against the Moorish corsairs, who made frequent descents on the spot, wasting the country, and dragging off the miserable people into slavery. By this transfer of the island to the military order of St. John, he not only relieved himself of all further expense on its account, but secured a permanent bulwark for the protection of his own dominions.

It was wise in the emperor to consent that the gift should be burdened with no other condition than the annual payment of a falcon in token of his feudal supremacy. It was also stipulated, that the order should at no time bear arms against Sicily; a stipulation hardly necessary with men who, by their vows, were pledged to fight in defence of Christendom, and not against it.[1292]

In October, 1530, L'Isle Adam and his brave associates took possession of their new domain. Their hearts sunk within them, as their eyes wandered over the rocky expanse, forming a sad contrast to the beautiful "land of roses" which had so long been their abode.[1293] But it was not very long before the wilderness before them was to blossom like the rose under their diligent culture.[1294] Earth was brought in large quantities, and at great cost, from{412} Sicily. Terraces to receive it were hewn in the steep sides of the rock; and the soil, quickened by the ardent sun of Malta, was soon clothed with the glowing vegetation of the south. Still, it did not raise the grain necessary for the consumption of the island. This was regularly imported from Sicily, and stored in large pits or caverns, excavated in the rock, which, hermetically closed, preserved their contents unimpaired for years. In a short time, too, the island bristled with fortifications, which, combined with its natural defences, enabled its garrison to defy the attacks of the corsair. To these works was added the construction of suitable dwellings for the accommodation of the order. But it was long after, and not until the land had been desolated by the siege on which we are now to enter, that it was crowned with the stately edifices which eclipsed those of Rhodes itself, and made Malta the pride of the Mediterranean.[1295]

In their new position the knights were not very differently situated from what they had been in the Levant. They were still encamped amongst the infidel, with the watch-fires of the enemy blazing around them. Again their galleys sailed forth to battle with the corsairs, and returned laden with the spoils of victory. Still the white cross of St. John was to be seen in the post of danger. In all the expeditions of Charles the Fifth and Philip the Second against the Barbary Moors, from the siege of Tunis to the capture of Peñon de Velez, they bore a prominent part. With the bravery of the soldier, they combined the skill of the mariner; and on that disastrous day when the Christian navy was scattered before Algiers, the Maltese galleys were among the few that rode out the tempest.[1296] It was not long before the name of the Knights of Malta became as formidable on the southern shores of the Mediterranean, as that of the Knights of Rhodes had been in the East.

Occasionally their galleys, sweeping by the mouth of the Adriatic, passed into the Levant, and boldly encountered their old enemy on his own seas, even with odds greatly against them.[1297] The Moors of the Barbary coast, smarting under the losses inflicted on them by their indefatigable foe, more than once besought the sultan to come to their aid, and avenge the insults offered to his religion on the heads of the offenders. At this juncture occurred the capture of a Turkish galleon in the Levant. It was a huge vessel, richly laden, and defended by twenty guns and two hundred janizaries. After a desperate action, she was taken by the Maltese galleys, and borne off, a welcome prize, to the island. She belonged to the chief eunuch of the imperial harem, some of the fair inmates of which were said to have had an interest in{413} the precious freight.[1298] These persons now joined with the Moors in the demand for vengeance. Solyman shared in the general indignation at the insult offered to him under the walls, as it were, of his own capital; and he resolved to signalize the close of his reign by driving the knights from Malta, as he had the commencement of it by driving them from Rhodes.

As it was not improbable that the Christian princes would rally in support of an order which had fought so many battles for Christendom, Solyman made his preparations on a formidable scale. Rumors of these spread far and wide; and, as their object was unknown, the great powers on the Mediterranean, each fancying that its own dominions might be the point of attack, lost no time in placing their coasts in a state of defence. The king of Spain sent orders to his viceroy in Sicily to equip such a fleet as would secure the safety of that island.

Meanwhile, the grand-master of Malta, by means of spies whom he secretly employed in Constantinople, received intelligence of the real purpose of the expedition. The post of grand-master, at this time, was held by Jean Parisot de la Valette, a man whose extraordinary character, no less than the circumstances in which he was placed, has secured him an imperishable name on the page of history. He was of an ancient family from the south of France, being of the language of Provence. He was now in the sixty-eighth year of his age.[1299] In his youth he had witnessed the memorable siege of Rhodes, and had passed successively through every post in the order, from the humblest to the highest, which he now occupied. With large experience he combined a singular discretion, and an inflexible spirit, founded on entire devotion to the great cause in which he was engaged. It was the conviction of this self-devotion which, in part, at least, may have given La Valette that ascendancy over the minds of his brethren, which was so important at a crisis like the present. It may have been the anticipation of such a crisis that led to his election as grand-master in 1557, when the darkness coming over the waters showed the necessity of an experienced pilot to weather the storm.

No sooner had the grand-master learned the true destination of the Turkish armament, than he sent his emissaries to the different Christian powers, soliciting aid for the order in its extremity. He summoned the knights absent in foreign lands to return to Malta, and take part with their brethren in the coming struggle. He imported large supplies of provisions and military stores from Sicily and Spain. He drilled the militia of the island, and formed an effective body of more than three thousand men; to which was added a still greater number of Spanish and Italian troops, raised for him by the knights who were abroad. This force was augmented by the extraordinary addition of five hundred galley-slaves, whom La Valette withdrew from the oar, promising to give them their freedom if they served him faithfully. Lastly, the fortifications were put in repair, strengthened with outworks, and placed in the best condition for resisting the enemy. All classes of the inhabitants joined in this work. The knights themselves took their part in the toilsome drudgery; and the grand-master did not disdain to labor with the humblest of his followers. He not only directed, but, as hands were wanted, he set the example of carrying his own orders into execution. Wherever his presence was needed, he was to be found,—ministering to the sick, cheering{414} the desponding, stimulating the indifferent, chiding the dilatory, watching over the interests of the little community intrusted to his care with parental solicitude.

While thus employed, La Valette received a visit from the Sicilian viceroy, Don Garcia de Toledo, the conqueror of Peñon de Velez. He came, by Philip's orders, to concert with the grand-master the best means of defence. He assured the latter that, so soon as he had assembled a fleet, he would come to his relief; and he left his natural son with him, to learn the art of war under so experienced a commander. La Valette was comforted by the viceroy's promises of succor. But he well knew that it was not to the promises of others he was to trust, in his present exigency, but to his own efforts and those of his brave companions.

The knights, in obedience to his call, had for the most part now arrived, each bringing with him a number of servants and other followers. Some few of the more aged and infirm remained behind; but this not so much from infirmity and age, as from the importance of having some of its members to watch over the interests of the community at foreign courts. La Valette was touched by the alacrity with which his brethren repaired to their posts, to stand by their order in the dark hour of its fortunes. He tenderly embraced them; and soon afterwards, calling them together, he discoursed with them on the perilous position in which they stood, with the whole strength of the Moorish and Turkish empires mustering against them. "It was the great battle of the Cross and the Koran," he said, "that was now to be fought. They were the chosen soldiers of the Cross; and, if Heaven required the sacrifice of their lives, there could be no better time than this glorious occasion." The grand-master then led the way to the chapel of the convent, where he and his brethren, after devoutly confessing, partook of the sacrament, and, at the foot of the altar, solemnly renewed their vows to defend the Church against the infidel. With minds exalted by these spiritual exercises, all worldly interests seemed, from that moment, says their historian, to lose their hold on their affections. They stood like a company of martyrs,—the forlorn hope of Christendom, prepared, as their chief had said, to offer up their lives a sacrifice to the great cause in which they were engaged. Such were the feelings with which La Valette and his companions, having completed their preparations, now calmly awaited the coming of the enemy.[1300]

CHAPTER III.

Condition of Malta.—Arrival of the Turks.—They reconnoitre the Island.—Siege of St. Elmo.—Its Heroic Defence.—Its Fall.

Before entering on the particulars of this memorable siege, it will be necessary to make the reader somewhat acquainted with the country which was the scene of operations. The island of Malta is about seventeen miles long{415} and nine broad. At the time of the siege it contained some twelve thousand inhabitants, exclusive of the members of the order. They were gathered, for the most part, into wretched towns and villages, the principal one of which was defended by a wall of some strength, and was dignified with the title of Civita Notable—"Illustrious City." As it was situated in the interior, near the centre of the island, the knights did not take up their residence there, but preferred the north-eastern part of Malta, looking towards Sicily, and affording a commodious harbor for their galleys.

The formation of the land in this quarter is very remarkable. A narrow, rocky promontory stretches out into the Mediterranean, dividing its waters into two small gulfs,—that on the west being called Marza Musiette, or Port Musiette, and that towards the east, which now bears the name of Valetta Harbor, being then known as the Great Port. The extreme point of the promontory was crowned by the Castle of St. Elmo, built by the order, soon after its arrival in the island, on the spot which commanded the entrance into both harbors. It was a fortress of considerable strength, for which it was chiefly indebted to its position. Planted on the solid rock, and washed, for the greater part of its circuit, by the waters of the Mediterranean, it needed no other defence on that quarter. But towards the land it was more open to an enemy; and, though protected by a dry ditch and a counterscarp, it was thought necessary to secure it still further, by means of a ravelin on the south-west, which La Valette had scarcely completed before the arrival of the Turks.

Port Musiette, on the west, is that in which vessels now perform quarantine. The Great Port was the most important; for round that was gathered the little community of knights. Its entrance, which is not more than a quarter of a mile in width, is commanded by two headlands, one of them crested, as above mentioned, by the fort of St. Elmo. The length of the harbor may be nearly two miles; and the water is of sufficient depth for ships of the greatest burden to ride there in security, sheltered within the encircling arms of the coast from the storms of the Mediterranean.

From the eastern side of this basin shoot out two projecting headlands, forming smaller harbors within the Great Port. The most northerly of these strips of land was defended by the Castle of St. Angelo, round which clustered a little town, called by way of eminence Il Borgo, "The Burgh,"—now more proudly styled "The Victorious City." It was here that the order took up its residence,—the grand-masters establishing themselves in the castle; and great pains were taken to put the latter in a good state of defence, while the town was protected by a wall. On the parallel strip of land, known as the island of La Sangle, from a grand-master of that name, stood a fort, called the fort of St. Michael, with a straggling population gathered around it, now busily employed in strengthening the defences. Between the two headlands lay the Port of Galleys, serving, as its name imports, as a haven for the little navy of the order. This port was made more secure by an iron chain drawn across its entrance, from the extreme point of one headland to the other.

Such were the works constructed by the knights in the brief period during which they had occupied the island. They were so far imperfect, that many a commanding eminence, which the security of the country required to be strongly fortified, still remained as naked and exposed as at the time of their arrival. This imperfect state of its defences presented a strong contrast to the present condition of Malta, bristling all over with fortifications, which seem to form part of the living rock out of which they spring, and which, in the hands of a power that holds possession of the sea, might bid defiance to the world.

The whole force which La Valette could muster in defence of the island{416} amounted to about nine thousand men. This included seven hundred knights, of whom about six hundred had already arrived. The remainder were on their way, and joined him at a later period of the siege. Between three and four thousand were Maltese, irregularly trained, but who had already gained some experience of war in their contests with the Barbary corsairs. The rest of the army, with the exception of five hundred galley slaves, already noticed, and the personal followers of the knights, was made up of levies from Spain and Italy, who had come over to aid in the defence. The useless part of the population—the infirm and the aged—had for the most part been shipped off to Sicily. There still remained, however, numbers of women and children; and the former, displaying the heroic constancy which, in times of trouble, so often distinguishes the sex, did good service during the siege, by tending the sick and by cheering the flagging spirits of the soldier.[1301]

This little army La Valette distributed on the several stations, assigning each to some one of the languages, or nations, that the spirit of emulation might work its effects on the chivalry of the order. The castle of St. Elmo was the point of first importance. It covered so contracted a piece of ground, that it scarcely afforded accommodation for a thousand men; and not more than eight hundred were shut up within its walls at the commencement of the siege.[1302] Its dimensions did not admit of its being provided with magazines capable of holding any large quantity of provisions, or military stores, for which it was unfortunately obliged to rely on its communication with Il Borgo, the town across the harbor. The masonry of the fort was not in the best repute: though the works were lined with at least thirty pieces of artillery, looking chiefly towards the land. Its garrison, which usually amounted to sixty soldiers, was under the command of an aged knight, named De Broglio. The grand-master reinforced this body with sixty knights under the bailiff of Negropont, a veteran in whose well-tried valor La Valette placed entire confidence. He was strengthened by two companies of foreign levies, under the command of a Spanish cavalier named La Cerda.[1303]

Various other points were held by small detachments, with some one of the order at the head of each. But the strength of the force, including nearly all the remainder of the knights, was posted in the castle of St. Angelo and in the town at its base. Here La Valette took his own station, as the spot which, by its central position, would enable him to watch over the interests of the whole. All was bustle in this quarter, as the people were busily employed in strengthening the defences of the town, and in razing buildings in the suburbs, which the grand-master feared might afford a lodgement to the enemy. In this work their labors were aided by a thousand slaves, taken from the prison, and chained together in couples.[1304]

On the morning of the eighteenth of May, 1565, the Turkish fleet was descried by the sentinels of St. Elmo and St. Angelo, about thirty miles to the eastward, standing directly for Malta. A gun, the signal agreed on, was fired{417} from each of the forts, to warn the inhabitants of the country to withdraw into their villages. The fleet amounted to one hundred and thirty royal galleys with fifty of lesser size, besides a number of transports with the cannon, ammunition, and other military stores.[1305] The breaching artillery consisted of sixty-three guns, the smallest of which threw a ball of fifty-six pounds, and some few, termed basilicas, carried marble bullets of a hundred and twelve pounds' weight.[1306] The Turks were celebrated for the enormous calibre of their guns, from a very early period; and they continued to employ those pieces long after they had given way, in the rest of Europe, to cannon of more moderate and manageable dimensions.

The number of soldiers on board, independently of the mariners, and including six thousand janizaries, was about thirty thousand,—the flower of the Ottoman army.[1307] Their appointments were on the most perfect scale, and everything was provided requisite for the prosecution of the siege. Never, probably, had there been so magnificent an armament in the waters of the Mediterranean. It was evident that Solyman was bent on the extermination of the order which he had once driven into exile, but which had now renewed its strength, and become the most formidable enemy of the Crescent.

The command of the expedition was intrusted to two officers. One of these, Piali, was the same admiral who defeated the Spaniards at Gelves. He had the direction of the naval operations. The land forces were given to Mustapha, a veteran nearly seventy years of age, whose great experience, combined with military talents of a high order, had raised him to the head of his profession. Unfortunately, his merits as an officer were tarnished by his cruelty. Besides the command of the army, he had a general authority over the whole expedition, which excited the jealousy of Piali, who thought himself injured by the preference given to his rival. Thus feelings of mutual distrust arose in the bosoms of the two chiefs, which to some extent paralyzed the operations of each.

The Turkish armada steered for the south-eastern quarter of the island, and cast anchor in the port of St. Thomas. The troops speedily disembarked, and spread themselves in detached bodies over the land, devastating the country, and falling on all stragglers whom they met in the fields. Mustapha, with the main body of the army, marching a short distance into the interior, occupied a rising ground, only a few miles from Il Borgo. It was with difficulty that the inhabitants could be prevented from issuing from the gates, in order to gaze on the show presented by the invaders, whose magnificent array stretched far beyond the hills, with their bright arms and banners glittering in the sun, and their warlike music breathing forth notes of defiance to the Christians. La Valette, in his turn, caused the standard of St. John to be unfurled from the ramparts of the castle, and his trumpets to answer in a similar strain of defiance to that of the enemy.[1308]{418}

Meanwhile the grand marshal, Coppier, had sallied from the town at the head of a small troop, and fallen upon some of the detachments which were scouring the country. The success of his arms was shown by the gory heads of the slaughtered Turks, which he sent back to Il Borgo as the trophies of victory.[1309] La Valette's design, in permitting these encounters, was to familiarize his men with the novel aspect and peculiar weapons of their enemies, as well as with the fierce war-cries which the Turks raised in battle. But the advantages gained in these skirmishes did not compensate the losses, however light, on the part of the Christians; and after two knights and a number of the common file had been slain, the grand-master ordered his followers to remain quietly within the walls of the town.

It was decided, in the Turkish council of war, to begin operations with the siege of the castle of St. Elmo; as the possession of this place was necessary to secure a safe harbor for the Turkish fleet. On the twenty-fourth of May, the trenches were opened, if that can be said where, from the rocky, impenetrable nature of the ground, no trenches could be dug, and the besiegers were obliged to shelter themselves behind a breastwork formed of planks, having the space between them filled with earth brought from a distance, and held together by straw and rushes. At certain intervals Mustapha indicated the points for batteries. The principal of these was a battery where ten guns were mounted, some of them of the largest calibre; and although artillery practice was very different from what it is in our times, with so much greater experience and more manageable engines, yet masonry stronger than that of St. Elmo might well have crumbled under the masses of stone and iron that were now hurled against it.

As the works began to give way, it seemed evident that the garrison must rely more on their own strength than on that of their defences. It was resolved, therefore, to send to the grand-master and request reinforcements. The Chevalier de la Cerda was intrusted with the mission. Crossing over to Il Borgo, he presented himself before La Valette, and insisted on the necessity of further support if the fort was to be maintained against the infidel. The grand-master listened, with a displeasure which he could not conceal, to this application for aid so early in the siege; especially as it was made in the presence of many of the knights, who might well be disheartened by it. He coldly asked La Cerda what loss the garrison had suffered. The knight, evading the question, replied, that St. Elmo was in the condition of a sick man who requires the aid of the physician. "I will be the physician," said La Valette, "and will bring such aid that, if I cannot cure your fears, I may at least hope to save the place from falling into the hands of the enemy." So impressed was he with the importance of maintaining this post to the last extremity, if it were only to gain time for the Sicilian succors, that he was prepared, as he said, to throw himself into the fortress, and, if need were, to bury himself in its ruins.

From this desperate resolution he was dissuaded by the unanimous voice of the knights, who represented to him that it was not the duty of the commander-in-chief to expose himself like a common soldier, and take his place in the forlorn hope. The grand-master saw the justice of these remonstrances; and, as the knights contended with one another for the honor of assuming the post of danger, he allowed fifty of the order, together with two companies of soldiers, to return with La Cerda to the fort. The reinforcement was placed under command of the Chevalier de Medran, a gallant soldier, on whose constancy and courage La Valette knew he could rely. Before its departure, the strength of the force was increased by the arrival of several knights from Sicily, who obtained the grand-master's leave to share the fortunes{419} of their brethren in St. Elmo. The troops were sent across the harbor, together with supplies of food and ammunition, in open boats, under cover of a heavy fire from the guns of St. Angelo. A shot happened to fall on a stone near the trenches, in which Piali, the Turkish admiral, was standing; and, a splinter striking him on the head, he was severely, though not mortally wounded. La Valette took advantage of the confusion created by this incident to despatch a galley to Sicily, to quicken the operations of the viceroy, and obtain from him the promised succors. To this Don Garcia de Toledo replied by an assurance that he should come to his relief by the middle of June.[1310]

It was now the beginning of that month. Scarcely had De Medran entered St. Elmo, when he headed a sally against the Turks, slew many in the trenches, and put the remainder to flight. But they soon returned in such overwhelming force as compelled the Christians to retreat and take refuge within their works. Unfortunately, the smoke of the musketry, borne along by a southerly breeze, drifted in the direction of the castle; and under cover of it, the Turks succeeded in getting possession of the counterscarp. As the smoke cleared away, the garrison were greatly dismayed at seeing the Moslem standard planted on their own defences. It was in vain they made every effort to recover them. The assailants, speedily intrenching themselves behind a parapet formed of gabions, fascines, and wool-sacks, established a permanent lodgement on the counterscarp.

From this point, they kept up a lively discharge of musketry on the ravelin, killing such of its defenders as ventured to show themselves. An untoward event soon put them in possession of the ravelin itself. A Turkish engineer, reconnoitring that outwork from the counterscarp, is said to have perceived a sentinel asleep on his post. He gave notice to his countrymen; and a party of janizaries succeeded, by means of their ladders, in scaling the walls of the ravelin. The guard, though few in number and taken by surprise, still endeavored to maintain the place. A sharp skirmish ensued. But the Turks, speedily reinforced by their comrades, who flocked to their support, overpowered the Christians, and forced them to give way. Some few succeeded in effecting their retreat into the castle. The janizaries followed close on the fugitives. For a moment it seemed as if Moslem and Christian would both be hurried along by the tide of battle into the fort itself. But fortunately the bailiff of Negropont, De Medran, and some other cavaliers, heading their followers, threw themselves on the enemy, and checked the pursuit. A desperate struggle ensued, in which science was of no avail, and victory waited on the strongest. In the end the janizaries were forced to retreat in their turn. Every inch of ground was contested; until the Turks, pressed hard by their adversaries, fell back into the ravelin, where, with the aid of their comrades, they made a resolute stand against the Christians. Two cannon of the fortress were now brought to bear on the outwork. But, though their volleys told with murderous effect, the Turks threw themselves into the midst of the fire, and fearlessly toiled, until, by means of gabions, sand-bags, and other materials, they had built up a parapet which secured them from annoyance. All further contest was rendered useless; and the knights, abandoning this important outwork to the assailants, sullenly withdrew into the fortress.[1311]{420}

While this was going on, a fresh body of Turks, bursting into the ditch, through a breach in the counterscarp, endeavored to carry the fortress by escalade. Fortunately, their ladders were too short; and the garrison, plying them with volleys of musketry, poured down, at the same time, such a torrent of missiles on their heads as soon strewed the ditch with mangled limbs and carcasses. At this moment a party, sallying from the fort, fell on the enemy with great slaughter, and drove them—such as were in condition to fly—back into their trenches.

The engagement, brought on, as we have seen, by accident, lasted several hours. The loss of the Turks greatly exceeded that of the garrison, which amounted to less than a hundred men, twenty of whom were members of the order. But the greatest loss of the besieged was that of the counterscarp and ravelin. Thus shorn of its outworks, the castle of St. Elmo stood like some bare and solitary trunk exposed to all the fury of the tempest.[1312]

The loss of the ravelin gave the deepest concern to La Valette, which was not mitigated by the consideration that it was to be charged, in part at least, on the negligence of its defenders. It made him the more solicitous to provide for the security of the castle; and he sent his boats over to remove the wounded, and replace them by an equal number of able-bodied knights and soldiers. It was his intention that the garrison should not be encumbered with any who were unable to assist in the defence. Among the new recruits was the Chevalier de Miranda,—one of the most illustrious members of the order, who had lately arrived from Sicily,—a soldier whose personal authority, combined with great military knowledge, proved eminently useful to the garrison.

The loss which the besiegers had sustained in the late encounter was more than counterbalanced by the arrival, at this time, of Dragut, the famous pasha of Tripoli, with thirteen Moorish galleys. He was welcomed by salvos of artillery and the general rejoicing of the army; and this not so much on account of the reinforcement which he brought—the want of which was not then felt—as of his reputation; for he was no less celebrated as an engineer than as a naval commander. The sultan, who had the highest opinion of his merits, had ordered his generals to show him the greatest deference; and they, at once, advised with him as to the best means of prosecuting the siege. The effect of his counsel was soon seen in the more judicious and efficient measures that were adopted. A battery of four culverins was established on the western headland commanding the entrance of Port Musiette. It was designed to operate on the western flank of the fortress; and the point of land on which it stood is still known by the name of the redoubtable corsair.

Another battery, much more formidable from the number and size of the pieces, was raised on an eminence to the south of St. Elmo, and played both upon that fort and upon the castle of St. Angelo. The counterscarp of the former fortress was shaved away, so as to allow a free range to the artillery of the besiegers;[1313] and two cannon were planted on the ravelin, which{421} directed a searching fire on the interior of the fortress, compelling the garrison to shelter themselves behind retrenchments constructed under the direction of Miranda.[1314]

The artillery of the Turks now opened with dreadful effect, as they concentrated their fire on the naked walls of St. Elmo. No masonry could long withstand the tempest of iron and ponderous marble shot which was hurled from the gigantic engines of the besiegers. Fragments of the wall fell off as if it had been made of plaster; and St. Elmo trembled to its foundations under the thunders of the terrible ordnance. The heart of the stoutest warrior might well have faltered as he saw the rents each day growing wider and wider, as if gaping to give entrance to the fierce multitude that was swarming at the gates.

In this extremity, with the garrison wasted by the constant firing of the enemy, worn down by excessive toil, many of the knights wounded, all of them harassed by long-protracted vigils, it was natural that the greater part should feel that they had done all that duty required of them, and that, without loss of honor, they might retire from a post that was no longer tenable. They accordingly resolved to apply to the grand-master to send his boats at once to transport them and the rest of the garrison to Il Borgo. The person whom they chose for the mission was the Chevalier de Medran, who, as La Valette would know, was not likely to exaggerate the difficulties of their situation.

De Medran accordingly crossed the harbor, and, in an interview with the grand-master, explained the purpose of his visit. He spoke of the dilapidated state of the fortifications, and dwelt on the forlorn condition of the garrison, which was only to be sustained by constant reinforcements from Il Borgo. But this was merely another mode of consuming the strength of the order. It would be better, therefore, instead of prolonging a desperate defence, which must end in the ruin of the defenders, to remove them at once to the town, where they could make common cause with their brethren against the enemy.

La Valette listened attentively to De Medran's arguments, which were well deserving of consideration. But, as the affair was of the last importance to the interests of his little community, he chose to lay it before the council of Grand Crosses,—men who filled the highest stations in the order. They were unanimously of the same opinion as De Medran. Not so was La Valette. He felt that with the maintenance of St. Elmo was connected the very existence of the order. The viceroy of Sicily, he told his brethren, had declared that, if this strong post were in the hands of the enemy, he would not hazard his master's fleet there to save the island. And, next to their own good swords, it was on the Sicilian succors that they must rely. The knights must maintain the post at all hazards. The viceroy could not abandon them in their need. He himself would not desert, them. He would keep them well supplied with whatever was required for their defence; and, if necessary, would go over and take the command in person, and make good the place against the infidel, or die in the breach.

The elder knights, on learning the grand-master's decision, declared their resolution to abide by it. They knew how lightly he held his life in comparison with the cause to which it was consecrated; and they avowed their determination to shed the last drop of their blood in defence of the post intrusted to them. The younger brethren were not so easily reconciled to the decision of their superiors. To remain there longer was a wanton sacrifice{422} of life, they said. They were penned up in the fort, like sheep, tamely waiting to be devoured by the fierce wolves that were thirsting for their blood. This they could not endure; and, if the grand-master did not send to take them off at once, they would sally out against the enemy, and find an honorable death on the field of battle. A letter signed by fifty of the knights, expressing their determination, was accordingly despatched by one of their number to Il Borgo.

La Valette received the communication with feelings in which sorrow was mingled with indignation. It was not enough, he said, for them to die the honorable death which they so much coveted. They must die in the manner he prescribed. They were bound to obey his commands. He reminded them of the vows taken at the time of their profession, and the obligation of every loyal knight to sacrifice his life, if necessary, for the good of the order. Nor would they gain anything, he added, by abandoning their post and returning to the town. The Turkish army would soon be at its gates, and the viceroy of Sicily would leave them to their fate.

That he might not appear, however, to pass too lightly by their remonstrances, La Valette determined to send three commissioners to inspect St. Elmo, and report on its condition. This would at least have the advantage of gaining time, when every hour gained was of importance. He also sent to Sicily to remonstrate on the tardiness of the viceroy's movements, and to urge the necessity of immediate succors if he would save the castle.

The commissioners were received with joy by the refractory knights, whom they found so intent on their departure that they were already beginning to throw the shot into the wells, to prevent its falling into the hands of the Turks. They eagerly showed the commissioners every part of the works, the ruinous condition of which, indeed, spoke more forcibly than the murmurs of the garrison. Two of the body adopted the views of the disaffected party, and pronounced the fort no longer tenable. But the third, an Italian cavalier, named Castriot, was of a different way of thinking. The fortifications, he admitted, were in a bad state; but it was far from a desperate one. With fresh troops and the materials that could be furnished from the town, they might soon be put in condition to hold out for some time longer. Such an opinion, so boldly avowed, in opposition to the complaints of the knights, touched their honor. A hot dispute arose between the parties; and evil consequences might have ensued, had not the commander, De Broglio, and the bailiff of Negropont, to stop the tumult, caused the alarm-bell to be rung, which sent every knight to his post.

Castriot, on his return, made a similar report to the grand-master, and boldly offered to make good his words. If La Valette would allow him to muster a force, he would pass over to St. Elmo, and put it in condition still to hold out against the Ottoman arms.

La Valette readily assented to a proposal which he may perhaps have originally suggested. No compulsion was to be used in a service of so much danger. But volunteers speedily came forward, knights, soldiers, and inhabitants of both town and country. The only difficulty was in making the selection. All eagerly contended for the glory of being enrolled in this little band of heroes.

La Valette was cheered by the exhibition of this generous spirit in his followers. It gave assurance of success stronger than was to be derived from any foreign aid. He wrote at once to the discontented knights in St. Elmo, and informed them of what had been done. Their petition was now granted. They should be relieved that very evening. They had only to resign their posts to their successors. "Return, my brethren," he concluded, "to the convent. There you will be safe for the present; and I shall have less apprehension{423} for the fate of the fortress, on which the preservation of the island so much depends."

The knights, who had received some intimation of the course the affair was taking in Il Borgo, were greatly disconcerted by it. To surrender to others the post committed to their own keeping, would be a dishonor they could not endure. When the letter of the grand-master arrived, their mortification was extreme; and it was not diminished by the cool and cutting contempt but thinly veiled under a show of solicitude for their personal safety. They implored the bailiff of Negropont to write in their name to La Valette, and beseech him not to subject them to such a disgrace. They avowed their penitence for the course they had taken, and only asked that they might now be allowed to give such proofs of devotion to the cause as should atone for their errors.

The letter was despatched by a swimmer across the harbor. But the grand-master coldly answered, that veterans without subordination were in his eyes of less worth than raw recruits who submitted to discipline. The wretchedness of the knights at this repulse was unspeakable; for in their eyes dishonor was far worse than death. In their extremity they addressed themselves again to La Valette, renewing their protestations of sorrow for the past, and in humble terms requesting his forgiveness. The chief felt that he had pushed the matter far enough. It was perhaps the point to which he had intended to bring it. It would not be well to drive his followers to despair. He felt now they might be trusted. He accordingly dismissed the levies, retaining only a part of these brave men to reinforce the garrison; and with them he sent supplies of ammunition, and materials for repairing the battered works.[1315]

During this time, the Turkish commander was pressing the siege with vigor. Day and night, the batteries thundered on the ramparts of the devoted fortress. The ditch was strewed with fragments torn from the walls by the iron tempest; and a yawning chasm, which had been gradually opening on the south-western side of the castle, showed that a practicable breach was at length effected. The uncommon vivacity with which the guns played through the whole of the fifteenth of June, and the false alarms with which the garrison was harassed on the following night, led to the belief that a general assault was immediately intended. The supposition was correct. On the sixteenth, at dawn, the whole force of the besiegers was under arms. The appointed signal was given by the discharge of a cannon; when a numerous body of janizaries, formed into column, moved swiftly forward to storm the great breach of the castle.

Meanwhile the Ottoman fleet, having left its anchorage on the eastern side of the island, had moved round, and now lay off the mouth of the Great Port, where its heavy guns were soon brought to bear on the seaward side of St. Elmo. The battery on Point Dragut opened on the western flank of the fortress; and four thousand musketeers in the trenches swept the breach with showers of bullets, and picked off those of the garrison who showed their heads above the parapet.

The guns of the besieged, during this time, were not idle. They boldly answered the cannonade of the vessels; and on the land side the play of artillery and musketry was incessant. The besieged now concentrated their{424} aim on the formidable body of janizaries, who, as already noticed, were hurrying forward to the assault. Their leading files were mowed down, and their flank cruelly torn, by the cannon of St. Angelo, at less than half a mile's distance. But though staggered by this double fire on front and flank, the janizaries were not stayed in their career, nor even thrown into disarray. Heedless of those who fell, the dark column came steadily on, like a thundercloud; while the groans of the dying were drowned in the loud battle-cries with which their comrades rushed to the assault. The fosse, choked up with the ruins of the ramparts, afforded a bridge to the assailants, who had no need of the fascines with which their pioneers were prepared to fill up the chasm. The approach of the breach, however, was somewhat steep; and the breach itself was defended by a body of knights and soldiers, who poured volleys of musketry thick as hail on the assailants. Still they pushed forward through the storm, and, after a fierce struggle, the front rank found itself at the summit, face to face with its enemies. But the strength of the Turks was nearly exhausted by their efforts. They were hewn down by the Christians, who came fresh into action. Yet others succeeded those who fell; till, thus out-numbered, the knights began to lose ground, and the forces were more equally matched. Then came the struggle of man against man, where each party was spurred on by the fury of religious hate, and Christian and Moslem looked to paradise as the reward of him who fell in battle against the infidel. No mercy was asked; none was shown; and long and hard was the conflict between the flower of the Moslem soldiery and the best knights of Christendom. In the heat of the fight an audacious Turk planted his standard on the rampart. But it was speedily wenched away by the Chevalier de Medran, who cut down the Mussulman, and at the same moment received a mortal wound from an arquebuse.[1316] As the contest lasted far into the day, the heat became intense, and added sorely to the distress of the combatants. Still neither party slackened their efforts. Though several times repulsed, the Turks returned to the assault with the same spirit as before; and when sabre and scymitar were broken, the combatants closed with their daggers, and rolled down the declivity of the breach, struggling in mortal conflict with each other.

While the work of death was going on in this quarter, a vigorous attempt was made in another to carry the fortress by escalade. A body of Turks, penetrating into the fosse, raised their ladders against the walls, and, pushed forward by their comrades in the rear, endeavored to force an ascent, under a plunging fire of musketry from the garrison. Fragments of rook, logs of wood, ponderous iron shot, were rolled over the parapet, mingled with combustibles and hand-grenades, which, exploding as they descended, shattered the ladders, and hurled the mangled bodies of the assailants on the rocky bottom of the ditch. In this contest one invention proved of singular use to the besieged. It was furnished them by La Valette, and consisted of an iron hoop, wound round with cloth steeped in nitre and bituminous substances, which, when ignited, burned with inextinguishable fury. These hoops, thrown on the assailants, inclosed them in their fiery circles. Sometimes two were thus imprisoned in the same hoop; and, as the flowing dress of the Turks favored the conflagration, they were speedily wrapped in a blaze which scorched them severely, if it did not burn them to death.[1317] This invention,{425} so simple,—and rude, as in our day it might be thought,—was so disastrous in its effects, that it was held in more dread by the Turks than any other of the fireworks employed by the besieged.

A similar attempt to scale the walls was made on the other side of the castle, but was defeated by a well-directed fire from the guns of St. Angelo across the harbor,—which threw their shot with such precision as to destroy most of the storming party, and compel the rest to abandon their design.[1318] Indeed, during the whole of the assault, the artillery of St. Angelo, St. Michael, and Il Borgo kept up so irritating a fire on the exposed flank and rear of the enemy as greatly embarrassed his movements, and did good service to the besieged.

Thus the battle raged along the water and on the land. The whole circuit of the Great Port was studded with fire. A din of hideous noises rose in the air; the roar of cannon, the rattle of musketry, the hissing of fiery missiles, the crash of falling masonry, the shrieks of the dying, and, high above all, the fierce cries of those who struggled for mastery! To add to the tumult, in the heat of the fight, a spark falling into the magazine of combustibles in the fortress, it blew up with a tremendous explosion, drowning every other noise, and for a moment stilling the combat. A cloud of smoke and vapor, rising into the air, settled heavily, like a dark canopy, above St. Elmo. It seemed as if a volcano had suddenly burst from the peaceful waters of the Mediterranean, belching out volumes of fire and smoke, and shaking the island to its centre!

The fight had lasted for some hours; and still the little band of Christian warriors made good their stand against the overwhelming odds of numbers. The sun had now risen high in the heavens, and as its rays beat fiercely on the heads of the assailants, their impetuosity began to slacken. At length, faint with heat and excessive toil, and many staggering under wounds, it was with difficulty that the janizaries could be brought back to the attack; and Mustapha saw with chagrin that St. Elmo was not to be won that day. Soon after noon, he gave the signal to retreat; and the Moslem host, drawing off under a galling fire from the garrison, fell back in sullen silence into their trenches, as the tiger, baffled in his expected prey, takes refuge from the spear of the hunter in his jungle.[1319]

As the Turks withdrew, the garrison of St. Elmo raised a shout of victory that reached across the waters, and was cheerily answered from both St. Angelo and the town, whose inhabitants had watched with intense interest the current of the fight, on the result of which their own fate so much depended.

The number of Moslems who perished in the assault can only be conjectured. But it must have been very large. That of the garrison is stated as high as three hundred men. Of these, seventeen were knights of the order. But the common soldier, it was observed, did his duty as manfully throughout the day as the best knight by whose side he fought.[1320] Few, if any, of the{426} survivors escaped without wounds. Suck as were badly injured were transferred at once to the town, and an equal number of able-bodied troops sent to replace them, together with supplies of ammunition, and materials for repairing, as far as possible, the damage to the works. Among those who suffered most from their wounds was the bailiff of Negropont. He obstinately refused to be removed to the town; and when urged by La Valette to allow a substitute to be sent to relieve him, the veteran answered, that he was ready to yield up his command to any one who should be appointed in his place; but he trusted he should be allowed still to remain in St. Elmo, and shed the last drop of his blood in defence of the Faith.[1321]

A similar heroic spirit was shown in the competition of the knights, and even of the Maltese soldiers, to take the place of those who had fallen in the fortress. It was now not merely the post of danger, but, as might be truly said, the post of death. Yet these brave men eagerly contended for it, as for the palm of glory; and La Valette was obliged to refuse the application of twelve knights of the language of Italy, on the ground that the complement of the garrison was full.

The only spark of hope now left was that of receiving the succors from Sicily. But the viceroy, far from quickening his movements, seemed willing to play the part of the matador in one of his national bull-fights,—allowing the contending parties in the arena to exhaust themselves in the struggle, and reserving his own appearance till a single thrust from his sword should decide the combat.

Still, some chance of prolonging its existence remained to St. Elmo while the communication could be maintained with St. Angelo and the town, by means of which the sinking strength of the garrison was continually renewed with the fresh life-blood that was poured into its veins. The Turkish commander at length became aware that, if he would end the siege, this communication must be cut off. It would have been well for him had he come to this conclusion sooner.

By the advice of Dragut, the investment of the castle was to be completed by continuing the lines of intrenchment to the Great Port, where a battery mounted with heavy guns would command the point of debarkation. While conducting this work, the Moorish captain was wounded on the head, by the splinter from a rock struck by a cannon-shot, which laid him senseless in the trenches. Mustapha, commanding a cloak to be thrown over the fallen chief, had him removed to his tent. The wound proved mortal; and though Dragut survived to learn the fate of St. Elmo, he seems to have been in no condition to aid the siege by his counsels. The loss of this able captain was the severest blow that could have been inflicted on the besiegers.

While the intrenchments were in progress, the enemy kept up an unintermitting fire on the tottering ramparts of the fortress. This was accompanied by false alarms, and by night attacks, in which the flaming missiles, as they shot through the air, cast a momentary glare over the waters, that showed the dark outlines of St. Elmo towering in ruined majesty above the scene of desolation. The artillery-men of St. Angelo, in the obscurity of the night, were guided in their aim by the light of the enemy's fireworks.[1322] These{427} attacks were made by the Turks, not so much in the expectation of carrying the fort, though they were often attended with a considerable loss of life, as for the purpose of wearing out the strength of the garrison. And dreary indeed was the condition of the latter: fighting by day, toiling through the livelong night to repair the ravages in the works, they had no power to take either the rest or the nourishment necessary to recruit their exhausted strength. To all this was now to be added a feeling of deeper despondency, as they saw the iron band closing around them which was to sever them for ever from their friends.

On the eighteenth of the month, the work of investment was completed, and the extremity of the lines was garnished with a redoubt mounting two large guns, which, with the musketry from the trenches, would sweep the landing-place, and effectually cut off any further supplies from the other side of the harbor. Thus left to their own resources, the days of the garrison were numbered.

La Valette, who had anxiously witnessed these operations of the enemy, had done all he could to retard them, by firing incessantly on the laborers in the hope of driving them from the trenches. When the work was completed, his soul was filled with anguish; and his noble features, which usually wore a tinge of melancholy, were clouded with deeper sadness, as he felt he must now abandon his brave comrades to their fate.

On the twentieth of the month was the festival of Corpus Christi, which, in happier days, had been always celebrated with great pomp by the Hospitallers. They did not fail to observe it, even at this time. A procession was formed, with the grand-master at its head; and the knights walked clad in the dark robes of the order, embroidered with the white cross of Malta. They were accompanied by the whole population of the place, men, women, and children. They made the circuit of the town, taking the direction least exposed to the enemy's fire. On reaching the church, they prostrated themselves on the ground, and, with feelings rendered yet more solemn by their own situation, and above all by that of their brave comrades in St. Elmo, they implored the Lord of Hosts to take pity on their distress, and not to allow his enemies to triumph over the true soldiers of the Cross.[1323]

During the whole of the twenty-first, the fire of the besiegers was kept up with more than usual severity, until in some places the crumbling wall was shot away, down to the bare rock on which it stood.[1324] Their pioneers, who had collected loads of brushwood for the purpose, filled up the ditch with their fascines; which, as they were covered with wet earth, defied the efforts of the garrison to set them on fire. Throughout the following night a succession of false alarms kept the soldiers constantly under arms. All this prognosticated a general assault. It came the next day.

With the earliest streak of light, the Turkish troops were in motion. Soon they came pouring in over the fosse, which, choked up as it was, offered no impediment. Some threw themselves on the breach. The knights and their followers were there to receive them. Others endeavored to scale the ramparts, but were driven back by showers of missiles. The musketry was feeble, for ammunition had begun to fail. But everywhere the assailants were met with the same unconquerable spirit as before. It seemed as if the defenders of St. Elmo, exhausted as they had been by their extraordinary sufferings, had renewed their strength as by a miracle. Thrice the enemy returned to{428} the assault; and thrice he was repulsed. The carnage was terrible; Christian and Mussulman grappling fiercely together, until the ruins on which they fought were heaped with the bodies of the slain.

The combat had lasted several hours. Amazed at the resistance which he met with from this handful of warriors, Mustapha felt that, if he would stop the waste of life in his followers, he must defer the possession of the place for one day longer. Stunned as his enemies must be by the blow he had now dealt, it would be beyond the powers of nature for them to stand another assault. He accordingly again gave the signal for retreat; and the victors again raised the shout—a feeble shout—of triumph; while the banner of the order, floating from the ramparts, proclaimed that St. Elmo was still in the hands of the Christians! It was the last triumph of the garrison.[1325]

They were indeed reduced to extremity; with their ammunition nearly exhausted; their weapons battered and broken; their fortifications yawning with breaches, like some tempest-tossed vessel with its seams opening in every direction, and ready to founder; the few survivors covered with wounds; and many of them so far crippled as to be scarcely able to drag their enfeebled body along the ramparts. One more attack, and the scene would be closed.

In this deplorable state, they determined to make an effort to communicate with their friends on the other side of the harbor, and report to them their condition. The distance was not great; and among the Maltese were many excellent swimmers, who, trained from childhood to the sea, took to it as to their native element. One of these offered to bear a message to the grand-master. Diving and swimming long under water, he was fortunate enough to escape the enemy's bullets, and landed safe on the opposite shore.

La Valette was deeply affected by this story, though not surprised by it. With the rest of the knights he had watched with straining eyes the course of the fight; and though marvelling that, in spite of odds so great, victory should have remained with the Christians, he knew how dearly they must have bought it. Though with little confidence in his success, he resolved to answer their appeal by making one effort to aid them. Five large barges were instantly launched, and furnished with a reinforcement of troops and supplies for the garrison. The knights thronged to the quay, each eagerly contending for the perilous right to embark in them. They thought only of their comrades in St. Elmo.

It turned out as La Valette had foreseen. The landing-place was commanded by a battery of heavy guns, and by hundreds of musketeers, menacing instant death to whoever should approach the shore. But the knights were not allowed to approach it; for the Turkish admiral, lying off the entrance of the Great Port, and aware of the preparations that were making, sent a flotilla of his lighter vessels into the harbor, to intercept the convoy. And so prompt were their movements, that unless the Christians had put back again with all speed, they would have been at once surrounded and captured by the enemy.

The defenders of St. Elmo, who had watched from the ramparts the boats coming to their assistance, saw the failure of the attempt; and the last ray of hope faded away in their bosoms. Their doom was sealed. Little more was left but calmly to await the stroke of the executioner. Yet they did not abandon themselves to an unmanly despair; but, with heroic constancy, they prepared to die like martyrs for the good cause to which they had consecrated their lives.

That night was passed, not in vain efforts to repair the defences, with the hope of protracting existence some few hours longer, but in the solemn preparation{429} of men who felt themselves standing on the brink of eternity. They prayed, confessed, received the sacrament, and, exhorting one another to do their duty, again renewed their vows, which bound them to lay down their lives, if necessary, in defence of the Faith. Some, among whom Miranda and the bailiff of Negropont were especially noticed, went about encouraging and consoling their brethren, and, though covered with wounds themselves, administering such comfort as they could to the sick and the dying;—and the dying lay thick around, mingled with the dead, on the ruins which were soon to become their common sepulchre.[1326]

Thus passed away the dreary night; when, tenderly embracing one another, like friends who part for ever, each good knight repaired to his post, prepared to sell his life as dearly as he could. Some of the more aged and infirm, and those crippled by their wounds, were borne in the arms of their comrades to the spot, where, seated on the ruins, and wielding their ineffectual swords, they prepared, like true and loyal knights, to die upon the breach.

They did not wait long. The Turks, so often balked of their prey, called loudly to be led to the assault. Their advance was not checked by the feeble volleys thrown at random against them from the fortress; and they were soon climbing the ascent of the breach, still slippery with the carnage of the preceding day. But with all their numbers, it was long before they could break the little line of Maltese chivalry which was there to receive them. Incredible as it may seem, the struggle lasted for some hours longer, while the fate of St. Elmo hung suspended in the balance. At length, after a short respite, the Turkish host rallied for a last assault; and the tide of battle, pouring through the ample breach with irresistible fury, bore down cavalier and soldier, leaving no living thing upon the ramparts. A small party of knights, escaping in the tumult, threw themselves into the chapel; but, finding that no quarter was given to those who surrendered, they rushed out, and perished on the swords of the enemy. A body of nine cavaliers, posted near the end of the fosse, not far from the ground occupied by Dragut's men, surrendered themselves as prisoners of war to the corsairs; and the latter, who, in their piratical trade, had learned to regard men as a kind of merchandise, happily refused to deliver up the Christians to the Turks, holding them for ransom. These were the only members of the order who survived the massacre.[1327] A few Maltese soldiers, however, experienced swimmers, succeeded, amidst the tumult, in reaching the opposite side of the harbor, where they spread the sad tidings of the loss of St. Elmo. This was speedily confirmed by the volleys of the Turkish ordnance; and the standard of the Crescent, planted on the spot so lately occupied by the banner of St. John, showed too plainly that this strong post, the key of the island, had passed from the Christians into the hands of the infidel.[1328]{430}

The Ottoman fleet, soon afterward doubling the point, entered Port Musiette, on the west, with music playing, and gay with pennons and streamers; while the rocks rang with the shouts of the Turkish soldiery, and the batteries on shore replied in thunders to the artillery of the shipping.

The day on which this occurred, the twenty-third of June, was that of the festival of St. John the Baptist, the patron of the order. It had been always celebrated by the knights with greater splendor than any other anniversary. Now, alas! it was to them a day of humiliation and mourning, while they had the additional mortification to see it observed as a day of triumphant jubilee by the enemies of the Faith.[1329]

To add to their distress, Mustapha sullied his victory by some brutal acts, which seem to have been in keeping with his character. The heads of four of the principal knights, among them those of Miranda and the bailiff of Negropont, were set high on poles looking towards the town. A spectacle yet more shocking was presented to the eyes of the besieged. The Turkish general caused the bodies of several cavaliers—some of them, it is said, while life was yet palpitating within, them—to be scored on the bosoms with gashes in the form of a cross. Thus defaced, they were lashed to planks, and thrown into the water. Several of them drifted to the opposite shore, where they were easily recognized by their brethren; and La Valette, as he gazed on the dishonored remains of his dear companions, was melted to tears. But grief soon yielded to feelings of a sterner nature. He commanded the heads of his Turkish prisoners to be struck off, and shot from the large guns into the enemy's lines,—by way of teaching the Moslems, as the chronicler tells us, a lesson of humanity![1330]

The number of Christians who fell in this siege amounted to about fifteen hundred. Of these one hundred and twenty-three were members of the order, and among them several of its most illustrious warriors.[1331] The Turkish loss is estimated at eight thousand, at the head of whom stood Dragut, of more account than a legion of the common file. He was still living, though speechless, when the fort was stormed. He was roused from his lethargy by the shouts of victory, and when, upon turning with inquiring looks to those around, he was told the cause, he raised his eyes to Heaven, as if in gratitude for the event, and expired.[1332]{431}

The Turkish commander, dismantling St. Elmo,—which, indeed, was little better than a heap of ruins,—sent some thirty cannon that had lined the works, as the trophies of victory, to Constantinople.[1333]

Thus ended the memorable siege of St. Elmo, in which a handful of warriors withstood, for the space of a month, the whole strength of the Turkish army. Such a result, while it proves the unconquerable valor of the garrison, intimates that the Turks, however efficient they may have been in field operations, had little skill as engineers, and no acquaintance with the true principles of conducting a siege. It must have been obvious, from the first, that, to bring the siege to a speedy issue, it was necessary to destroy the communications of St. Elmo with the town. Yet this was not attempted till the arrival of Dragut, who early recommended the construction of a battery for this purpose on some high land on the opposite side of the Great Port. In this he was overruled by the Turkish commander. It was not till some time later that the line of investment, at the corsair's suggestion, was continued to the water's edge,—and the fate of the fortress was decided.

St. Elmo fell. But precious time had been lost,—an irreparable loss, as it proved, to the besiegers; while the place had maintained so long and gallant a resistance as greatly to encourage the Christians, and in some degree to diminish the confidence of the Moslems. "What will not the parent cost," exclaimed Mustapha,—alluding to St. Angelo,—"when the child has cost us so dear!"[1334]{432}

CHAPTER IV.

Il Borgo invested.—Storming of St. Michael.—Slaughter of the Turks.—Incessant Cannonade.—General Assault.—The Turks repulsed.—Perilous Condition of Il Borgo.—Constancy of La Valette.

The strength of the order was now concentrated on the two narrow slips of land which run out from the eastern side of the Great Port. Although some account of these places has been given to the reader, it will not be amiss to refresh his recollection of what is henceforth to be the scene of operations.

The northern peninsula, occupied by the town of Il Borgo, and at the extreme point by the castle of St. Angelo, was defended by works stronger and in better condition than the fortifications of St. Elmo. The care of them was divided among the different languages, each of which gave its own name to the bastion it defended. Thus the Spanish knights were intrusted with the bastion of Castile, on the eastern corner of the peninsula,—destined to make an important figure in the ensuing siege.

The parallel slip of land was crowned by the fort of St. Michael,—a work of narrower dimensions than the castle of St. Angelo,—at the base of which might be seen a small gathering of houses, hardly deserving the name of a town. This peninsula was surrounded by fortifications scarcely yet completed, on which the grand-master, La Sangle, who gave his name to the place, had generously expended his private fortune. The works were terminated, on the extreme point, by a low bastion, or rather demi-bastion, called the Spur.

The precious interval gained by the long detention of the Turks before St. Elmo had been diligently employed by La Valette in putting the defences of both La Sangle and Il Borgo in the best condition possible under the circumstances. In this good work all united,—men, women, and children. All were animated by the same patriotic feeling, and by a common hatred of the infidel. La Valette ordered the heavy guns to be taken from the galleys which were lying at anchor, and placed on the walls of the fortresses. He directed that such provisions as were in the hands of individuals should be delivered up for a fair compensation, and transferred to the public magazines.[1335] Five companies of soldiers, stationed in the Notable City, in the interior of the island, he now ordered to Il Borgo, where their services would be more needed. Finally, as there were no accommodations for prisoners, who, indeed, could not be maintained without encroaching on the supplies necessary for the garrison, La Valette commanded that no prisoners should be made, but that all who fell into the hands of the victors should be put to the sword.[1336] It was to be on both sides a war of extermination.

At this juncture, La Valette had the satisfaction of receiving a reinforcement from Sicily, which, though not large, was of great importance in the present state of affairs. The viceroy had, at length, so far yielded to the importunities of the Knights of St. John who were then at his court, impatiently{433} waiting for the means of joining their brethren, as to fit out a squadron of four galleys,—two of his own, and two belonging to the order. They had forty knights on board, and seven hundred soldiers, excellent troops, drawn chiefly from the Spanish garrisons in Italy. The vessels were placed under command of Don Juan de Cardona, who was instructed to return without attempting to land, should he find St. Elmo in the hands of the enemy. Cardona, who seems to have had a good share of the timid, vacillating policy of his superior, fearful of the Ottoman fleet, stood off and on for some days, without approaching the island. During this time St. Elmo was taken. Cardona, ignorant of the fact, steered towards the south, and finally anchored off Pietra Negra, on the opposite side of the island. Here one of the knights was permitted to go on shore to collect information. He there learned the fate of St. Elmo; but, as he carefully concealed the tidings, the rest of the forces were speedily landed, and Cardona, with his galleys, was soon on the way to Sicily.

The detachment was under the command of the Chevalier de Robles, a brave soldier, and one of the most illustrious men of the order. Under cover of night, he passed within gunshot of the Turkish lines without being discovered, and was so fortunate as to bring his men in safety to the side of the English harbor opposite to Il Borgo, which it washes on the north. There he found boats awaiting his arrival. They had been provided by the grand-master, who was advised of his movements. A thick fog lay upon the waters; and under its friendly mantle Robles and his troops crossed over in safety to the town, where they were welcomed by the knights, who joyfully greeted the brave companions that had come to share with them the perils of the siege.[1337]

While this was going on, Mustapha, the Turkish commander, had been revolving in his mind, whether it were not possible to gain his ends by negotiation instead of war, and thus be spared the waste of life which the capture of St. Elmo had cost him. He flattered himself that La Valette, taking warning by the fate of that fortress, might be brought to capitulate on fair and honorable terms. He accordingly sent a messenger with a summons to the grand-master to deliver up the island, on the assurance of a free passage for himself and his followers, with all their effects, to Sicily.

The envoy chosen was a Greek slave,—an old man, who had lived from boyhood in captivity. Under protection of a flag of truce, the slave gained admission into St. Angelo, and was conducted blindfold to the presence of the grand-master. He there delivered his message. La Valette calmly listened, but without deigning to reply; and when the speaker had ended, the stern chief ordered him to be taken from his presence, and instantly hanged. The wretched man threw himself at the feet of the grand-master, beseeching him to spare his life, and protesting that he was but a poor slave, and had come, against his will, in obedience to the commands of the Turkish general. La Valette, who had probably no intention from the first to have his order carried into execution, affected to relent, declaring, however, that, should any other messenger venture hereafter to insult him with the like proposals, he should not escape so easily. The terrified old man was then dismissed. As he left the presence, he was led through long files of the soldiery drawn up in imposing array, and was shown the strong works of the castle of St. Angelo. "Look," said one of the officers, pointing to the deep ditch which surrounded the fortress, "there is all the room we can afford your master; but it is deep enough to bury him and his followers!" The slave, though a Christian, could not be persuaded to remain and take his chance with the{434} besieged. They must be beaten in the end, he said, and, when retaken by the Turks, his case would be worse than ever.[1338]

There was now no alternative for Mustapha but to fight; and he had not lost a moment since the fall of St. Elmo in pushing forward his preparations. Trenches had been opened on the heights at the foot of Mount Coradin, at the southern extremity of the Great Port, and continued on a line that stretched to Mount St. Salvador. Where the soil was too hard to be readily turned up, the defences were continued by a wall of stone. Along the heights, on different points of the line, batteries were established, and mounted with guns of the heaviest calibre. Batteries were also raised on the high ground which, under the name of Mount Sceberras, divides Port Musiette from the Great Port, terminating in the point of land crowned by St. Elmo. A few cannon were even planted by the Turks on the ruins of this castle.

Thus the Christian fortresses were menaced on every point; and while the lines of the besiegers cut off all communication on the land side, a detachment of the fleet, blocking up the entrance to the Great Port, effectually cut off intercourse by sea. The investment by land and by sea was complete.

Early in July the wide circle of batteries, mounting between sixty and seventy pieces of artillery, opened their converging fire on the fortresses, the towns, and the shipping, which lay at anchor in the Port of Galleys. The cannonade was returned with spirit by the guns of St. Angelo and St. Michael, well served by men acquainted with their duty. So soon as the breaches were practicable, Mustapha proposed to begin by storming St. Michael, the weaker of the two fortresses; and he determined to make the assault by sea as well as by land. It would not be possible, however, to bring round his vessels lying in Port Musiette into the Great Port, without exposing them to the guns of St. Angelo. He resorted, therefore, to an expedient startling enough, but not new in the annals of warfare. He caused a large number of boats to be dragged across the high land which divides the two harbors. This toilsome work was performed by his Christian slaves; and the garrison beheld with astonishment the Turkish flotilla descending the rugged slopes of the opposite eminence, and finally launched on the waters of the inland basin. No less than eighty boats, some of them of the largest size, were thus transported across the heights.

Having completed this great work, Mustapha made his preparations for the assault. At this time, he was joined by a considerable reinforcement under Hassem, the Algerine corsair, who commanded at the memorable sieges of Oran and Mazarquivir. Struck with the small size of the castle of St. Elmo, Hassem intimated his surprise that it should have held out so long against the Turkish arms; and he besought Mustapha to intrust him with the conduct of the assault that was to be made on Fort St. Michael. The Turkish general, not unwilling that the presumptuous young chief should himself prove the temper of the Maltese swords, readily gave him the command, and the day was fixed for the attack.

Fortunately, at this time, a deserter, a man of some consequence in the Turkish army, crossed over to Il Borgo, and acquainted the grand-master with the designs of the enemy. La Sangle was defended on the north, as already noticed, by a strong iron chain, which, stretching across the Port of Galleys at its mouth, would prevent the approach of boats in that direction. La Valette now caused a row of palisades to be sunk in the mud, at the{435} bottom of the harbor, in a line extending from the extreme point of La Sangle to the foot of Mount Coradin. These were bound together by heavy chains, so well secured as to oppose an effectual barrier to the passage of the Turkish flotilla. The length of this barricade was not great. But it was a work of much difficulty,—not the less so that it was necessary to perform it in the night, in order to secure the workmen from the enemy's guns. In little more than a week, it was accomplished. Mustapha sent a small body of men, excellent swimmers, armed with axes, to force an opening in the barrier. They had done some mischief to the work, when a party of Maltese, swimming out, with their swords between their teeth, fell on the Turks, beat them off, and succeeded in restoring the palisades.[1339]

Early in the morning, on the fifteenth of July, two cannon in the Ottoman lines, from opposite sides of the Great Port, gave the signal for the assault. Hassem prepared to lead it, in person, on the land side. The attack by water he intrusted to an Algerine corsair, his lieutenant. Before the report of the cannon had died away, a great number of boats were seen by the garrison of St. Michael putting off from the shore. They were filled with troops, and among these, to judge from their dress, were many persons of condition. The account is given by the old soldier so often quoted, who, stationed on the bastion of the Spur, had a full view of the enemy. It was a gay spectacle, these Moslem chiefs, in their rich Oriental costumes, with their gaudy-colored turbans, and their loose, flowing mantles of crimson, or of cloth of gold and silver; the beams of the rising sun glancing on their polished weapons,—their bows of delicate workmanship, their scymitars from the forges of Alexandria and Damascus, their muskets of Fez.[1340] "It was a beautiful sight to see," adds the chronicler with some naïveté, "if one could have looked on it without danger to himself."[1341]

In advance of the squadron came two or three boats, bearing persons whose venerable aspect and dark-colored robes proclaimed them to be the religious men of the Moslems. They seemed to be reciting from a volume before them, and muttering what might be prayers to Allah,—possibly invoking his vengeance on the infidel. But these soon dropped astern, leaving the way open for the rest of the flotilla, which steered for the palisades, with the intention evidently of forcing a passage. But the barrier proved too strong for their efforts; and, chafed by the musketry which now opened on them from the bastion, the Algerine commander threw himself into the water, which was somewhat above his girdle, and, followed by his men, advanced boldly towards the shore.

Two mortars were mounted on the rampart. But, through some mismanagement, they were not worked; and the assailants were allowed to reach the foot of the bastion, which they prepared to carry by escalade. Applying their ladders, they speedily began to mount; when they were assailed by showers of stones, hand-grenades, and combustibles of various kinds; while huge fragments of rock were rolled over the parapet, crushing men and ladders, and scattering them in ruin below. The ramparts were covered with knights and soldiers, among whom the stately form of Antonio de Zanoguerra,{436} the commander of the post, was conspicuous, towering above his comrades, and cheering them on to the fight. Meantime the assailants, mustering like a swarm of hornets to the attack, were soon seen replacing the broken ladders, and again clambering up the walls. The leading files were pushed upward by those below; yet scarcely had the bold adventurers risen above the parapet, when they were pierced by the pikes of the soldiers, or struck down by the swords and battle-axes of the knights. At this crisis, a spark unfortunately falling into the magazine of combustibles, it took fire, and blew up with a terrific explosion, killing or maiming numbers of the garrison, and rolling volumes of blinding smoke along the bastion. The besiegers profited by the confusion to gain a footing on the ramparts; and when the clouds of vapor began to dissipate, the garrison were astonished to find their enemies at their side, and a number of small banners, such as the Turks usually bore into the fight, planted on the walls. The contest now raged fiercer than ever, as the parties fought on more equal terms;—the Mussulmans smarting under their wounds, and the Christians fired with the recollection of St. Elmo, and the desire of avenging their slaughtered brethren. The struggle continued long after the sun, rising high in the heavens, poured down a flood of heat on the combatants; and the garrison, pressed by superior numbers, weary and faint with wounds, were hardly able to keep their footing on the slippery ground, saturated with their own blood and that of their enemies. Still the cheering battle-cry of St. John rose in the air; and their brave leader, Zanoguerra, at the head of his knights, was to be seen in the thickest of the fight. There too was Brother Robert, an ecclesiastic of the order, with a sword in one hand and a crucifix in the other, though wounded himself, rushing among the ranks, and exhorting the men "to fight for the faith of Jesus Christ, and to die in its defence."[1342]

At this crisis the commander, Zanoguerra, though clad in armor of proof, was hit by a random musket-shot, which stretched him lifeless on the rampart. At his fall the besiegers set up a shout of triumph, and redoubled their efforts. It would now have gone hard with the garrison, had it not been for a timely reinforcement which arrived from Il Borgo. It was sent by La Valette, who had learned the perilous state of the bastion. He had, not long before this, caused a floating bridge to be laid across the Port of Galleys,—thus connecting the two peninsulas with each other, and affording a much readier means of communication than before existed.

While this was going on, a powerful reinforcement was on its way to the support of the assailants. Ten boats of the largest size, having a thousand janizaries on board, were seen advancing across the Great Harbor from the opposite shore. Taking warning by the fate of their countrymen, they avoided the palisades, and, pursuing a more northerly course, stood for the extreme point of the Spur. By so doing, they exposed themselves to the fire of a battery in St. Angelo, sunk down almost to the water's level. It was this depressed condition of the work that secured it from the notice of the Turks. The battery, mounted with five guns, was commanded, by the Chevalier de Guiral, who coolly waited until the enemy had come within range of his shot, when he gave the word to fire. The pieces were loaded with heavy balls, and with bags filled with chain and bits of iron. The effect of the discharge was terrible. Nine of the barges were shattered to pieces, and immediately sunk.[1343] The water was covered with the splinters of the vessels,{437} with mutilated trunks, dissevered limbs, fragments of clothes, and quantities of provisions; for the enemy came prepared to take up their quarters permanently in the fortress. Amidst the dismal wreck a few wretches were to be seen, struggling with the waves, and calling on their comrades for help. But those in the surviving boat, when they had recovered from the shock of the explosion, had no mind to remain longer in so perilous a position, but made the best of their way back to the shore, leaving their companions to their fate. Day after day the waves threw upon the strand the corpses of the drowned men; and the Maltese divers long continued to drag up from the bottom rich articles of wearing apparel, ornaments, and even purses of money, which had been upon the persons of the janizaries. Eight hundred are said to have perished by this disaster, which may, not improbably, have decided the fate of the fortress; for the strength of the reinforcement would have been more than a match for that sent by La Valette to the support of the garrison.[1344]

Meanwhile the succors detached by the grand-master had no sooner entered the bastion, than, seeing their brethren so hard beset, and the Moslem flags planted along the parapet, they cried their war-cry, and fell furiously on the enemy. In this they were well supported by the garrison, who gathered strength at the sight of the reinforcement. The Turks, now pressed on all sides, gave way. Some succeeded in making their escape by the ladders, as they had entered. Others were hurled down on the rocks below. Most, turning on their assailants, fell fighting on the rampart which they had so nearly won. Those who escaped hurried to the shore, hoping to gain the boats, which lay off at some distance; when a detachment, sallying from the bastion, intercepted their flight. Thus at bay, they had no alternative but to fight. But their spirit was gone; and they were easily hewed down by their pursuers. Some, throwing themselves on their knees, piteously begged for mercy. "Such mercy," shouted the victors, "as you showed at St. Elmo!"[1345] and buried their daggers in their bodies.

While this bloody work was going on below, the knights and soldiers, gathered on the exposed points of the bastion above, presented an obvious mark to the Turkish guns across the water, which had not been worked during the assault, for fear of injuring the assailants. Now that the Turks had vanished from the ramparts, some heavy shot were thrown among the Christians, with fatal effect. Among others who were slain was Frederic de Toledo, a son of the viceroy of Sicily. He was a young knight of great promise, and was under the especial care of the grand-master, who kept him constantly near his person. But when the generous youth learned the extremity to which his brethren in La Sangle were reduced, he secretly joined the reinforcement which was going to their relief, and did his duty like a good knight in the combat which followed. While on the rampart, he was struck down by a cannon-shot; and a splinter from his cuirass mortally wounded a comrade to whom he was speaking at the time.

While the fight was thus going on at the Spur, Hassem was storming the breach of Fort St. Michael, on the opposite quarter. The storming-party, consisting of both Moors and Turks, rushed to the assault with their usual intrepidity. But they found a very different enemy from the spectral forms which, wasted by toil and suffering, had opposed so ineffectual a resistance in the last days of St. Elmo. In vain did the rushing tide of assailants endeavor{438} to force an opening through the stern array of warriors, which, like a wall of iron, now filled up the breach. Recoiling in confusion, the leading files fell back upon the rear, and all was disorder. But Hassem soon re-formed his ranks, and again led them to the charge. Again they were repulsed with loss; but as fresh troops came to their aid, the little garrison must have been borne down by numbers, had not their comrades, flushed with their recent victory at the bastion, hurried to their support, and, sweeping like a whirlwind through the breach, driven the enemy with dreadful carnage along the slope, and compelled him to take refuge in his trenches.

Thus ended the first assault of the besiegers since the fall of St. Elmo. The success of the Christians was complete. Between three and four thousand Mussulmans, including those who were drowned,—according to the Maltese statements,—fell in the two attacks on the fortress and the bastion. But the arithmetic of an enemy is not apt to be exact.[1346] The loss of the Christians did not exceed two hundred. Even this was a heavy loss to the besieged, and included some of their best knights, to say nothing of others disabled by their wounds. Still it was a signal victory; and its influence was felt in raising the spirits of the besieged, and in inspiring them with confidence. La Valette was careful to cherish these feelings. The knights, followed by the whole population of Il Borgo, went in solemn procession to the great church of St. Lawrence, where Te Deum was chanted, while the colors taken from the infidel were suspended from the walls as glorious trophies of the victory.[1347]

Mustapha now found that the spirit of the besieged, far from being broken by their late reverses, was higher than ever, as their resources were greater, and their fortifications stronger, than those of St. Elmo. He saw the necessity of proceeding with greater caution. He resolved to level the defences of the Christians with the ground, and then, combining the whole strength of his forces, make simultaneous assaults on Il Borgo and St. Michael. His first step was to continue his line of intrenchments below St. Salvador to the water's edge, and thus cut off the enemy's communication with the opposite side of the English Port, by means of which the late reinforcement from Sicily had reached him. He further strengthened the battery on St. Salvador, arming it with sixteen guns,—two of them of such enormous calibre, as to throw stone bullets of three hundred pounds' weight.

From this ponderous battery he now opened a crushing fire on the neighboring bastion of Castile, and on the quarter of Il Borgo lying nearest to it. The storm of marble and metal that fell upon the houses, though these were built of stone, soon laid many of than in ruins; and the shot, sweeping the streets, killed numbers of the inhabitants, including women and children. La Valette caused barriers of solid masonry to be raised across the streets for the protection of the citizens. As this was a work of great danger, he put his slaves upon it, trusting, too, that the enemy might be induced to mitigate his fire from tenderness for the lives of his Moslem brethren. But in such an expectation he greatly erred. More than five hundred slaves fell under the incessant volleys of the besiegers; and it was only by the most severe, indeed{439} cruel treatment, that these unfortunate beings could be made to resume their labors.[1348]

La Valette, at this time, in order to protect the town against assault on the side of the English Port, caused a number of vessels laden with heavy stones to be sunk not far from shore. They were further secured by anchors bound to one another with chains, forming altogether an impenetrable barrier against any approach by water.

The inhabitants of Il Borgo, as well as the soldiers, were now active in preparations for defence. Some untwisted large ropes and cables to get materials for making bags to serve as gabions. Some were busy with manufacturing different sorts of fireworks, much relied on as a means of defence by the besieged. Others were employed in breaking up the large stones from the ruined buildings into smaller ones, which proved efficient missiles when hurled on the heads of the assailants below. But the greatest and most incessant labor was that of repairing the breaches, or of constructing retrenchments to defend them. The sound of the hammer and the saw was everywhere to be heard. The fires of the forges were never suffered to go out. The hum of labor was as unintermitting throughout the city as in the season of peace;—but with a very different end.[1349]

Over all these labors the grand-master exercised a careful superintendence. He was always on the spot where his presence was needed. His eye seemed never to slumber. He performed many of the duties of a soldier, as well as of a commander. He made the rounds constantly in the night, to see that all was well, and that the sentinels were at their posts. On these occasions he freely exposed himself to danger, showing a carelessness of his own safety that called forth more than once the remonstrances of his brethren. He was indeed watchful over all, says the old chronicler who witnessed it; showing no sign of apprehension in his valiant countenance, but by his noble presence giving heart and animation to his followers.[1350]

Yet the stoutest heart which witnessed the scene might well have thrilled with apprehension. Far as the eye could reach, the lines of the Moslem army stretched over hill and valley; while a deafening roar of artillery from fourteen batteries shook the solid earth, and, borne across the waters for more than a hundred miles, sounded to the inhabitants of Syracuse and Catania live the mutterings of distant thunder.[1351] In the midst of this turmoil, and encompassed by the glittering lines of the besiegers, the two Christian fortresses might be dimly discerned amidst volumes of fire and smoke, which, rolling darkly round their summits, almost hid from view the banner of St. John, proudly waving in the breeze, as in defiance of the enemy.{440}

But the situation of the garrison, as the works crumbled under the stroke of the bullet, became every day more critical. La Valette contrived to send information of it to the viceroy of Sicily, urging him to delay his coming no longer, if he would save the island. But, strange to say, such was the timid policy that had crept into the viceroy's councils, that it was seriously discussed whether it was expedient to send aid at all to the Knights of Malta! Some insisted that there was no obligation on Spain to take any part in the quarrel, and that the knights should be left to fight out the battle with the Turks in Malta, as they had before done in Rhodes. Others remonstrated against this, declaring it would be an eternal blot on the scutcheon of Castile, if she should desert in their need the brave chivalry who for so many years had been fighting the battles of Christendom. The king of Spain, in particular, as the feudatory sovereign of the order, was bound to protect the island from the Turks, who, moreover, once in possession of it, would prove the most terrible scourge that ever fell on the commerce of the Mediterranean. The more generous, happily the more politic, counsel prevailed; and the viceroy contrived to convey an assurance to the grand-master, that, if he could hold out till the end of the following month, he would come with sixteen thousand men to his relief.[1352]

But this was a long period for men in extremity to wait. La Valette saw with grief how much deceived he had been in thus leaning on the viceroy. He determined to disappoint his brethren no longer by holding out delusive promises of succor. "The only succor to be relied on," he said, "was that of Almighty God. He who has hitherto preserved his children from danger will not now abandon them."[1353] La Valette reminded his followers, that they were the soldiers of Heaven, fighting for the Faith, for liberty and life. "Should the enemy prevail," he added, with a politic suggestion, "the Christians could expect no better fate than that of their comrades in St. Elmo." The grand-master's admonition was not lost upon the soldiers. "Every man of us," says Balbi, "resolved to die rather than surrender, and to sell his life as dearly as possible. From that hour no man talked of succors."[1354]

One of those spiritual weapons from the papal armory, which have sometimes proved of singular efficacy in times of need, came now most seasonably to the aid of La Valette. A bull of Pius the Fourth granted plenary indulgence for all sins which had been committed by those engaged in this holy war against the Moslems. "There were few," says the chronicler, "either women or men, old enough to appreciate it, who did not strive to merit this grace by most earnest devotion to the cause, and who did not have entire faith that all who died in the good work would be at once received into glory."[1355]

More than two weeks had elapsed since the attempt, so disastrous to the Turks, on the fortress of St. Michael. During this time they had kept up an{441} unintermitting fire on the Christian fortifications; and the effect was visible in more than one fearful gap, which invited the assault of the enemy. The second of August was accordingly fixed on as the day for a general attack, to be made on both Port St. Michael, and on the bastion of Castile, which, situated at the head of the English Port, eastward of Il Borgo, flanked the line of defence on that quarter. Mustapha was to conduct in person the operations against the fort; the assault on the bastion he intrusted to Piali;—a division of the command by which the ambition of the rival chiefs would be roused to the utmost.

Fortunately, La Valette obtained notice, through some deserters, of the plans of the Turkish commanders, and made his preparations accordingly. On the morning of the second, Piali's men, at the appointed signal, moved briskly forward to the assault. They soon crossed the ditch, but partially filled with the ruins of the rampart, scaled the ascent in face of a sharp fire of musketry, and stood at length, with ranks somewhat shattered, on the summit of the breach. But here they were opposed by retrenchments within, thrown up by the besieged, from behind which they now poured such heavy volleys among the assailants as staggered the front of the column, and compelled it to fall back some paces in the rear. Here it was encountered by those pushing forward from below; and some confusion ensued. This was increased by the vigor with which the garrison now plied their musketry from the ramparts, hurling down at the same time heavy logs, hand-grenades, and torrents of scalding pitch on the heads of the assailing column, which, blinded and staggering under the shock, reeled to and fro like a drunken man. To add to their distress, the feet of the soldiers were torn and entangled among the spikes which had been thickly set in the ruins of the breach by the besieged. Woe to him who fell! His writhing body was soon trampled under the press. In vain the Moslem chiefs endeavored to restore order. Their voices were lost in the wild uproar that raged around. At this crisis the knights, charging at the head of their followers, cleared the breach, and drove the enemy with loss into his trenches.

There the broken column soon re-formed, and, strengthened by fresh troops, was again brought to the attack. But this gave a respite to the garrison, which La Valette improved by causing refreshments to be served to the soldiers. By his provident care, skins containing wine and water, with rations of bread, were placed near the points of attack, to be distributed among the men.[1356] The garrison, thus strengthened, were enabled to meet the additional forces brought against them by the enemy; and the refreshments on the one side were made, in some sort, to counterbalance the reinforcements on the other. Vessels filled with salt and water were also at hand, to bathe the wounds of such as were injured by the fireworks. "Without these various precautions," says the chronicler, "it would have been impossible for so few men as we were to keep our ground against such a host as now assailed us on every quarter."[1357]

Again and again the discomfited Turks gathered strength for a new assault, and as often they were repulsed with the same loss as before; till Piali drew off his dispirited legions, and abandoned all further attempts for that day.

It fared no better on the other quarter, where the besiegers, under the eye of the commander-in-chief, were storming the fortress of St. Michael. On{442} every point the stout-hearted chivalry of St. John were victorious. But victory was bought at a heavy price.

The Turks returned to the attack on the day following, and on each succeeding day. It was evidently their purpose to profit by their superior numbers to harass the besieged, and reduce them to a state of exhaustion. One of these assaults was near being attended with fatal consequences.

A mine which ran under the bastion of Castile was sprung, and brought down a wide extent of the rampart. The enemy, prepared for the event, mounting the smoking ruins, poured through the undefended breach,—or defended only by a handful of the garrison, who were taken unawares. The next minute, the great standard of the Ottomans was planted on the walls. The alarm was raised. In a few moments the enemy would have been in the heart of the town. An ecclesiastic of the order, Brother William by name, terrified at the sight, made all haste to the grand-master, then at his usual station in the public square. Rushing into his presence, the priest called on him to take refuge, while he could, in the castle of St. Angelo, as the enemy had broken into the town. But the dauntless chief, snatching up his pike, with no other protection than his helmet, and calling out to those around him, "Now is the time! let us die together!"[1358] hurried to the scene of action, where, rallying his followers, he fell furiously on the enemy. A sharp struggle ensued. More than one knight was struck down by La Valette's side. He himself was wounded in the leg by the splinter of a hand-grenade. The alarm-bell of the city rang violently. The cry was raised that the grand-master was in danger. Knights, soldiers, and townsmen came rushing to the spot. Even the sick sprang from their beds, and made such haste as they could to the rescue. The Moslems, pressed on all sides, and shaken by the resolute charge, fell back slowly on the breach.

The cavaliers would now fain have persuaded the grand-master, who was still standing among a heap of the slain, to retire to some place of safety, and leave the issue of the battle to his companions. But, fixing his eye on the Ottoman standard, still floating above the walls, he mournfully shook his head, in token of his resolution to remain. The garrison, spurred on by shame and indignation, again charged the Moslems, with greater fury than before. The colors, wrenched from the ramparts, were torn to shreds in the struggle. The Christians prevailed; and the Turks, quailing before their invincible spirit, were compelled, after a long and bloody contest, to abandon the works they had so nearly won.

Still the grand-master, far from retiring, took up his quarters for the night in the neighborhood of the breach. He had no doubt that the enemy would return under cover of the darkness, and renew the assault before the garrison had time to throw up retrenchments. It was in vain his companions besought him to withdraw, to leave the fight to them, and not to risk a life so precious to the community. "And how can an old man like me," he said, "end his life more gloriously, than when surrounded by his brethren and fighting the battles of the Cross?"[1359]

La Valette was right in his conjecture. No sooner had the darkness fallen, than the Turkish host, again under arms, came surging on across the ruins of the rampart towards the breach. But it was not under cover of the darkness; for the whole bay was illumined by the incessant flash of artillery, by the blaze of combustibles, and the fiery track of the missiles darting through the air. Thus the combat was carried on as by the light of day. The garrison, prepared for the attack, renewed the scenes of the morning, and again beat off{443} the assailants, who, broken and dispirited, could not be roused, even by the blows of their officers, to return to the assault.[1360]

On the following morning, La Valette caused Te Deum to be sung in the church of St. Lawrence, and thanks to be offered at the throne of grace for their deliverance. And if the ceremonies were not conducted with the accustomed pomp of the order of St. John, they were at least accompanied, says the chronicler, who bore his part in them, by the sacrifice of contrite hearts,—as was shown by the tears of many a man, as well as woman, in the procession.[1361]

There was indeed almost as much cause for sorrow as for joy. However successful the Christians had been in maintaining their defence, and however severe the loss they had inflicted on the enemy, they had to mourn the loss of some of their most illustrious knights, while others lay disabled in their beds. Among the latter was De Monti, admiral of the order, now lying seriously ill of wounds received in the defence of St. Michael, of which he was commander. Among the deaths was one which came home to the bosom of La Valette. A young cavalier, his nephew, had engaged in a perilous enterprise with a comrade of his own age. The handsome person and gilded armor of the younger La Valette made him a fatal mark for the enemy;[1362] and he fell, together with his friend, in the ditch before the bastion, under a shower of Turkish bullets. An obstinate struggle succeeded between Christians and Turks for the bodies of the slain. The Christians were victorious; and La Valette had the melancholy satisfaction of rendering the last offices to the remains of his gallant kinsman. The brethren would have condoled with him on his loss. But his generous nature shrank from the indulgence of a selfish sorrow. "All are alike dear to me," he said; "all of you I look on as my children. I mourn for Polastra" (the friend of the young La Valette) "as I do for my own nephew. And after all, it matters little. They have gone before us but for a short time."[1363]

It was indeed no season for the indulgence of private sorrows, when those of a public nature pressed so heavily on the heart. Each day the condition of the besieged was becoming more critical. The tottering defences both of Il Borgo and La Sangle were wasting away under the remorseless batteries of the besiegers. Great numbers, not merely of the knights and the soldiers, but of the inhabitants, had been slain. The women of the place had shown, throughout the whole siege, the same heroic spirit as the men. They not only discharged the usual feminine duties of tending and relieving the sick, but they were often present in the battle, supplying the garrison with refreshments, or carrying the ammunition, or removing the wounded to the hospital. Thus sharing in the danger of their husbands and fathers, they shared too in their fate. Many perished by the enemy's fire; and the dead{444} bodies of women lay mingled among those of the men, on the ramparts and in the streets.[1364] The hospitals were filled with the sick and wounded, though fortunately no epidemic had as yet broken out to swell the bills of mortality. Those of the garrison who were still in a condition to do their duty were worn by long vigils and excessive toil. To fight by day, to raise intrenchments or to repair the crumbling works by night, was the hard duty of the soldier. Brief was the respite allowed him for repose,—a repose to be broken at any moment by the sound of the alarm-bell, and to be obtained only amidst so wild an uproar, that it seemed, in the homely language of the veteran so often quoted, "as if the world were coming to an end."[1365]

Happily, through the provident care of the grand-master, there was still a store of provisions in the magazines. But the ammunition was already getting low. Yet the resolution of the besieged did not fail them. Their resolution had doubtless been strengthened by the cruel conduct of the Turks at St. Elmo, which had shown that from such a foe there was no mercy to be expected. The conviction of this had armed the Christians with the courage of despair. On foreign succor they no longer relied. Their only reliance was where their chief had taught them to place it,—on the protection of Heaven; and La Valette, we are assured, went every day during the siege to the church of St. Lawrence, and there solemnly invoked that protection for the brave men who, alone and unaided, were thus fighting the battles of the Faith.[1366]

The forlorn condition of the defences led, at length, the Council of Grand Crosses, after much deliberation, to recommend to La Valette to abandon Il Borgo, and to withdraw with the troops and the inhabitants into the castle of St. Angelo. The grand-master saw at once the disastrous consequences of such a step, and he rejected it without a moment's hesitation. To withdraw into the castle, he said, would be to give up all communication with St. Michael, and to abandon its brave garrison to their fate. The inhabitants of the town would fare no better. The cistern which supplied St. Angelo with water would be wholly inadequate to the demands of such a multitude; and they would soon be reduced to extremity. "No, my brethren," he concluded; "here we must make our stand; and here we must die, if we cannot maintain ourselves against the infidel."[1367]

He would not even consent to have the sacred relics, or the archives of the order, removed thither, as to a place of greater security. It would serve to discourage the soldiers, by leading them to suppose that he distrusted their power of maintaining the town against the enemy. On the contrary, he caused a bridge communicating with the castle to be broken down, after calling off the greater part of the garrison to assist in the defence of Il Borgo. By these measures, he proclaimed his unalterable determination to maintain the town to the last, and if need were, to die in its defence.[1368]{445}

CHAPTER V.

The Turks dispirited.—Reinforcement from Sicily.—Siege raised.—Mustapha defeated.—Rejoicings of the Christians.—Mortification of Solyman.—Review of the Siege.—Subsequent History of La Valette.

While the affairs of the besieged wore the gloomy aspect depicted in the last chapter, those of the besiegers were not much better. More than half their original force had perished. To the bloody roll of those who had fallen in the numerous assaults were now to be added the daily victims of pestilence. In consequence of the great heat, exposure, and bad food, a dysentery had broken out in the Moslem army, and was now sweeping off its hundreds in a day. Both ammunition and provisions were running low. Ships bringing supplies were constantly intercepted by the Sicilian cruisers. Many of the heavy guns were so much damaged by the fire of the besieged, as to require to be withdrawn and sent on board the fleet,—an operation performed with a silence that contrasted strongly with the noisy shouts with which the batteries had been raised.[1369] But these movements could not be conducted so silently as to escape the notice of the garrison, whose spirits were much revived by the reports daily brought in by deserters of the condition of the enemy.

Mustapha chafed not a little under the long-protracted resistance of the besieged. He looked with apprehension to the consequences of a failure in an expedition for which preparations had been made on so magnificent a scale by his master, and with so confident hopes of success. He did not fail to employ every expedient for effecting his object that the military science of that day—at least Turkish science—could devise. He ordered movable wooden towers to be built, such as were used under the ancient system of besieging fortified places, from which, when brought near to the works, his musketeers might send their volleys into the town. But the besieged, sallying forth, set fire to his towers, and burnt them to the ground. He caused a huge engine to be made, of the capacity of a hogshead; filled with combustibles, and then swung, by means of machinery, on the rampart of the bastion. But the garrison succeeded in throwing it back on the heads of the inventors, where it exploded with terrible effect. Mustapha ran his mines under the Christian defences, until the ground was perforated like a honeycomb, and the garrison seemed to be treading on the crust of a volcano. La Valette countermined in his turn. The Christians, breaking into the galleries of the Turks, engaged them boldly underground; and sometimes the mine, exploding, buried both Turk and Christian under a heap of ruins.

Baffled on every point, with their ranks hourly thinned by disease, the Moslem troops grew sullen and dispirited; and now that the bastion of Castile, with its dilapidated works, stood like some warrior stripped of his armor, his defenceless condition inviting attack, they were in no heart to make it. As their fire slackened, and their assaults became fewer and more feeble, the confidence of the Christians was renewed; until they even cherished the hope{446} of beating off the enemy without the long-promised succors from Sicily. Fortunately for the honor of Spain, the chivalry of St. John were not driven to this perilous attempt.

Yielding, at length, to the solicitations of the knights and the enthusiasm of the army, the viceroy, Don Garcia de Toledo, assembled his fleet in the port of Syracuse, and on the 25th of August weighed anchor. The fleet consisted of twenty-eight galleys, and carried eleven thousand troops, chiefly Spanish veterans, besides two hundred knights of the order, who had arrived from other lands, in time to witness the closing scene of the drama. There was also a good number of adventurers from Spain, France, and Italy, many of them persons of rank, and some of high military renown, who had come to offer their services to the knights of Malta, and share in their glorious defence.

Unfortunately, in its short passage, the fleet encountered a violent gale, which did so much damage, that the viceroy was compelled to return to Sicily, and repair his galleys. He then put to sea again, with better fortune. He succeeded in avoiding the notice of the enemy, part of whose armament lay off the mouth of the Great Port, to prevent the arrival of succors to the besieged,—and on the 6th of September, under cover of the evening, entered the Bay of Melecca, on the western side of the island.[1370]

The next morning, having landed his forces, with their baggage and military stores, the viceroy sailed again for Sicily, to bring over an additional reinforcement of four thousand troops, then waiting in Messina. He passed near enough to the beleaguered fortresses to be descried by the garrisons, whom he saluted with three salvos of artillery, that sent joy into their hearts.[1371] It had a very different effect on the besiegers. They listened with nervous credulity to the exaggerated reports that soon reached them, of the strength of the reinforcement landed in the island, by which they expected to be speedily assaulted in their trenches. Without delay, Mustapha made preparations for his departure. His heavy guns and camp equipage were got on board the galleys and smaller vessels, lying off the entrance of the Great Port,—and all as silently and expeditiously as possible. La Valette had hoped that some part of the Spanish reinforcement would be detached during the night to the aid of the garrison, when he proposed to sally on the enemy, and, if nothing better came of it, to get possession of their cannon, so much needed for his own fortifications. But no such aid arrived; and, through the long night, he impatiently listened to the creaking of the wheels that bore off the artillery to the ships.[1372]

With the first light of morning the whole Ottoman force was embarked on board the vessels, which, weighing anchor, moved round to Port Musiette, on the other side of St. Elmo, where the Turkish fleet, the greater part of which lay there, was now busily preparing for its departure. No sooner had the enemy withdrawn, than the besieged poured out into the deserted trenches. One or two of those huge pieces of ordnance, which, from their unwieldy size, it was found impossible to remove, had been abandoned by the Turks,{447} and remained a memorable trophy of the siege.[1373] The Christians were not long in levelling the Moslem entrenchments; and very soon the flag of St. John was seen cheerily waving in the breeze, above the ruins of St. Elmo. The grand-master now called his brethren together to offer up their devotions in the same church of St. Lawrence where he had so often invoked the protection of Heaven during the siege. "Never did music sound sweeter to human ears," exclaims Balbi, "than when those bells summoned us to mass, at the same hour at which, for three months past, they had sounded the alarm against the enemy."[1374] A procession was formed of all the members of the order, the soldiers, and the citizens. The services were performed with greater solemnity, as well as pomp, than could be observed in the hurry and tumult of the siege; and, with overflowing hearts, the multitude joined in the Te Deum, and offered up thanks to the Almighty and the Blessed Virgin for their deliverance from their enemies.[1375] It was the eighth of September, the day of the Nativity of the Virgin,—a memorable day in the annals of Malta, and still observed by the inhabitants as their most glorious anniversary.

Hardly had the Turkish galleys, with Mustapha on board, joined the great body of the fleet in Port Musiette, than that commander received such intelligence as convinced him that the report of the Spanish numbers had been greatly exaggerated. He felt that he had acted precipitately, thus, without a blow, to abandon the field to an enemy his inferior in strength. His head may well have trembled on his shoulders, as he thought of returning thus dishonored to the presence of his indignant master. Piali, it is said, was not displeased at the mortification of his rival. The want of concert between them had, in more than one instance, interfered with the success of their operations. It was now, however, agreed that Mustapha should disembark, with such of the troops as were in fighting order, and give battle to the Spaniards. Piali, meanwhile, would quit the port, which lay exposed to St. Elmo,—now in his enemy's hands,—and anchor farther west, in the roads of St. Paul.

The troops from Sicily, during this time, had advanced into the interior, in the neighborhood of Citta Notable,—or, as it is now called, Citta Vecchia. They were commanded by Ascanio de la Corña, an officer who had gained a name in the Italian wars. Alvaro de Sandé was second in command, the same captain who made so heroic a defence in the isle of Gelves against the Turks. The chivalrous daring of the latter officer was well controlled by the circumspection of the former.

La Valette, who kept a vigilant eye on the movements of the Turks, was careful to advise Don Ascanio that they had again disembarked, and were on their march against him. The Spanish general took up a strong position on{448} an eminence, the approach, to which was rugged and difficult in the extreme. Thus secured, the prudent chief proposed to await the assault of the Moslems. But the Knights of St. John, who had accompanied the Sicilian succors, eager for vengeance on the hated enemies of their order, called loudly to be led against the infidel. In this they were joined by the fiery De Sandé and the greater part of the troops. When the Moslem banners, therefore, came in sight, and the dense columns of the enemy were seen advancing across the country, the impatience of the Christians was not to be restrained. The voices of the officers were unheeded. Don Ascanio saw it was not wise to balk this temper of the troops. They were hastily formed in order of battle, and then, like a mountain torrent, descended swiftly against the foe.

On their left was a hill, crowned by a small tower that commanded the plain. The Turks had succeeded in getting possession of this work. A detachment of Spaniards scaled the eminence, attacked the Turks, and, after a short struggle, carried the fort. Meanwhile the Maltese chivalry, with Sandé and the great body of the army, fell with fury on the front and flanks of the enemy. The Turkish soldiers, disgusted by the long and disastrous siege, had embarked with great alacrity; and they had not repressed their murmurs of discontent, when they were again made to land and renew the conflict. Sullen and disheartened, they were in no condition to receive the shock of the Spaniards. Many were borne down by it at once, their ranks were broken, and their whole body; was thrown into disarray. Some few endeavored to make head against their assailants. Most thought only of securing safety by-flight. The knights followed close on the fugitives. Now was the hour of vengeance. No quarter was given. Their swords were reddened with the blood of the infidel.[1376]

Mustapha, careless of his own life, made the most intrepid efforts to save his men. He was ever in the hottest of the action. Twice he was unhorsed, and had nearly fallen into the hands of his enemies. At length, rallying a body of musketeers, he threw himself into the rear, to cover the retreat of the army. Facing about, he sent such a well-directed volley among his pursuers, who were coming on in disorder, that they were compelled to halt. Don Alvaro's horse was slain under him. Several knights were wounded or brought to the ground. But as those in the rear came up, Mustapha was obliged to give way, and was soon swept along with the tide of battle in the direction of the port of St. Paul, where the fleet was at anchor. Boats were in readiness to receive the troops; and a line of shallops, filled with arquebusiers, was drawn up alongside of them, to cover the embarkation. But the Spaniards, hurried forward by the heat of the pursuit, waded up to their girdles into the sea, and maintained an incessant fire on the fugitives, many of whom fell under it, while others, vainly endeavoring to swim to the ships, perished in the waves; and their bodies, tossed upon the sands, continued for many a day to poison the atmosphere.[1377]—This was the last effort of Mustapha; and the Turkish admiral, gathering together the wreck of his forces, again weighed anchor, and spreading his sails to the breeze, steered his course for the Levant.[1378]

The principal officers of the Spanish array, together with the knights, then crossed over to Il Borgo.[1379] They met there with a cordial welcome; but the knights, as they embraced their comrades, were greatly shocked by their appearance,—their wan and care-worn countenances, their emaciated figures, their long and matted hair, and their squalid attire. Many were disfigured by honorable scars; some were miserably maimed; others wore bandages over wounds not yet healed. It was a piteous sight, too plainly intimating the extremity of suffering to which they had been reduced; and as the knights gazed on their brethren, and called to mind the friends they had lost, their hearts were filled with unspeakable anguish.[1380]

On the fourteenth of September, the viceroy reappeared with the fleet, bearing the remainder of the reinforcement from Sicily. The admiral's pennant displayed a cross, intimating that it was a holy war in which they were engaged.[1381] As the squadron came proudly up the Great Port, with pennons and streamers gayly flying from its masts, it was welcomed by salvos of artillery from the fortresses and bastions around; and the rocky shores, which had so long reverberated only with the din of war, now echoed to the sounds of jubilee.

The grand-master came down to the landing-place below St. Angelo, to receive the viceroy, with the nobles and cavaliers who followed in his train. They had come too late to share the dangers of the besieged, but not too late to partake of their triumph. They were courteously conducted by La Valette, across the scene of desolation, to his own palace, which, though in an exposed quarter of the town, had so far escaped as to be still habitable. As the strangers gazed on the remains of the fortifications, nearly levelled to the ground, they marvelled that the shadowy forms which they saw gliding among the ruins could have so long held out against the Moslem armies. Well had they earned for their city the title of Vittoriosa, "The Victorious," which, supplanting that of Il Borgo, still commemorates its defence against the infidel.

La Valette had provided an entertainment for his illustrious guests, as good as his limited resources would allow; but it is said that the banquet was reinforced by a contribution from the viceroy's own stores.[1382] On the departure of the Spaniards, he showed his gratitude, while he indulged his munificent spirit, by bestowing handsome presents on the captains and a liberal largess of money on the soldiers.[1383]

On his way, the viceroy had discovered the Ottoman fleet formed in compact order, and standing under press of sail towards the east. He was too{450} far inferior in strength to care to intercept its course;[1384] and the squadron reached in safety the port of Constantinople. Solyman had already received despatches preparing him for the return of the fleet, and the failure of the expedition. It threw him into one of those paroxysms of ungovernable passion to which the old sultan seems to have been somewhat addicted in the latter years of his life. With impotent fury, he stamped on the letters, it is said, and, protesting that there were none of his officers whom he could trust, he swore to lead an expedition against Malta the coming year, and put every man in the island to the sword.[1385] He had the magnanimity, however, not to wreak his vengeance on the unfortunate commanders. The less to attract public notice, he caused the fleet bearing the shattered remains of the army to come into port in the night-time; thus affording a contrast sufficiently striking to the spectacle presented by the brilliant armament which a few months before had sailed from the Golden Horn amidst the joyous acclamations of the multitude.

The arms of Solyman the Second, during his long and glorious reign, met with no reverse so humiliating as his failure in the siege of Malta. To say nothing of the cost of the maritime preparations, the waste of life was prodigious, amounting to more than thirty thousand men, Moors included, and comprehending the very best troops in the empire. This was a loss of nearly three fourths of the original force of the besieging army,—an almost incredible amount, showing that pestilence had been as actively at work as the sword of the enemy.[1386]

Yet the loss in this siege fell most grievously on the Christians. Full two hundred knights, twenty-five hundred soldiers, and more than seven thousand inhabitants,—men, women, and children, are said to have perished.[1387] The defences of the island were razed to the ground. The towns were in ruins; the villages burnt; the green harvests cut down before they had time to ripen. The fiery track of war was over every part of Malta. Well might the simple inhabitants rue the hour when the Knights of St. John first set foot upon their shores. The military stores were exhausted, the granaries empty; the treasury was at the lowest ebb. The members of the order had now to begin the work of constructing their fortunes over again. But still they enjoyed the glory of victory. They had the proud consciousness of having baffled, with their own good swords, the whole strength of the Ottoman empire. The same invincible spirit still glowed in their bosoms, and they looked forward with unshaken confidence to the future.

Such were the results of this memorable siege,—one of the most memorable sieges, considering the scale of the preparations, the amount of the forces, and the spirit of the defence, which are recorded on the pages of history. It{451} would not be easy, even for a military man, after the lapse of three centuries, to criticize with any degree of confidence the course pursued by the combatants, so as to determine to what causes may be referred the failure of the besiegers. One obvious fault, and of the greatest moment, was that already noticed, of not immediately cutting off the communications with St. Elmo, by which supplies were constantly thrown into that fortress from the opposite side of the harbor. Another, similar in its nature, was, that, with so powerful a navy as the Turks had at their command, they should have allowed communications to be maintained by the besieged with Sicily, and reinforcements thus introduced into the island. We find Mustapha and Piali throwing the blame of this mutually on each other, especially in the case of Cardona, whose most seasonable succors might easily have been intercepted, either by land or sea, with proper vigilance on the part of the Turkish commanders. A serious impediment in the way of the besiegers was the impossibility of forcing a subsistence for the troops from a barren spot like Malta, and the extreme difficulty of obtaining supplies from other quarters, when so easily intercepted by the enemy's cruisers. Yet the Turkish galleys lying idle in the western port might have furnished a ready convoy, one might suppose, for transports bringing provisions from the Barbary coast. But we find no such thing attempted. To all these causes of failure must be added the epidemic, which, generated under the tropical heats of a Maltese summer, spread like a murrain through the camp of the besiegers, sweeping them off by thousands.

It operated well for the besieged, that the great advance made in the science of fortification was such, in the latter half of the sixteenth century, as in a great degree to counterbalance the advantages secured to the besiegers by the use of artillery,—especially such clumsy artillery, and so awkwardly served, as that of the Turks. But these advantages would have proved of little worth, had it not been for the character of the men who were to profit by them. It was the character of the defenders that constituted the real strength of the defence. This was the true bulwark that resisted every effort of the Ottoman arms, when all outward defences were swept away. Every knight was animated by a sentiment of devotion to his order, and that hatred to the infidel in which he had been nursed from his cradle, and which had become a part of his existence. These sentiments he had happily succeeded in communicating to his followers, and even to the people of the island. Thus impelled by an unswerving principle of conduct, the whole body exhibited that unity and promptness of action which belongs to an individual. From the first hour of the siege to the last, all idea of listening to terms from the enemy was rejected. Every man was prepared to die rather than surrender. One exception only occurred,—that of a private soldier in La Sangle, who, denying the possibility of holding out against the Turks, insisted on the necessity of accepting the terms offered to the garrison. The example of his cowardice might have proved contagious; and the wretched man expiated his offence on the gallows.[1388]

Above all, the strength of the besieged lay in the character of their chief. La Valette was one of those rare men whom Providence seems to raise up for special occasions, so wonderfully are their peculiar qualities suited to the emergency. To that attachment to his order which he had in common with his brethren, he united a strong religious sentiment, sincere and self-sacrificing, which shone through every act of his life. This gave him an absolute{452} ascendancy over his followers, which he had the capacity to turn to full account. He possessed many of the requisites for success in action; great experience, a quick eye, a cool judgment. To these was united a fixedness of purpose not to be shaken by menace or entreaty; and which was only to be redeemed from the imputation of obstinacy by the extraordinary character of the circumstances in which he was placed. The reader will recall a memorable example, when La Valette insisted on defending St. Elmo to the last, in defiance not only of the remonstrance, but the resistance, of its garrison. Another equally pertinent is his refusal, though in opposition to his council, to abandon the town and retire to St. Angelo. One can hardly doubt that on his decision, in both these cases, rested the fate of Malta.

La Valette was of a serious turn, and, as it would seem, with a tendency to sadness in his temperament. In the portraits that remain of him, his noble features are touched with a shade of melancholy, which, taken in connection with his history, greatly heightens the interest of their expression. His was not the buoyant temper, the flow of animal spirits, which carries a man over every obstacle in his way. Yet he could comfort the sick, and cheer the desponding; not by making light of danger, but by encouraging them like brave men fearlessly to face it. He did not delude his followers by the promises—after he had himself found them to be delusive—of foreign succor. He taught them, instead, to rely on the succor of the Almighty, who would never desert those who were fighting in his cause. He infused into them the spirit of martyrs,—that brave spirit which, arming the soul with contempt of death, makes the weak man stronger than the strongest.

There is one mysterious circumstance in the history of this siege which has never been satisfactorily explained,—the conduct of the viceroy of Sicily. Most writers account for it by supposing that he only acted in obedience to the secret instructions of his master, unwilling to hazard the safety of his fleet by interfering in behalf of the knights, unless such interference became absolutely necessary. But even on such a supposition the viceroy does not stand excused; for it was little less than a miracle that the knights were not exterminated before he came to their relief; and we can hardly suppose that an astute, far-sighted prince, like Philip, who had been so eager to make conquests from the Moslems in Africa, would have consented that the stronghold of the Mediterranean should pass into the hands of the Turks. It seems more probable that Don Garcia, aware of the greater strength of the Turkish armament, and oppressed by the responsibility of his situation as viceroy of Sicily, should have shrunk from the danger to which that island would be exposed by the destruction of his fleet. On any view of the case, it is difficult to explain a course so irreconcilable with the plan of operations concerted with the grand-master, and the promises of support given to him by Don Garcia at the beginning of the siege.

La Valette, we are told, subsequently complained of the viceroy's conduct to Pius the Fifth; and that pontiff represented the affair to the king of Spain. Don Garcia had, soon after, the royal permission to retire from the government of Sicily. He withdrew to the kingdom of Naples, where he passed the remainder of his days, without public employment of any kind, and died in obscurity.[1389]—Such a fate may not be thought, after all, conclusive evidence that he had not acted in obedience to the private instructions of his sovereign.

The reader, who has followed La Valette through the siege of Malta, may perhaps feel some curiosity to learn the fate of this remarkable man.—The discomfiture of the Turks caused a great sensation throughout Europe. In Rome the tidings were announced by the discharge of cannon, illuminations,{453} and bonfires. The places of public business were closed. The shops were shut. The only places opened were the churches; and thither persons of every rank—the pope, the cardinals, and the people—thronged in procession, and joined in public thanksgiving for the auspicious event. The rejoicing was great all along the shores of the Mediterranean, where the inhabitants had so severely suffered from the ravages of the Turks. The name of La Valette was on every tongue, as that of the true champion of the cross. Crowned heads vied with one another in the honors and compliments which they paid him. The king of Spain sent him a present of a sword and poniard, the handles of which were of gold superbly mounted with diamonds. The envoy, who delivered these in presence of the assembled knights, accompanied the gift with a pompous eulogy on La Valette himself, whom he pronounced the greatest captain of the age, beseeching him to continue to employ his sword in defence of Christendom. Pius the Fifth sent him—what, considering the grand-master's position, may be thought a singular compliment—a cardinal's hat. La Valette, however, declined it, on the ground that his duties as a cardinal would interfere with those which devolved on him as head of the order. Some referred his refusal to modesty; others, with probably quite as much reason, to his unwillingness to compromise his present dignity by accepting a subordinate station.[1390]

But La Valette had no time to dally with idle compliments and honors. His little domain lay in ruins around him; and his chief thought now was how to restore its fortunes. The first year after the siege, the knights had good reason to fear a new invasion of the Moslems; and Philip quartered a garrison of near fifteen thousand troops in the island for its protection.[1391] But Solyman fortunately turned his arms against a nearer enemy, and died in the course of the same year, while carrying on the war against Hungary.[1392] Selim, his successor, found another direction for his ambition. Thus relieved of his enemies, the grand-master was enabled to devote all his energies to the great work of rebuilding his fallen capital, and placing the island in a more perfect state of defence than it had ever been. He determined on transferring the residence of the order to the high land of Mount Sceberras, which divides the two harbors, and which would give him the command of both. His quick eye readily discerned those advantages of the position, which time has since fully proved. Here he resolved to build his capital, to surround it with fortifications, and, at the same time, to enlarge and strengthen those of St. Elmo.

But his treasury was low. He prepared a plan of his improvements, which he sent to the different European princes, requesting their coöperation, and urging the importance to them all of maintaining Malta as the best bulwark against the infidel. His plan met with general approbation. Most of the sovereigns responded to his appeal by liberal contributions,—and among them the French king; notwithstanding his friendly relations with the sultan.{454} To these funds the members of the order freely added whatever each could raise by his own credit. This amount was still further swelled by the proceeds of prizes brought into port by the Maltese cruisers,—an inexhaustible source of revenue.

Funds being thus provided, the work went forward apace. On the twenty-eighth of March, 1566, the grand-master, clad in his robes of ceremony, and in the presence of a vast concourse of knights and inhabitants, laid the first stone of the new capital. It was carved with his own arms; and a Latin inscription recorded the name of "Valetta," which the city was to bear in honor of its founder.[1393] More than eight thousand men were employed on the work; and a bull of Pius the Fifth enjoined that their labors should not be suspended on fête-days.[1394] It seemed to be regarded as a Christian duty to provide for the restoration of Malta.[1395] La Valette superintended the operations in person. He was ever to be seen on the spot, among the workmen. There he took his meals, discussed affairs of state with his council, and even gave audience to envoys from abroad.[1396]

In the midst of these quiet occupations, there were some occurrences which distracted the attention, and greatly disturbed the tranquillity, of La Valette. One of these was the disorderly conduct of some of the younger knights. Another was a dispute in which he was involved with the pope, who, in the usual encroaching spirit of the Vatican, had appropriated to himself the nomination to certain benefices belonging to the order.

These unpleasant affairs weighed heavily on the grand-master's mind; and he often sought to relieve his spirits by the diversion of hawking, of which he was extremely fond. While engaged in this sport, on a hot day in July, he received a stroke of the sun. He was immediately taken to Il Borgo. A fever set in; and it soon became apparent that his frame, enfeebled by his unparalleled fatigues and hardships, was rapidly sinking under it. Before dying, he called around his bed some of the brethren to whom the management of affairs was chiefly committed, and gave them his counsel in respect to the best method of carrying out his plans. He especially enjoined on them to maintain a spirit of unity among themselves, if they would restore the order to its ancient prosperity and grandeur. By his testament, he liberated his slaves, some fifty in number; and he obtained the consent of his brethren to bequeath a sum sufficient to endow a chapel he had built in Valetta, to commemorate his victory over the infidels. It was dedicated to the Blessed Virgin; and in this chapel he desired that his body might be laid. Having{455} completed these arrangements, he expired on the twenty-first of August, 1568.

La Valette's dying commands were punctually executed by his brethren. The coffin inclosing his remains was placed on board of the admiral's galley, which, with four others that escorted it, was shrouded in black. They bore the household of the deceased, and the members of the order. The banners taken by him in battle with the Moslems were suspended from the sterns of the vessels, and trailed through the water. The procession, on landing, took its way through the streets of the embryo capital, where the sounds of labor were now hushed, to the chapel of Our Lady of Victory. The funeral obsequies were there performed with all solemnity; and the remains of the hero were consigned to the tomb, amidst the tears of the multitude, who had gathered from all parts of the island, to pay this sad tribute of respect to his memory.[1397]

The traveller who visits Malta at the present day finds no object more interesting than the stately cathedral of Valetta, still rich in historical memorials and in monuments of art, of which even French rapacity could not despoil it. As he descends into its crypts, and wanders through its subterranean recesses, he sees the niche where still repose the remains of La Valette, surrounded by the brave chivalry who fought, side by side with him, the battles of the Faith. And surely no more fitting place could be found for his repose, than the heart of the noble capital which may be said to have been created by his genius.[1398]

The Knights of St. John continued, in the main, faithful to the maxims of La Valette and to the principles of their institution. For more than two centuries after his death, their sword was ever raised against the infidel. Their galleys still returned to port freighted with the spoils of the barbarian. They steadily continued to advance in power and opulence; and while empires rose and crumbled around them, this little brotherhood of warlike monks, after a lapse of more than seven centuries from its foundation, still maintained a separate and independent existence.

In the long perspective of their annals, there was no event which they continued to hold in so much honor as the defence of Malta by La Valette. The eighth of September—the day of the nativity of the Virgin—continued to the last to be celebrated as their proudest anniversary. On that day the whole body of the knights, and the people of the capital, walked in solemn procession, with the grand-master at their head, to the church of St. John. A knight, wearing the helmet and mailed armor of the ancient time, bore on high the victorious standard of the order. A page by his side carried the superb sword and poniard presented by Philip the Second. As the procession passed into the church, and the standard was laid at the foot of the altar, it was announced by flourishes of trumpets and by peals of artillery from the fortresses. The services were performed by the prior of St. John's; and, while the Gospel was read, the grand-master held the naked sword aloft, in token that the knights were ever ready to do battle for the Cross.[1399] When the ceremony was concluded, a fine portrait of La Valette was exhibited to the{456} people; and the brethren gazed, with feelings of reverence, on his majestic lineaments, as on those of the saviour of their order.[1400]

But all this is changed. The Christians, instead of being banded against the Turk, now rally in his defence. There are no longer crusades against the infidel. The age of chivalry has passed. The objects for which the Knights Hospitallers were instituted have long since ceased to exist; and it was fitting that the institution, no longer needed, should die with them. The knights who survived the ruin of their order became wanderers in foreign lands. Their island has passed into the hands of the stranger; and the flag of England now waves from the ramparts on which once floated the banner of St. John.

CHAPTER VI.

His Education and Character.—Dangerous Illness.—Extravagant Behavior.—Opinions respecting him.—His Connection with the Flemings.—Project of Flight.—Insane Conduct.—Arrest.

We must now, after a long absence, return to the shores of Spain, where events were taking place of the highest importance to the future fortunes of the monarchy. At the time when the tragic incidents described in the preceding Book were passing in the Netherlands, others, not less tragic, if we may trust to popular rumor, were occurring in the very palace of the monarch. I allude to the death of Don Carlos, prince of Asturias, and that of Isabella of Valois, Philip's young and beautiful queen. The relations in which the two parties stood to each other, their untimely fate, and the mystery in which it was enveloped, have conspired with the sombre, unscrupulous character of Philip to suggest the most horrible suspicions of the cause of their death. The mystery which hung over them in their own time has not been dissipated by the researches of later chroniclers. For that very reason, it has proved an inexhaustible theme for fiction, until it might be thought to have passed from the domain of history into that of romance. It has been found especially suited to the purposes of the drama; and the dramatic literature of Europe contains more than one masterpiece from the hand of genius, which displays in sombre coloring the loves and the misfortunes of Carlos and Isabella.[1401]

The time for discussing so dark and intricate a subject had not arrived{457} while the Spanish archives were jealously locked up even from native scholars. But now that happily a more liberal system has prevailed, and access has been given to the dread repositories of the secrets of the Spanish sovereigns, the time seems to have come for investigating this mysterious story. And if I cannot boast that I have been able to dispel the doubts that have so long gathered around the subject, I may at least flatter myself that, with the materials at my command, I have the means of placing the reader in a better point of view than has yet been enjoyed, for surveying the whole ground, and forming his own conclusions.

Don Carlos was born on the eighth of July, 1545. His mother, Mary of Portugal, then only eighteen years of age, died a few days after giving birth to her ill-fated child. Thus deprived from the cradle of a mother's watchful care, he experienced almost as little of his father's; for, until Carlos was fourteen years old, Philip was absent most of the time, either in the Low Countries or in England. The care of the child was intrusted, during the greater part of this period, to Philip's sister, the Regent Joanna,—an excellent woman, but who, induced probably by the feeble constitution of Carlos, is said to have shown too much indulgence to the boy, being more solicitous to secure his bodily health than to form his character. In our easy faith in the miracles claimed for education, it sometimes happens that we charge on the parent, or the preceptor, the defects that may be more reasonably referred to the vicious constitution of the child.

As Carlos grew older, Philip committed the care of his instruction to Honorato Juan, a member of the emperor's household. He was a well-trained scholar, and a man of piety as well as learning; and soon after assuming the task of the prince's preceptor, he embraced the religious profession. The correspondence of Honorato Juan with Philip, then in Flanders, affords a view of the proficiency of Carlos when eleven or twelve years old. The contentment which the king evinces in the earlier letters diminishes as we advance; and anxious doubts are expressed, as he gathers the unwelcome information from his tutor of his pupil's indifference to his studies.[1402]

In the year 1556, Charles the Fifth stopped some time at Valladolid, on his way to his cloistered retreat at Yuste. He there saw his grandson, and took careful note of the boy, the heir to the vast dominions which he had himself so recently relinquished. He told over his campaigns to Carlos, and how he had fled at Innsbruck, where he barely escaped falling into the hands of the enemy. Carlos, who listened eagerly, interrupted his grandfather, exclaiming, "I never would have fled!" Charles endeavored to explain the necessity of the case; but the boy sturdily maintained, that he never would have fled,—amusing and indeed delighting the emperor, who saw in this the mettle of his own earlier days.[1403] Yet Charles was not blind to the defects of his grandson,—to the wayward, overbearing temper, which inferred too much indulgence on the part of his daughter the regent. He reprehended Carlos for his want of deference to his aunt; and he plainly told the latter, that, if she would administer more wholesome correction to the boy, the nation would have reason to thank her for it.[1404]

After the emperor had withdrawn to his retreat, his mind, which kept its hold, as we have seen, on all matters of public interest beyond the walls of{458} the monastery, still reverted to his grandson, the heir of his name and of his sceptre. At Simancas the correspondence is still preserved which he carried on with Don Garcia de Toledo, a brother of the duke of Alva, who held the post of ayo, or governor of the prince. In one of that functionary's letters, written in 1557, when Carlos was twelve years old, we have a brief chronicle of the distribution of the prince's time, somewhat curious, as showing the outlines of a royal education in that day.

Before seven in the morning Carlos rose, and by half-past eight had breakfasted, and attended mass. He then went to his studies, where he continued till the hour of dinner. What his studies were we are not told. One writer of the time says, among other things, he read Cicero's Offices, in order the better to learn to control his passions.[1405] At eleven he dined. He then amused himself with his companions, by playing at quoits, or at trucos, a kind of billiards, or in fencing, and occasionally riding. At half-past three came a light repast, the merienda; after which he listened to reading, or, if the weather was fine, strolled in the fields. In the evening he supped; and at half-past nine, having gone through the prayers of his rosary, he went to bed, where, as his ayo says, he usually made but one nap of it till the morning.—It was certainly a primitive way of life, in which more regard seems to have been had to the cravings of the body than of the mind, and as regular in its routine as the monastic life of his grandfather at Yuste. Yet Don Garcia does not fail to intimate his discontent with the want of interest shown by his pupil, not merely in his studies, but in fencing, cane-playing, and other manly exercises, so essential to the education of a cavalier of that day.[1406] He notices, at the same time, the first symptoms of those bilious attacks which already menaced the prince's constitution, and so effectually undermined it in later years.[1407]

In another epistle, Don Garcia suggests that it might be well for the emperor to allow Carlos to visit him at Yuste, trusting that his grandfather's authority would accomplish what his own had failed to do.[1408] But this suggestion found no favor, apparently, with the royal recluse, who probably was not disposed to do penance himself by receiving so troublesome an inmate in his family. The emperor's own death, which occurred shortly after this, spared him the misery of witnessing the disastrous career of his grandson.

The reports of the Venetian ministers—those precious documents that contain so much instruction in respect to matters both of public and domestic interest—make occasional allusions to the prince, at this period. Their notices are by no means flattering. They describe Carlos as of a reckless, impatient temper, fierce, and even cruel, in his disposition,[1409] and so arrogant as to be unwilling to stand with his head uncovered, for any long time, in the{459} presence of the emperor or his father.[1410] Yet this harsh picture is somewhat redeemed by other traits; for he was generous, though to a degree of prodigality,—giving away his trinkets and jewels, even his clothes, in default of money. He had a fearless heart, with a strong passion for a military life. He was far from frivolous in his tastes, despising buffoons, and saying himself so many good things that his tutor carefully made a collection of them.[1411] This portrait of a youth scarcely fourteen years old seems as highly overcharged, whether for good or for evil, as portraits of princes usually are.

Yet the state of the prince's health may be fairly mentioned in extenuation of his defects,—at least of his infirmity of temper. For his bilious temperament already began to show itself in the form of intermittent fever, with which he continued to be afflicted for the remainder of his life. Under this depressing disorder, his spirits sank, his body wasted away, and his strength failed to such a degree, that it was feared he might not reach the age of manhood.[1412]

In the beginning of 1560, Isabella of France came to Castile, and on the second of February was united to Philip. By the preliminaries of the treaty of Cateau-Cambresis, her hand had been assigned to Don Carlos; but Mary Tudor having died before the ratification of the treaty, the name of the father was substituted for that of the son, and the royal maiden was affianced to Philip.

The marriage ceremony was performed with great splendor, at Toledo. Carlos was present; and, as he gazed on the beautiful bride, it is not improbable that some feelings of resentment may have mingled with regret, when he thought of the unceremonious manner in which her hand had been transferred from him to his father. But we should be slow to believe that Isabella could have felt anything like the tender sentiment that romantic historians have attributed to her, for a boy of fourteen, who had so few personal attractions to recommend him.

On the twenty-second of the same month, Carlos was formally recognized by the cortes of Castile as heir to the crown. On this occasion, the different members of the royal family were present, together with the great nobles and the representatives of the commons. The prince rode in the procession on a white horse, superbly caparisoned while his dress, resplendent with jewels, formed a sad contrast to the sallow and sickly countenance of its wearer.[1413]{460} He performed his part of the ceremony with dignity and feeling. When Joanna, his aunt, and his uncle, Don John of Austria, after taking the oath, would have knelt, according to custom, to kiss his hand, he would not allow it, but affectionately raised and embraced them. But when the duke of Alva inadvertently omitted the latter act of obeisance, the prince received him so coldly, that the haughty nobleman, rebuked by his manner, perceived his error, and humbly acknowledged it.[1414]

In the autumn of the following year, with the hope of mending his health by change of air, Carlos removed to Alcalá de Henares, famous for its university founded by the great Ximenes. He had for his companions two youths, both destined to a conspicuous part in the history of the times. One was Philip's illegitimate brother, Don John of Austria, the hero of Lepanto; the other was the prince's cousin, Alexander Farnese, son of Margaret of Parma, who was now in the course of training which was one day to make him the greatest captain of his time. The three boys were nearly of the same age; but in their accomplishments and personal appearance the uncle and the cousin afforded as strong a contrast to their royal kinsman, as in the brilliant fortunes that awaited them.[1415]

Carlos had not been at Alcalá many months, before he met with an accident, which was attended with most disastrous consequences. One evening in April, 1562, as he was descending a flight of stairs, he made a misstep, and fell headlong down five or six stairs against a door at the bottom of the passage. He was taken up senseless, and removed to his chamber, where his physicians were instantly summoned, and the necessary remedies applied.[1416] At first it seemed only a simple contusion on the head, and the applications of the doctors had the desired effect. But soon the symptoms became more alarming. Fever set in. He was attacked by erysipelas; his head swelled to an enormous size; he became totally blind; and this was followed by delirium. It now appeared that the skull was fractured. The royal physicians were called in; and after a stormy consultation, in which the doctors differed, as usual, as to the remedies to be applied, it was determined to trepan the patient. The operation was carefully performed; a part of the bone of the skull was removed; but relief was not obtained.[1417]

Meanwhile the greatest alarm spread through the country, at the prospect of losing the heir apparent. Processions were everywhere made to the churches, prayers were put up, pilgrimages were vowed, and the discipline was unsparingly administered by the fanatical multitude, who hoped by selfinflicted{461} penance to avert the wrath of Heaven from the land. Yet all did not avail.

We have a report of the case from the pen of Dr. Olivares, the prince's own physician. Some of the remedies were of a kind that would look strangely enough if reported by a medical journal of our own day. After all efforts of professional skill had failed, and the unguent of a Moorish doctor, famous among the people, had been rubbed on the body without success, it was resolved to make a direct appeal to Heaven. In the monastery of Jesus Maria lay the bones of a holy Franciscan, Fray Diego, who had died a hundred years before, in the reign of Henry the Fourth, in the odor of sanctity. King Philip and his court went in solemn procession to the church; and in their presence, the mouldering remains of the good father, still sweet to the nostrils, as we are told, were taken from their iron coffin, and transported to the prince's apartment. They were there laid on his bed; and the cloth that wrapped the skull of the dead man was placed on the forehead of Carlos.[1418] Fortunately the delirious state of the patient prevented the shock that might otherwise have been given to his senses. That very night the friar appeared to Carlos in his sleep. He was muffled in his Franciscan robe, with a green girdle about his waist, and a cross of reeds in his hand; and he mildly bade him "be of good cheer, for that he would certainly recover." From this time, as the physician who reports the case admits, the patient began speedily to mend. The fever subsided, his head returned to its natural dimensions, his eyes were restored to sight. At the end of something less than two months from the date of the accident, Carlos, who had shown a marvellous docility throughout his illness,[1419] was enabled to walk into the adjoining apartment, and embrace his father, who, during the critical period of his son's illness, had established his residence at Alcalá, showing the solicitude natural to a parent in such an extremity.

The merit of the cure was of course referred to Fray Diego.[1420] An account of the miracle, duly authenticated, was transmitted to Rome; and the holy man, on the application of Philip, received the honors of canonization from the pontiff. The claims of the new saint to the credit of achieving the cure were confidently asserted by the Castilian chroniclers of that and succeeding ages; nor have I met with any one hardy enough to contest them, unless it be Dr. Olivares himself, who, naturally jealous of his professional honor, intimated his conviction,—this was before the canonization,—that with some{462} allowance for the good wrought by Fray Diego's intercession and the prayers of the righteous, the recovery of the prince was mainly to be referred to the skill of his physicians.[1421]

But the recovery of Carlos does not seem to have been so complete as was at first thought. There is good reason to suppose that the blow on his head did some permanent injury to the brain. At least this may be inferred from the absurd eccentricities of his subsequent conduct, and the reckless manner in which he abandoned himself to the gratification of his passions. In 1565, on his recovery from one of those attacks of quartan-fever which still beset him, Philip remarked, with a sigh, to the French minister, St. Sulpice, "that he hoped his repeated warnings might restrain the prince, for the future, from making such fatal inroads on his health."[1422] But the unfortunate young man profited as little by such warnings as by his own experience. Persons about the court at this period have left us many stories of his mad humors, which formed the current scandal at Madrid. Brantôme, who was there in 1564, says that Carlos would patrol the streets with a number of young nobles, of the same lawless habits with himself, assaulting the passengers with drawn swords, kissing the women, and insulting even ladies of the highest rank with the most opprobrious epithets.[1423]

It was the fashion for the young gallants of the court to wear very large boots. Carlos had his made even larger than usual, to accommodate a pair of small pistols. Philip, in order to prevent the mischievous practice, ordered his son's boots to be made of smaller dimensions. But when the bootmaker brought them to the palace, Carlos, in a rage, gave him a beating; and then, ordering the leather to be cut in pieces and stewed, he forced the unlucky mechanic to swallow this unsavory fricassee—as much as he could get down of it—on the spot.[1424]

On one occasion, he made a violent assault on his governor, Don Garcia de Toledo, for some slight cause of offence. On another, he would have thrown his chamberlain, Don Alonzo de Cordova, out of the window. These noblemen complained to Philip, and besought him to release them from a service where they were exposed to affronts which they could not resent. The king consented, transferring them to his own service, and appointed Ruy Gomez de Silva, prince of Eboli, his favorite minister, the governor of Carlos.[1425]

But the prince was no respecter of persons. Cardinal Espinosa, president of the Council of Castile, and afterwards grand-inquisitor, banished a player named Cisneros from the palace, where he was to have performed that night for the prince's diversion. It was probably by Philip's orders. But however that may be, Carlos, meeting the cardinal, seized him roughly by the collar, and, laying his hand on his poniard, exclaimed, "You scurvy priest, do you dare to prevent Cisneros from playing before me? By the life of my father, I will kill you!"[1426] The trembling prelate, throwing himself on his knees, was too happy to escape with his life from the hands of the infuriated prince. Whether the latter had his way in the end, in regard to the comedian, is not stated. But the stuff of which a grand-inquisitor is made is not apt to be of the yielding sort.

A more whimsical anecdote is told us by Nobili, the Tuscan ambassador, then resident at the court. Carlos, having need of money, requested a merchant, named Grimaldo, to advance him the sum of fifteen hundred ducats. The money-lender readily consented, thanking the prince for the favor done him, and adding, in the usual grandiloquent vein of the Castilian, that "all he had was at his disposal."[1427] Carlos took him at his word, and forthwith demanded a hundred thousand ducats. In vain poor Grimaldo, astounded by the request, protested that "it would ruin his credit; that what he had said was only words of compliment." Carlos replied, "he had no right to bandy compliments with princes; and if he did not in four and twenty hours pay the money to the last real, he and his family would have cause to rue it." It was not till after much negotiation that Ruy Gomez succeeded in prevailing on the prince to be content with the more modest sum of sixty thousand ducats, which was accordingly furnished by the unfortunate merchant.[1428] The money thus gained, according to Nobili, was squandered as suddenly as it was got.

There are happily some touches of light to relieve the shadows with which the portrait is charged. Tiepolo, who was ambassador from Venice at the court of Madrid in 1567, when Carlos was twenty-two years old, gives us some account of the prince. He admits his arrogant and fiery temper, but commends his love of truth, and, what we should hardly have expected, the earnestness with which he engaged in his devotions. He was exceedingly charitable, asking, "Who would give, if princes did not?"[1429] He was splendid in his way of living, making the most liberal recompense, not only to his own servants, but to the king's, who were greatly attached to him.[1430] He was ambitious of taking part in the conduct of public affairs, and was sorely discontented when excluded from them—as seems to have been usually the case—by his father.[1431]{464}

It was certainly to the prince's credit, that he was able to inspire those who approached him most nearly with strong feelings of personal attachment. Among these were his aunt Joanna, the regent, and the queen, Isabella, who, regarding him with an interest justified by the connection, was desirous of seeing him married to her own sister. His aunt Mary and her husband, the Emperor Maximilian, also held Carlos, whom they had known in early days, in the kindest remembrance, and wished to secure his hand for their eldest daughter. A still more honorable testimony is borne by the relations in which he stood to his preceptor, Honorato Juan, who, at the prince's solicitation, had been raised to the bishopric of Osma. Carlos would willingly have kept this good man near his own person. But he was detained in his diocese; and the letters from time to time addressed to him by his former pupil, whatever may be thought of them as pieces of composition, do honor to the prince's heart. "My best friend in this life," he affectionately writes at the close of them, "I will do all that you desire."[1432] Unfortunately, this good friend and counsellor died in 1566. By his will, he requested Carlos to select for himself any article among his effects that he preferred. He even gave him authority to change the terms of the instrument, and make any other disposition of his property that he thought right![1433] It was a singular proof of confidence in the testator, unless we are to receive it merely as a Spanish compliment,—somewhat perilous, as the case of Grimaldo proves, with a person who interpreted compliments as literally as Carlos.

From all this, there would seem to have been the germs of generous qualities in the prince's nature, which, under a happier culture, might have been turned to some account. But he was placed in that lofty station which exposed him to the influence of parasites, who flattered his pride, and corrupted his heart, by ministering to his pleasures. From the eminence which he occupied, even the smallest errors and eccentricities became visible to the world, and the objects of unsparing criticism. Somewhat resembling his father in person, he was different from him both in his good qualities and his defects, so that a complete barrier was raised between them. Neither party could comprehend the other; and the father was thus destitute of the means which he might else have had of exerting an influence over the son. The prince's dissipated way of life, his perpetual lapses from decorum, or, to speak more properly, his reckless defiance of decency, outraged his father, so punctilious in his own observance of the outward decencies of life. He may well have dwelt on such excesses of Carlos with pain; but it may be doubted if the prince's more honorable desire to mingle in public affairs was to the taste of Philip, who was too tenacious of power willingly to delegate it, beyond what was absolutely necessary, to his own ministers. The conduct of{465} his son, unhappily, furnished him with a plausible ground for distrusting his capacity for business.

Thus distrusted, if not held in positive aversion, by his father; excluded from any share in the business of the state, as well as from a military life, which would seem to have been well suited to his disposition; surrounded by Philip's ministers, whom Carlos, with too much reason, regarded as spies on his actions,—the unhappy young man gave himself up to a reckless course of life, equally ruinous to his constitution and to his character; until the people, who had hailed with delight the prospect of a native-born prince, now felt a reasonable apprehension as to his capacity for government.[1434]

But while thus an object of distrust at home, abroad more than one sovereign coveted an alliance with the heir of the Spanish monarchy. Catharine de Medicis would gladly have secured his hand for a younger sister of Isabella, in which project she was entirely favored by the queen. This was in 1565; but Philip, in his usual procrastinating spirit, only replied, "They must reflect upon it."[1435] He looked with a more favorable eye on the proposals warmly pressed by the emperor and empress of Germany, who, as we have seen, still cherished a kindly remembrance of Carlos, and wished his union with their daughter Anne. That princess, who was a year younger than her cousin, claimed Spain as her native land, having been born there during the regency of Maximilian. But although the parties were of suitable age, and Philip acquiesced in the proposals for their marriage, his want of confidence in his son, if we may credit the historians, still moved him to defer the celebration of it.[1436] Anne did indeed live to mount the throne of Castile, but as the wife, not of Carlos, but of Philip, after the death of Isabella. Thus, by a singular fatality, the two princesses who had been destined for the son were each of them married to the father.

The revolutionary movement in the Netherlands was at this time the great subject that engaged the attention of the Spaniards; and Carlos is reported to have taken a lively interest in it. According to Antonio Perez, the Flemings then at the court made positive overtures to the prince to head the revolt.[1437] Strada speaks of Bergen and Montigny, then at Madrid, as the channel of communication through which Carlos engaged to settle the affairs of that distracted country.[1438] That a person of his ardent temper should have felt sympathy with a people thus bravely struggling for its liberties, is not improbable; nor would one with whom "to think and to speak was the same thing,"[1439] be at all unlikely to express himself on the subject with much more freedom than discretion. And it may have been in allusion to this that his{466} almoner, Suarez, in a letter without date, implores the prince "to abandon his dangerous designs, the illusion of the Evil One, which cannot fail to bring mischief to himself and disquiet to the monarchy!"[1440] The letter concludes with a homily, in which the good doctor impresses on the prince the necessity of filial obedience, by numerous examples, from sacred and profane story, of the sad end of those who had impiously rejected the counsels of their parents.[1441]

But although it is true that this hypothesis would explain much that is enigmatical in the subsequent history of Carlos, I must confess I have met with no confirmation of it in the correspondence of those who had the direction of affairs in the Low Countries, nor in the charges alleged against Montigny himself,—where an attempt to suborn the heir-apparent, one might suppose, would have been paraded as the most heinous offence. Still, that Carlos regarded himself as the proper person to be intrusted with the mission to the Netherlands is evident from his treatment of Alva, when that nobleman was appointed to the command of the army.

On that occasion, as the duke came to pay his respects to him previous to his departure, the prince fiercely said, "You are not to go to Flanders; I will go there myself." Alva endeavored to pacify him, saying that it was too dangerous a mission for the heir to the throne; that he was going to quiet the troubles of the country, and prepare it for the coming of the king, when the prince could accompany his father, if his presence could be spared in Castile. But this explanation served only to irritate Carlos the more; and, drawing his dagger, he turned suddenly on the duke, exclaiming, "You shall not go; if you do, I will kill you." A struggle ensued,—an awkward one for Alva, as to have injured the heir-apparent might have been construed into treason. Fortunately, being much the stronger of the two, he grappled with Carlos, and held him tight, while the latter exhausted his strength in ineffectual struggles to escape. But no sooner was the prince released, than he turned again, with the fury of a madman, on the duke, who again closed with him, when the noise of the fray brought in one of the chamberlains from an adjoining room; and Carlos, extricating himself from the iron grasp of his adversary, withdrew to his own apartment.[1442]

Such an outrage on the person of his minister was regarded by Philip as an indignity to himself. It widened the breach, already too wide, between father and son; and so great was this estrangement, that, when living in the same palace, they seem to have had no communication with each other.[1443] Much of Philip's time, however, at this period, was passed at the Escorial, where he was watching over the progress of the magnificent pile which was to commemorate the victory of St. Quentin. But, while in his retreat, the ministers placed about his son furnished the king with faithful reports of his proceedings.

Such was the deplorable state of things, when Carlos came to the fatal determination to escape from the annoyances of his present position by flying to some foreign land. To what country is not certainly known; some say to the Netherlands, others to Germany. The latter, on the whole, seems the most probable; as in the court of Vienna he would meet with his promised bride, and friends who would be sure to welcome him.

As he was destitute of funds for such a journey, he proposed to raise them through a confidential agent, one of his own household, by obtaining loans from different cities. Such a reckless mode of proceeding, which seemed at once to proclaim his purpose, intimated too plainly the heedlessness of his character, and his utter ignorance of affairs.

But while these negotiations were in progress, a circumstance occurred, exhibiting the conduct of Carlos in such a light that it may claim the shelter of insanity. The story is told by one of the prince's household, an ayuda de camara, or gentleman of the chamber, who was present at the scene, which he describes with much simplicity.

For some days his master, he tells us, had no rest, frequently repeating, that "he desired to kill a man with whom he had a quarrel!"[1444] The same thing he said—without, however, intimating who the man was—to his uncle, Don John of Austria, in whom he seems to have placed unbounded confidence. This was near Christmas, in 1567. It was customary on the twenty-eighth of December, the day of the Innocents, for the members of the royal family to appear together, and take the sacrament in public. Carlos, in order to prepare for this, on the preceding evening went to the church of St. Jerome, to confess and receive absolution. But the confessor, when he heard the strange avowal of his murderous appetite, refused to grant absolution. Carlos applied to another ecclesiastic, but with as little success. In vain he endeavored to argue the case. They recommended him to send for more learned divines, and take their opinion. He did so forthwith; and no less than fourteen monks from the convent of Our Lady of Atocha, and two from another quarter, were brought together to settle this strange point of casuistry. Greatly shocked, they were unanimous in their opinion, that, under the circumstances, absolution could not be granted. Carlos next inquired whether he might not be allowed to receive an unconsecrated wafer, which would obviate the scandal that his omitting to take the sacrament would infallibly occasion in the court. The reverend body were thrown into fresh consternation by this proposal. The prior of Atocha, who was among the number, wishing to draw from Carlos the name of his enemy, told him that this intelligence might possibly have some influence on the judgment of the divines. The prince replied, that "his father was the person, and that he wished to have his life!"[1445] The prior calmly inquired, if any one was to aid him in the designs against his father. But Carlos only repeated his former declaration; and two hours after midnight the conclave broke up in unspeakable dismay. A messenger was despatched to the Escorial, where the king then was, to acquaint him with the whole affair.[1446]

Such is the report of the ayuda de camara, who says he was in attendance{468} on the prince that night. The authority is better for some parts of the story than for others. There is nothing very improbable in the supposition that Carlos—whose thoughts, as we have seen, lay very near the surface—should have talked, in the wild way reported of him, to his attendants. But that he should have repeated to others what had been drawn from him so cunningly by the prior, or that this appalling secret should have been whispered within earshot of the attendants, is difficult to believe. It matters little, however, since, whichever way we take the story, it savors so much of downright madness in the prince as in a manner to relieve him from moral responsibility.

By the middle of January, 1568, the prince's agent had returned, bringing with him a hundred and fifty thousand ducats. It was not more than a fourth of the amount he had demanded. But it answered for the present, and the remainder he proposed to have sent after him in bills of exchange.[1447] Having completed his preparations, he communicated his intentions to his uncle, Don John, and besought him to accompany him in his flight. But the latter, after fruitlessly expostulating with his kinsman on the folly of his proceeding, left Madrid for the Escorial, where he doubtless reported the affair to the king, his brother.

On the seventeenth, Carlos sent an order to Don Ramon de Tassis, the director-general of the posts, to have eight horses in readiness for him, that evening. Tassis, suspecting all was not right, returned an answer that the horses were out. On the prince repeating his orders in a more peremptory manner, the postmaster sent all the horses out, and proceeded himself in all haste to the Escorial.[1448]

The king was not long in taking his measures. Some days previous, "this very religious prince," says the papal nuncio, "according to his wont, had caused prayers to be put up, in the different monasteries, for the guidance of Heaven in an affair of great moment."[1449] Such prayers might have served as a warning to Carlos. But it was too late for warnings. Philip now proceeded, without loss of time, to Madrid, where those who beheld him in the audience-chamber, on the morning of the eighteenth, saw no sign of the coming storm in the serenity of his countenance.[1450] That morning, he attended mass in public, with the members of the royal family. After the services, Don John visited Carlos in his apartment, when the prince, shutting the doors, demanded of his uncle the subject of his conversation with the king at the Escorial. Don John evaded the questions as well as he could, till Carlos, heated by his suspicions, drew his sword, and attacked his uncle, who, retreating, with his back to the door, called loudly on the prince to desist, and threw himself into a posture of defence. The noise made by the{469} skirmish fortunately drew the notice of the attendants, who, rushing in, enabled Don John to retreat, and Carlos withdrew in sullen silence to his chamber.[1451]

The prince, it seems, had for some time felt himself insecure in his father's palace. He slept with as many precautions as a highwayman, with his sword and dagger by his side, and a loaded musket within reach, ready at any moment for action.[1452] For further security, he had caused an ingenious artisan to construct a bolt, in such a way that by means of pulleys he could fasten or unfasten the door of his chamber while in bed. With such precautions, it would be a perilous thing to invade the slumbers of a desperate man like Carlos. But Philip was aware of the difficulties; and he ordered the mechanic to derange the machinery so that it should not work: and thus the door was left without the usual means for securing it.[1453] The rest is told by the ayuda de camara above mentioned, who was on duty that night, and supped in the palace.

It was about eleven o'clock, on the evening of the eighteenth, when he observed the king coming down stairs, wearing armor over his clothes, and his head protected by a helmet. He was accompanied by the duke of Feria, captain of the guard, with four or five other lords, and twelve privates of the guard. The king ordered the valet to shut the door, and allow no one to enter. The nobles and the guard then passed into the prince's chamber; and the duke of Feria, stealing softly to the head of the bed, secured a sword and dagger which lay there, as well as a musket loaded with two balls. Carlos, roused by the noise, started up, and demanded who was there. The duke, having got possession of the weapons, replied, "It is the council of state." Carlos, on hearing this, leaped from his bed, and, uttering loud cries and menaces, endeavored to seize his arms. At this moment, Philip, who had prudently deferred his entrance till the weapons were mastered, came forward, and bade his son return to bed and remain quiet. The prince exclaimed, "What does your majesty want of me?" "You will soon learn," said his father, and at the same time ordered the windows and doors to be strongly secured, and the keys of the latter to be delivered to him. All the furniture of the room, with which Carlos could commit any violence, even the andirons, were removed.[1454] The king, then turning to Feria, told him that "he committed the prince to his especial charge, and that he must guard him well." Addressing next the other nobles, he directed them "to serve the prince with all proper respect, but to execute none of his orders without first reporting them to himself; finally, to guard him faithfully, under penalty of being held as traitors."

At these words Carlos exclaimed, "Your majesty had better kill me than keep me a prisoner. It will be a great scandal to the kingdom. If you do not kill me, I will make away with myself." "You will do no such thing," said the king; "for that would be the act of a madman." "Your majesty," replied Carlos, "treats me so ill that you force me to this extremity. I am{470} not mad, but you drive me to despair!"[1455] Other words passed between the monarch and his son, whose voice was so broken with sobs as to be scarcely audible.[1456]

Having completed his arrangements, Philip, after securing a coffer which contained the prince's papers, withdrew from the apartment. That night, the duke of Feria, the count of Lerma, and Don Rodrigo de Mendoza, eldest son of Ruy Gomez, remained in the prince's chamber. Two lords, out of six named for the purpose, performed the same duty in rotation each succeeding night. From respect to the prince, none of them were allowed to wear their swords in his presence. His meat was cut up before it was brought into his chamber, as he was allowed no knife at his meals. The prince's attendants were all dismissed, and most of them afterwards provided for in the service of the king. A guard of twelve halberdiers were stationed in the passages leading to the tower in which the apartment of Carlos was situated. Thus all communication from without was cut off; and, as he was unable to look from his strongly barricaded windows, the unhappy prisoner from that time remained as dead to the world as if he had been buried in the deepest dungeon of Simancas.

The following day, the king called the members of his different councils together, and informed them of the arrest of his son, declaring that nothing but his duty to God, and the welfare of the monarchy, could have moved him to such an act. The tears, according to one present, filled his eyes, as he made this avowal.[1457]

He then summoned his council of state, and commenced a process against the prisoner. His affliction did not prevent him from being present all the while, and listening to the testimony, which, when reduced to writing, formed a heap of paper half a foot in thickness.—Such is the account given of this extraordinary proceeding by the ayuda de camara.[1458]{471}

CHAPTER VII.

Causes of his Imprisonment.—His Rigorous Confinement.—His Excesses.—His Death.—Llorente's Account.—Various Accounts.—Suspicious Circumstances.—Quarrel in the Palace.—Obsequies of Carlos.

The arrest of Don Carlos caused a great sensation throughout the country, much increased by the mysterious circumstances which had attended it. The wildest rumors were afloat as to the cause. Some said the prince had meditated a design against his father's life; others, that he had conspired against that of Ruy Gomez. Some said that he was plotting rebellion, and had taken part with the Flemings; others suspected him of heresy. Many took still a different view of the matter,—censuring the father rather than the son. "His dagger followed close upon his smile," says the historian of Philip; "hence some called him wise, others severe."[1459] Carlos, they said, never a favorite, might have been rash in his thoughts and words; but he had done no act which should have led a father to deal with his son so harshly. But princes are too apt to be jealous of their successors. They distrusted the bold and generous spirit of their offspring, whom it would be wiser to win over by admitting them to some reasonable share in the government.—"But others there were," concludes the wise chronicler of the times, "who, more prudent than their neighbors, laid their finger on their lips, and were silent."[1460]

For some days, Philip would allow no post to leave Madrid, that he might be the first to send intelligence of this event to foreign courts.[1461] On the twenty-fourth, he despatched circular letters to the great ecclesiastics, the grandees, and the municipalities of the chief cities of the kingdom. They were vague in their import, stating the fact of the arrest, and assigning much the same general grounds with those he had stated to the councils. On the same day he sent despatches to the principal courts of Europe. These, though singularly vague and mysterious in their language, were more pregnant with suggestions, at least, than the letters to his subjects. The most curious, on the whole, and the one that gives the best insight into his motives, is the letter he addressed to his aunt, the queen of Portugal. She was sister to the emperor, his father,—an estimable lady, whom Philip had always held in great respect.

"Although," he writes, "it has long been obvious that it was necessary to take some order in regard to the prince, yet the feelings of a father have led me to resort to all other means before proceeding to extremity. But affairs have at length come to such a pass, that, to fulfil the duty which, as a Christian prince, I owe both to God and to my realm, I have been compelled{472} to place my son in strict confinement. Thus have I been willing to sacrifice to God my own flesh and blood, preferring his service and the welfare of my people to all human considerations.[1462] I will only add, that this determination has not been brought about by any misconduct on the part of my son, or by any want of respect to me; nor is this treatment of him intended by way of chastisement,—for that, however just the grounds of it, would have its time and its limit.[1463] Neither have I resorted to it as an expedient for reforming his disorderly life. The proceeding rests altogether on another foundation; and the remedy I propose is not one either of time or expedients, but is of the greatest moment, as I have already remarked, to satisfy my obligations to God and my people."[1464]

In the same obscure strain, Philip addressed Zuñiga, his ambassador at the papal court,—saying, that, "although the disobedience which Carlos had shown through life was sufficient to justify any demonstration of severity, yet it was not this, but the stern pressure of necessity, that could alone have driven him to deal in this way with his first-born, his only son."[1465]

This ambiguous language—implying that the imprisonment of Carlos was not occasioned by his own misconduct, and yet that both the interests of religion and the safety of the state demanded his perpetual imprisonment—may be thought to intimate that the cause referred to could be no other than insanity. This was plainly stated by the prince of Eboli, in a communication which, by the king's order, he made to the French minister, Fourquevaulx. The king, Gomez said, had for three years past perceived that the prince's head was the weakest part of him, and that he was, at no time, in complete possession of his understanding. He had been silent on the matter, trusting that time would bring some amendment. But it had only made things worse; and he saw, with sorrow, that to commit the sceptre to his son's hands would be to bring inevitable misery on his subjects and ruin on the state. With unspeakable anguish, he had therefore resolved, after long deliberation, to place his son under constraint.[1466]

This at least is intelligible, and very different from Philip's own despatches,—where it strikes us as strange, if insanity were the true ground of the arrest, that it should be covered up under such vague and equivocal language, with the declaration, moreover, usually made in his letters, that, "at some{473} future time, he would explain the matter more fully to the parties." One might have thought that the simple plea of insanity would have been directly given, as furnishing the best apology for the son, and at the same time vindicating the father for imposing a wholesome restraint upon his person. But, in point of fact, the excessive rigor of the confinement, as we shall have occasion to see, savored much more of the punishment dealt out to some high offender, than of the treatment of an unfortunate lunatic. Neither is it probable that a criminal process would have been instituted against one who, by his very infirmity, was absolved from all moral responsibility.

There are two documents, either of which, should it ever be brought to light, would probably unfold the true reasons of the arrest of Carlos. The Spanish ambassador, Zuñiga, informed Philip that the pope, dissatisfied with the account which he had given of the transaction, desired a further explanation of it from his majesty.[1467] This, from such a source, was nearly equivalent to a command. For Philip had a peculiar reverence for Pius the Fifth, the pope of the Inquisition, who was a pontiff after his own heart. The king is said never to have passed by the portrait of his holiness, which hung on the walls of the palace, without taking off his hat.[1468] He at once wrote a letter to the pope containing a full account of the transaction. It was written in cipher, with the recommendation that it should be submitted to Granvelle, then in Rome, if his holiness could not interpret it. This letter is doubtless in the Vatican.[1469]

The other document is the process. The king, immediately after the arrest of his son, appointed a special commission to try him. It consisted of Cardinal Espinosa, the prince of Eboli, and a royal councillor, Bribiesca de Muñatones, who was appointed to prepare the indictment. The writings containing the memorable process instituted by Philip's ancestor, John the Second of Aragon, against his amiable and unfortunate son, who also bore the name of Carlos, had been obtained from the Archives of Barcelona. They were translated from the Catalan into Castilian, and served for the ominous model for the present proceedings, which took the form of a trial for high treason. In conducting this singular prosecution, it does not appear that any counsel or evidence appeared on behalf of the prisoner, although a formidable amount of testimony, it would seem, was collected on the other side. But, in truth, we know little of the proceedings. There is no proof that any but the monarch, and the secret tribunal that presided over the trial,—if so it can be called,—ever saw the papers. In 1592, according to the historian Cabrera, they were deposited, by Philip's orders, in a green box, strongly secured, in the Archives of Simancas,[1470]—where, as we have no later information, they may still remain, to reward the labors of some future antiquary.[1471]{474}

In default of these documents, we must resort to conjecture for the solution of this difficult problem; and there are several circumstances which may assist us in arriving at a conclusion. Among the foreign ministers at that time at the court of Madrid, none took more pains to come at the truth of this affair,—as his letters abundantly prove,—than the papal nuncio, Castaneo, archbishop of Rossano. He was a shrewd, sagacious prelate, whose position and credit at the court gave him the best opportunities for information. By Philip's command, Cardinal Espinosa gave the nuncio the usual explanation of the grounds on which Carlos had been arrested. "It is a strange story," said the nuncio, "that which we everywhere hear, of the prince's plot against his father's life." "It would be of little moment," replied the cardinal, "if the danger to the king were all; as it would be easy to protect his person. But the present case is worse,—if worse can be; and the king, who has seen the bad course which his son has taken for these two years past, has vainly tried to remedy it; till, finding himself unable to exercise any control over the hair-brained young man, he has been forced to this expedient."[1472]

Now, in the judgment of a grand-inquisitor, it would probably be thought that heresy, or any leaning to heresy, was a crime of even a deeper dye than parricide. The cardinal's discourse made this impression on the nuncio, who straightway began to cast about for proofs of apostasy in Don Carlos. The Tuscan minister also notices, in his letters, the suspicions that Carlos was not a good Catholic.[1473] A confirmation of this view of the matter may be gathered from the remarks of Pius the Fifth on Philip's letter in cipher, above noticed. "His holiness," writes the Spanish ambassador, "greatly lauds the course taken by your majesty; for he feels that the preservation of Christianity depends on your living many years, and on your having a successor who will tread in your footsteps."[1474]

But though all this seems to intimate pretty clearly that the religious defection of Carlos was a predominant motive for his imprisonment, it is not easy to believe that a person of his wayward and volatile mind could have formed any settled opinions in matters of faith, or that his position would have allowed the Reformers such access to his person as to have greatly exposed him to the influence of their doctrines. Yet it is quite possible that he may have taken an interest in those political movements abroad, which, in the end, were directed against the Church. I allude to the troubles in the Low Countries, which he is said to have looked upon with no unfriendly eye. It is true, there is no proof of this, so far as I am aware, in the correspondence of the Flemish leaders. Nor is there any reason to suppose that Carlos{475} entered directly into a correspondence with them himself, or indeed committed himself by any overt act in support of the cause.[1475] But this was not necessary for his condemnation; it would have been quite enough, that he had felt a sympathy for the distresses of the people. From the residence of Egmont, Bergen, and Montigny at the court, he had obvious means of communication with those nobles, who may naturally have sought to interest him in behalf of their countrymen. The sympathy readily kindled in the ardent bosom of the young prince would be as readily expressed. That he did feel such a sympathy may perhaps be inferred by his strange conduct to Alva, on the eve of his departure for the Netherlands. But the people of that country were regarded at Madrid as in actual rebellion against the crown. The reformed doctrines which they avowed gave to the movement the character of a religious revolution. For a Spaniard to countenance it in any way was at once to prove himself false both to his sovereign and his faith. In such a light, we may be quite sure, it would be viewed both by Philip and his minister, the grand-inquisitor. Nor would it be thought any palliation of the crime, that the offender was heir to the monarchy.[1476]

As to a design on his father's life, Philip, both in his foreign despatches and in the communications made by his order to the resident ministers at Madrid, wholly acquitted Carlos of so horrible a charge.[1477] If it had any foundation in truth, one might suppose that Philip, instead of denying, would have paraded it, as furnishing an obvious apology for subjecting him to so rigorous a confinement. It is certain, if Carlos had really entertained so monstrous a design, he might easily have found an opportunity to execute it. That Philip would have been silent in respect to his son's sympathy with the Netherlands may well be believed. The great champion of Catholicism would naturally shrink from publishing to the world that the taint of heresy infected his own blood.

But, whatever may have been the motives which determined the conduct of Philip, one cannot but suspect that a deep-rooted aversion to his son lay at the bottom of them. The dissimilarity of their natures placed the two parties, from the first, in false relations to each other. The heedless excesses of youth were regarded with a pitiless eye by the parent, who, in his own indulgences, at least did not throw aside the veil of decorum. The fiery temper of Carlos, irritated by a long-continued system of distrust, exclusion, and espionnage, at length broke out into such senseless extravagances as belong to the debatable ground of insanity. And this ground afforded, as already intimated, a plausible footing to the father for proceeding to extremities against the son.

Whatever were the offences of Carlos, those who had the best opportunities for observation soon became satisfied that it was intended never to allow him{476} to regain his liberty, or to ascend the throne of his ancestors.[1478] On the second of March, a code of regulations was prepared by Philip relative to the treatment of the prince, which may give some idea of the rigor of his confinement. He was given in especial charge to Ruy Gomez, who was placed at the head of the establishment; and it was from him that every person employed about Carlos was to receive his commission. Six other nobles were appointed both to guard the prince and render him service. Two of the number were to remain in his apartment every night,—the one watching, while the other slept; reminding us of an ingenious punishment among the Chinese, where a criminal is obliged to be everywhere followed by an attendant, whose business it is to keep an unceasing watch upon the offender, that, wherever he turns, he may still find the same eye riveted upon him!

During the day, it was the duty of these nobles to remain with Carlos and lighten by their conversation the gloom of his captivity. But they were not to talk on matters relating to the government, above all to the prince's imprisonment, on which topic, if he addressed them, they were to remain obdurately silent. They were to bring no messages to him, and bear none from him to the world without; and they were to maintain inviolable secrecy in regard to all that passed within the walls of the palace, unless when otherwise permitted by the king. Carlos was provided with a breviary and some other books of devotion; and no works except those of a devotional character were to be allowed him.[1479]—This last regulation seems to intimate the existence of certain heretical tendencies in Carlos, which it was necessary to counteract by books of an opposite character,—unless it might be considered as an ominous preparation for his approaching end. Besides the six nobles, no one was allowed to enter the apartment but the prince's physician, his barbero, or gentleman of the chamber, and his valet. The last was taken from the monteros, or body-guard of the king.[1480] There were seven others of this faithful corps who were attached to the establishment, and whose duty it was to bring the dishes for his table to an outer hall, whence they were taken by the montero in waiting to the prince's chamber. A guard of twelve halberdiers was also stationed in the passages leading to the apartment, to intercept all communication from without. Every person employed in the service, from the highest noble to the meanest official, made solemn oath, before the prince of Eboli, to conform to the regulations. On this nobleman rested the whole responsibility of enforcing obedience to the rules, and of providing for the security of Carlos. The better to effect this, he was commanded to remove to the palace, where apartments were assigned to him and the princess his wife, adjoining those of his prisoner. The arrangement may have been commended by other considerations to Philip, whose intimacy with the princess I shall have occasion to notice hereafter.[1481]

The regulations, severe as they were, were executed to the letter. Philip's aunt, the queen of Portugal, wrote in earnest terms to the king, kindly offering herself to remain with her grandson in his confinement, and take charge of him like a mother in his affliction.[1482] "But they were very willing," writes the French minister, "to spare her the trouble."[1483] The emperor and empress wrote to express the hope that the confinement of Carlos would work an amendment in his conduct, and that he would soon be liberated. Several letters passed between the courts, until Philip closed the correspondence by declaring that his son's marriage with the princess Anne could never take place, and that he would never be liberated.[1484]

Philip's queen, Isabella, and his sister Joanna, who seem to have been deeply afflicted by the course taken with the prince, made ineffectual attempts to be allowed to visit him in his confinement; and when Don John of Austria came to the palace dressed in a mourning suit, to testify his grief on the occasion, Philip coldly rebuked his brother, and ordered him to change his mourning for his ordinary dress.[1485]

Several of the great towns were prepared to send their delegates to condole with the monarch under his affliction. But Philip gave them to understand, that he had only acted for the good of the nation, and that their condolence on the occasion would be superfluous.[1486] When the deputies of Aragon, Catalonia, and Valencia were on their way to court, with instructions to inquire into the cause of the prince's imprisonment, and to urge his speedy liberation, they received, on the way, so decided an intimation of the royal displeasure, that they thought it prudent to turn back, without venturing to enter the capital.[1487]

In short, it soon came to be understood, that the affair of Don Carlos was{478} a subject not to be talked about. By degrees, it seemed to pass out of men's minds, like a thing of ordinary occurrence. "There is as little said now on the subject of the prince," writes the French ambassador, Fourquevaulx, "as if he had been dead these ten years."[1488] His name, indeed, still kept its place, among those of the royal family, in the prayers said in the churches. But the king prohibited the clergy from alluding to Carlos in their discourses. Nor did any one venture, says the same authority, to criticize the conduct of the king. "So complete is the ascendancy which Philip's wisdom has given him over his subjects, that, willing or unwilling, all promptly obey him: and if they do not love him, they at least appear to do so."[1489]

Among the articles removed from the prince's chamber was a coffer, as the reader may remember, containing his private papers. Among these were a number of letters intended for distribution after his departure from the country. One was addressed to his father, in which Carlos avowed that the cause of his flight was the harsh treatment he had received from the king.[1490] Other letters, addressed to different nobles, and to some of the great towns, made a similar statement; and, after reminding them of the oath they had taken to him as successor to the crown, he promised to grant them various immunities when the sceptre should come into his hands.[1491] With these papers was also found one of most singular import. It contained a list of all those persons whom he deemed friendly, or inimical to himself. At the head of the former class stood the names of his step-mother, Isabella, and of his uncle Don John of Austria,—both of them noticed in terms of the warmest affection. On the catalogue of his enemies, "to be pursued to the death," were the names of the king, his father, the prince and princess of Eboli, Cardinal Espinosa, the duke of Alva, and others.[1492]—Such is the strange account of the contents of the coffer given to his court by the papal nuncio. These papers, we are told, were submitted to the judges who conducted the process, and formed, doubtless, an important part of the testimony against the prince. It may have been from one of the parties concerned that the nuncio gathered his information. Yet no member of that tribunal would have ventured to disclose its secrets without authority from Philip; who may possibly have consented to the publication of facts that would serve to vindicate his course. If these facts are faithfully reported, they must be allowed to furnish some evidence of a disordered mind in Carlos.

The king, meanwhile, was scarcely less a prisoner than his son; for, from the time of the prince's arrest, he had never left the palace, even to visit his favorite residences of Aranjuez and the Prado; nor had he passed a single day in the occupation, in which he took such delight, of watching the rising glories of the Escorial. He seemed to be constantly haunted by the apprehension of some outbreak among the people, or at least among the partisans of Carlos, to effect his escape; and when he heard any unusual noise in the palace, says his historian, he would go to the window, to see if the tumult{479} were not occasioned by an attempt to release the prisoner.[1493] There was little cause for apprehension in regard to a people so well disciplined to obedience as the Castilians under Philip the Second. But it is an ominous circumstance for a prisoner, that he should become the occasion of such apprehension.

Philip, however, was not induced by his fears to mitigate in any degree the rigor of his son's confinement, which produced the effect to have been expected on one of his fiery, ungovernable temper. At first he was thrown into a state bordering on frenzy, and, it is said, more than once tried to make away with himself. As he found that thus to beat against the bars of his prison-house was only to add to his distresses, he resigned himself in sullen silence to his fate,—the sullenness of despair. In his indifference to all around him, he ceased to take an interest in his own spiritual concerns. Far from using the religious books in his possession, he would attend to no act of devotion, refusing even to confess, or to admit his confessor into his presence.[1494] These signs of fatal indifference, if not of positive defection from the Faith, gave great alarm to Philip, who would not willingly see the soul thus perish with the body.[1495] In this emergency he employed Suarez, the prince's almoner, who once had some influence over his master, to address him a letter of expostulation. The letter has been preserved, and is too remarkable to be passed by in silence.

Suarez begins with reminding Carlos that his rash conduct had left him without partisans or friends. The effect of his present course, instead of mending his condition, could only serve to make it worse. "What will the world say," continues the ecclesiastic, "when it shall learn that you now refuse to confess; when, too, it shall discover other dreadful things of which you have been guilty, some of which are of such a nature, that, did they concern any other than your highness, the Holy Office would be led to inquire whether the author of them were in truth a Christian?[1496] It is in the bitterness and anguish of my heart that I must declare to your highness, that you are not only in danger of forfeiting your worldly estate, but, what is worse, your own soul." And he concludes by imploring Carlos, as the only remedy, to return to his obedience to God, and to the king, who is his representative on earth.

But the admonitions of the honest almoner had as little effect on the unhappy youth as the prayers of his attendants. The mental excitement under which he labored, combined with the want of air and exercise, produced its natural effect on his health. Every day he became more and more emaciated; while the fever which had so long preyed on his constitution now burned in{480} his veins with greater fury than ever. To allay the intolerable heat, he resorted to such desperate expedients as seemed to intimate, says the papal nuncio, that, if debarred from laying violent hands on himself, he would accomplish the same end in a slower way, but not less sure. He deluged the floor with water, not a little to the inconvenience of the companions of his prison, and walked about for hours, half naked, with bare feet, on the cold pavement.[1497] He caused a warming-pan filled with ice and snow to be introduced several times in a night into his bed, and let it remain there for hours together.[1498] As if this were not enough, he would gulp down such draughts of snow-water as distance any achievement on record in the annals of hydropathy. He pursued the same mad course in respect to what he ate. He would abstain from food an incredible number of days,[1499] and then, indulging in proportion to his former abstinence, would devour a pastry of four partridges, with all the paste, at a sitting, washing it down with three gallons or more of iced water![1500]

No constitution could long withstand such violent assaults as these. The constitution of Carlos gradually sank under them. His stomach, debilitated by long inaction, refused to perform the extraordinary tasks that were imposed on it. He was attacked by incessant vomiting; dysentery set in; and his strength rapidly failed. The physician, Olivares, who alone saw the patient, consulted with his brethren in the apartments of Ruy Gomez.[1501] Their remedies failed to restore the exhausted energies of nature; and it was soon evident that the days of Charles were numbered.

To no one could such an announcement have given less concern than to Carlos; for he had impatiently looked to death as to his release. From this hour he seemed to discard all earthly troubles from his mind, as he fixed his{481} thoughts steadfastly on the future. At his own request his confessor, Chavres and Suarez, his almoner, were summoned, and assisted him with their spiritual consolations. The closing scenes are recorded by the pen of the nuncio.

"Suddenly a wonderful change seemed to be wrought by divine grace in the heart of the prince. Instead of vain and empty talk, his language became that of a sensible man. He sent for his confessor, devoutly confessed, and, as his illness was such that he could not receive the host, he humbly adored it; showing throughout great contrition, and, though not refusing the proffered remedies, manifesting such contempt for the things of this world, and such a longing for heaven, that one would have said, God had reserved for this hour the sum of all his grace."[1502]

He seemed to feel an assurance that he was to survive till the vigil of St. James, the patron saint of his country. When told that this would be four days later, he said, "So long will my misery endure."[1503] He would willingly have seen his father once more before his death. But his confessor, it is said, dissuaded the monarch, on the ground that Carlos was now in so happy a frame of mind, that it were better not to disturb it by drawing off his attention to worldly objects. Philip, however, took the occasion, when Carlos lay asleep or insensible, to enter the chamber; and, stealing softly behind the prince of Eboli and the grand-prior, Antonio de Toledo, he stretched out his hand towards the bed, and, making the sign of the cross, gave the parting benediction to his dying son.[1504]

Nor was Carlos allowed the society of his amiable step-mother, the queen, nor of his aunt Joanna, to sweeten by their kind attentions the bitterness of death.[1505] It was his sad fate to die, as he had lived throughout his confinement, under the cold gaze of his enemies. Yet he died at peace with all; and some of the last words that he uttered were to forgive his father for his imprisonment, and the ministers—naming Ruy Gomez and Espinosa in particular—who advised him to it.[1506]

Carlos now grew rapidly more feeble, having scarce strength enough left to listen to the exhortations of his confessor, and with low, indistinct murmurings to adore the crucifix which he held constantly in his hand. On the twenty-fourth of July, soon after midnight, he was told it was the Vigil of St. James. Then suddenly rousing, with a gleam of joy on his countenance, he intimated his desire for his confessor to place the holy taper in his hand: and{482} feebly beating his breast, as if to invoke the mercy of Heaven on his transgressions, he fell back, and expired without a groan.[1507]—"No Catholic," says Nobili, "ever made a more Catholic end."[1508]

Such is the account given us of the last hours of this most unfortunate prince, by the papal nuncio and the Tuscan minister, and repeated with slight discrepancies by most of the Castilian writers of that and the following age.[1509] It is a singular circumstance, that, although we have such full reports, both of what preceded and what followed the death of Carlos, from the French ambassador, the portion of his correspondence, which embraces his death has been withdrawn, whether by accident or design, from the archives.[1510] But probably no one without the walls of the palace had access to better sources of information than the two ministers first mentioned, especially the papal nuncio. Their intelligence may well have been derived from some who had been about the person of Carlos. If so, it could not have been communicated without the approbation of Philip, who may have been willing that the world should understand that his son had died true to the Faith.

A very different account of the end of Carlos is given by Llorente. And as this writer, the secretary of the Inquisition, had access to very important materials; and as his account, though somewhat prolix, is altogether remarkable, I cannot pass it by in silence.

According to Llorente, the process already noticed as having been instituted against Carlos was brought to a close only a short time before his death. No notice of it, during all this time, had been given to the prisoner, and no counsel was employed in his behalf. By the ninth of July the affair was sufficiently advanced for a "summary judgment." It resulted from the evidence, that the accused was guilty of treason in both the first and second degree,—as having endeavored to compass the death of the king, his father, and as having conspired to usurp the sovereignty of Flanders. The counsellor Muñatones, in his report, which he laid before the king, while he stated that the penalty imposed by the law on every other subject for these crimes was death, added, that his majesty, by his sovereign authority, might decide that the heir apparent was placed by his rank above the reach of ordinary laws. And it was further in his power to mitigate or dispense with any penalty whatever, when he considered it for the good of his subjects.—In this{483} judgment both the ministers, Ruy Gomez and Espinosa, declared their concurrence.

To this the king replied, that, though his feelings moved him to follow the suggestions of his ministers, his conscience would not permit it. He could not think that he should consult the good of his people by placing over them a monarch so vicious in his disposition, and so fierce and sanguinary in his temper, as Carlos. However agonizing it might be to his feelings as a father, he must allow the law to take its course. Yet, after all, he said, it might not be necessary to proceed to this extremity. The prince's health was in so critical a state, that it was only necessary to relax the precautions in regard to his diet, and his excesses would soon conduct him to the tomb! One point only was essential, that he should be so well advised of his situation that he should be willing to confess, and make his peace with Heaven before he died. This was the greatest proof of love which he could give to his son and to the Spanish nation.

Ruy Gomez and Espinosa both of them inferred from this singular ebullition of parental tenderness, that they could not further the real intentions of the king better than by expediting as much as possible the death of Carlos. Ruy Gomez accordingly communicated his views to Olivares, the prince's physician. This he did in such ambiguous and mysterious phrase as, while it intimated his meaning, might serve to veil the enormity of the crime from the eyes of the party who was to perpetrate it. No man was more competent to this delicate task than the prince of Eboli, bred from his youth in courts, and trained to a life of dissimulation. Olivares readily comprehended the drift of his discourse,—that the thing required of him was to dispose of the prisoner, in such a way that his death should appear natural, and that the honor of the king should not be compromised. He raised no scruples, but readily signified his willingness faithfully to execute the will of his sovereign. Under these circumstances, on the twentieth of July, a purgative dose was administered to the unsuspecting patient, who, as may be imagined, rapidly grew worse. It was a consolation to his father, that, when advised of his danger, Carlos consented to receive his confessor. Thus, though the body perished, the soul was saved.[1511]

Such is the extraordinary account given us by Llorente, which, if true, would at once settle the question in regard to the death of Carlos. But Llorente, with a disingenuousness altogether unworthy of an historian in a matter of so grave import, has given us no knowledge of the sources whence his information was derived. He simply says, that they are "certain secret memoirs of the time, full of curious anecdote, which, though not possessing precisely the character of authenticity, are nevertheless entitled to credit, as coming from persons employed in the palace of the king!"[1512] Had the writer condescended to acquaint us with the names, or some particulars of the characters, of his authors, we might have been able to form some estimate of the value of their testimony. His omission to do this may lead us to infer, that he had not perfect confidence in it himself. At all events it compels us to trust the matter entirely to his own discretion, a virtue which those familiar with his inaccuracies in other matters will not be disposed to concede to him in a very eminent degree.[1513]{484}

His narrative, moreover, is in direct contradiction to the authorities I have already noticed, especially to the two foreign ministers so often quoted, who, with the advantages—not a few—that they possessed for obtaining correct information, were indefatigable in collecting it. "I say nothing," writes the Tuscan envoy, alluding, to the idle rumors of the town, "of gossip unworthy to be listened to. It is a hard thing to satisfy the populace. It is best to stick to the truth, without caring for the opinion of those who talk wildly of improbable matters, which have their origin in ignorance and malice."[1514]

Still, it cannot be denied, that suspicions of foul play to Carlos were not only current abroad, but were entertained by persons of higher rank than the populace at home,—where it could not be safe to utter them. Among others, the celebrated Antonio Perez, one of the household of the prince of Eboli, informs us, that, "as the king had found Carlos guilty, he was condemned to death by casuists and inquisitors. But in order that the execution of this sentence might not be brought too palpably before the public, they mixed for four months together a slow poison in his food."[1515]

This statement agrees, to a certain extent, with that of a noble Venetian, Pietro Giustiniani, then in Castile, who assured the historian De Thou, that "Philip having determined on the death of his son, obtained a sentence to that effect from a lawful judge. But in order to save the honor of the sovereign, the sentence was executed in secret, and Carlos was made to swallow some poisoned broth, of which he died some hours afterwards."[1516]

Some of the particulars mentioned by Antonio Perez may be thought to receive confirmation from an account given by the French minister, Fourquevaulx, in a letter dated about a month after the prince's arrest. "The prince," he says, "becomes visibly thinner and more dried up; and his eyes are sunk in his head. They give him sometimes strong soups and capon broths, in which amber and other nourishing things are dissolved, that he may not wholly lose his strength and fall into decrepitude. These soups are prepared privately in the chamber of Ruy Gomez, through which one passes into that of the prince."

It was not to be expected that a Castilian writer should have the temerity to assert that the death of Carlos was brought about by violence. Yet Cabrera, the best informed historian of the period, who, in his boyhood, had frequent access to the house of Ruy Gomez, and even to the royal palace, while he describes the excesses of Carlos as the cause of his untimely end,{485} makes some mysterious intimations, which, without any forced construction, seem to point to the agency of others in bringing about that event.[1517]

Strada, the best informed, on the whole, of the foreign writers of the period, and who, as a foreigner, had not the same motives for silence as a Spaniard, qualifies his account of the prince's death as having taken place in the natural-way, by saying, "if indeed he did not perish by violence."[1518]—The prince of Orange, in his bold denunciation of Philip, does not hesitate to proclaim him the murderer of his son.[1519] And that inquisitive gossip-monger, Brantôme, amidst the bitter jests and epigrams which, he tells us, his countrymen levelled at Philip for his part in this transaction, quotes the authority of a Spaniard of rank for the assertion that, after Carlos had been condemned by his father,—in opposition to the voice of his council,—the prince was found dead in his chamber, smothered with a towel![1520] Indeed, the various modes of death assigned to him are sufficient evidence of the uncertainty as to any one of them.[1521] A writer of more recent date does not scruple to assert, that the only liberty granted to Carlos was that of selecting the manner of his death out of several kinds that were proposed to him;[1522]—an incident which has since found a more suitable place in one of the many dramas that have sprang from his mysterious story.

In all this the historian must admit there is but little evidence of positive value. The authors—with the exception of Antonio Perez, who had his account, he tells us, from the prince of Eboli—are by no means likely to have had access to sure sources of information; while their statements are{486} contradictory to one another, and stand in direct opposition to those of the Tuscan minister and of the nuncio, the latter of whom had, probably, better knowledge of what was passing in the councils of the monarch, than any other of the diplomatic body. Even the declaration of Antonio Perez, so important on many accounts, is to a considerable degree neutralized by the fact, that he was the mortal enemy of Philip, writing in exile, with a price set upon his head by the man whose character he was assailing. It is the hard fate of a person so situated, that even truth from his lips fails to carry with it conviction.[1523]

If we reject his explanation of the matter, we shall find ourselves again thrown on the sea of conjecture, and may be led to account for the rumors of violence on the part of Philip by the mystery in which the whole of the proceedings was involved, and the popular notion of the character of the monarch who directed them. The same suspicious circumstances must have their influence on the historian of the present day, as with insufficient, though more ample light than was enjoyed by contemporaries, he painfully endeavors to grope his way through this obscure passage in the life of Philip. Many reflections of ominous import naturally press upon his mind. From the first hour of the prince's confinement it was determined, as we have seen, that he was never to be released from it. Yet the preparations for keeping him a prisoner were on so extraordinary a scale, and imposed such a burden on men of the highest rank in the kingdom, as seemed to argue that his confinement was not to be long. It is a common saying,—as old as Machiavelli,—that to a deposed prince the distance is not great from the throne to the grave. Carlos, indeed, had never worn a crown. But there seemed to be the same reasons as if he had, for abridging the term of his imprisonment. All around the prince regarded him with distrust. The king, his father, appeared to live, as we have seen, in greater apprehension of him after his confinement, than before.[1524] "The ministers, whom Carlos hated," says the nuncio, "knew well that it would be their ruin, should he ever ascend the throne."[1525] Thus, while the fears and the interests of all seemed to tend to his removal,{487} we find nothing in the character of Philip to counteract the tendency. For when was he ever known to relax his grasp on the victim once within his power, or to betray any feeling of compunction as to sweeping away an obstacle from his path? One has only to call to mind the long confinement, ending with the midnight execution, of Montigny, the open assassination of the prince of Orange, the secret assassination of the secretary Escovedo, the unrelenting persecution of Perez, his agent in that murder, and his repeated attempts to despatch him also by the hand of the bravo. These are passages in the history of Philip which yet remain to be presented to the reader, and the knowledge of which is necessary before we can penetrate into the depths of his dark and unscrupulous character.

If it be thought that there is a wide difference between these deeds of violence and the murder of a son, we must remember that, in affairs of religion, Philip acted avowedly on the principle, that the end justifies the means; that one of the crimes charged upon Carlos was defection from the Faith; and that Philip had once replied to the piteous appeal of a heretic whom they were dragging to the stake, "Were my son such a wretch as thou art, I would myself carry the fagots to burn him!"[1526]

But in whatever light we are to regard the death of Carlos,—whether as caused by violence, or by those insane excesses in which he was allowed to plunge during his confinement,—in either event the responsibility, to a great extent, must be allowed to rest on Philip, who, if he did not directly employ the hand of the assassin to take the life of his son, yet by his rigorous treatment drove that son to a state of desperation that brought about the same fatal result.[1527]

While the prince lay in the agonies of death, scarcely an hour before he breathed his last, a scene of a very different nature was passing in an adjoining gallery of the palace. A quarrel arose there between two courtiers,—one{488} of them a young cavalier, Don Antonio de Leyva, the other Don Diego de Mendoza, a nobleman who had formerly filled, with great distinction, the post of ambassador at Rome. The dispute arose respecting some coplas, of which Mendoza claimed to be the author. Though at this time near sixty years old, the fiery temperament of youth had not been cooled by age. Enraged at what he conceived an insult on the part of his companion, he drew his dagger. The other as promptly unsheathed his sword. Thrusts were exchanged between the parties; and the noise of the fracas at length reached the ears of Philip himself. Indignant at the outrage thus perpetrated within the walls of the palace, and at such an hour, he ordered his guards instantly to arrest the offenders. But the combatants, brought to their senses, had succeeded in making their escape, and taken refuge in a neighboring church. Philip was too much incensed to respect this asylum; and an alcalde, by his command, entered the church at midnight, and dragged the offenders from the sanctuary. Leyva was put in irons, and lodged in the fortress of Madrid; while his rival was sent to the tower of Simancas. "It is thought they will pay for this outrage with their lives," writes the Tuscan minister, Nobili. "The king," he adds, "has even a mind to cashier his guard for allowing them to escape." Philip, however, confined the punishment of the nobles to banishment from court; and the old courtier, Mendoza, profited by his exile to give to the world those remarkable compositions, both in history and romance, that form an epoch in the national literature.[1528]

A few days before his death, Carlos is said to have made a will, in which, after imploring his father's pardon and blessing, he commended his servants to his care, gave away a few jewels to two or three friends, and disposed of the rest of his property in behalf of sundry churches and monasteries.[1529] Agreeably to his wish, his body was wrapped in a Franciscan robe, and was soon afterward laid in a coffin covered with black velvet and rich brocade. At seven o'clock, that same evening, the remains of Carlos were borne from the chamber where he died, to their place of interment.[1530]

The coffin was supported on the shoulders of the prince of Eboli, the dukes of Infantado and Bio Seco, and other principal grandees. In the court-yard of the palace was a large gathering of the members of the religious fraternities, dignitaries of the church, foreign ambassadors, nobles and cavaliers about the court, and officers of the royal household. There were there also the late attendants of Carlos,—to some of whom he had borne little love,—who, after watching him through his captivity, were now come to conduct him to his final resting-place. Before moving, some wrangling took place among the parties on the question of precedence. Such a spirit might well have been rebuked by the solemn character of the business they were engaged in, which might have reminded them, that in the grave, at least, there are no distinctions. But the perilous question was happily settled by Philip himself, who, from an open window of the palace, looked down on the scene, and, with his usual composure, gave directions for forming the procession.[1531]

The king did not accompany it. Slowly it defiled through the crowded streets, where the people gave audible utterance to their grief, as they gazed on the funeral pomp, and their eyes fell on the bier of the prince, who, they had fondly hoped, would one day sway the sceptre of Castile; and whose errors, great as they were, were all forgotten in his unparalleled misfortunes.[1532]

The procession moved forward to the convent of San Domingo Real, where Carlos had desired that his ashes might be laid. The burial service was there performed, with great solemnity, in presence of the vast multitude. But whether it was that Philip distrusted the prudence of the preachers, or feared some audacious criticism on his conduct, no discourse was allowed to be delivered from the pulpit. For nine days religious services were performed in honor of the deceased; and the office for the dead continued to be read, morning and evening, before an audience among whom were the great nobles and the officers of state, clad in full mourning. The queen and the princess Joanna might be seen, on these occasions, mingling their tears with the few who cherished the memory of Carlos. A niche was excavated in the wall of the church, within the choir, in which the prince's remains were deposited. But they did not rest there long. In 1573, they were removed, by Philip's orders, to the Escorial; and in its gloomy chambers they were left to mingle with the kindred dust of the royal line of Austria.[1533]

Philip wrote to Zuñiga, his ambassador in Rome, to intimate his wish that no funeral honors should be paid there to the memory of Carlos, that no mourning should be worn, and that his holiness would not feel under the necessity of sending him letters of condolence.[1534] Zuñiga did his best. But he could not prevent the obsequies from being celebrated with the lugubrious pomp suited to the rank of the departed. A catafalque was raised in the church of Saint James; the services were performed in presence of the ambassador and his attendants, who were dressed in the deepest black; and twenty-one cardinals, one of whom was Granvelle, assisted at the solemn ceremonies.[1535] But no funeral panegyric was pronounced, and no monumental inscription recorded the imaginary virtues of the deceased.[1536]

Soon after the prince's death, Philip retired to the monastery of St. Jerome, in whose cloistered recesses he remained some time longer secreted from the eyes of his subjects. "He feels his loss like a father," writes the papal nuncio, "but he bears it with the patience of a Christian."[1537] He caused despatches to be sent to foreign courts, to acquaint them with his late{490} bereavement. In his letter to the duke of Alva, he indulges in a fuller expression of his personal feelings. "You may conceive," he says, "in what pain and heaviness I find myself, now that it has pleased God to take my dear son, the prince, to himself. He died in a Christian manner, after having, three days before, received the sacrament, and exhibited repentance and contrition,—all which serves to console me under this affliction. For I hope that God has called him to himself, that he may be with him evermore; and that he will grant me his grace, that I may endure this calamity with a Christian heart and patience."[1538]

Thus, in the morning of life, at little more than twenty-three years of age, perished Carlos, prince of Asturias. No one of his time came into the world under so brilliant auspices; for he was heir to the noblest empire in Christendom; and the Spaniards, as they discerned in his childhood some of the germs of future greatness in his character, looked confidently forward to the day when he should rival the glory of his grandfather, Charles the Fifth. But he was born under an evil star, which counteracted all the gifts of fortune, and turned them into a curse. His naturally wild and headstrong temper was exasperated by disease; and, when encountered by the distrust and alienation of him who had the control of his destiny, was exalted into a state of frenzy, that furnishes the best apology for his extravagances, and vindicates the necessity of some measures, on the part of his father, to restrain them. Yet can those who reject the imputation of murder acquit that father of inexorable rigor towards his child in the measures which he employed, or of the dreadful responsibility which attaches to the consequences of them?

CHAPTER VIII.

Queen Isabella.—Her Relations with Carlos.—Her Illness and Death.—Her Character.

Three months had not elapsed after the young and beautiful queen of Philip the Second had wept over the fate of her unfortunate step-son, when she was herself called upon to follow him to the tomb. The occurrence of these sad events so near together, and the relations of the parties, who had once been designed for each other, suggested the idea that a criminal passion subsisted between them, and that, after her lover's death, Isabella was herself sacrificed to the jealousy of a vindictive husband.

One will in vain look for this tale of horror in the native historians of Castile. Nor does any historian of that day, native or foreign, whom I have consulted, in noticing the rumors of the time, cast a reproach on the fair fame of Isabella; though more than one must be allowed to intimate the existence of the prince's passion for his step-mother.[1539] Brantôme tells us{491} that, when Carlos first saw the queen, "he was so captivated by her charms, that he conceived from that time, a mortal spite against his father, whom he often reproached for the great wrong he had done him, in ravishing from him this fair prize." "And this," adds the writer, "was said in part to have been the cause of the prince's death; for he could not help loving the queen at the bottom of his soul, as well as honoring and reverencing one who was so truly amiable and deserving of love."[1540] He afterwards gives us to understand that many rumors were afloat in regard to the manner of the queen's death; and tells a story, not very probable, of a Jesuit, who was banished to the farthest Indies, for denouncing, in his pulpit, the wickedness of those who could destroy so innocent a creature.[1541]

A graver authority, the prince of Orange, in his public vindication of his own conduct, openly charges Philip with the murder of both his son and his wife. It is to be noticed, however, that he nowhere intimates that either of the parties was in love with the other; and he refers the queen's death to Philip's desire to open the way to a marriage with the Princess Anne of Austria.[1542] Yet these two authorities are the only ones of that day, so far as I am aware, who have given countenance to these startling rumors. Both were foreigners, far removed from the scene of action; one of them a light, garrulous Frenchman, whose amusing pages, teeming with the idle gossip of the court, are often little better than a Chronique Scandaleuse; the other, the mortal enemy of Philip, whose character—as the best means of defending his own—he was assailing with the darkest imputations.

No authority, however, beyond that of vulgar rumor, was required by the unscrupulous writers of a later time, who discerned the capabilities of a story like that of Carlos and Isabella, in the situations of romantic interest which it would open to the reader. Improving on this hint, they have filled in the outlines of the picture with the touches of their own fancy; until the interest thus given to this tale of love and woe has made it as widely known as any of the classic myths of early Grecian history.[1543]{492}

Fortunately, we have the power, in this case, of establishing the truth from unsuspicious evidence,—that of Isabella's own countrymen, whose residence at the court of Madrid furnished them with ample means of personal observation. Isabella's mother, the famous Catherine de Medicis, associated with so much that is terrible in our imaginations, had at least the merit of watching over her daughter's interests with the most affectionate solicitude. This did not diminish when, at the age of fifteen, Elizabeth of France left her own land and ascended the throne of Spain. Catherine kept up a constant correspondence with her daughter, sometimes sending her instructions as to her conduct, at other times, medical prescriptions in regard to her health. She was careful also to obtain information respecting Isabella's mode of life from the French ambassadors at the court of Castile; and we may be quite sure that these loyal subjects would have been quick to report any injurious treatment of the queen by her husband.

A candid perusal of their despatches dispels all mystery,—or rather, proves there never was any cause for mystery. The sallow, sickly boy of fourteen—for Carlos was no older at the time of Isabella's marriage—was possessed of too few personal attractions to make it probable that he could have touched the heart of his beautiful step-mother, had she been lightly disposed. But her intercourse with him from the first seems to have been such as naturally arose from the relations of the parties, and from the kindness of her disposition, which led her to feel a sympathy for the personal infirmities and misfortunes of Carlos. Far from attempting to disguise her feelings in this matter, she displayed them openly in her correspondence with her mother, and before her husband and the world.

Soon after Isabella's arrival at Madrid, we find a letter from the bishop of Limoges to Charles the Ninth, her brother, informing him that "his sister, on entering the palace of Madrid, gave the prince so gracious and affectionate a reception, that it afforded singular contentment to the king, and yet more to Carlos, as appeared by his frequent visits to the queen,—as frequent as the etiquette of a court, much stiffer than that of Paris, would permit."[1544] Again, writing in the following month, the bishop speaks of the queen as endeavoring to amuse Carlos, when he came to see her in the evening, with such innocent games and pastimes as might cheer the spirits of the young prince, who seemed to be wasting away under his malady.[1545]

The next year we have a letter to Catherine de Medicis from one of Isabella's train, who had accompanied her from France. After speaking of her mistress as sometimes supping in the garden with the Princess Joanna,{493} she says they were often joined there by "the prince, who loves the queen singularly well, and, as I suspect, would have no objection to be more nearly related to her."[1546]—There is nothing improbable in the supposition that Carlos, grateful for kindness to which he had not been too much accustomed, should, as he grew older, have yielded to the influence of a princess whose sweet disposition and engaging manners seem to have won the hearts of all who approached her; or that feelings of resentment should have mingled with his regret, as he thought of the hard fate which had placed a barrier between them. It is impossible, too, when we consider the prince's impetuous temper, that the French historian, De Thou, may have had good authority for asserting that Carlos, "after long conversation in the queen's apartment, was often heard, as he came out, to complain loudly of his father's having robbed him of her."[1547] But it could have been no vulgar passion that he felt for Isabella, and certainly it received no encouragement from her, if, as Brantôme tells us, "insolent and audacious as he was in his intercourse with all other women, he never came into the presence of his step-mother without such a feeling of reverence as seemed to change his very nature."

Nor is there the least evidence that the admiration excited by the queen, whether in Carlos or in the courtiers, gave any uneasiness to Philip, who seems to have reposed entire confidence in her discretion. And while we find Isabella speaking of Philip to her mother as "so good a husband, and rendering her so happy by his attentions, that it made the dullest spot in the world agreeable to her,"[1548] we meet with a letter from the French minister, Guibert, saying that "the king goes on loving the queen more and more, and that her influence has increased threefold within the last few months."[1549] A few years later, in 1565, St. Sulpice, then ambassador in Madrid, writes to the queen-mother in emphatic terms of the affectionate intercourse that subsisted between Philip and his consort. "I can assure you, madam," he says, "that the queen, your daughter, lives in the greatest content in the world, by reason of the perfect friendship which ever draws her more closely to her husband. He shows her the most unreserved confidence, and is so cordial in his treatment of her as to leave nothing to be desired."[1550] The writer quotes a declaration made to him by Philip, that "the loss of his consort would be a heavier misfortune than had ever yet befallen him."[1551]

Nor was this an empty profession in the king, as he evinced by his indulgence of Isabella's tastes,—even those national tastes which were not always in accordance with the more rigid rules of Castilian etiquette. To show the freedom{494} with which she lived, I may perhaps be excused for touching on a few particulars, already noticed in a previous chapter. On her coming into the country, she was greeted with balls and other festivities, to which she had been accustomed in the gay capital of France. Her domestic establishment was on a scale of magnificence suited to her station; and the old courtier, Brantôme, dwells with delight on the splendid profusion of her wardrobe, and the costly jewels with which it was adorned. When she went abroad, she dispensed with her veil, after the fashion of her own country, though so much at variance with the habits of the Spanish ladies. Yet it made her a greater favorite with the people, who crowded around her wherever she appeared, eager to catch a glimpse of her beautiful features. She brought into the country a troop of French ladies and waiting-women, some of whom remained, and married in Castile. Such as returned home, she provided with liberal dowries. To persons of her own nation she was ever accessible,—receiving the humblest as well as the highest, says her biographer, with her wonted benignity. With them she conversed in her native tongue. But, in the course of three months, her ready wit had so far mastered the Castilian, that she could make herself understood in that language, and in a short time spoke it with elegance, though with a slight foreign accent, not unpleasing. Born and bred among a people so different from that with whom her lot was now cast, Isabella seemed to unite in her own person the good qualities of each. The easy vivacity of the French character was so happily tempered by the gravity of the Spanish, as to give an inexpressible charm to her manners.[1552] Thus richly endowed with the best gifts of nature and of fortune, it is no wonder that Elizabeth of France should have been the delight of the courtly circle over which she presided, and of which she was the greatest ornament.

Her gentle nature must have been much disturbed, by witnessing the wild, capricious temper of Carlos, and the daily increasing estrangement of his father. Yet she did not despair of reclaiming him. At least, we may infer so from the eagerness with which she seconded her mother in pressing the union of her sister, Catherine de Medicis' younger daughter, with the prince. "My sister is of so excellent a disposition," the queen said to Ruy Gomez, "that no princess in Christendom would be more apt to moderate and accommodate herself to my step-son's humors, or be better suited to the father, as well as the son, in their relations with each other."[1553] But although the minister readily adopted the queen's views in the matter, they met with little encouragement from Philip, who, at that time, seemed more inclined to a connection with the house of Austria.

In the preceding chapter, we have seen the pain occasioned to Isabella by the arrest of Carlos. Although so far a gainer by it as it opened to her own posterity the way to the succession, she wept, as the ambassador Fourquevaulx tells us, for two days, over the misfortune of her step-son, until forbidden by Philip to weep any longer.[1554] During his confinement, as we have seen, she was not permitted to visit him,—not even to soften the bitterness of his dying hour. And how much her presence would have soothed him, at such a time, may be inferred from the simple memorandum found among his papers, in which he assigns her the first place among his friends, as having{495} been ever the most loving to him.[1555] The same affection, however we may define it, which he had borne her from the first, he retained to the last hour of his life. All that was now granted to Isabella was the sad consolation of joining with the Princess Joanna, and the few friends who still cherished the memory of Carlos, in celebrating his funeral obsequies.

Not long after that event, it was announced that the queen was pregnant; and the nation fondly hoped that it would find a compensation for the loss of its rightful prince, in the birth of a new heir to the throne. But this hope was destined soon to be destroyed. Owing to some mismanagement on the part of the physicians, who, at an early period, misunderstood the queen's situation, the medicines they gave her had an injurious effect on her constitution.[1556] It is certain that Isabella placed little confidence in the Spanish doctors, or in their prescriptions.[1557] There may have been good ground for her distrust; for their vigorous applications savor not a little of the Sangrado school of practice, directed quite as much against the constitution of the patient as against his disease. About the middle of September a fever set in, which, though not violent, was so obstinate as to defy all the efforts of the physicians to reduce it. More alarming symptoms soon followed. The queen frequently swooned. Her extremities became torpid. Medicines were of no avail, for her stomach refused to retain them.[1558] Processions were everywhere made to the churches, and young and old joined in prayers for her recovery. But these prayers were not heard. The strength of Isabella continued rapidly to decline, and by the last of September her life was despaired of. The physicians declared that science could go no further, and that the queen's only hope must be in Heaven.[1559]—In Heaven she had always trusted; nor was she so wedded to the pomps and glories of the world, that she could not now willingly resign them.

As her ladies, many of them her countrywomen, stood weeping around her bed, she endeavored to console them under their affliction, kindly expressing the interest she took in their future welfare, and her regret that she had not made them a bitter mistress;—"as if," says a contemporary, who has left a minute record of her last moments, "she had not been always more of a mother than a mistress to them all!"[1560]

On the evening of the second of October, as Isabella felt herself drawing{496} near her end, she made her will. She then confessed, partook of the sacrament, and, at her desire, extreme unction was administered to her. Cardinal Espinosa and the king's confessor, the bishop of Cuenca, who were present, while they offered her spiritual counsel and consolation, were greatly edified by her deportment; and, giving her their parting benediction, they went away deeply affected by the spirit of Christian resignation which she displayed.[1561]

Before daybreak, on the following morning, she had her last interview with Philip. We have the account of it from Fourquevaulx. "The queen spoke to her husband very naturally," says the ambassador, "and like a Christian. She took leave of him for ever, and never did princess show more goodness and piety. She commended to him her two daughters, and her principal attendants, beseeching him to live in amity with the king of France, her brother, and to maintain peace,—with other discourse, which could not fail to touch the heart of a good husband, which the king was to her. He showed, in his replies, the same composure as she did, and promised to obey all her requests, but added, he did not think her end so near. He then withdrew,—as I was told,—in great anguish, to his own chamber."[1562] Philip sent a fragment of the true cross, to comfort his wife in her last moments. It was the most precious of his relics, and was richly studded with pearls and diamonds.[1563] Isabella fervently kissed the sacred relic, and held it, with the crucifix, in her hand, while she yet lived.

Not long after the interview with her husband, the ambassador was summoned to her bedside. He was the representative of her native land, and of the dear friends there she was never more to see. "She knew me," writes Fourquevaulx, "and said, 'You see me in the act of quitting this vain world, to pass to a more pleasant kingdom; there, as I hope, to be for ever with my God. Tell my mother, the queen, and the king, my brother, to bear my death with patience, and to comfort themselves with the reflection, that no happiness on earth has ever made me so content, as the prospect now does of approaching my Creator. I shall soon be in a better situation to do them service, and to implore God to take them and my brothers under his holy protection. Beseech them, in my name, to watch over their kingdom, that an end may be put to the heresies which have spread there. And I will pray Heaven, in its mercy, to grant that they may take my death with patience, and hold me for happy.'"[1564]

The ambassador said a few words of comfort, endeavoring to give her, if possible, some hopes of life. But she answered, "You will soon know how near I am to my end. God has given me grace to despise the world and its grandeur, and to fix all my hopes on him and Jesus Christ. Never did a thought occasion me less anxiety than that of death."

"She then listened to the exhortations of her confessor, remaining in full possession of her consciousness, till a few minutes before her death. A slight restlessness seemed to come over her, which soon subsided, and she expired{497} so tranquilly that it was impossible to fix the moment when she gave up the ghost. Yet she opened her eyes once, bright and glancing, and it seemed as if she would address me some further commands,—at least, her looks were fixed on me."[1565]

Not long before Isabella's death, she was delivered of a daughter. Its birth was premature, and it lived only to be baptized. The infant was laid in the same coffin with its mother; and, that very evening, their remains were borne in solemn procession to the royal chapel.[1566] The tolling of the bells in the churches and monasteries throughout the city announced the sad tidings to the people, who filled the air with their cries, making everywhere the most passionate demonstrations of grief;[1567] for the queen, says Brantôme, "was regarded by them not merely with feelings of reverence, but of idolatry."[1568]

In the chapel were gathered together whatever was illustrious in the capital,—the high ecclesiastics, and the different religious bodies, the grandees and cavaliers of the court, and the queen's ladies of honor. At the head of these stood the duchess of Alva, the mistress of the robes, with the duchess of Feria—an English lady, married to the Spanish ambassador at the court of Mary Tudor—and the princess of Eboli, a name noted in history. The coffin of the deceased queen, covered with its gorgeous pall of brocade, was placed on a scaffold shrouded in black, and surrounded with numerous silver sconces bearing wax tapers, that shed a gloomy lustre over the scene.[1569] The services were performed amidst the deepest stillness of the audience, unless when broken by the wailings of the women, which mingled in sad harmony with the chant of the priests and the sweet and solemn music that accompanied the office for the dead.[1570]

Early on the following morning the coffin was opened in presence of the duchess of Alva and the weeping ladies of her train, who gazed for the last time on features still beautiful in death.[1571] The duchess then filled the coffin{498} with flowers and sweet-scented herbs; and the remains of mother and child were transported by the same sorrowing company to the convent of the barefooted Carmelites. Here they reposed till the year 1573, when they were borne, with the remains of Carlos, to the stately mausoleum of the Escorial; and the populace, as they gazed on the funeral train, invoked the name of Isabella as that of a saint.[1572]

In the course of the winter, Cardinal Guise arrived from France with letters of condolence from Charles the Ninth to his royal brother-in-law. The instructions to the cardinal do not infer any distrust, on the part of the French monarch, as to the manner of his sister's death. The more suspicious temper of the queen-mother, Catherine de Medicis, is seen in her directions to Fourquevaulx to find out what was said on the subject of her daughter's death, and to report it to her.[1573]—It does not seem that the ambassador gathered any information of consequence, to add to his former details.

Philip himself may have had in his mind the possible existence of such suspicions, when he told the cardinal that "his best consolation for his loss was derived from his reflection on the simple and excellent life of the queen. All her attendants, her ladies and maids, knew how well he had treated her, as was sufficiently proved by the extraordinary sorrow which he felt at her death. Hereupon," continues the cardinal, "he broke forth into a panegyric on her virtues, and said, were he to choose again, he could wish nothing better than to find just such another."[1574]—It was not long before Philip made the attempt. In eighteen months from the date of his conversation with the cardinal, the thrice-widowed husband led to the altar his fourth and last wife, Anne of Austria,—like her predecessor, as we have seen, the destined bride of his son. The facility with which her imperial parents trusted the young princess to the protection of Philip maybe thought to intimate pretty clearly that they, at least, had no misgivings as to the king's treatment of his former wife.

Isabella, at her decease, was but twenty-three years of age, eight of which she had been seated on the throne of Spain. She left two children, both daughters;—Catherine, afterwards married to the duke of Savoy; and Clara Eugenia, who became with her husband, the Archduke Albert, joint ruler of the Netherlands, and who seems to have enjoyed a greater share of both the love and the confidence of Philip, than he ever vouchsafed to any other being.

Such is the story of Queen Isabella, stripped of the coloring of romance, for which, in truth, it has been quite as much indebted to the pen of the historian as to that of the poet. From the whole account, it appears, that, if Carlos, at any time, indulged a criminal passion for his step-mother, such a passion was never requited or encouraged by Isabella, who seems to have felt for him only the sentiments that were justified by their connection, and by the appeal which his misfortunes made to her sympathy. Notwithstanding some feelings of resentment, not unnatural, when, in the words of Brantôme, "he had been defrauded of so fair a prize," there is yet little evidence that the prince's passion for her rose higher than the sentiments of love and gratitude{499} which her kindness might well have awakened in an affectionate nature.[1575] And that such, with all his errors, was the nature Carlos, is shown, among other examples, by his steady attachment to Don John of Austria, his uncle, and by his devotion to his early preceptor, the bishop of Osma.

There is no proof that Philip was, at any time, displeased with the conduct of his queen, or that he regarded his son in the light of a rival. Least of all is there anything in the history of the time to show that he sacrificed his wife to his jealousy.[1576] The contrary is well established by those of her own countrymen who had free access to her during her lifetime,—some of them in the hour of her death,—whose correspondence with her family would not have failed to intimate their suspicions, had there been anything to suspect.

Well would it be for the memory of Philip the Second, could the historian find no heavier sin to lay to his charge than his treatment of Isabella. From first to last, he seems to have regarded her with the indulgence of an affectionate husband. Whether she ever obtained such an ascendancy over his close and cautious nature as to be allowed to share in his confidence and his counsels, may well be doubted. Her temper would seem to have been too gentle, too devoid of worldly ambition, to prompt her to meddle with affairs for which she was fitted neither by nature nor education. Yet Brantôme assures us, that she exercised a most salutary influence over her lord in his relations with France, and that the value of this influence was appreciated in later times, when the growing misunderstandings between the two courts were left to rankle, without any friendly hand to heal them.[1577] "Her death," he continues, "was as bitter to her own nation as it was to the Spaniards; and if the latter called her 'the Queen of Peace and Goodness,' the former with no less reason styled her 'the Olive-branch.'"[1578] "But she has passed away,"{500} he exclaims, "in the sweet and pleasant April of her age,—when her beauty was such that it seemed as if it might almost defy the assaults of time."[1579]

The queen occupies an important place in that rich gallery of portraits in which Brantôme has endeavored to perpetuate the features of his contemporaries. In no one of them has he traced the lineaments with a more tender and delicate hand. Even the breath of scandal has had no power to dim the purity of their expression. Of all that illustrious company which the artist has brought in review before the eyes of posterity, there is no one to whom he has so truly rendered the homage of the heart, as to Elizabeth of France.

But from these scenes of domestic sorrow, it is time that we should turn to others of a more stirring and adventurous character.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] It is gratifying to learn that before long such a history may be expected,—if, indeed, it should not appear before the publication of this work,—from the pen of our accomplished countryman, Mr. J. Lothrop Motley, who, during the last few years, for the better prosecution of his labors, has established his residence in the neighborhood of the scenes of his narrative. No one acquainted with the fine powers of mind possessed by this scholar, and the earnestness with which he has devoted himself to his task, can doubt that he will do full justice to his important, but difficult subject.

[2] "Post annum ætatis quinquagesimum, prementitras morbis, tantopere negotiorum odium cepit, ut diutius interdum nec se adiri aut conveniri præterquam ab intimis pateretur, nec libellis subscribere animum induceret, non sine suspicione mentis imminutæ; itaque constat novem mensibus nulli nec libello nec diplomati subscripsisse, quod cum magno incommodo reipublicæ populariumque dispendio fiebat, cum a tot nationibus, et quibusdam longissime jus inde poteretur, et certe summa negotia ad ipsum fere rejicerentur." (Sepulvedæ Opera, (Matriti, 1780,) vol. II. p. 539.) The author, who was in the court at the time, had frequent access to the royal presence, and speaks, therefore, from personal observation.

[3] A minute account of this imposing ceremony is to be found in a MS. in the Archives of Simancas, now published in the Coleccion de Documentos Inéditos para la Historia de España, (Madrid, 1845,) tom. VII. p. 534 et seq.

An official report of these proceedings, prepared by order of the government, and preserved at Brussels, in the Archives du Royaume, has been published by M. Gachard in his valuable collection, Analectes Belgiques, (Paris, 1830,) pp. 75-81.

[4] A copy of the original deed of abdication was preserved among the papers of Cardinal Granvelle, at Besançon, and is incorporated in the valuable collection of documents published by order of the French government under the direction of the learned Weiss, Papiers d'Etat du Cardinal de Granvelle, d'après les Manuscrits de la Bibliothèque de Besançon, (Paris, 1843,) tom. IV. p. 486.

[5] It is strange that the precise date of an event of such notoriety as the abdication of Charles the Fifth should be a matter of discrepancy among historians. Most writers of the time assign the date mentioned in the text, confirmed moreover by the Simancas MS. above cited, the author of which enters into the details of the ceremony with the minuteness of an eye-witness.

[6] "Erat Carolus statura mediocri, sed brachiis et cruribus crassis compactisque, et roboris singularis, ceteris membris proportione magnoque commensu respondentibus, colore albus, crine barbaque ad flavum inclinante; facie liberali, nisi quod mentum prominens et parum cohærentia labra nonnihil eam deturpabant." Sepulvedæ Opera, vol. II. p. 527.

[7] The speech is given, with sufficient conformity, by two of the persons who heard it;—a Flemish writer, whose MS., preserved in the Archives du Royaume, has lately been published by Gachard, in the Analectes Belgiques (p. 87); and Sir John Mason, the British minister at the court of Charles, who describes the whole ceremony in a communication to his government, (The Order of the Cession of the Low Countries to the King's Majesty, MS.) The historian Sandoval also gives a full report of the speech, on the authority of one who heard it. Historia de la Vida y Hechos del Emperador Carlos V., (Amberes, 1681,) tom. II. p. 599.

[8] Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. pp. 597-599.—Leti, Vita del Catolico Rè Filippo II., (Coligni, 1679,) tom. I. pp. 240-242.—Vera y Figueroa, Epitome de la Vida y Hechos del invicto Emperador Carlos Quinto, (Madrid, 1649,) pp. 119, 120.

Sir John Mason thus describes the affecting scene:—"And here he broke into a weeping, whereunto, besides the dolefulness of the matter, I think he was much provoked by seeing the whole company to do the like before, being, in mine opinion, not one man in the whole assembly, stranger or other, that during the time of a good piece of his oration poured not out abundantly tears, some more, some less. And yet he prayed them to bear with his imperfection, proceeding of sickly age, and of the mentioning of so tender a matter as the departing from such a sort of dear and most loving subjects."—The Order of the Cession of the Low Countries to the King's Majesty, MS.

[9] The date of this renunciation is also a subject of disagreement among contemporary historians, although it would seem to be settled by the date of the instrument itself, which is published by Sandoval, in his Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. pp. 603-606.

[10] Lanz, Correspondenz des Kaisers Karl V., B. III. s. 708.

Five years before this period Charles had endeavored to persuade Ferdinand to relinquish to Philip the pretensions which, as king of the Romans, he had to the empire. This negotiation failed, as might have been expected. Ferdinand was not weary of the world; and Charles could offer no bribe large enough to buy off an empire. See the account given by Marillac, ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, (London, 1835, Eng. trans.,) vol. I. p. 28 et seq.

[11] "Favor sin duda del Cielo," says Sandoval, who gives quite a miraculous air to the event, by adding that the emperor's vessel encountered the brunt of the storm, and foundered in port. (Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. p. 607.) But this and some other particulars told by the historian of Charles's landing, unconfirmed as they are by a single eye-witness, may be reckoned among the myths of the voyage.

[12] The last of Philip's letters, dated September 8, is given entire in the MS. of Don Tomas Gonzales, (Retiro, Estancia, y Muerte del Emperador Carlos Quinto en el Monasterio de Yuste,) which forms the basis of Mignet's interesting account of Charles the Fifth.

[13] Among other disappointments was that of not receiving four thousand ducats which Joanna had ordered to be placed at the emperor's disposition on his landing. This appears from a letter of the emperor's secretary, Gaztelu, to Vazquez de Molina, October 6, 1556. "El emperador tovo por cierto que llegado aqui, hallaria los cuatro mil ducados que el rey le dijo habia mandado proveer, y visto que no se ha hecho, me ha mandado lo escribiese luego à Vuestra Merced, para que se haya, porque son mucho menester." MS.

[14] Sandoval makes no allusion to the affair, which rests on the report of Strada, (De Bello Belgico (Antverpiæ, 1640,) tom. I. p. 12,) and of Cabrera,—the latter, as one of the royal household and the historiographer of Castile, by far the best authority. In the narration he does not spare his master. "En Jarendilla ameno lugar del Conde de Oropesa, espero treinta dias treinta mil escudos con que pagar y dispedir sus criados que llegaron con tarda provision y mano; terrible tentacion para no dar todo su aver antes de la muerte." Filipe Segundo Rey de España, (Madrid, 1619,) lib. II. cap. 11.

The letters from Jarandilla at this time show the embarrassments under which the emperor labored from want of funds. His exchequer was so low, indeed, that on one occasion he was obliged to borrow a hundred reals for his ordinary expenses from his major-domo. "Los ultimos dos mil ducados que trujo el criado de Hernando Ochoa se han acabo, porque cuando llegáron, se debian ya la mitad, de manera que no tenemos un real para el gasto ordinario, que para socorrer hoy he dado yo cien reales, ni se sabe de donde haberlo." Carta de Luis Quixada à Juan Vazquez, ap. Gachard, Retraite et Mort de Charles-Quint, (Bruxelles, 1554,) tom. I. p. 76.

[15] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap. 1.—Vanderhammen, Don Felipe el Prudente, (Madrid, 1625,) p. 1.—Breve Compendio de la Vida Privada del Rey D. Felipe Segundo atribuido à Pedro Mateo Coronista mayor del Reyno de Francia, MS.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 69 et seq.

"Andauano sussurando per le strade, cauando da questa proibitione di solennità pronostici di cattivi augurii; gli vni diceuano, che questo Prencipe doueua esser causa di grandi afflittione alla Chiesa; gli altri; Che cominciando a nascere colle tenebre, non poteua portar che ombra alla Spagna." Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 73.

[16] Ibid., tom. I. p. 74.—Noticia de los Ayos y Maestros de Felipe Segundo y Carlos su Hijo, MS.

"Et passò i primi anni et la maggior parte dell'eta sua in quel regno, onde per usanza del paese, et per la volantà della madre che era di Portogallo fu allevato con quella riputatione et con quel rispetto che parea convenirsi ad un figliuolo del maggior Imperatore che fosse mai fra Christiani." Relatione di Spagna del Cavaliere Michele Soriano, Ambasciatore al Re Filipo, MS.

[17] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap 1.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 97—Noticia de los Ayos, MS.—Relatione di Michele Soriano, MS.—Relatione di Federico Badoaro, MS.

Charles's letter, of which I have a manuscript copy, has been published in the Seminario Erudito, (Madrid, 1778,) tom. XIV. p. 156 et seq.

[18] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap 1.

[19] Florez, Memorias de las Reynas Catholicas, (Madrid, 1770,) tom. II. p. 869.

[20] Ibid., tom. II. p. 877.

[21] "Tomo la posta vestido en luto come viudo," says Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos Quinto, tom. II. p. 285.

[22] The letter is given by Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap. 2.

[23] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap. 2.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 132.—Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos Quinto, tom. II. p. 299 et seq.—Breve Compendio, MS.—Charles's letter, in the Seminario Erudito, tom. XIV. p. 156.

[24] Florez, Reynas Catolicas, tom. II. pp. 883-889.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap. 2.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 142.—Breve Compendio, MS.—Relazione Anonimo, MS.

For the particulars relating to the wedding, I am chiefly indebted to Florez, who was as minute in his account of court pageants as any master of ceremonies.

[25] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap. 2.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. L pp. 166, 185 et seq.—Sepulvedæ Opera, vol. II. p. 346.

[26] "Non rispose che in sensi ambigui circa al punto essenziale, ma molto ampi ne'complimenti." Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I, p. 189.

[27] Estrella, El Felicissimo Viaje del Principe Don Phelipe desde España à sus Tierras de la Baxa Alemania, (Anveres, 1552,) pp. 1-21, 32.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 190.—Breve Compendio. MS.

[28] "Sua altezza si trova hora in XXIII. anni, di complessione delicatissima e di statura minore che mediocre, nella faccia simiglia assai al Padre e nel mento." Relatione del Clarissimo Monsig. Marino Cavallo tornato Ambasciatore del Imperatore Carlo Quinto l'anno 1551, MS.

"Et benche sia picciola di persona, e però cosi ben fatto et con ogni parte del corpo cosi ben proportionato et corrispondente al tutti, et veste con tanta politezza et con tanto giudicio che non si può vedere cosa piu perfetta." Relatione di Michele Soriano, MS.

[29] Marino Cavallo, the ambassador at the imperial court, who states the facts mentioned in the text, expresses a reasonable doubt whether Philip, with all his training, would ever equal his father: "Nelle cose d'importanza, facendolo andare l'imperatore ogni giornio per due o tre hore nella sua camera, parte in Consiglio et parte per ammaestrarlo da solo a solo, dicesi che fin hora a fatto profitto assai, et da speranza di proceder piu oltre, ma la grandezza di suo padre et l'esser nato grande et non haver fin qui provato travaglio alcuno, non lo farà mai comparirse à gran giunta eguale all'Imperatore." Relatione di Marino Cavallo, MS.

[30] This is the work by Estrella already quoted, (El Felicissimo Viage del Principe Don Phelipe,)—the best authority for this royal progress. The work, which was never reprinted, has now become extremely rare.

[31] Take the following samples, the former being one of the inscriptions at Arras, the latter, one over the gate of Dordrecht:—

"Clementia firmabitur thronus ejus."
"Te duce libertas tranquilla pace beabit."

[32] "Assi fueron a palacio siendo ya casi la media noche, quando se vuieron apeado muy contentos de la fiesta y Vanquete que la villa les hiziera." Estrella, Viage del Principe Phelipe, p. 73.

[33] "Ictum accepit in capite galeaque tam vehementem, ut vecors ac dormienti similis parumper invectus ephippio delaberetur, et in caput armis superiorem corporis partem gravius deprimentibus caderet. Itaque semianimis pulvere spiritum intercludente jacuit, donec a suis sublevatus est." Sepulvedæ Opera, vol. II. p. 381.

[34] Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 24.

Von Raumer's abstract of the MSS. in the Royal Library at Paris contains some very curious particulars of the illustration of the reigns both of Charles the Fifth and of Philip.

[35] "E S.M. di complessione molto delicata, et per questo vive sempre con regola, usando per l'ordinario cibi di gran nodrimento, lasciando i pesci, frutti et simili cose che generano cattivi humori; dorme molto, fa però essercitio, et i suoi trattenimenti domestici sono tutti quieti; et benche nell'essercitio habbi mostrato un poco di prontezza et di vivacità, pero si vede che ha sforzato la natura, la quale inclina piu alla quiete che all'essercitio, piu al reposo che al travaglio." Relatione di Michele Soriano, MS.

[36] "Rarissime volte va fuora in Campagna, ha piacere di starsi in Camera, co suoi favoriti, a ragionare di cose private; et se tall'hora l'Imperatore lo manda in visita, si scusa per godere la solità quiete." Relatione di Marino Cavallo, MS.

[37] "Pare che la natura l'habbia fatto atto con la familiarità e domestichezza a gratificare a Flammenghi et Borgognoni, con l'ingegno et prudentia a gl'Italiani, con la riputatione et severità alli Spagnuoli; vedendo hora in suo figliulo altrimente sentono non picciolo dispiacere di questo cambio." Ibid. MS.

[38] "Philippus ipse Hispaniæ desiderio magnopere æstuabat, nec aliud quam Hispaniam loquebatur." Sepulvedæ Opera, vol. II. p. 401.

[39] "Si fa giudicio, che quando egli succederà al governo delli stati suoi debba servirsi in tutto et per delli ministri Spagnuoli, alla qual natione è inclinato più di quello, che si convenga a prencipe, che voglia dominare a diverse." Relatione di Marino Cavallo, MS.

[40] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap. 3.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. pp. 195-198.—Sepulvedæ Opera, vol. II. pp. 399-401.—Marillac, ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 28 et seq.

[41] Marillac, ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 30.

[42] Ranke, Ottoman and Spanish Empires in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, (Eng. trans., London, 1843,) p. 31.

[43] "Da cosi fatta educatione ne segui quando S. M. usci la prima volta da Spagna, et passò per Italia et per Germania in Fiandra, lasciò impressione da per tutto che fosse d'animo severo et intrattabile; et però fu poco grato a Italiani, ingratissimo a Fiamenghi et a Tedeschi odioso." Relatione di Michele Soriano, MS.

[44] Marillac, ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 32.

See also the characteristic letter of Charles to his sister, the regent of the Netherlands, (December 16, 1550,) full of angry expressions against Ferdinand for his ingratitude and treachery. The scheme, according to Charles's view of it, was calculated for the benefit of both parties,—"ce que convenoit pour establir noz maisons." Lanz, Correspondenz des Kaisers Karl V., (Leipzig, 1846,) B. III. p. 18.

[45] A copy of the instrument containing this agreement, dated March 9, 1551, is preserved in the archives of Belgium. See Mignet, Charles-Quint, p. 42, note.

[46] Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 199.—Mémorial et Recueil des Voyages du Roi des Espagnes, escript par le Controleur de Sa Majesté, MS.

[47] The letter, of which I have a manuscript copy, taken from one in the rich collection of Sir Thomas Phillips, is published at length by Sandoval, in his Hist. de Carlos V., where it occupies twelve pages folio. Tom. II. p. 475 et seq.

[48] "Quanto alla religione, sia certa V'ra Sen^ta che ogni cosa può in loro l'essempio et l'autorita del Principe, che in tanto gl'Inglesi stimano la religione, et si muovono per essa, in quanto sodisfanno all'obligo de'sudditi verso il Principe, vivendo com'ci vive, credendo cioche ei crede, et finalmente facendo tutto quel che comanda conservirsene, più per mostra esteriore, per non incorrere in sua disgratia, che per zelo interiore; perche il medesimo faciano della Maumettana o della Giudea, pur che 'l Re mostrasse di credere, et volesse così; et s'accommodariano a tutte, ma a quella piu facilmente dalla quale sperassero o ver'maggior licentia et libertà, di vivere, o vero qualche utile." Relatione del Clarissimo M. Giovanni Micheli, ritornato Ambasciatore alla Regina d'Inghilterra l'anno 1557, MS.

[49] Soriano notices the courteous bearing and address of his countryman Micheli as rendering him universally popular at the courts where he resided. "Il Michiel e gratissimo a tutti fino al minore, per la dimestichezza che havea con grandi, et per la dolcezza et cortesia che usava con gl'altri, et per il guidicio che mostrava con tutti." Relatione di Michele Soriano, MS. Copies of Micheli's interesting Relation are to be found in different public libraries of Europe; among others, in the collection of the Cottonian MSS., and of the Lansdowne MSS., in the British Museum; and in the Barberini Library, at Rome. The copy in my possession is from the ducal library at Gotha. Sir Henry Ellis, in the Second Series of his "Original Letters," has given an abstract of the Cottonian MS.

[50] This agrees with the Lansdowne MS. The Cottonian, as given by Sir Henry Ellis, puts the population at 150,000.

[51] "Essendo cavalli deboli, et di poca lena, nutriti solo d'erba, vivendo como la pecore, et tutti gli altri animali, per la temperie dell'aere da tutti i tempi ne i pascoli a la campagna, non possono far'gran'pruove, ne sono tenuti in stima." Relatione di Gio. Micheli, MS.

[52] "Non solo non sono in essere, ma non pur si considerano gravezze di sorte alcuna, non di sale, non di vino o de bira, non di macina, non di carne, non di far pane, et cose simili necessarie al vivere, che in tutti gli altri luoghi d'Italia specialmente, et in Fiandra, sono di tanto maggior utile, quanto è più grande il numero dei sudditi che le consumano." Ibid. MS.

[53] "Sì come servi et sudditi son quelli che v'intervengono, così servi et sudditi son l'attione che si trattano in essi." Ibid. MS.

[54] "E donna di statura piccola, più presta che mediocre; è di persona magra et delicata, dissimile in tutto al padre, che fù grande et grosso; et alla madre, che se non era grande era peró massiccia; et ben formata di faccia, per quel che mostrano le fattezze et li lineamenti che si veggono da i ritratti, quando era più giovane, non pur'tenuta honesta, ma più che mediocremente bella; al presente se li scoprono qualche crespe, causate piu da gli affanni che dall'etá, che la mostrano attempata di qualche anni di piu." Ibid. MS.

[55] "Quanto se li potesse levare delle bellezze del corpo, tanto con verita, et senza adulatione, se li puó aggiunger'di quelle del animo, perche oltra la felicita et accortezza del ingegno, atto in capir tutto quel che possa ciascun altro, dico fuor del sesso suo, quel che in una donna parera maraviglioso, é instrutta di cinque lingue, le quali non solo intende, ma quattro ne parla speditamente; questi sono altre la sua materna et naturale inglese, la franzese, la spagnola, et l'italiana." Ibid. MS.

[56] "E in tutto coragiosa, et cosi resoluta, che per nessuna adversità, ne per nessun pericolo nel qual si sia ritrovata, non ha mai pur mostrato, non che commesso atto alcuno di viltà ne di pusillanimità; ha sempre tenuta una grandezza et dignità mirabile, cosi ben conoscendo quel che si convenga al decoro del Re, come il più consummato consigliero che ella habbia; in tanto che dal procedere, et dalle maniere che da tenuto, et tiene tuttavia, non si può negare, che non mostri d'esser nata di sangue veramente real." Ibid. MS.

[57] "Della qual humilità, pieta, et religion sua, non occorre ragionare, ne renderne testimonio, perche son da tutti non solo conosciute, ma sommamente predicate con le prove.... Fosse come un debol lume combattuto da gran venti per estinguerlo del tutto, ma sempre tenuto vivo, et difeso della sua innocentia et viva fede, accioche havesse a risplender nel modo che hora fa." Ibid. MS.

[58] Burnet, History of the Reformation, (Oxford, 1816,) vol. II. part ii. p. 557.

[59] Strype, Memorials, (London, 1721,) vol. III. p. 93.

[60] "Non si scopri mai congiura alcuna, nella quale, o giusta o ingiustamente, ella non sia nominata.... Ma la Regina sforza quando seno insieme di riceverla in publico con ogni sorte d'humanitá et d'honore, ne mai gli parla, se non di cosa piacevole." Relatione di Gio. Micheli. MS.

[61] Hall, Chronicle, (London, 1809,) pp. 692, 711.—Sepulvedæ Opera, vol. II. pp. 46-48.

Sepulveda's account of the reign of Mary becomes of the more authority from the fact that he submitted this portion of his history to the revision of Cardinal Pole, as we learn from one of his epistles to that prelate. Opera, tom. III. p. 309.

[62] Yet the emperor seems to have written in a somewhat different style to his ambassador at the English court. "Desfaillant la force pour donner assistance à nostre-dicte cousine comme aussy vous sçavez qu'elle deffault pour l'empeschement que l'on nous donne du coustel de France, nous ne véons aulcun apparent moyen pour assheurer la personne de nostre-dicte cousine." L'Empereur à ses Ambassadeurs en Angleterre, 11 juillet, 1553, Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. IV, p. 25.

[63] Charles, in a letter to his ambassador in London, dated July 22, 1553, after much good counsel which he was to give Queen Mary, in the emperor's name, respecting the government of her kingdom, directs him to hint to her that the time had come when it would be well for the queen to provide herself with a husband, and if his advice could be of any use in the affair, she was entirely welcome to it. "Et aussy lui direz-vous qu'il sera besoin que pour etre seustenue audit royaulme, emparée et deffendue, mesmes en choses que ne sont de la profession de dames, il sera très-requis que tost elle prenne party de mariaige avec qui il luy semblera estre plus convenable, tenant regard à ce que dessus; et que s'il lui plaît nous faire part avant que s'y déterminer, nous ne fauldrons de, avec la sincérité de l'affection que lui portons, luy faire entendre libéralement, sur ce qu'elle voudra mettre en avant, nostre advis, et de l'ayder et favoriser en ce qu'elle se déterminera." L'Empereur à ses Ambassadeurs en Angleterre, 22 juillet, 1553, Ibid., p. 56.

[64] Granvelle, who owed no good-will to the minister for the part which he afterwards took in the troubles of Flanders, frequently puns on Kenard's name, which he seems to have thought altogether significant of his character.

[65] "Quant à Cortenay, vous pourriez bien dire, pour éviter au propoz mencionné en voz lettres, que l'on en parle, pour veoir ce qu'elle dira; mais gardez-vous de luy tout desfaire et mesmes qu'elle n'aye descouvert plus avant son intention; car si elle y avoit fantasie, elle ne layroit (si elle est du naturel des aultres femmes) de passer oultre, et si se ressentiroit à jamais de ce que vous luy en pourriés avoir dit. Bien luy pourriés-vous toucher des commoditez plus grandes que pourroit recepvoir de mariaige estrangier, sans trop toucher à la personne où elle pourroit avoir affection." L'Evêque d'Arras à Renard. 14 août, 1553, Ibid., p. 77.

[66] "Quant je luy fiz l'ouverture de mariaige, elle se print à rire, non une foys ains plusieurs foys, me regardant d'un œil signifiant l'ouverture luy estre fort aggréable, me donnant assez à cognoistre qu'elle ne taichoit ou désiroit mariaige d'Angleterre." Renard à l'Evêque d'Arras, 15 août, 1558, Ibid., p. 78.

[67] "Et, sans attendre la fin de ces propoz, elle jura que jamais elle n'avoit senti esguillon de ce que l'on appelle amor, ny entré en pensement de volupté, et qu'elle n'avoit jamais pensé à mariaige sinon depuys que a pieu à Dieu la promovoir à la couronne, et que celluy qu'elle fera sera contre sa propre affection, pour le respect de la chose publicque; qu'elle se tient toute assurée sa majesté aura considération à ce qu'elle m'a dict et qu'elle désire l'obéir et complaire en tout et par tout comme son propre père; qu'elle n'oseroit entrer en propoz de mariaige avec ceulx de son conseil, que fault, le cas advenant, que vienne de la meute de sa majesté." Renard à l'Evêque d'Arras, 8 septembre, 1553, Ibid., p. 98.

[68] "Vous la pourrez asseurer que, si nous estions en caige et disposition telle qu'il conviendroit, et que jugissions que de ce peut redonder le bien de ses affaires, nous ne vouldrions choysir aultre party en ce monde plus tost que de nous alier nous-mesmes avec elle, et seroit bien celle que nous pourrait donner austant de satisfaction." L'Empereur à Renard, 20 septembre, 1553, Ibid., p. 112.

[69] Ibid., pp. 108-116.

Simon Renard, the imperial ambassador at this time at the English court, was a native of Franche Comté, and held the office of maître aux requêtes in the household of the emperor. Renard, though a man of a factious turn, was what Granvelle's correspondent, Morillon, calls "un bon politique," and in many respects well suited to the mission on which he was employed. His correspondence is of infinite value, as showing the Spanish moves in this complicated game, which ended in the marriage of Mary with the heir of the Castilian monarchy. It is preserved in the archives of Brussels. Copies of these MSS., amounting to five volumes folio, were to be found in the collection of Cardinal Granvelle at Besançon. A part of them was lent to Griffet for the compilation of his "Nouveaux Eclaircissemens sur l'Histoire de Marie Reine d'Angleterre." Unfortunately, Griffet omitted to restore the MSS.; and an hiatus is thus occasioned in the series of the Renard correspondence embraced in the Granvelle Papers now in process of publication by the French Government. It were to be wished that this hiatus had been supplied from the originals, in the archives of Brussels. Mr. Tytler has done good service by giving to the world a selection from the latter part of Renard's correspondence, which had been transcribed by order of the Record Commission from the MSS. in Brussels.

[70] "Car si, quant à soy, il luy semble estre chose que ne luy convînt ou ne fût faisable, il ne seroit à propoz, comme elle l'entend tres-bien, d'en faire déclaracion à qui que ce soit; mais, en cas aussi qu'elle jugea le party luy estre convenable et qu'elle y print inclinacion, si, à son advis, la difficulté tumba sur les moyens, et que en iceulx elle ne se peut résoldre sans la participation d'aulcuns de son conseil, vous la pourriez en ce cas requérir qu'elle voulût prendre de vous confiance pour vous déclairer à qui elle en vouldroit tenir propoz, et ce qu'elle en vouldroit communicquer et par quelz moyens." L'Empereur à Renard, 20 septembre, 1553, Ibid., p. 114.

[71] The Spanish match seems to have been as distasteful to the Portuguese as it was to the English, and probably for much the same reasons. See the letter of Granvelle, of August 14, 1553, Ibid., p. 77.

[72] "Les estrangiers, qu'ilz abhorrissent plus que nulle aultre nacion." L'Empereur à Renard, 20 septembre, 1553, Ibid., p. 113.

[73] "Et si la difficulté se treuvoit aux conseillers pour leur intéretz particulier, comme plus ilz sont intéressez, il pourroit estre que l'on auroit meilleur moyen de les gaigner, assheurant ceulz par le moyen desquelz la chose se pourroit conduyre, des principaulz offices et charges dudict royaulme, voyre et leur offrant appart sommes notables de deniers ou accroissance de rentes, priviléges et prérogatives." L'Empereur à Renard, 20 septembre, 1553, Ibid., p. 113.

[74] In order to carry on the negotiation with greater secrecy, Renard's colleagues at the English court, who were found to intermeddle somewhat unnecessarily with the business, were recalled; and the whole affair was intrusted exclusively to that envoy, and to Granvelle, the bishop of Arras, who communicated to him the views of the emperor from Brussels.—"Et s'est résolu taut plus l'empereur rappeler voz collègues, afin que aulcung d'iceulx ne vous y traversa ou bien empescha s'y estans montrez peu affectionnez, et pour non si bien entendre le cours de ceste négociation, et pour aussi que vous garderez mieulx le secret qu'est tant requis et ne se pourroit faire, passant ceste négociation par plusieurs mains." L'Evêque d'Arras à Renard, 13 septembre, 1553, Ibid., p. 103.

[75] "Pour la requerir et supplier d'eslire ung seigneur de son pays pour estre son mary, et ne vouloir prendre personnaige en mariaige, ny leur donner prince qui leur puisse commander aultre que de sa nation." Ambassades de Noailles, (Leyde, 1763,) tom. II. p. 234.

[76] "Le soir du 30 octobre, la reine fit venir en sa chambre, où étoit exposé le saint sacrement, l'ambassadeur de l'empereur, et, après avoir dit le Veni creator, lui dit qu'elle lui donnoit en face dudit sacrement sa promesse d'épouser le prince d'Espagne, laquelle elle ne changeroit jamais; qu'elle avoit feint d'être malade les deux jours précédents, mais que sa maladie avoit été causée par le travail qu'elle avoit eu pour prendre cette résolution." MS. in the Belgian archives, cited by Mignet, Charles-Quint, p. 78, note.

[77] "Qu'elle tenoit de dieu la couronne de son royaulme, et que en luy seul esperoit se conseiller de chose si importante." Ambassades de Noailles, tom. II. p. 269.

[78] "Le dit Lieutenant a fait fondre quatre mil escuz pour chaines, et les autres mil se repartiront en argent, comme l'on trouvera mieulx convenir." Renard, ap. Tytler, Edward VI. and Mary, vol. II. p. 325.

[79] Strype, Memorials, vol. III. pp. 58, 59.—Holinshed, Chronicles, (London, 1808,) vol. IV. pp. 10, 34, 41.

[80] Strype, (Memorials, vol. III. p. 196,) who quotes a passage from a MS. of Sir Thomas Smith, the application of which, though the queen's name is omitted, cannot be mistaken.

[81] "Si est-ce qu'elle verra assez par icelle sa ressemblance, la voyant à son jour et de loing, comme sont toutes peinctures dudict Titian que de près ne se recongnoissent." Marie, Reine de Hongrie, à l'Ambassadeur Renard, novembre 19, 1553, Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. IV. p. 150.

It may be from a copy of this portrait that the engraving was made which is prefixed to this work.

[82] See the treaty in Rymer, Fœdera, vol. XV. p. 377.

[83] "Par là," adds Noailles, who tells the story, "vous pouvez veoir comme le prince d'Espagne sera le bien venu en ce pays, puisque les enfans le logent au gibet." Ambassades de Noailles, tom. III. p. 130.

[84] Holinshed, vol. IV. p. 16.—The accounts of this insurrection are familiar to the English reader, as given at more or less length, in every history of the period.

[85] "L'on a escript d'Espaigne que plusieurs sieurs deliberoient amener leurs femmes avec eulx pardeça. Si ainsi est, vostre Majesté pourra preveoir ung grand desordre en ceste court." Renard, ap. Tytler, Edward VI. and Mary, vol. II. p. 351.

[86] "Seullement sera requis que les Espaignolez qui suyvront vostre Alteze comportent les façons de faire des Angloys, et soient modestes, confians que vostre Alteze les aicarassera par son humanité costumiere." Ibid., p. 335.

[87] The particulars of this interview are taken from one of Renard's despatches to the emperor, dated March 8, 1554, ap. Tytler, England under the Reigns of Edward VI. and Mary, (vol. II. pp. 326-329,)—a work in which the author, by the publication of original documents, and his own sagacious commentary, has done much for the illustration of this portion of English history.

[88] Florez, Reynas Catholicas, tom. II. p. 890.

[89] Philip would have preferred that Charles should carry out his original design, by taking Mary for his own wife. But he acquiesced, without a murmur, in the choice his father made for him. Mignet quotes a passage from a letter of Philip to the emperor on this subject, which shows him to have been a pattern of filial obedience. The letter is copied by Gonzales in his unpublished work, Retiro y Estancia de Carlos Quinto.—"Y que pues piensan proponer su matrimonio con Vuestra Magestad, hallandose en disposicion para ello, esto seria lo mas acertado. Pero en caso que Vuestra Magestad está en lo que me escribe y le pareciere tratar de lo que à mi toca, ya Vuestra Magestad sabe que, como tan obediente hijo, no he tener mas voluntad que la suya; cuanto mas siendo este negocio de importancia y calidad que es. Y asi me ha parecido remitirlo à Vuestra Magestad para que en toda haya lo que le parecierá, y fuere servido." Mignet, Charles-Quint, p. 76.

[90] "Higo en esto lo que un Isaac dexandose sacrificar por hazer la voluntad de su padre, y por el bien de la Iglesia." Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. p. 557.

[91] A single diamond in the ornament which Philip sent his queen was valued at eighty thousand crowns.—"Una joya que don Filipe le enbiaba, en que avia un diamante de valor de ochenta mil escudos." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap. 4.

[92] Letter of Lord Edmund Dudley to the Lords of the Council, MS. This document, with other MSS. relating to this period, was kindly furnished to me by the late lamented Mr. Tytler, who copied them from the originals in the State Paper Office.

The young Lord Herbert mentioned in the text became afterwards that earl of Pembroke who married, for his second wife, the celebrated sister of Sir Philip Sidney, to whom he dedicated the "Arcadia,"—less celebrated, perhaps, from this dedication, than from the epitaph on her monument, by Ben Jonson, in Salisbury Cathedral.

[93] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap. 4.—Florez, Reynas Catholicas, tom. II. p. 873.—Memorial des Voyages du Roi, MS.

[94] "Y prevenida de que los Embajadores se quejaban, pretextando que no sabian si hablaban con la Princesa; levantaba el manto al empezar la Audiencia, preguntando ¿Soy la Princesa? y en oyendo responder que si; volvia à echarse el velo, como que ya cessaba el inconveniente de ignorar con quien hablaban, y que para ver no necessitaba tener la cara descubierta." Florez, Reynas Catholicas, tom. II. p. 873.

[95] Letter of Bedford and Fitzwaters to the Council, ap. Tytler, Edward VI. and Mary, vol. II. p. 410.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap. 4, 5.—Sepulvedæ Opera, vol. II. pp. 496, 497.

[96] "Il appelle les navires de la flotte de vostre Majesté coquilles de moules, et plusieurs semblables particularitez." Letter of Renard, ap. Tytler, Edward VI. and Mary, vol. II. p. 414.

[97] "L'ordre de la Jaretiere, que la Royne et les Chevaliers ont concludz luy donner et en a fait faire une la Royne, qu'est estimée sept ou huict mil escuz, et joinctement fait faire plusieurs riches habillemens pour son Altese." Ibid., p. 416.

[98] Salazar de Mendoza, Monarquia de España, (Madrid, 1770,) tom. II. p. 118.—Ambassades de Noailles, tom. III. pp. 283-286.—Sepulvedsæ Opera, vol. II. p. 498.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap. 5.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 231.—Holinshed, vol. IV. p. 57.—Memorial des Voyages du Roi, MS.

[99] Strype, Memorials, vol. III. pp. 127, 128.

[100] The change in Philip's manners seems to have attracted general attention. We find Wotton, the ambassador at the French court, speaking, in one of his letters, of the report of it, as having reached his ears in Paris. Wotton to Sir W. Petre, August 10, 1554, MS.

[101] According to Noailles, Philip forbade the Spaniards to leave their ships, on pain of being hanged when they set foot on shore. This was enforcing the provisions of the marriage treaty en rigueur. "Apres que ledict prince fust descendu, il fict crier et commanda aux Espaignols que chascun se retirast en son navire et que sur la peyne d'estre pendu, nul ne descendist à terre." Ambassades de Noailles, tom. III. p. 287.

[102] Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. pp. 231, 232.

"Lors il appella les seigneurs Espaignols qui estoient pres de luy et leur dict qu'il falloit desormais oublier toutes les coustumes d'Espaigne, et vifvre de tous poincts à l'Angloise, à quoy il voulloit bien commancer et leur monstrer le chemin, puis se fist apporter de la biere de laquelle il beut." Ambassades de Noailles, tom. III. p. 287.

[103] According to Sepulveda, Philip gave a most liberal construction to the English custom of salutation, kissing not only his betrothed, but all the ladies in waiting, matrons and maidens, without distinction. "Intra ædes progressam salutans Britannico more suaviavit habitoque longiore et jucundissimo colloquio, Philippus matronas etiam et Regias virgines sigillatim salutat osculaturque." Sepulvedæ Opera, vol. II. p. 499.

[104] "Poco dopo comparve ancora la Regina pomposamente vestita, rilucendo da tutte le parti pretiosissime gemme, accompagnata da tante e cosi belle Principesse, che pareva ivi ridotta quasi tutta la bellezza del mondo, onde gli Spagnoli servivano con il loro Olivastro, trà tanti soli, come ombre." Leti. Vita di Filippo II. tom. I. p. 232.

[105] The sideboard of the duke of Albuquerque, who died about the middle of the seventeenth century, was mounted by forty silver ladders! And, when he died, six weeks were occupied in making out the inventory of the gold and silver vessels. See Dunlop's Memoirs of Spain during the reigns of Philip IV. and Charles II. (Edinburgh, 1834,) vol. I. p. 384.

[106] Strype, Memorials, vol. III. p. 130.

[107] Some interesting particulars respecting the ancient national dances of the Peninsula are given by Ticknor, in his History of Spanish Literature, (New York, 1849,) vol. II. pp. 445-448; a writer who, under the title of a History of Literature, has thrown a flood of light on the social and political institutions of the nation, whose character he has evidently studied under all its aspects.

[108] "Relation of what passed at the Celebration of the Marriage of our Prince with the Most Serene Queen of England,"—from the original at Louvain, ap. Tytler, Edward VI. and Mary, vol. II. p. 430.—Salazar de Mendoza, Monarquia de España, tom. II. p. 117.—Sandoval, Historia de Carlos V., tom. II. pp. 560-563.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. pp. 231-233.—Sepulvedæ Opera, vol. II, p. 500.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. I. cap. 5.—Memorial de Voyages, MS.—Miss Strickland, Lives of the Queens of England, vol. V. pp 389-396.

To the last writer I am especially indebted for several particulars in the account of processions and pageants which occupies the preceding pages. Her information is chiefly derived from two works, neither of which is in my possession;—the Book of Precedents of Ralph Brook, York herald, and the narrative of an Italian, Baoardo, an eye-witness of the scenes he describes. Miss Strickland's interesting volumes are particularly valuable to the historian for the copious extracts they contain from curious unpublished documents, which had escaped the notice of writers too exclusively occupied with political events to give much heed to details of a domestic and personal nature.

[109] Holinshed, vol. IV. p. 62.

[110] Ibid., p. 63.

[111] The Spaniards must have been quite as much astonished as the English at the sight of such an amount of gold and silver in the coffers of their king,—a sight that rarely rejoiced the eyes of either Charles or Philip, though lords of the Indies. A hundred horses might well have drawn as many tons of gold and silver,—an amount, considering the value of money in that day, that taxes our faith somewhat heavily, and not the less that only two wagons were employed to carry it.

[112] Holinshed, ubi supra.

[113] Relatione di Gio. Micheli, MS.

Michele Soriano, who represented Venice at Madrid, in 1559, bears similar testimony, in still stronger language, to Philip's altered deportment while in England. "Essendo avvertito prima dal Cardinale di Trento, poi dalla Regina Maria, et con più efficaccia dal padre, che quella riputatione et severità non si conveniva a lui, che dovea dominar nationi varie et popoli di costumi diversi, si mutò in modo che passando l'altra volta di Spagna per andar in Inghilterra, ha mostrato sempre una dolcezza et humanità così grande che non è superato da Prencipe alcuno in questa parte, et benchè servi in tutte l'attioni sue riputatione et gravità regie alle quali e per natura inclinato et per costume, non è però manco grato anzi fano parere la cortesia maggiore che S. M. usa con tutti." Relatione di Michele Soriano, MS.

[114] "Lasciando l'essecution delle cose di giustitia alla Regina, et a i Ministri quand'occorre di condannare alcuno, o nella robba, o nella vita, per poter poi usarli impetrando, come fa, le gratie, et le mercedi tutte; le quai cose fanno, che quanto alla persona sua, non solo sia ben voluto, et amato da ciascuno, ma anco desiderato." Relatione di Gio. Micheli, MS.

[115] Letter of Nicholas Wotton to Sir William Petre, MS.

[116] See the remarks of John Elder, ap. Tytler, Edward VI. and Mary, vol. II. p. 258.

[117] "Nella religione,.... per quel che dall'esterior si vede, non si potria giudicar meglio, et più assiduo, et attentissimo alle Messe, a i Vesperi, et alle Prediche, come un religioso, molto più che a lo stato, et età sua, a molte pare che si convenga. Il medisimo conferiscono dell'intrinseco oltra certi frati Theologi suoi predicatori huomini certo di stima, et anco altri che ogni di trattano con lui, che nelle cose della conscientia non desiderano nè più pia, nè miglior intentione." Relatione di Gio. Micheli, MS.

[118] Ibid.

[119] Ibid.

Mason, the English minister at the imperial court, who had had much intercourse with Pole, speaks of him in terms of unqualified admiration. "Such a one as, for his wisdom, joined with learning, virtue, and godliness, all the world seeketh and adoreth. In whom it is to be thought that God hath chosen a special place of habitation. Such is his conversation adorned with infinite godly qualities, above the ordinary sort of men. And whosoever within the realm liketh him worst, I would he might have with him the talk of one half-hour. It were a right stony heart that in a small time he could not soften." Letter of Sir John Mason to the Queen, MS.

[120] If we are to credit Cabrera, Philip not only took his seat in parliament, but on one occasion, the better to conciliate the good-will of the legislature to the legate, delivered a speech which the historian gives in extenso. If he ever made the speech, it could have been understood only by a miracle. For Philip could not speak English, and of his audience not one in a hundred, probably, could understand Spanish. But to the Castilian historian the occasion might seem worthy of a miracle,—dignus vindice nodus.

[121] "Obraron de suerte Don Felipe con prudencia, agrado, honras, y mercedes, y su familia con la cortesía natural de España, que se reduxo Inglaterra toda à la obediencia de la Iglesia Catolica Romana, y se abjuraron los errores y heregias que corrían en aquel Reyno," says Vanderhammen, Felipe el Prudente, p. 4.

[122] Strype, Memorials, vol. III. p. 209.

[123] Philip, in a letter to the Regent Joanna, dated Brussels, 1557, seems to claim for himself the merit of having extirpated heresy in England by the destruction of the heretics. "Aviendo apartado deste Reyno las sectas, i reduzidole à la obediencia de la Inglesia, i aviendo ido sempre en acrecentamiento con el castigo de los Ereges tan sin contradiciones como se haze en Inglaterra." (Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. II. cap. 6.) The emperor, in a letter from Yuste, indorses this claim of his son to the full extent. "Pues en Ynglaterra se han hecho y hacen tantas y tan crudas justicias hasta obispos, por la orden que alli ha dado, como si fuera su Rey natural, y se lo permiten." Carta del Emperador a la Princesa, Mayo 25, 1558, MS.

[124] Micheli, whose testimony is of the more value, as he was known to have joined Noailles in his opposition to the Spanish match, tells us that Philip was scrupulous in his observance of every article of the marriage treaty. "Che non havendo alterato cosa alcuna dello stile, et forma del governo, non essendo uscito un pelo della capitolatione del matrimonio, ha in tutto tolta via quella paura che da principio fù grandissima, che egli non volesse con imperio, et con la potentia, disporre, et comandare delle cose à modo suo." Relatione di Gio. Micheli, MS.

[125] "D'amor nasce l'esser inamorata come è et giustamente del marito per quel che s'ha potuto conoscer nel tempo che è stata seco dalla natura et modi suoi, certo da innamorar ognuno, non che chi havesse havuto la buona compagnia et il buon trattamento ch'ell'ha havuto. Tale in verità che nessun'altro potrebbe essergli stato nè migliore nè più amorevol marito.... Se appresso al martello s'aggiungesse la gelosia, della qual fin hora non si sa che patisca, perche se non ha il Re per casto, almanco dice ella so che è libero dell'amor d'altra donna; se fosse dico gelosa, sarebbe veramente misera." Relatione di Gio. Micheli, MS.

[126] Holinshed, vol. IV. pp. 70, 82.

[127] Soriano notices the little authority that Philip seemed to possess in England, and the disgust which it occasioned both to him and his father.

"L'imperatore, che dissegnava sempre cose grandi, pensò potersi acquistare il regno con occasione di matrimonio di quella regina nel figliuolo; ma non gli successe quel che desiderava, perche questo Re trovò tant'impedimenti et tante difficolta che mi ricordo havere inteso da un personaggio che S. M^ta. si trova ogni giorno più mal contenta d'haver atteso a quella prattica perchè non haver nel regno ne autorità nè obedienza, nè pure la corona, ma solo un certo nome che serviva più in apparenza che in effetto." Relatione di Michele Soriano, MS.

[128] "Hispani parum humane parumque hospitaliter a Britannis tractabantur, ita ut res necessarias longe carius communi pretio emere cogerentur." Sepulvedæ Opera, vol. II. p. 501.

[129] "Quando occorre disparere tra un Inglese et alcun di questi, la giustitia non procede in quel modo che dovria..... Son tanti le cavillationi, le lunghezze, et le spese senza fine di quei lor'giuditii, che al torto, o al diritto, conviene ch'il forestiero soccumba; ne bisogna pensar che mai si sottomettessero l'Inglesi come l'altre nationi ad uno che chiamano l'Alcalde della Corte, spagnuole di natione, che procede sommariamente contra ogn'uno, per vie però, et termini Spagnuoli; havendo gl'Inglesi la lor legge, dalla quale non solo non si partiriano, ma vogliano obligar a quella tutti gl'altre." Relatione di Gio. Micheli, MS.

[130] Holinshed, vol. IV. p. 80.—Strype, Memorials, vol. III. p. 227.—Memorial de Voyages, MS.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 236.

[131] Relazione di Roma di Bernardo Navagero, 1558, published in Relazioni degli Ambasciatori Veneti, Firenze, 1846, vol. VII. p. 378.

Navagero, in his report to the senate, dwells minutely on the personal qualities as well as the policy of Paul the Fourth, whose character seems to have been regarded as a curious study by the sagacious Venetian.

"Ritornato a Roma, rinuncio la Chiesa di Chieti, che aveva prima, e quella di Brindisi, ritirandosi affatto, e menando sempre vita privata, aliena da ogni sorte di publico affare, anzi, lasciata dopo il saco Roma stessa, passó a Verona e poi a Venezia, quivi trattenendosi lungo tempo in compagnia di alcuni buoni Religiosi della medesima inclinazione, che poi crescendo di numero, ed in santità di costumi, fondarono la Congregazione, che oggi, dal Titolo che aveva Paolo allora di Vescovo Teatino, de Teatini tuttavia ritiene il nome."

See also Relazione della Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, di Pietro Nores, MS.

[132] Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.

[133] Ibid.—Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Giannone, Istoria Civile del Regno di Napoli, (Milano, 1823,) tom. X. pp. 11-13.

[134] "Vuol essere servito molto delicatamente; e nel principio del suo pontificato non bastavano venticinque piatti; beve molto più di quello che mangia; il vino è possente e gagliardo, nero e tanto spesso, che si potria quasi tagliare, e dimandasi mangiaguerra, il quale si conduce dal regno di Napoli." Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.

[135] "Nazione Spagnuola, odiata da lui, e che egli soleva chiamar vile, ed abieta, seme di Giudei, e feccia del Mondo." Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.

"Dicendo in presenza di molti: che era venuto il tempo, che sarebbero castigati dei loro peccati; che perderebbero li stati, e che l'Italia saria liberata." Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.

At another time we find the pope declaiming against the Spaniards, now the masters of Italy, who had once been known there only as its cooks. "Dice..... di sentire infinito dispiacere, che quelli che solevano essere cuochi o mozzi di stalla in Italia, ora comandino." Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.

[136] "Cammina che non pare che tocchi terra; è tutto nervo con poca carne." Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.

[137] "Servì lungo tempore l'Imperatore, ma con infelicissimo evento, non avendo potuto avere alcuna ricompensa, come egli stesso diceva, in premio della sua miglior etá, e di molte fatiche, e pericoli sostenuti, se non spese, danni, disfavore, esilio ed ultimamente un ingiustissima prigionia." Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.

[138] Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Summonte, Historia della Città e Regno di Napoli, (Napoli, 1675,) tom. IV. p. 278.—Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. p. 20.

[139] Brantôme, who has introduced the constable into his gallery of portraits, has not omitted this characteristic anecdote. "On disait qu'il se falloit garder des patenostres de M. le connestable, car en les disant et marmottant lors que les ocasions se presentoient, comme force desbordemens et desordres y arrivent maintenant, il disoit: Allez moy pendre un tel; attachez celuy là à cet arbre; faictes passer cestuy là par les picques tout à ceste heure, ou les harquebuses tout devant moy; taillez moy en pieces tous ces marauts," etc. Brantôme Œuvres (Paris, 1822,) tom. II. p. 372.

[140] Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Summonte, Historia di Napoli, tom. IV. p. 280.—Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. p. 21.—De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 23 et seq.

[141] Giannone, Istoria di Napoli tom. X. p. 19.

[142] Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Carta del Duque de Alba à la Gobernadora, 28 de Julio, 1556, MS.—Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. pp. 15, 16.

[143] I have three biographies of the duke of Alva, which give a view of his whole career. The most important is one in Latin, by a Spanish Jesuit named Ossorio, and entitled Ferdinandi Toletani Albæ Ducis Vita et Res Gestæ (Salmanticiæ, 1669). The author wrote nearly a century after the time of his hero. But as he seems to have had access to the best sources of information, his narrative may be said to rest on a good foundation. He writes in a sensible and business-like manner, more often found among the Jesuits than among the members of the other orders. It is not surprising that the harsher features of the portrait should be smoothed down under the friendly hand of the Jesuit commemorating the deeds of the great champion of Catholicism.

A French life of the duke, printed some thirty years later, is only a translation of the preceding, Histoire de Ferdinand-Alvarez de Toledo, Duc d'Albe (Paris, 1699). A work of more pretension is entitled Resultas de la Vida de Fernando Alvarez tercero Duque de Alva, escrita por Don Juan Antonio de Vera y Figueroa, Conde de la Roca (1643). It belongs, apparently, to a class of works not uncommon in Spain, in which vague and uncertain statements take the place of simple narrative, and the writer covers up his stilted panegyric with the solemn garb of moral philosophy.

[144] Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. p. 27.—Consulta hecha a varios letrados y téologos relativamente a las desavenencias con el Papa, MS. This document is preserved in the archives of Simancas.

[145] Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Andrea, Guerra da Campaña de Roma, (Madrid, 1589,) p. 14.—Summonte, Historia di Napoli, tom. IV. p. 270.

The most circumstantial printed account of this war is to be found in the work of Alessandro Andrea, a Neapolitan. It was first published in Italian, at Venice, and subsequently translated by the author into Castilian, and printed at Madrid. Andrea was a soldier of some experience, and his account of these transactions is derived partly from personal observation, and partly, as he tells us, from the most accredited witnesses. The Spanish version was made at the suggestion of one of Philip's ministers,—pretty good evidence that the writer, in his narrative, had demeaned himself like a loyal subject.

[146] Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. p. 25.—Carta del Duque de Alba à la Gobernadora, 8 de Setiembre, 1556, MS.

"In tal mode, non solo veniva a mitigar l'asprezze, che portava seco l'occupar le Terre dello stato ecclesiastico, ma veniva a sparger semi di discordia, e di sisma, fra li Cardinali, ed il Papa, tentando d'alienarli da lui, e mostrargli verso di loro riverenza, e rispetto." Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.

[147] Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.

[148] "Stava intrepido, parlando delle cose appartenenti a quel'uffizio, come se non vi fusse alcuna sospezione di guerra, non che gl'inimici fussero vicini alle porte." Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.

[149] "Pontifex eam conditionem ad se relatam aspernatus in eo persistebat, ut Albanus copias domum reduceret, deinde quod vellet, a se supplicibus precibus postularet." Sepulveda, De Rebus Gestis Philippi II., lib. I. cap. 17.

[150] Sismondi, Histoire des Français, tom. XVIII. p. 17.

[151] "Quel Pontefice, che per ciascuna di queste cose che fosse cascata in un processo, avrebbe condannato ognuno alla morte ed al fuoco, le tollerava in questi, come in suoi defensori." Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.

[152] Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.

[153] The details of the siege of Ostia are given with more or less minuteness by Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.; Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 72 et seq.; Campana, Vita del Catholico Don Filippo Secondo, con le Guerre de suoi Tempi, (Vicenza, 1605,) tom. II. fol. 146, 147; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. II. cap. 15.

[154] Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 86 et seq.

The Emperor Charles the Fifth, when on his way to Yuste, took a very different view from Alva's of the truce, rating the duke roundly for not having followed up the capture of Ostia by a decisive blow, instead of allowing the French time to enter Italy and combine with the pope.—"El emperador oyó todo lo que v. m^d. dize del duque y de Italia, y ha tornado muy mal el haver dado el duque oidos à suspension de armas, y mucho mas de haver prorrogado el plazo, por parecelle que será instrumento para que la gente del Rey que baxava à Piamonte se juntasse con la del Papa, ó questa dilacion sera necessitar al duque, y estorvalle el effecto que pudiera hazer, si prosiguiera su vitoria despues de haber ganado à Ostia, y entredientes dixo otras cosas que no pude comprehender." Carta de Martin de Gaztelu à Juan Vazquez, Enero 10, 1557, MS.

[155] Sepulveda, De Rebus Gestis Philippi II., p. 13.

[156] Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 165.

[157] Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 220.—De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 86.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. III. cap. 9.

[158] Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 226.

[159] Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. p. 40.

[160] Sismondi, Histoire des Français, tom. XVIII. p. 39.

[161] "Encendido de colera, vino a dezir, Que Dios se auia buelto Español." Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 228.

[162] Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. p. 35.

[163] Norres, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Flippo Secondo, MS.—Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 237.—Ossorio, Albæ Vita, tom. II. p. 64.

[164] The particulars of the siege of Civitella may be found in Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.; Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 222 et seq.; Ossorio, Albæ Vita, tom. II. pp. 53-59; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. III. cap. 9; De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 87 et seq., &c.

[165] "Quiso guardar el precepto de guerra que es: Hazer la puente de plata al enemigo, que se va." Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 285.

[166] "No pensava jugar el Reyno de Napoles contra una casaca de brocado del Duque de Guisa." Vera y Figueroa, Resultas de la Vida del Duque de Alva, p. 66.

[167] "Quiso usar alli desta sexeridad, no por crueza, sino para dar exemplo a los otros, que no se atreuiesse un lugarejo a defenderse de un exercito real." Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 292.

[168] Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 302.—Ossorio, Albæ Vita, tom. II. p. 96.—Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.

[169] "Los enemigos han tomado a Seña con saco, muerte, y fuego...... Entraran en Roma, y la saqueran, y prenderan a mi persona; y yo, que desseo ser cō Christo, aguardo sin miedo la corona del martirio." Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 303.

"Si mostró prontissimo e disposto di sostenere il martirio." Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.

[170] Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 306.

[171] Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Andrea, Guerra de Roma, pp. 306-311.—Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.—Ossorio, Albæ Vita, tom. II. p. 117 et seq.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 11.

[172] "Dixo a Don Fernando de Toledo su hijo estas palabras: Temo que hemos de saquear a Roma, y no querria." Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 312.

[173] Ibid., ubi supra.

[174] "Il Cardinal Sangiacomo, suo zio, dopo la tregua di quaranta giorni, fu a vecerlo e gli disse: Figliuol mio, avete fatto bene a non entrare in Roma, come so che avete potuto; e vi esorto che non lo facciate mai; perchè, tutti quelli della nostra nazione che si trovarono all'ultimo sacco, sono capitati male." Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.

[175] Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.

[176] Sismondi, Histoire des Français, tom. XVIII. p. 41.

[177] Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. p. 43.

[178] Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 314.—De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 128.—Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. p. 45.—Ossorio, Albæ Vita, tom. II. p. 131.

[179] "Hoggi il mio Rè ha fatto una gran sciocchezza, e se io fossi stato in suo luogo, et egli nel mio, il Cardinal Carafa sarebbe andato in Fiandra à far quelle stesse sommissioni à sua Maestà che io vengo hora di fare à sua Santità." Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 293.

[180] Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.

[181] Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. p. 45.—Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 293.—Andrea, Guerra de Roma, p. 316.

[182] Charles the Fifth, who received tidings of the peace at Yuste, was as much disgusted with the terms of it as the duke himself. He even vented his indignation against the duke, as if he had been the author of the peace. He would not consent to read the despatches which Alva sent to him, saying that he already knew enough; and for a long time after "he was heard to mutter between his teeth," in a tone which plainly showed the nature of his thoughts. Retiro y Estancia, ap. Mignet, Charles-Quint, p. 307.

[183] Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. p. 46.

[184] Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. p. 50.—Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.

[185] Nores, Guerra fra Paolo Quarto e Filippo Secondo, MS.—Giannone, Istoria di Napoli, tom. X. p. 50.

[186] "Della quale se altri non voleva aver cura, voleva almeno averla esso; e sebbene i suoi consigli non fossero uditi, avrebbe almeno la consolazione di avere avuto quest'animo, e che si dicesse un giorno: che un vecchio italiano che, essendo vicino alla morte, doveva attendere a riposare e a piangere i suoi peccati, avesse avuto tanto alti disegni." Relazione di Bernardo Navagero.

[187] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 2.—Carta del Rey Don Felipe Segundo a Ruy Gomez de Silva a XI. de Março, 1557, MS.—Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. V. pp. 61, 63.

[188] Tytler, in his England under Edward VI. and Mary, (vol. II. p. 483,) has printed extracts from the minutes of the council, with the commentaries of Philip by the side of them. The commentaries, which are all in the royal autograph, seem to be as copious as the minutes themselves.

[189] Herrera, Historia General del Mundo, de XV. Años del Tiempo del Señor Rey Don Felipe II., (Valladolid, 1606,) lib. IV. cap. 13.—Gaillard, Histoire de la Rivalité de la France et de l'Espagne, (Paris, 1801,) tom. V. p. 243.

[190] See Tytler's valuable work, Reigns of Edward VI. and Mary. The compilation of this work led its candid author to conclusions eminently favorable to the personal character of Queen Mary.

[191] Conf. De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 148; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 4; Campana, Vita del Re Filippo Secondo, parte II. lib. 9; Herrera, Historia General, lib. IV. cap. 14.

The historian here, as almost everywhere else where numerical estimates are concerned, must content himself with what seems to be the closest approximation to the truth. Some writers carry the Spanish foot to fifty thousand. I have followed the more temperate statement of the contemporary De Thou, who would not be likely to underrate the strength of an enemy.

[192] See the letters of the duke published in the Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, (tom. V., passim,)—business-like documents, seasoned with lively criticisms on the characters of those he had to deal with.

[193] Relazione della Corte di Savoja di Gio Francesco Morosini, 1570, ap. Relazioni degli Ambasciatori Veneti, vol. iv.

[194] See the letter of the queen to Philip, in Strype, Catalogue of Originals, No. 56.

[195] Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. V. p. 115.

[196] De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 147.—Commentaires de François de Rabutin, ap. Nouvelle Collection des Mémoires pour servir à l'Histoire de France, par MM. Michaud et Poujoulat, (Paris, 1838,) tom. VII. p. 535.—Herrera, Historia General, lib. IV. cap. 14.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 5.

[197] "Ils furent tous deux, dans leur jeunes ans,..... sy grands compagnons, amis et confederez de court, que j'ay ouy dire à plusieurs qui les ont veus habiller le plus souvant de mesmes parures, mesmes livrées,..... tous deux fort enjoüez et faisant des follies plus extravagantes que tous les autres; et sur tout ne faisoient nulles follies qu'ils ne fissent mal, tant ils etoient rudes joüeurs et malheureux en leurs jeux." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. III. p. 265.

[198] "Il falloit les nourrir ou les faire mourir de faim, qui eust peu apporter une peste dans la ville." Mémoires de Gaspard de Coligni, ap. Collection Universelle des Mémoires particuliers relatifs à l'Histoire de France, (Paris, 1788,) tom. XL. p. 252.

[199] Ibid.—De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 151.—Rabutin, ap. Nouvelle Collection des Mémoires, tom. VII. p. 540.—Garnier, Histoire de France, (Paris, 1787,) tom. XXVII. p. 358.

[200] There is not so much discrepancy in the estimates of the French as of the Spanish force. I have accepted the statements of the French historians, Garnier, (Histoire de France, tom. XXVII. p. 354,) and De Thou, (tom. III. p. 148,) who, however, puts the cavalry at one thousand less. For authorities on the Spanish side, see Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 7.—Herrera, Historia General, lib. IV. cap. 15.—Campana, Vita del Re Filippo Secondo, parte II. lib. 9.

[201] Rabutin, ap. Nouvelle Collection des Mémoires, tom. VII. p. 548.

[202] Ibid., ubi supra.—Monpleinchamp, Histoire d'Emmanuel Philibert Duc de Savoie, (Amsterdam, 1699,) p. 146.—De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 157.

The first of these writers, François de Rabutin, is one of the best authorities for these transactions, in which he took part as a follower of the duc de Nevers.

[203] "Encore à sortir des bateaux, à cause de la presse, les soldats ne pouvoient suivre les addresses et sentes qui leur estoient appareillées; de façon qu'ils s'escartoient et se jettoient à costé dans les creux des marets, d'où ils ne pouvoient sortir, et demeuroient là embourbez et noyez." Rabutin, ap. Nouvelle Collection des Mémoires, tom. VII. p. 549.

[204] Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 361.

[205] I quote the words of Monpleinchamp, (Histoire du Duc de Savoie, p. 147,) who, however, speaks of the fire as coming from the artillery,—hardly probable, as the French batteries were three miles distant, up the river. But accuracy does not appear to be the chief virtue of this writer.

[206] "Manda au prince, pour toute réponse, qu'il étoit bien jeune pour vouloir lui apprendre son metier, qu'il commandoit les armées avant que celui-ci fût au monde, et qu'il comptoit bien en vingt ans lui donner encore des leçons." Garnier, Histoire de France, tom. XXVII. p. 364.

[207] Rabutin, who gives this account, says it would be impossible to tell how the disorder began. It came upon them so like a thunderclap, that no man had a distinct recollection of what passed. Rabutin, ap. Nouvelle Collection des Mémoires, tom. VII. p. 550.

[208] "Appellant à lui dans ce trouble le vieux d'Oignon, officier expérimenté, il lui demanda: Bon homme, que faut-il faire? Monseigneur, répondit d'Oignon, il y a deux heures que je vous l'aurois bien dit, maintenant je n'en sais rien." Garnier, Histoire de France, tom. XXVII. p. 368.

[209] "Noirs comme de beaux diables." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. III. p. 185.

[210] "Icelles compagnies de fantrie, en ce peu qu'elles se comportoient, autant belles, bien complettes et bien armées, que l'on en avoit veu en France il y avoit long-temps." Rabutin, ap. Nouvelle Collection des Mémoires, tom. VII. p. 551.

[211] "A ces nouvelles s'esleverent tellement leurs esprits et courages, qu'ils recoururent incontinent aux armes, et n'oyoit-on plus partout que demander harnois et chevaux, et trompettes sonner à cheval, ayant chacun recouvert ses forces et sentimens pour venger la honte précédente; toutefois ce murmure se trouva nul, et demeura assoupi en peu d'heure." Ibid., p. 552.

[212] Campana, Vita del Re Filippo Secondo, parte II. lib. 9.

According to some accounts, the loss did not exceed fifty. This, considering the spirit and length of the contest, will hardly be credited. It reminds one of the wars with the Moslems in the Peninsula, where, if we are to take the account of the Spaniards, their loss was usually as one to a hundred of the enemy.

[213] For the preceding pages, see Rabutin, ap. Nouvelle Collection des Mémoires, tom. VII. pp. 548-552.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 7.—Campana, Vita del Re Filippo Secondo, parte II. lib. 9.—Monpleinchamp, Vie du Duc de Savoie, pp. 146-150.—Herrera, Historia General, lib. IV. cap. 15.—De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. pp. 154-160.—Garnier, Histoire de France, tom. XXVII. pp. 361-372.—Carta de Felipe 2^do à su padre anunciandole la victoria de San Quentin, MS.

[214] "Pues yo no me hallé alli, de que me pesa lo que V. M. no puede pensar, no puedo dar relaçion de lo que paso sino de oydas." Carta de Felipe 2^do à su padre, 11 de Agosto, 1557, MS.

[215] This appears by a letter of the major-domo of Charles, Luis Quixada, to the secretary, Juan Vazquez de Molina, MS.

"Siento que no se puede conortar de que su hijo no se hallase en ello."

[216] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 7

[217] De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 246.

[218] It is Brantôme who tells the anecdote, in his usual sarcastic way. "Encor, tout religieux, demy sainct qu'il estoit, il ne se peut en garder que quant le roy son fils eut gaigné la bataille de Sainct-Quentin de demander aussi tost que le courrier luy apporta des nouvelles, s'il avoit bien poursuivi la victoire, et jusques aux portes de Paris." Œuvres, tom. I. p. 11.

Luis Quixada, in a letter written at the time from Yuste, gives a version of the story, which, if it has less point, is probably more correct. "S. Mag^d. está con mucho cuidado por saber que camino arrá tomado el Rey despues de acabada aquella empresa de San Quintin." Carta de 27 de Setiembre, 1557, MS.

[219] "Para no entrar en Francia como su padre comiendo pabos, i salir comiendo raizes." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 8.

[220] "Si l'on m'oyoit tenir quelque langage, qui approchast de faire composition, je les suppliois tous qu'ils me jettassent, comme un poltron, dedans le fossé par dessus les murailles: que s'il y avoit quelqu'un qui m'en tint propos, je ne lui en ferois pas moins." Coligni, Mémoires, ap. Collection Universelle des Mémoires, tom. XL. p. 272.

[221] Gaillard, Rivalité, tom. V. p. 253.

[222] Burnet, Reformation, vol. III. p. 636.

[223] For notices of the taking of St. Quentin, in greater or less detail, see Coligni, Mémoires, ap. Collection Universelle des Mémoires, tom. XL.; Rabutin, Mémoires, ap. Nouvelle Collection des Mémoires, tom. VII. p. 556 et seq.; De Thou. Histoire Universelle, tom. III. pp. 164-170; Campana, Vita del Re Filippo Secondo, parte II. lib. 9; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 9; Monpleinchamp, Vie du Duc de Savoie, p. 152.

Juan de Pinedo, in a letter to the secretary Vazquez, (dated St. Quentin, August 27,) speaking of the hard fighting which took place in the assault, particularly praises the gallantry of the English: "Esta tarde entre tres y quatro horas se ha entrado San Quentin à pura fuerça peleando muy bien los de dentro y los de fuera, muy escogidamente todos, y por estremo los Ingleses." MS.

[224] Letter of the earl of Bedford to Sir William Cecil, (dated "from our camp beside St. Quentin, the 3rd of Sept. 1557,") ap. Tytler, Edward VI. and Mary, vol. II p. 493.

[225] According to Sepulveda, (De Rebus Gestis Philippi II., lib. I. cap. 30,) no less than four thousand women. It is not very probable that Coligni would have consented to cater for so many useless mouths.

[226] "The Swartzrotters, being masters of the king's whole army, used such force, as well to the Spaniards, Italians, and all other nations, as unto us, that there was none could enjoy nothing but themselves. They had now showed such cruelty, as the like hath not been seen for greediness: the town by them was set a-fire, and a great piece of it burnt." Letter of the earl of Bedford to Cecil, ap. Tytler, Edward VI. and Mary, vol. II. p. 493.

[227] Rabutin, Mémoires, ap. Nouvelle Collection des Mémoires, tom. VII. pp. 537-564.—De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. pp. 149-170.—Campana, Vita di Filippo Secondo, parte II. lib. 9.

The best account of the siege of St. Quentin is to be found in Coligni's Mémoires, (ap. Collection Universelle des Mémoires, tom. XL. pp. 217-290,) written by him in his subsequent captivity, when the events were fresh in his memory. The narrative is given in a simple, unpretending manner, that engages our confidence, though the author enters into a minuteness of detail which the general historian may be excused from following.

[228] De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. pp. 173-177.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 13.—Sepulveda, De Rebus Gestis Philippi II., lib. I. cap. 32.

[229] De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III, pp. 163, 176.—Garnier, Histoire de France, tom. XXVII. p. 377 et seq.

[230] "C'etoit un proverbe reçu en France pour désigner un mauvais général, un guerrier sans mérite, de dire: il ne chassera pas les Anglois de la France." Gaillard, Rivalité de France et de l'Espagne, tom. V. p. 260

[231] "Aussi les Anglois furent si glorieux (car ils le sont assez de leur naturel) de mettre sur les portes de la ville que, lors que les François assiegeront Calais, l'on verra le plomb et le fer nager sur l'eau comme le liege." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. III. p. 203.

[232] Burnet, History of the Reformation, vol. III. p. 646.

[233] Ibid., p. 650.

[234] De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 238.—Garnier, Histoire de France, tom. XXVII. p. 512.—Rabutin, ap. Nouvelle Collection des Mémoires, tom. VII. p. 598.—Campana, Vita del Re Filippo Secondo, parte II. lib. 10.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 21.—Herrera, Historia General, lib. V. cap. 5.—Monpleinchamp, Vie du Duc de Savoie, p. 154.

[235] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 21.

[236] "Nous sommes vainqueurs; que ceux qui aiment la gloire et leur patrie me suivent." De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 240.

[237] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 21.

[238] De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 240.—Garnier, Histoire de France, tom. XXVII. p. 516.

[239] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 21.—De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 241.

[240] "Ma della caualleria niuno fu quasi, ch'ò non morisse combattendo, ò non restasse prigione, non potendosi saluar fuggendo in quei luoghi paludosi, malageuoli." Campana, Vita del Re Filippo Secondo, parte II. lib. 10.

[241] For the accounts of this battle, see Campana, Vita del Re Filippo Secondo, parte II. lib. 10.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 21.—De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. pp. 239-241.—Garnier, Histoire de France, tom. XXVII. p. 513 et seq.—Rabutin, ap. Nouvelle Collection des Mémoires, tom. VII. p. 598.—Herrera, Historia General, lib. V. cap. 5.—Ferreras, Histoire Générale d'Espagne, tom. IX. p. 396.—Monpleinchamp, Vie du Duc de Savoie, p. 155.

I know of no action of which the accounts are so perfectly irreconcilable in their details as those of the battle of Gravelines. Authorities are not even agreed as to whether it was an English fleet that fired on the French troops. One writer speaks of it as a Spanish squadron from Guipuscoa. Another says the marines landed, and engaged the enemy on shore. It is no easy matter to extract a probability from many improbabilities. There is one fact, however, and that the most important one, in which all agree,—that Count Egmont won a decisive victory over the French at Gravelines.

[242] There is an interesting letter of Philip's sister, the Regent Joanna, to her father, the emperor, then in the monastery at Yuste. It was written nearly a year before this period of our history. Joanna gives many good reasons, especially the disorders of his finances, which made it expedient for Philip to profit by his successful campaign to conclude a peace with France,—the same which now presented themselves with such force to both Philip and his ministers. The capture of Calais, soon after the date of Joanna's letter, and the great preparations made by Henry, threw a weight into the enemy's scale which gave new heart to the French to prolong the contest, until it ended with the defeat at Gravelines.—Carta de la Princesa Juana al Emperador, 14 de Diciembre, 1557, MS.—Carta del Emperador à la Princesa, 26 de Diciembre, 1557, MS.

[243] Relatione di Giovanni Micheli, MS.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 2, 4.—Campana, Vita di Filippo Secundo, parte II. lib. 11.

[244] Relatione di Giovanni Micheli, MS.

[245] "Yo os digo que yo estoy de todo punto imposibilitado à sostener la guerra.... Estos términos me parecen tan aprestados que so pena de perderme no puedo dejar de concertarme." Letter of Philip to the Bishop of Arras, (February 12. 1559,) ap. Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. V. p. 454, et alibi.

Philip told the Venetian minister he was in such straits, that, if the French king had not made advances towards an accommodation, he should have been obliged to do so himself. Campana, Vita di Filippo Secondo, parte II. lib. 11.

[246] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 16.—Ferreras, Histoire Générale d'Espagne, tom. VII. p. 397.

[247] "Habló que era de tener en mas la pressa del Condestable, que si fuera la misma persona del Rey, porque faltando el, falta el govierno jeneral todo." Carta del Mayordomo Don Luis Mendez Quixada al Secretario Juan Vazquez de Molina, MS.

[248] The French government had good reasons for its distrust. It appears from the correspondence of Granvelle, that that minister employed a respectable agent to take charge of the letters of St. André, and probably of the other prisoners, and that these letters were inspected by Granvelle before they passed to the French camp. See Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. V. p. 178.

[249] Some historians, among them Sismondi, seem to have given more credit to the professions of the politic Frenchman than they deserve, (Histoire des Français, tom. XVIII. p. 73.). Granvelle, who understood the character of his antagonist better, was not so easily duped. A memorandum among his papers thus notices the French cardinal: "Toute la démonstration que faisoit ledict cardinal de Lorraine de désirer paix, estoit chose faincte à la françoise et pour nous abuser." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. V. p. 168.

[250] "Adjoustant que, si Calaix demeuroit aux François, ny luy ny ses collègues n'oseroyent retourner en Angleterre, et que certainement le peuple les lapideroit." Ibid., p. 319.

[251] "Were I to die this moment, want of frigates would be found written on my heart." The original of this letter of Nelson is in the curious collection of autograph letters which belonged to the late Sir Robert Peel.

[252] Philip's feelings in this matter may be gathered from a passage in a letter to Granvelle, in which he says that the death of the young queen of Scots, then very ill, would silence the pretensions which the French made to England, and relieve Spain from a great embarrassment. "Si la reyna moça se muriesse, que diz que anda muy mala, nos quitaria de hartos embaraços y del derecho que pretenden à Inglaterra." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. V. p. 643.

[253] "Tras esto véola muy indignada de las cosas que se han hecho contra ella en vida de la Reina: muy asida al pueblo, y muy confiada que lo tiene todo de su parte (como es verdad), y dando à entender que el Pueblo la ha puesto en el estado que está: y de esto no reconoce nada à V. M. ni à la nobleza del Reino, aunque dice que la han enviado à prometer todos que la serán fieles." Memorias de la Real Academia de la Historia, (Madrid, 1832,) tom. VII. p. 254.

[254] "Non manco bella d'animo che sia di corpo; ancor'che di faccia si puó dir' che sia piu tosto gratiosa che bella." Relatione di Giovanni Micheli, MS.

[255] "Della persona è grande, et ben formata, di bella carne, ancor che olivastra, begl'occhi, et sopra tutto bella mano, di che fa professione, d'un spirito, et ingegno mirabile: il che ha saputo molto ben dimostrare, con l'essersi saputa ne i sospetti, et pericoli ne i quali s'è ritrovata cosi ben governare.... Si tien superba, et gloriosa per il padre; del quale dicono tutti che è anco più simile, et per cio gli fu sempre cara." Ibid.

[256] The Spanish minister, Feria, desired his master to allow him to mention Mary's jealousy, as an argument to recommend his suit to the favor of Elizabeth. But Philip had the good feeling—or good taste—to refuse. Memorias de la Real Academia, tom. VII. p. 260.

[257] "Dijo que convendria consultarlo con el Parlamento; bien que el Rey Católico debia estar seguro que en caso de casarse, seria él preferido á todos." Ibid., p. 264.

[258] "Paresceme que seria bien que el conde le hablasse claro en estas cosas de la religion, y la amonestasse y rogasse de mi parte que no hiziesse en este parlamento mudança en ella, y que si la hiciesse que yo no podria venir en lo del casamiento, como en effecto no vendria." Carta del Rey Phelipe al Duque de Alba, 7 de Febrero, 1559, MS.

[259] "Convendría que hablasse claro á la Reyna, y le dixesse rasamente que aunque yo desseo mucho este negocio, (y por aquí envanesçella quanto pudiesse,) pero que entendiesse que si haria mudança en la religion, yo lo hacia en este desseo y voluntad por que despues no pudiesse dezir que no se le avia dicho antes." Ibid.

[260] "Dijo que pensaba estar sin casarse, porque tenia mucho escrúpulo en lo de la dispensa del Papa." Memorias de la Real Academia, tom. VII. p. 265.

[261] Ibid., p. 266.

[262] "Aunque habia recibido pena de no haberse concluido cosa que tanto deseaba, y parecía convenir al bien público, pues á ella no le habia parecido tan necessario, y que con buena amistad se conseguiria el mismo fin, quedaba satisfecho y contento." Ibid., ubi supra.

[263] The duke of Savoy, in a letter to Granvelle, says that the king is in arrears more than a million of crowns to the German troops alone; and, unless the ministers have some mysterious receipt for raising money, beyond his knowledge, Philip will be in the greatest embarrassment that any sovereign ever was. "No ay un real y devéseles á la gente alemana, demas de lo que seles a pagado aora de la vieja deuda, mas d'un mylion d'escudos..... Por esso mirad como hazeys, que sino se haze la paz yo veo el rey puesto en el mayor trance que rey s'a visto jamas, si él no tiene otros dineros, que yo no sé, á que el señor Eraso alle algun secretto que tiene reservado para esto." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. V. p. 458.

[264] The minister in London was instructed to keep up the same show of confidence to the English. "Todavía mostramos rostro á los Franceses, como tambien es menester que alla se haga con los Ingleses, que no se puede confiar que no vengan Franceses á saber dellos lo que alli podrian entender." Ibid., p. 479.

[265] Ibid., p. 468.

"That the said Dolphin's and Queen of Scott's eldest daughter shall marry with your highnes eldest sonne, who with her shall have Callice." Forbes, State Papers of Elizabeth, vol. I. p. 54.

It seemed to be taken for granted that Elizabeth was not to die a maiden queen, notwithstanding her assertions so often reiterated to the contrary.

[266] "Hablando con la reyna sin persuadirla, ny á la paz, ny á que dexe Calaix, by tampoco á que venga bien á las otras condiciones propuestas por los Franceses, paraque en ningun tiempo pueda dezir que de parte de S. M. la hayan persuadido á cosa que quiçá despues pensasse que no le estuviesse bien, V. S. tenga respecto á proponerle las razones en balança, de manera que pesen siempre mucho mas las que la han de inclinar al concierto."—Ibid., p. 479.

[267] See the treaty, in Dumont, Corps Diplomatique, (Amsterdam, 1728,) tom. V. p. 31.

[268] Garnier, Histoire de France, tom. XXVII. p. 570.

[269] "Mettez-moi, sire, dans la plus mauvaise des places qu'on vous propose d'abandonner, et que vos ennemis tâchent de m'en déloger." Gaillard, Rivalité de la France et d'Espagne, tom. V. p. 294.

[270] Garnier, Histoire de France, tom. XXVII. p. 567.

[271] "Pour tant de restitutions ou de concessions que revenoit-il à la France? moins de places qu'elle ne cédoit de provinces." Gaillard, Rivalité de la France et d'Espagne, tom. V. p. 292.

[272] Charles the Fifth, who in his monastic seclusion at Yuste, might naturally have felt more scruples at a collision with Rome than when, in earlier days, he held the pope a prisoner in his capital, decidedly approved of his son's course. It was a war of necessity, he said, in a letter to Juan Vazquez de Molina, and Philip would stand acquitted of the consequences before God and man.

"Pues no se puede hazer otra cosa, y el Rey se ha justificado en tantas maneras cumpliendo con Dios y el mundo, por escusar los daños que dello se seguiran, forzado sera usar del ultimo remedio." Carta del Emperador á Juan Vazquez de Molina, 8 de Agosto, 1557, MS.

[273] "Il nous a semblé mieulx de leur dire rondement, que combien vostre majesté soit tousjours esté dure et difficile à recepvoir persuasions pour se remarier, que toutesfois, aiant représenté à icelle le désir du roi très-chrestien et le bien que de ce mariage pourra succéder, et pour plus promptement consolider ceste union et paix, elle s'estoit résolue, pour monstrer sa bonne et syncère affection, d'y condescendre franchement." Granvelle, Papiers d'Etat, tom. V. p. 580.

[274] "El Conde la dijo, que aunque las negativas habían sido en cierto modo indirectas, él no habia querido apurarla hasta el punto de decir redondamente que no, por no dar motivo à indignaciones entre dos tan grandes Príncipes." Mem. de la Academia, tom. VII. p. 268.

[275] "Osservando egli l'usanza Francese nel baciar tutte l'altre Dame di Corte, nell'arriuar alla futura sua Reina, non solo intermise quella famigliare cerimonia, ma non uolle nè anche giamai coprirsi la testa, per istanza, che da lei ne gli fusse fatta; il che fu notato per nobilissimo, e degno atto di creäza Spagnuola." Campana, Filippo Secondo, parte II. lib. 11.

[276] The work of extermination was to cover more ground than Henry's capital or country, if we may take the word of the English commissioners, who, in a letter dated January, 1559, advised the queen, their mistress, that "there was an appoinctment made betwene the late pope, the French king, and the king of Spaine, for the joigning of their forces together for the suppression of religion, ... th'end whereof was to constraine the rest of christiendome, being Protestants, to receive the pope's authorité and his religione." (Forbes, State Papers, vol. I. p. 296.) Without direct evidence of such a secret understanding, intimations of it, derived from other sources, may be found in more than one passage of this history.

[277] Brantôme, who repays the favors he had received from Henry the Second by giving him a conspicuous place in his gallery of portraits, eulogizes his graceful bearing in the tourney and his admirable horsemanship.

"Mais sur tout ils l'admiroient fort en sa belle grace qu'il avoit en ses armes et à cheval; comme de vray, c'estoit le prince du monde qui avait la meilleure grace et la plus belle tenuë, et qui sçavoit aussi bien monstrer la vertu et bonté d'un cheval, et en cacher le vice." Œuvres tom. II. p. 353.

[278] Ibid, p. 351.—De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. III. p. 367.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 20.—Campagna Filippo Secondo, parte II. lib. 11.—Forbes, State Papers, vol. I. p. 151.

[279] The English commissioner, Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, bears testimony to the popularity of Henry.—"Their was marvailous great lamentation made for him, and weaping of all sorts, both men and women." Forbes, State Papers, vol. I. p. 151.

[280] This pleasing anticipation is not destined to be realised. Since the above was written, in the summer of 1851, the cloister life of Charles the Fifth, then a virgin topic, has become a thrice-told tale,—thanks to the labors of Mr. Stirling, M. Amédée Pichot, and M. Mignet; while the publication of the original documents from Simancas, by M. Gachard, will put it in the power of every scholar to verify their statements.—See the postscript at the end of this chapter.

[281] Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. p. 611.

[282] "Una sola silla de caderas, que mas era media silla, tan vieja y ruyn que si se pusiera en venta no dieran por ella quatro reales." Ibid., tom. II. p. 610.—See also El Perfecto Desengaño, por el Marqués de Valparayso, MS.

The latter writer, in speaking of the furniture, uses precisely the same language, with the exception of a single word, as Sandoval. Both claim to have mainly derived their account of the cloister life of Charles the Fifth from the prior of Yuste, Fray Martin de Angulo. The authority, doubtless, is of the highest value, as the prior, who witnessed the closing scenes of Charles's life, drew up his relation for the information of the Regent Joanna, and at her request. Why the good father should have presented his hero in such a poverty-stricken aspect, it is not easy to say. Perhaps he thought it would redound to the credit of the emperor, that he should have been willing to exchange the splendors of a throne for a life of monkish mortification.

[283] The reader will find an extract from the inventory of the royal jewels, plate, furniture, &c., in Stirling's Cloister Life of Charles the Fifth, (London, 1852,) Appendix, and in Pichot's Chronique de Charles-Quint, (Paris, 1854,) p. 537 et seq.

[284] Mignet has devoted a couple of pages to an account of this remarkable picture of which an engraving is still extant, executed under the eyes of Titian himself. Charles-Quint, pp. 214, 215.

[285] Vera y Figueroa, Vida y Hechos de Carlos V., p. 127.

A writer in Fraser's Magazine for April and May, 1851, has not omitted to notice this remarkable picture, in two elaborate articles on the cloister life of Charles the Fifth. They are evidently the fruit of a careful study of the best authorities, some of them not easy of access to the English student. The author has collected some curious particulars in respect to the persons who accompanied the emperor in his retirement; and on the whole, though he seems not to have been aware of the active interest which Charles took in public affairs, he has presented by far the most complete view of this interesting portion of the imperial biography that has yet been given to the world.

[I suffer this note to remain as originally written, before the publication of Mr. Stirling's "Cloister Life" had revealed him as the author of these spirited essays.]

[286] Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. p. 610.—Siguença, Historia de la Orden de San Geronimo, (Madrid, 1595-1605,) parte III. p. 190.—Ford, Handbook of Spain, (London, 1845,) p. 551.

Of the above authorities, Father Siguença has furnished the best account of the emperor's little domain as it was in his day, and Ford as it is in our own.

[287] See the eloquent conclusion of Stirling's Cloister Life of Charles the Fifth.

Ford, in his admirable Handbook, which may serve as a manual for the student of Spanish in his closet, quite as well as for the traveller in Spain, has devoted a few columns to a visit which he paid to this sequestered spot, where, as he says, the spirit of the mighty dead seemed to rule again in his last home. A few lines from the pages of the English tourist will bring the scene more vividly before the reader than the colder description in the text. "As the windows were thrown wide open to admit the cool thyme-scented breeze, the eye in the clear evening swept over the boundless valley; and the nightingales sang sweetly, in the neglected orange-garden, to the bright stars reflected like diamonds in the black tank below us. How often had Charles looked out, on a stilly eve, on this selfsame and unchanged scene, where he alone was now wanting!" Handbook of Spain, p. 553.

[288] Carta de Martin de Gaztelu al Secretario Vazquez, 5 de Febrero, 1557, MS.

[289] Their names and vocations are specified in the codicil executed by Charles a few days before his death. See the document entire, ap. Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. p. 662.

A more satisfactory list has been made out by the indefatigable Gachard from various documents which he collected, and which have furnished him with the means of correcting the orthography of Sandoval, miserably deficient in respect to Flemish names. See Retraite et Mort de Charles-Quint, tom. I. p. 1.

[290] "Las vistas de las pieças de su magestad no son muy largas, sino cortas, y las que se véen, o es una montaña de piedras grandes, ó unos montes de robles no muy altos. Campo llano no le ay, ni como podesse pasear, que sea por un camino estrecho y lleno de piedra. Rio yo no vi ninguno, sino un golpe de agua que baza de la montana: huerta en casa ay una pequeña y de pocos naranjos....... El aposento baxo no es nada alegre, sino muy triste, y como es tan baxo, creo será humido....... Esto es lo que me parece del aposento y sitio de la casa y grandissima soledad." Carta de Luis Quixada á Juan Vazquez, 30 de Noviembre, 1556, MS.

The major-domo concludes by requesting Vazquez not to show it to his mistress, Joanna, the regent, as he would not be thought to run counter to the wishes of the emperor in anything.

[291] "Plegue á Dios que los pueda sufrir, que no será poco, segun suelen ser todos muy importunos, y mas los que saben menos." Carta de Martin de Gaztelu, MS.

[292] "Llamando al Emperador paternidad, de que luego fué advertido de otro frayle que estava á su lado, y acudió con magestad." Ibid.

[293] "Emperador semper augusto de Alemania."

[294] His teeth seem to have been in hardly better condition than his fingers.—"Era amigo de cortarse el mismo lo que comia, aunque ni tenia buenas ni desembueltas las manos, ni los dientes." Siguença, Orden de San Geronimo, parte III. p. 192.

[295] De Thou, Hist. Universelle, tom. III. p. 293.

[296] "Quando comia, leya el confesor una leccion de San Augustin." El Perfecto Desengaño, MS.

[297] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 15.—Vera y Figueroa, Vida y Hechos de Carlos V., p. 123.—Siguença, Orden de San Geronimo, parte III. p. 195.

The last writer is minute in his notice of the imperial habits and occupations at Yuste. Siguença was prior of the Escorial; and in that palace-monastery of the Jeronymites he must have had the means of continually conversing with several of his brethren who had been with Charles in his retirement. His work, which appeared at the beginning of the following century, has become rare,—so rare that M. Gachard was obliged to content himself with a few manuscript extracts, from the difficulty of procuring the printed original. I was fortunate enough to obtain a copy, and a very fine one, through my booksellers, Messrs. Rich, Brothers, London,—worthy sons of a sire who for thirty years or more stood preëminent for sagacity and diligence among the collectors of rare and valuable books.

[298] "Mandò pregonar en los lugares comarcanos que so pena de cien açotes muger alguna no passasse de un humilladero que estasa como dos tiros de ballesta del Monasterio." Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. p. 612; and Sandoval's double, Valparayso, El Perfecto Desengaño, MS.

[299] "Si alguno se errava dezía consigo mismo: O hideputa bermejo, que aquel erro, ò otro nombre semejante." Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. p. 613.

I will not offend ears polite by rendering it in English into corresponding Billingsgate. It is but fair to state that the author of the Perfecto Desengaño puts no such irreverent expression into Charles's mouth. Both, however, profess to follow the MS. of the Prior Angulo.

[300] "Non aspernatur exercitationes campestres, in quem usum paratam habet tormentariam rhedam, ad essedi speciem, præcellenti arte, et miro studio proximis hisce mensibus a se constructam." Lettres sur la Vie Intérieure de l'Empereur Charles-Quint, écrites par Guillaume van Male, gentilhomme de sa chambre, et publiées, pour la première fois, par le Baron de Reiffenberg, (Bruxelles, 1843, 4to,) ep. 8.

[301] "Interdum ligneos passerculos emisit cubículo volantes revolantesque." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 15.

[302] Ford, Handbook of Spain, p. 552.

[303] "A nemine, ne a proceribus quidem quacumque ex causa se adiri, aut conveniri, nisi ægre admodum patiebatur." Sepulveda, Opera, tom. II. p. 541.

[304] "Le hizo mas preguntas que se pudieran hazer á la donzella Theodor, de que todo dió buena razon y de lo que vió yoy ó en Francia, provisiones de obispados, cargos de Italia, y de la infantería y caballeria, artilleria, gastadores, armas de mano y de otras cosas." Carta de Martin de Gaztelu á Juan Vazquez, 18 de Mayo, 1558, MS.

[305] "Retirose tanto de los negocios del Reyno y cosas de govierno, como si jamas uviera tenido parte en ellos." Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. p. 614.—See also Valparayso, (El Perfecto Desengaño, MS.,) who uses the same words, probably copying Angulo, unless, indeed, we suppose him to have stolen from Sandoval.

[306] "Ut neque aurum, quod ingenti copia per id tempus Hispana classis illi advexit ab India, neque strepitus bellorum, ... quidquam potuerint animum ilium flectere, tot retro annis assuetum armorum sono."—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 14.

[307] It is singular that Sepulveda, who visited Charles in his retreat, should have been the only historian, as far as I am aware, who recognized the truth of this fact, so perfectly established by the letters from Yuste.—"Summis enim rebus, ut de bello et pace se consuli, deque fratris, liberorum et sororum salute, et statu rerum certiorem fieri non recusabat." Opera, tom. II. p. 541.

[308] "Supplicando con toda humildad e instancia á su Magestad tenga por bien de esforzarse en esta coyuntura, socorréindome y ayudandome, no solo con su parecer y consejo que es el mayor caudal que puedo tener, pero con la presencia de su persona y autoridad, saliendo del monasterio, á la parte y lugar que mas comodo sea á su salud." Retiro, Estancia, etc., ap. Mignet, Charles-Quint, p. 256, note.

[309] "Siempre, en estas cosas, pregunta si no hay mas." Carta de Martin de Gaztelu á Juan Vazquez, 8 de Noviembre, 1556, MS.

[310] "Pues no se puede hazer otra cosa, y el Rey se ha justificado en tantas maneras cumpliendo con Dios y el mundo, por escusar los daños que dello se seguiran, forzado sera usar del ultimo remedio." Carta del Emperador á Vazquez, 8 de Agosto, 1557, MS.

[311] "Del Papa y de Caraffa se siente aquí que no haya llegado la nueva de que se han muerto." Carta de Martin de Gaztelu á Juan Vazquez, 8 de Noviembre, 1556, MS.

[312] "Sobre que su magestad dizo algunas cosas con mas colera de la que para su salud conviene." Carta de Martin de Gaztelu á Juan Vazquez, 10 de Enero, 1558, MS.

[313] See, in particular, Carta del Emperador á Su Alteza, 4 de Febrero, 1558. MS.

[314] "Su Magestad está con mucho cuidado por saber que camino ará tomado el Rey despues de acabada aquella empresa." Carta de Luis de Quixada á Juan Vazquez, 27 de Setiembre, 1557, MS.

[315] Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 11.

Whether Charles actually made the remark or not, it is clear from a letter in the Gonzalez collection that this was uppermost in his thoughts.—"Su Magestad tenia gran deseo de saber que partido tomaba el rey su hijo despues de la victoria, y que estaba impacientissimo formando cuentas de que ya deberia estar sobre Paris." Carta de Quixada, 10 de Setiembre, 1557, ap. Mignet, Charles-Quint, p. 279.

It is singular that this interesting letter is neither in M. Gachard's collection nor in that made for me from the same sources.

[316] Cartas del Emperador á Juan Vazquez, de Setiembre 27 y Octubre 31, 1557, MS.

[317] The Emperor intimates his wishes in regard to his grandson's succession in a letter addressed, at a later period, to Philip. (Carta del Emperador al Rey, 31 de Marzo, 1558, MS.) But a full account of the Portuguese mission is given by Cienfuegos, Vida de S. Francisco de Borja, (Barcelona, 1754,) p. 269. The person employed by Charles in this delicate business was no other than his friend Francisco Borja, the ex-duke of Gandia, who, like himself, had sought a retreat from the world in the shades of the cloister. The biographers who record the miracles and miraculous virtues of the sainted Jesuit, bestow several chapters on his visits to Yuste. His conversations with the emperor are reported with a minuteness that Boswell might have envied, and which may well provoke our scepticism, unless we suppose them to have been reported by Borja himself. One topic much discussed in them was the merits of the order which the emperor's friend had entered. It had not then risen to that eminence which, under its singular discipline, it subsequently reached; and Charles would fain have persuaded his visitor to abandon it for the Jeronymite society with which he was established. But Borja seems to have silenced, if not satisfied, his royal master, by arguments which prove that his acute mind already discerned the germ of future greatness in the institutions of the new order.—Ibid., pp. 273-279.—Ribadeneira, Vita Francisci Borgiæ, (Lat. trans., Antverpiæ, 1598,) p. 110 et seq.

[318] Carta del Emperador al Rey, 25 de Mayo, 1558, MS.

On the margin of this letter we find the following memoranda of Philip himself, showing how much importance he attached to his father's interposition in this matter. "Volvérselo a suplicar con gran instancia, pues quedamos in tales términos que, si me ayudan con dinero, los podríamos atraer à lo que conviniesse." "Besalle las manos por lo que en esto ha mandado y suplicalle lo lleve adelante y que de acá se hará lo mismo, y avisarle de lo que se han hecho hasta agora."

[319] Carta del Emperador á Juan Vazquez, 31 de Marzo, 1557, MS.

[320] Carta del Emperador á la Princesa, 31 de Marzo, 1557, MS.—The whole letter is singularly characteristic of Charles. Its authoritative tone shows that, though he had parted with the crown, he had not parted with the temper of a sovereign, and of an absolute sovereign too.

[321] "Es tal su indignacion y tan sangrientas las palabras y vehemencia con que manda escribir á v.m. que me disculpará sino lo hago con mas templança y modo." Carta de Martin de Gaztelu á Juan Vazquez, 12 de Mayo, 1557, MS.

[322] "His majesty was so well," writes Gaztelu, early in the summer of 1557, "that he could rise from his seat, and support his arquebuse, without aid." He could even do some mischief with his fowling-piece to the wood-pigeons. Carta de Gaztelu, á Vazquez, 5 de Junio, 1557, MS.

[323] "Porque desde tantos de noviembre hasta pocos dias hame ha dado [la gota] tres vezes y muy rezio, y me ha tenido muchos días en la cama, y hestado hasta de poco acá tan trabajado y flaco que en toda esta quaresma no he podido oyr un sermon, y esto es la causa porque no os escribo esta de mi mano." Carta del Emperador al Rey, 7 de Abril, 1558, MS.

[324] "Sintiólo cierto mucho, y se le arrasáron los ojos, y me dijo lo mucho que él y la de Francia se habian siempre querido, y por cuan buena cristiana la tenia, y que le llevaba quince meses de tiempo, y que, según él se iba sintiendo, de poco acá podria ser que dentro de ellos le hiciese compañía." Carta de Gaztelu á Vazquez, 21 de Febrero, 1558, ap. Gachard, Retraite et Mort, tom. I, p. 270.—See also Mignet, Charles-Quint, p. 339.

[325] "Y que para ello les deis y mandeis dar todo el favor y calor que fuere necenario y para que los que fueren culpados sean punidos y castigados con la demostracion y rigor que la cualidad de sus culpas mereceran y esto sin exception de persona alguna." Carta del Emperador á la Princesa, 3 de Mayo, 1558, MS.

[326] "No se si toviera sufrimiento para no salir de aqui arremediallo." Carta del Emperador á la Princesa, 25 de Mayo, 1568, MS.

[327] The history of this affair furnishes a good example of the crescit eundo. The author of the MS. discovered by M. Bakhuizen, noticed more fully in the next note, though present at the ceremony, contents himself with a general outline of it. Siguença, who follows next in time and in authority, tells us of the lighted candle which Charles delivered to the priest. Strada, who wrote a generation later, concludes the scene by leaving the emperor in a swoon upon the floor. Lastly, Robertson, after making the emperor perform in his shroud, lays him in his coffin, where, after joining in the prayers for the rest of his own soul, not yet departed, he is left by the monks to his meditations!—Where Robertson got all these particulars it would not be easy to tell; certainly not from the authorities cited at the bottom of his page.

[328] "Et j'assure que le cœur nous fendait de voir qu'un homme voulût en quelque sorte s'enterrer vivant, et faire ses obsèques avant de mourir." Gachard, Retraite et Mort, tom. I. p lvi.

M. Gachard has given a translation of the chapter relating to the funeral, from a curious MS. account of Charles's convent life, discovered by M. Bakhuizen in the archives at Brussels. As the author was one of the brotherhood who occupied the convent at the time of the emperor's residence there, the MS. is stamped with the highest authority; and M. Gachard will doubtless do a good service to letters by incorporating it in the second volume of his "Retraite et Mort."

[329] Siguença, Hist. de la Orden de San Geronimo, parte III. pp. 200, 201.

Siguença's work, which combines much curious learning with a simple elegance of style, was the fruit of many years of labor. The third volume, containing the part relating to the emperor, appeared in 1605, the year before the death of its author, who, as already noticed, must have had daily communication with several of the monks, when, after Charles's death, they had been transferred from Yuste to the gloomy shades of the Escorial.

[330] Such, for example, were Vera y Figueroa, Conde de la Roca, whose little volume appeared in 1613; Strada, who wrote some twenty years later; and the marquis of Valparayso, whose MS. is dated 1638. I say nothing of Sandoval, often quoted as authority for the funeral, for, as he tells us that the money which the emperor proposed to devote to a mock funeral was after all appropriated to his real one, it would seem to imply that the former never took place.

It were greatly to be wished that the MS. of Fray Martin de Angulo could be detected and brought to light. As prior of Yuste while Charles was there, his testimony would be invaluable. Both Sandoval and the marquis of Valparayso profess to have relied mainly on Angulo's authority. Yet in this very affair of the funeral they disagree.

[331] Siguença's composition may be characterized as simplex munditiis. The MS. of the monk of Yuste, found in Brussels, is stamped, says M. Gachard, with the character of simplicity and truth. Retraite et Mort, tom. I. p. xx.

[332] Mignet, Charles-Quint, p. 1.

[333] "Estuvo un poco contemplandole, devia de pedirle, que le previniesse lugar en el Alcazar glorioso que habitava." Vera y Figueroa, Carlos Quinto, p. 127.

[334] This famous picture, painted in the artist's best style, forms now one of the noblest ornaments of the Museo of Madrid. See Ford, Handbook of Spain, p. 758.

[335] For the above account of the beginning of Charles's illness, see Siguença, Orden de San Geronimo, parte III. p. 201; Vera y Figueroa, Carlos Quinto, p. 127; Valparayso, el Perfecto Desengaño, MS.

[336] Vera y Figueroa, Carlos Quinto, p. 127.—Siguença, Orden de San Geronimo, parte III. p. 201.—Carta de Luis Quixada al Rey, 17 de Setiembre, 1558, MS.

[337] The Regent Joanna, it seems, suspected, for some reason or other, that the boy in Quixada's care was in fact the emperor's son. A few weeks after her father's death she caused a letter to be addressed to the major-domo, asking him directly if this were the case, and intimating a desire to make a suitable provision for the youth. The wary functionary, who tells this in his private correspondence with Philip, endeavored to put the regent off the scent by stating that the lad was the son of a friend, and that, as no allusion had been made to him in the emperor's will, there could be no foundation for the rumor. "Ser ansy que yo tenya un muchacho de hun caballero amygo myo que me abia encomendado años a, y que pues S. M. en su testamento ni codecilyo, no azia memorya del, que hera razon tenello por burla." Carta de Luis Quixada al Rey, 28 de Noviembre, 1558, MS.

[338] Codicilo del Emperador, ap. Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. p. 657.

[339] "Si bien no sea necessario no os parece, que es buena compañía para jornada tan larga." Ibid., p. 617.

[340] Carta sobre los últimos momentos del Emperador Carlos V., escrita en Yuste, el 27 de Setiembre, 1558, ap. Documentos Inéditos, tom. VI. p. 668.

[341] Carta de Luis Quixada á Juan Vazquez, 25 de Setiembre, 1558, MS.—Carta del mismo al Rey, 30 de Setiembre, 1558, MS.—Carta del Arzobispo de Toledo á la Princesa, 21 de Setiembre, 1558, MS.

[342] "Tomo la candela en la mano derecha la qual yo tenya y con la yzquyerda tomo el crucifixo deziendo, ya es tiempo, y con dezir Jesus acabo." Carta de Luis Quixada á Juan Vazquez, 25 de Setiembre, 1558, MS.

For the accounts of this death-bed scene, see Carta del mismo al mismo, 21 de Setiembre, MS.—Carta del mismo al Rey, 21 de Setiembre, MS.—Carta del mismo al mismo, 30 de Setiembre, MS.—Carta del Arzobispo de Toledo á la Princesa, 21 de Setiembre, MS.—Carta del Medico del Emperador (Henrico Matisio) á Juan Vazquez, 21 de Setiembre, MS.—Carta sobre los ultimos momentos del Emperador, 27 de Setiembre, ap. Documentos Inéditos, vol. VI. p. 667.—Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. p. 618.

The MSS. referred to may now be all found in the printed collection of Gachard.

[343] "Temiendo siempre no lo poder tener en aquel tiempo." Carta de Luis Quixada al Rey, 30 de Setiembre, MS.

[344] Documentos Inéditos, tom. VI. p. 669.

[345] Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. p. 620.

[346] At least, such were the images suggested to my mind, as I wandered through the aisles of this fine old cathedral, on a visit which I made to Brussels a few years since,—in the summer of 1850. Perhaps the reader will excuse, as germaine to this matter, a short sketch relating to it, from one of my letters written on the spot to a distant friend:—

"Then the noble cathedral of Brussels, dedicated to one Saint Gudule,—the superb organ filling its long aisles with the most heart-thrilling tones, as the voices of the priests, dressed in their rich robes of purple and gold, rose in a chant that died away in the immense vaulted distance of the cathedral. It was the service of the dead, and the coffin of some wealthy burgher probably, to judge from its decorations, was in the choir. A number of persons were kneeling and saying their prayers in rapt attention, little heeding the Protestant strangers who were curiously gazing at the pictures and statues with which the edifice was filled. I was most struck with one poor woman, who was kneeling before the shrine of the saint, whose marble corpse, covered by a decent white gauze veil, lay just before her, separated only by a light railing. The setting sun was streaming in through the rich colored panes of the magnificent windows, that rose from the floor to the ceiling of the cathedral, some hundred feet in height. The glass was of the time of Charles the Fifth, and I soon recognized his familiar face,—the protruding jaw of the Austrian line. As I heard the glorious anthem rise up to heaven in this time-honored cathedral, which had witnessed generation after generation melt away, and which now displayed, in undying colors, the effigies of those who had once worshipped within its walls, I was swept back to a distant period, and felt I was a contemporary of the grand old times when Charles the Fifth held the chapters of the Golden Fleece in this very building."

[347] "De Rege vero Cæsare ajunt, qui ab eo veniunt, barbatum jam esse." Petri Martyris Opus Epistolarum, (Amstelodami, 1670, fol.,) ep. 734.

[348] In this outline of the character of Charles the Fifth, I have not hesitated to avail myself of the masterly touches which Ranke has given to the portrait of this monarch, in the introduction to that portion of his great work on the nations of Southern Europe which he has devoted to Spain.

[349] "Qualche fiate io son fermo in le cattive." Contarini, cited by Ranke, Ottoman and Spanish Empires, p. 29.

[350] See Bradford, Correspondence of the Emperor Charles the Fifth and his Ambassadors at the Courts of England and France, with a connecting Narrative and Biographical Notices of the Emperor, (London, 1850,) p. 367,—a work which contains some interesting particulars, little known, respecting Charles the Fifth.

[351] "Nel mangiare ha S. Maestà sempre eccesso...... La mattina svegliata ella pigliava una scodella di pesto cappone con latte, zucchero et spezierie, popoi il quale tornava a riposare. A mezzo giorno desinava molte varietà di vivande, et poco da poi vespro merendava, et all'hora di notte se n'andava alla cena mangiando cose tutte da generare humori grossi et viscosi." Badovaro, Notizie delli Stati et Corti di Carlo Quinto Imperatore et del Re Cattolico, MS.

[352] "Disse una volta al Maggior-domo Monfalconetto con sdegno, ch'aveva corrotto il giudicio a dare ordine a'cuochi, perche tutti i cibi erano insipidi, dal quale le fu risposto: Non so come dovere trovare pin modi da compiacere alla maestà V. se io non fo prova di farle una nuova vivanda di pottaggio di rogoli, il che la mosse a quel maggiore et più lungo riso che sia mai stato veduto in lei." Ibid.

[353] Briefe an Kaiser Karl V., geschrieben von seinem Beichtvater, (Berlin, 1848,) p. 159 et al.

These letters of Charles's confessor, which afford some curious particulars for the illustration of the early period of his history, are preserved in the archives of Simancas. The edition above referred to contains the original Castilian, accompanied by a German translation.

[354] "Si hallais," said the royal author with a degree of humility rarely found in brethren of the craft, "que alguna vanidad secreta puede mover la pluma (que siempre es prodigioso Panegerista en causa propria), la arrojaré de la mano al punto, para dar al viento lo que es del viento." Cienfuegos, Vida de Borja, p. 269.

[355] "Factus est anagnostes insatiabilis, audit legentem me singulis noctibus facta cœnula sua, mox librum repeti jubet, si forte ipsum torquet insomnia." Lettres sur la Vie Intérieure de Charles-Quint, écrites par G. Van Male, ep. 7.

[356] "Scripsi ... liberalissimas ejus occupationes in navigatione fluminis Rheni, dum ocii occasione invitatus, scriberet in navi peregrinationes et expeditiones quas ab anno XV. in præsentem usque diem, suscepisset." Ibid., ep. 5.

[357] "Statui novum quoddam scribendi temperatum effingere, mixtum ex Livio, Cæsare, Suetonio, et Tacito." Ibid.

[358] At the emperor's death, these Memoirs were in possession of Van Male, who afterwards used to complain, with tears in his eyes, that Quixada had taken them away from him. But he remembered enough of their contents, he said, to make out another life of his master, which he intended to do. (Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VI. p. 29.) Philip, thinking that Van Male might have carried his intention into execution, ordered Granvelle to hunt among his papers, after the poor gentleman's death, and if he found any such MS. to send it to him, that he might throw it into the fire! (Ibid., p. 273.) Philip, in his tenderness for his father's memory, may have thought that no man could be a hero to his own valet-de-chambre. On searching, however, no memoirs were found.

[359] "Bono jure, ait, fructus ille ad Gulielmum redeat, ut qui plurimum in opere illo sudarit." Ibid., ep. 6.

[360] "Ne in proemio quidem passus est ullam solertiæ suæ laudem adscribí." Ibid.

Van Male's Latin correspondence, from which this amusing incident is taken, was first published by the Baron Reiffenberg for the society of Bibliophiles Belgiques, at Brussels, in 1843. It contains some interesting notices of Charles the Fifth's personal habits during the five years preceding his abdication. Van Male accompanied his master into his retirement; and his name appears in the codicil, among those of the household who received pensions from the emperor. This doubtless stood him in more stead than his majesty's translation, which, although it passed through several editions in the course of the century, probably put little money into the pocket of the chamberlain, who died in less than two years after his master.

A limited edition only of Van Male's correspondence was printed, for the benefit of the members of the association. For the copy used by me, I am indebted to Mr. Van de Weyer, the accomplished Belgian minister at the English court, whose love of letters is shown not more by the library he has formed—one of the noblest private collections in Europe—than by the liberality with which he accords the use of it to the student.

[361] Paulo Giovio got so little in return for his honeyed words, that his eyes were opened to a new trait in the character of Charles, whom he afterwards stigmatized as parsimonious. See Sepulveda, De Rebus Gestis Caroli V., lib. XXX. p. 534.

[362] "Haud mihi gratum est legere vel audire quæ de me scribuntur; legent alii cum ipse a vita discessero; tu siquid ex me scire cupis, percunctare, nec enim respondere gravabor." Ibid., p. 533.

[363] Charles, however willing he might be to receive those strangers who brought him news from foreign parts, was not very tolerant, as the historian tells us, of visits of idle ceremony. Ibid., p. 541.

[364] Carta del Emperador al Secretario Vazquez, 9 de Julio, 1558, MS.

[365] "Si me hallara con fuerças y dispusicion de podello hacer tambien procurara de enforçarme en este caso á tomar cualquier trabajo para procurar por mi parte el remedio y castigo de lo sobre dicho sin embargo de los que por ello he padescido." Carta del Emperador á la Princesa, 3 de Mayo, 1558, MS.

[366] "Yo erré en no matar a Luthero, ... porque yo no era obligado á guardalle la palabra por ser la culpa del hereje contra otro mayor Señor, que era Dios." Sandoval, Hist. de Carlos V., tom. II. p. 613.

See also Vera y Figueroa, Carlos Quinto, p. 124.

[367] "Vocatur quoque synechdochice, per universam ferme Europam, Flandria, idque ob ejus Provinciæ potentiam atque splendorem: quamvis sint, qui contendant, vocabulum ipsum Flandria, à frequenti exterorum in ea quondam Provincia mercatorum commercio, derivatum, atque inde in omnes partes diffusum; alii rursus, quod hæc ipsa Flandria, strictius sumta, Gallis, Anglis, Hispanis, atque Italis sit vicinior, ideoque et notior simul et celebrior, totam Belgiam eo nomine indigitatam perhibent." Guicciardini, Belgicæ, sive Inferioris Germaniæ Descriptio, (Amstelodami, 1652,) p. 6.

[368] These provinces were the duchies of Brabant, Limburg, Luxembourg, and Gueldres; the counties of Artois, Hainault, Flanders, Namur, Zütphen, Holland, and Zealand; the margraviate of Antwerp; and the lordships of Friesland, Mechlin, Utrecht, Overyssel, and Groningen.

[369] Basnage, Annales des Provinces-Unies, avec la Description Historique de leur Gouvernement, (La Haye, 1719,) tom. I. p. 3.—Guicciardini, Belgicæ Descriptio, p. 81 et seq.

The Venetian minister Tiepolo warmly commends the loyalty of these people to their princes, not to be shaken so long as their constitutional privileges were respected. "Sempre si le sono mostrati quei Popoli molto affettionati, et amorevoli contentandosi de esser gravati senza che mai facesse alcun resentimento forte più de l'honesto. Ma così come in questa parte sempre hanno mostrato la sua prontezza così sono stati duri et difficili, che ponto le fossero sminuiti li loro privilegii et autorità, nè che ne iloro stati s'introducessero nuove leggi, et nuova ordini ad instantia massime, et perricordo di gente straniera." Relatione di M. A. Tiepolo, ritornato Ambasciatore dal Ser^mo Rè Cattolico, 1567, MS.

[370] Basnage, Annales des Provinces-Unies, tom. I. p. 8.

[371] Ibid., loc. cit.—Bentivoglio, Guerra di Fiandra, (Milano, 1806,) p. 9 et seq.—Ranke, Spanish Empire, p. 79.

The last writer, with his usual discernment, has selected the particular facts that illustrate most forcibly the domestic policy of the Netherlands under Charles the Fifth.

[372] "Urbes in ea sive mœnibus clausæ, sive clausis magnitudine propemodum pares, supra trecentas et quinquaginta censeantur; pagi verò majores ultra sex millia ac trecentos numerentur, ut nihil de minoribus vicis arcibusque loquar, quibus supra omnem numerum consitus est Belgicus ager." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 32.

[373] Guicciardini, Belgicæ Descriptio, p. 207 et seq.

The geographer gives us the population of several of the most considerable capitals in Europe in the middle of the sixteenth century. That of Paris, amounting to 300,000, seems to have much exceeded that of every other great city except Moscow.

[374] "Atque hinc adeo fit, ut isti opera sua ea dexteritate, facilitate, ordineque disponant, ut et parvuli, ac quadriennes modo aut quinquennes eorum filioli, victum illico sibi incipiant quærere." Guicciardini, Belgicæ Descriptio, p. 55.

[375] Relatione di M. Cavallo tornato Ambasciatore dal Imperatore, 1551, MS.

The ambassador does not hesitate to compare Antwerp, for the extent of its commerce, to his own proud city of Venice. "Anversa corrisponde di mercantia benissimo a Venetia, Lavania di studio a Padova, Gante per grandezza a Verona, Brussellis per il sito a Brescia."

[376] "Liquido enim constat, eorum, anno annum pensante, et carisæis aliisque panniculis ad integros pannos reductis, ducenta et amplius millia annuatim nobis distribui, quorum singuli minimum æstimentur vicenis quinis scutatis, ita ut in quinque et amplius milliones ratio tandem excrescat." Guicciardini, Belgicæ Descriptio, p. 244.

[377] "Quæ verò ignota marium litora, quásve desinentis mundi oras scrutata non est Belgarum nautica? Nimirum quantò illos natura intra fines terræ contractiores inclusit, tantò ampliores ipsi sibi aperuere oceani campos." Strada, De Bello Belgico, lib. I. p. 32.

[378] Schiller, Abfall der Niederlande, (Stuttgart, 1838,) p. 44.

[379] Ibid., ubi supra.

[380] Burgon, Life of Sir Thomas Gresham, (London, 1839,) vol. I. p. 72.

[381] "In quorum (Brabantinorum) Provinciam scimus transferre se solitas e vicinis locis parituras mulieres, ut Brabantinas immunitates filiis eo solo genitis acquierent, crederes ab agricolis eligi plantaría, in quibus enatæ arbusculæ, primoque illo terræ velut ab ubere lactentes, aliò dein secum auferant dotes hospitalis soli." Strada, De Bello Belgico, lib. II. p. 61.

[382] Histoire des Provinces-Unies des Païs-Bas, (La Haye, 1704,) tom. I. p. 88

[383] Guicciardini, Belgicæ Descriptio, p. 225 et seq.

[384] "Ut in multis terræ Provinciis, Hollandia nominatim atque Zelandia, viri omnium fere rerum suarum curam uxoribus sæpe relinquant." Ibid., p. 58.

[385] "Majori gentis parti nota Grammaticæ rudimenta, et vel ipsi etiam rustici legendi scribendique periti sunt." Ibid., p. 53.

Guicciardini, who states this remarkable fact, had ample opportunity for ascertaining the truth of it, since, though an Italian by birth, he resided in the Netherlands for forty years or more.

[386] Schiller, Abfall der Niederlande, p. 53.—Vandervynckt, Histoire des Troubles des Pays-Bas, (Bruxelles, 1822,) tom. II. p. 6.—Groen Van Prinsterer, Archives ou Correspondance Inédite de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, (Leide, 1841,) tom. I. p. 164*

[387] The whole number of "placards" issued by Charles the Fifth amounted to eleven. See the dates in Gachard, Correspondance de Philippe II. sur les Affaires des Pays-Bas, (Bruxelles, 1848,) tom. I. pp. 105, 106.

[388] "Le fer, la fosse, et le feu." Ibid., ubi supra.

[389] Meteren, Histoire des Pays-Bas, ou Recueil des Guerres et Choses memorables, depuis l'An 1315, jusques à l'An 1612, traduit de Flamend, (La Haye, 1618,) fol. 10.—Brandt, History of the Reformation in the Low Countries, translated from the Dutch, (London, 1720,) vol. I. p. 88.

[390] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 108.—Grotius, Annales et Historiæ de Rebus Belgicis, (Amstelædami, 1657,) p. 11.—Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 88.

[391] Viglius, afterwards president of the privy council, says plainly, in one of his letters to Granvelle, that the name of Spanish Inquisition was fastened on the Flemish, in order to make it odious to the people. "Queruntur autem imprimis, a nobis novam inductam inquisitionem, quam vocant Hispanicam. Quod falsò populo a quibusdam persuadetur, ut nomine ipso rem odiosam reddant, cùm nulla alia ab Cæsare sit instituta inquisitio, quam ea, quæ cum jure scripto scilicet Canonico, convenit, et usitata antea fuit in hac Provincia." Viglii Epistolæ Selectæ, ap. Hoynck, Analecta Belgica, (Hagæ Comitum, 1743,) tom. II. pars I. p. 349.

[392] Grotius swells the number to one hundred thousand! (Annales, p. 12.) It is all one; beyond a certain point of the incredible, one ceases to estimate probabilities.

[393] Histoire de l'Inquisition d'Espagne, (Paris, 1818,) tom. I. p. 280.

[394] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. pp. 123. 124.

[395] "Donde che l'Imperatore ha potuto cavare in 24 millioni d'oro in pochi anni." Relatione di Soriano, MS.

[396] "Questi sono li tesori del Re di Spagna, queste le minere, queste l'Indie che hanno sostenuto l'imprese dell'Imperatore tanti anni nelle guerre di Francia, d'Italia et d'Alemagna, et hanno conservato et diffeso li stati, la dignità et la riputatione sua." Ibid.

[397] "Et però in ogni luogo corrono tanto i denari et tanto il spacciamento d'ogni cosa che non vi è huomo per basso et inerte, che sia, che per il suo grado non sia ricco." Relatione di Cavallo, MS.

[398] See an extract from the original letter of Charles, dated Brussels, January 27 1555, ap. Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. cxxii.

[399] It is the fine expression of Schiller, applied to Philip on another occasion. Abfall der Niederlande, p. 61.

[400] "Il se cachait ordinairement dans le fond de son carosse, pour se dérober à la curiosité d'un peuple qui courait audevant de lui et s'empressait à le voir; le peuple se crut dédaigné et méprisé." Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 17.

Coaches were a novelty then in Flanders, and indeed did not make their appearance till some years later in London. Sir Thomas Gresham writes from Antwerp in 1560, "The Regent ys here still; and every other day rydes abowght this town in her cowche, brave come le sol, trymmed after the Itallione fasshone." Burgon, Life of Gresham, vol. I. p. 305.

[401] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. pp. 108, 126.—Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 10.—Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, tom. I. p. 107.

[402] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 94.

[403] Ibid., ubi supra.—Historia de los Alborotos de Flandes, por el Caballero Renom de Francia, Señor de Noyelles, y Presidente de Malinas, MS.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 31.

[404] See, in particular, the king's letter, in which he proposes to turn to his own account the sinking fund provided by the states for the discharge of the debt they had already contracted for him, Papiers d'Etat, de Granvelle, tom. V. p. 594.

[405] "Il Duca di Sessa et il Conte d'Egmont hano acquistato il nome di Capitano nuovamente perche una giornata vinta o per vertu o per fortuna, una sola fattione ben riuscita, porta all'huomini riputatione et grandezza." Relatione di Soriano, MS.

[406] Strada, De Bello Belgico, lib. I. p. 42.—Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.—Bentivoglio, Guerra di Fiandra, p. 25.

[407] Strada, De Bello Belgico, lib. I. p. 52.

[408] "Sed etiam habitus quidam corporis incessusque, quo non tam femina sortita viri spiritus, quàm vir ementitus veste feminam videretur." Ibid., ubi supra.

[409] "Nec deerat aliqua mento superiorique labello barbula: ex qua virilis ei non magis species, quàm auctoritas conciliabatur. Immò, quod rarò in mulieres, nec nisi in prævalidas cadit, podagrâ idemtidem laborabat." Ibid., p. 53.

[410] "Ob eam causam singulis annis, tum in sanctiori hebdomada, duodenis pauperibus puellis pedes (quos a sordibus purgatos antè vetuerat) abluebat." Ibid., ubi supra.

[411] Ibid., pp. 46-53, 543.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap. 2.—Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 13.

[412] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 21.

[413] Bentivoglio, Guerra di Fiandra, p. 27 et seq.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap. 2.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, lib. I. p. 57.—Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bays, tom. II. p. 22.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 24.—Schiller, Abfall der Niederlande, p. 84.

[414] "Je confesse que je fus tellement esmeu de pitié et de compassion que dès lors j'entrepris à bon escient d'ayder à faire chasser cette vermine d'Espaignols hors de ce Pays." Apology of the Prince of Orange, ap. Dumont, Corps Diplomatique, tom. V. p. 392.

[415] "Que le Roi et son Conseil avoyent arresté que tous ceux qui avoient consenti et signé la Requeste, par laquelle on demandoit que la Gendarmerie Espaignolle s'en allast, qu'on auroit souvenance de les chastier avec le temps, et quand la commodité s'en presenteroit, et qu'il les en advertissoit comme amy." Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 25.

[416] "Che egli voleva piuttosto restar senza regni, che possedergli con l'eresia." Bentivoglio, Guerra di Fiandra, p. 31.

[417] Ranke, Spanish Empire, p. 81.—Schiller, Abfall der Niederlande, p. 85.—Bentivoglio, Guerra di Fiandra, p. 27.—- Strada, De Bello Belgico, p. 57.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 25.

[418] The existence of such a confidential body proved a fruitful source of disaster. The names of the parties who composed it are not given in the instructions to the regent, which leave all to her discretion. According to Strada, however, the royal will in the matter was plainly intimated by Philip. (De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 57.) Copies of the regent's commission, as well as of two documents, the one indorsed as "private," the other as "secret" instructions, and all three bearing the date of August 8, 1559, are to be found entire in the Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II., Appendix, Nos. 2-4.

[419] "Ma non dal tanto alcuno dell'altri nè tutt'insieme quanto Mons^r. d'Aras solo, il quale per il gran giudicio che ha et per la longa prattica del governo del mondo et nel tentar l'imprese grandi più accorto et più animoso di tutti più destro et più sicuro nel maneggiarle et nel finirle più constante et più risoluto." Relatione di Soriano, MS.

[420] "Mio figliuolo et io e voi habbiamo perso un buon letto di riposo,"—literally a good bed to repose on. Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 195.

[421] principal motive of Philip the Second in founding this university, according to Hopper, was to give Flemings the means of getting a knowledge of the French language without going abroad into foreign countries for it. Recueil et Mémorial des Troubles des Pays-Bas, cap. 2, ap. Hoynck, Analecta Belgica, tom. II.

[422] "On remarque de lui ce qu'on avoit remarqué de César, et même d'une façon plus singulière, c'est qu'il occupoit cinq secrétaires à la fois, en leur dictant des lettres en différentes langues." Levesque, Mémoires pour servir à l'Histoire du Cardinal de Granvelle, (Paris, 1753,) tom. I. p. 215.

[423] "Di modo che ogni sera sopra un foglio di carta che lor chiamono beliero esso Granvela, manda all'Imperatore il suo parere del quale sopra li negotii del seguente giorno sua maestà ha da fare." Relatione di Soriano, MS.

[424] "Havendo prima luí senza risolvere cosa alcuna mandata ogn'informatione et ogni particolare negotiatíone con gli Ambasciatori et altri ad esso Monsignore, di modo che et io et tutti gl'altri Ambasciatori si sono avveduti essendo rimesse a Monsignor Granvela che sua Eccellenza ha inteso ogni particolare et quasi ogni parola passata fra l'Imperatore et loro." Ibid.

[425] A striking example of the manner in which Granvelle conveyed his own views to the king is shown by a letter to Philip dated Brussels, July 17, 1559, in which the minister suggests the arguments that might be used to the authorities of Brabant for enforcing the edicts. The letter shows, too, that Granvelle, if possessed naturally of a more tolerant spirit than Philip, could accommodate himself so far to the opposite temper of his master as to furnish him with some very plausible grounds for persecution. Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. V. p. 614.

[426] Levesque, Mémoires de Granvelle, tom. I. p. 207 et seq.—Courchetet, Histoire du Cardinal de Granvelle, (Bruxelles, 1784,) tom. I. passim.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, p. 85.—Burgon, Life of Gresham, vol. I. p. 267.

The author of the Mémoires de Granvelle was a member of a Benedictine convent in Besançon, which, by a singular chance, became possessed of the manuscripts of Cardinal Granvelle, more than a century after his death. The good Father Levesque made but a very indifferent use of the rich store of materials placed at his disposal, by digesting them into two duodecimo volumes, in which the little that is of value seems to have been pilfered from the unpublished MS. of a previous biographer of the Cardinal. The work of the Benedictine, however, has the merit of authenticity. I shall take occasion, hereafter, to give a more particular account of the Granvelle collection.

[427] "En considération des bons, léaux, notables et agréables services faits par lui, pendant plusieurs années, à feu l'Empereur, et depuis au Roi." Correspondance de Philippe II, tom. I. p. 184.

[428] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 69 et seq.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, p. 40.—Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, cap. 2.—Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

[429] The royal larder seems to have been well supplied in the article of poultry, to judge from one item, mentioned by Meteren, of fifteen thousand capons. Hist. des Pays-Bas, tom. I. fol. 25.

[430] "Le Roi le prenant par le poignet, et le lui secoüant, repliqua en Espagnol, No los Estados, mas vos, vos, vos, repetant ce vos par trois fois, terme de mépris chez les Espagnols, qui veut dire toy, toy en François." Aubéri, Mémoires pour servir à l'Histoire d'Hollande et des autres Provinces-Unies, (Paris, 1711,) p. 7.

[431] One might wish the authority for this anecdote better than it is, considering that it is contradicted by the whole tenor of Philip's life, in which self-command was a predominant trait. The story was originally derived from Aubéri (loc. cit.). The chronicler had it, as he tells us, from his father, to whom it was told by an intimate friend of the prince of Orange, who was present at the scene. Aubéri, though a dull writer, was, according to Voltaire's admission, well informed,—"écrivain médiocre, mais fort instruit."

[432] "Carlo V. haueua saccheggiato la Terra, per arrichirne il Mare." Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 335.

[433] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap. 3.—Sepulveda, De Rebus Gestis Philippi II., Opera, tom. III. p. 53.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 335.

[434] The editors of the "Documentos Inéditos para la Historia de España," in a very elaborate notice of the prosecution of Archbishop Carranza, represent the literary intercourse between the German and Spanish Protestants as even more extensive than it is stated to be in the text. According to them, a regular dépôt was established at Medina del Campo and Seville, for the sale of the forbidden books at very low rates. "De las imprentas de Alemania se despachaban á Flandes, y desde alli á España, al principio por los puertos de mar, y después cuando ya hubo mas vigilancia de parte del gobierno, los enviaban á Leon de Francia desde donde se introducían en la península por Navarra y Aragon. Un tal Vilman librero de Amberes tenia tienda en Medina del Campo y en Sevilla donde vendia las obras de los protestantes en español y latin. Estos libros de Francfort se daban á buen mercado para que circulasen con mayor facilidad." Documentos Inéditos, tom. V. p. 399.

[435] For the preceding pages see Llorente, Histoire de l'Inquisition d'Espagne, tom. II p. 282; tom. III. pp. 191, 258.—Montanus, Discovery and playne Declaration of sundry subtill Practises of the Holy Inquisition of Spayne, (London, 1569,) p. 73.—Sepulveda, Opera, tom. III. p. 54.

[436] Llorente, Hist, de l'Inquisition d'Espagne, tom. I. pp. 470, 471; tom. II. pp. 183, 184, 215-217.

[437] McCrie, History of the Reformation in Spain, (Edinburgh, 1829,) p. 243.—Relacion del Auto que se hiço en Valladolid el dia de la Sanctissima Trinidad, Año de 1559, MS.

[438] The reader curious in the matter will find a more particular account of the origin and organization of the modern Inquisition in the "History of Ferdinand and Isabella," part I. cap. 9.

[439] See the Register of such as were burned at Seville and Valladolid, in 1559, ap. Montanus, Discovery of sundry subtill Practises of the Inquisition.—Relacion del Auto que se hiço en Valladolid el dia de la Sanctissima Trinidad, 1559, MS.—Sepulveda, Opera, tom. III. p. 58.

[440] McCrie, Reformation in Spain, p. 274.

[441] De Castro, Historia de los Protestantes Españoles, (Cadiz, 1851,) p. 177.

[442] "Nous recommandons de le traiter avec bonté et miséricorde." Llorente, Inquisition d'Espagne, tom. II. p. 253.

[443] Colmenares, Historia de Segovia, cap. XLII. sec. 3.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap 3.

[444] Llorente, Inquisition d'Espagne, tom. II. p. 236.

[445] The anecdote is well attested. (Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap. 3.) Father Agustin Davila notices what he styles this sentencia famosa in his funeral discourse on Philip, delivered at Valladolid soon after that monarch's death. (Sermones Funerales, en las Honras del Rey Don Felipe II., fol. 77.) Colmenares still more emphatically eulogizes the words thus uttered in the cause of the true faith, as worthy of such a prince. "El primer sentenciado al fuego en este Auto fué Don Carlos de Seso de sangre noble, que osó dezir al Rey, como consentia que le quemasen, y severo respondio, Yo trahere la leña para quemar á mi hijo, si fuere tan malo como vos. Accion y palabras dignas de tal Rey en causa de la suprema religion." Historia de Segovia, cap. XLII. sec. 3.

[446] Llorente, Inquisition d'Espagne, tom. II. p. 237.

[447] Montanus, Discovery of sundry subtill Practises of the Inquisition, p. 52.—Llorente, Inquisition d'Espagne, tom. II. p. 239.—Sepulveda, Opera, tom. III. p. 58.

[448] Puigblanch, The Inquisition Unmasked, (London, 1816,) vol. I. p. 336.

[449] "Hallóse por esto presente a ver llevar i entregar al fuego muchos delinquentes aconpañados de sus guardas de a pie i de a cavallo, que ayudaron a la execucion." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap. 3.

It may be doubted whether the historian means anything more than that Philip saw the unfortunate man led to execution, at which his own guards assisted. Dávila, the friar who, as I have noticed, pronounced a funeral oration on the king, speaks of him simply as having assisted at this act of faith,—"Assistir a los actos de Fe, como se vio en esta Ciudad." (Sermones Funerales, fol. 77.) Could the worthy father have ventured to give Philip credit for being present at the death, he would not have failed to do so. Leti, less scrupulous, tells us that Philip saw the execution from the windows of his palace, heard the cries of the dying martyrs, and enjoyed the spectacle! The picture he gives of the scene loses nothing for want of coloring. Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 342.

[450] How little sympathy, may be inferred from the savage satisfaction with which a wise and temperate historian at the time dismisses to everlasting punishment one of the martyrs at the first auto at Valladolid. "Jureque vivus flammis corpore cruciatus miserrimam animam efflavit ad supplicia sempiterna." Sepulveda, Opera, tom. III. p. 58.

[451] Balmes, one of the most successful champions of the Romish faith in our time, finds in the terrible apathy thus shown to the sufferings of the martyrs a proof of a more vital religious sentiment than exists at the present day! "We feel our hair grow stiff on our heads at the mere idea of burning a man alive. Placed in society where the religious sentiment is considerably diminished; accustomed to live among men who have a different religion, and sometimes none at all; we cannot bring ourselves to believe that it could be, at that time, quite an ordinary thing to see heretics or the impious led to punishment." Protestantism and Catholicity compared in their Effects on the Civilization of Europe, Eng. trans., (Baltimore, 1851,) p. 217.

According to this view of the matter, the more religion there is among men, the harder will be their hearts.

[452] The zeal of the king and the Inquisition together in the work of persecution had wellnigh got the nation into more than one difficulty with foreign countries. Mann, the English minister, was obliged to remonstrate against the manner in which the independence of his own household was violated by the agents of the Holy Office. The complaints of St. Sulpice, the French ambassador, notwithstanding the gravity of the subject, are told in a vein of caustic humor that may provoke a smile in the reader: "I have complained to the king of the manner in which the Marseillese, and other Frenchmen, are maltreated by the Inquisition. He excused himself by saying that he had little power or authority in matters which depended on that body; he could do nothing further than recommend the grand-inquisitor to cause good and speedy justice to be done to the parties. The grand-inquisitor promised that they should be treated no worse than born Castilians, and the 'good and speedy justice'came to this, that they were burnt alive in the king's presence." Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 111.

[453] The archbishop of Toledo, according to Lucio Marineo Siculo, who wrote a few years before this period, had jurisdiction over more than fifteen large towns, besides smaller places, which of course made the number of his vassals enormous. His revenues also, amounting to eighty thousand ducats, exceeded those of any grandee in the kingdom. The yearly revenues of the subordinate beneficiaries of his church were together not less than a hundred and eighty thousand ducats. Cosas Memorables de España, (Alcalá de Henares, 1539,) fol. 13.

[454] Salazar, Vida de Carranza, (Madrid, 1788,) cap. 1-11.—Documentos Inéditos, tom. V. p. 389 et seq.—Llorente, Inquisition d'Espagne, tom. II. p. 163; tom. III. p. 183 et seq.

[455] "En que se quemaron mas de 400 casas principales, y ricas, y algunas en aquel barrio donde él estaba; no solo no lo entendió el Arzobispo, pero ni lo supo hasta muchos años despues de estár en Roma." Salazar, Vida de Carranza cap. 15.

[456] Salazar, Vida de Carranza, cap. 12-35.—Documentos Inéditos, tom. V. pp. 453-463.—Llorente, Inquisition d'Espagne, tom. III. p. 218 et seq.

[457] The persecution of Carranza has occupied the pens of several Castilian writers. The most ample biographical notice of him is by the Doctor Salazar de Miranda, who derived his careful and trustworthy narrative from the best original sources. Llorente had the advantage of access to the voluminous records of the Holy Office, of which he was the secretary; and in his third volume he has devoted a large space to the process of Carranza which, with the whole mass of legal documents growing out of the protracted prosecution, amounted, as he assures us, to no less than twenty-six thousand leaves of manuscript. This enormous mass of testimony leads one to suspect that the object of the Inquisition was not so much to detect the truth as to cover it up. The learned editors of the "Documentos Inéditos" have profited by both these works, as well as by some unpublished manuscripts of that day, relating to the affair, to exhibit it fully and fairly to the Castilian reader, who in this brief history may learn the value of the institutions under which his fathers lived.

[458] So says McCrie, whose volume on the Reformation in Spain presents in a reasonable compass a very accurate view of that interesting movement. The historian does not appear to have had access to any rare or recondite materials; but he has profited well by those at his command, comprehending the best published works, and has digested them into a narrative distinguished for its temperance and truth.

[459] A full account of this duke of Infantado is to be found in the extremely rare work of Nuñez de Castro, Historia Ecclesiastica y Seglar de Guadalajara, (Madrid, 1653,) p. 180 et seq. Oviedo, in his curious volumes on the Castilian aristocracy, which he brings down to 1556, speaks of the dukes of Infantado as having a body-guard of two hundred men, and of being able to muster a force of thirty thousand! Quincuagenas, MS.

[460] "Avia gualdrapas de dos mil ducados de costa sin conputar valor de piedras." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap. 7.

[461] "Elle répondit d'un air riant, et avec des termes pleins tout ensemble de douceur et de majesté." De Thou, tom. III. p. 426.

[462] We have a minute account of this interview from the pens of two of Isabella's train, who accompanied her to Castile, and whose letters to the cardinal of Lorraine are to be found in the valuable collection of historical documents, the publication of which was begun under the auspices of Louis Philippe. Documents Inédits sur l'Histoire de France, Négociations etc. relatives au Règne de François II., p. 171 et seq.

[463] Lucio Marineo, in his curious farrago of notable matters, speaks of the sumptuous residence of the dukes of Infantado in Guadalajara. "Los muy magníficos y sumpticosos palacios que alli estan de los muy illustres duques de la casa muy antigua de los Mendoças." Cosas Memorables, fol. 13.

[464] "J'ay ouy conter à une de ses dames que la premiere fois qu'elle vist son mary, elle se mit à le contempler si fixement, que le Roy, ne le trouvant pas bon, luy demanda: Que mirais, si tengo canas? c'est-à-dire, 'Que regardez-vous, si j'ai les cheveux blancs?'Ces mots luy toucherent si fort au cœur que depuis on augura mal pour elle." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. V. p. 131.

[465] In this statement I conform to Sismondi's account. In the present instance, however, there is even more uncertainty than is usual in regard to a lady's age. According to Cabrera, Isabella was eighteen at the time of her marriage; while De Thou makes her only eleven when the terms of the alliance were arranged by the commissioners at Cateau-Cambresis. These are the extremes, but within them there is no agreement amongst the authorities I have consulted.

[466] "Elizabeth de France, et vraye fille de France, en tout belle, sage, vertueuse, spirituelle et bonne, s'il en fust oncques." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. V. p. 126.

[467] "Son visage estoit beau, et ses cheveux et yeux noirs, qui adombroient son teint...... Sa taille estoit tres belle, et plus grande que toutes ses sœurs, qui la rendoit fort admirable en Espagne, d'autant que les tailles hautes y sont rares, et pour ce fort estimables." Ibid., p. 128.

[468] "Les seigneurs ne l'osoient regarder de peur d'en estre espris, et en causer jalousie au roy son mary, et par consequent eux courir fortune de la vie." Ibid., p. 128.

[469] "La regina istessa parue non so come sorpressa da vn sentimento di malinconica passione, nel vedersi abbracciare da vn rè di 33 anni, di garbo ordinario alla presenza d'vn giouine prencipe molto ben fatto, e che prima dell'altro l'era stato promesso in sposo." Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 345.

[470] Brantôme, who was certainly one of those who believed in the jealousy of Philip, if not in the passion of Isabella, states the circumstance of the king's supplanting his son in a manner sufficiently naïve. "Mais le roy d'Espagne son pere, venant à estre veuf par le trespas de la reyne d'Angleterre sa femme et sa cousine germaine, ayant veu le pourtraict de madame Elizabeth, et la trouvant fort belle et fort à son gré, en coupa l'herbe soubs le pied à son fils, et la prit pour luy, commençant cette charité à soy mesme." Œuvres, tom. V. p. 127.

[471] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap. 6.—Florez, Reynas Catolicas, p. 897.

"A la despedida presentó el Duque del Ynfantado al Rey, Reyna, Damas, Dueñas de honor, y á las de la Cámara ricas joyas de oro y plata, telas, guantes, y otras preseas tan ricas, por la prolixidad del arte, como por lo precioso de la materia." De Castro, Hist. de Guadalajara, p. 116.

[472] "Danças de hermosisimas donzellas de la Sagra, i las de espadas antigua invencion de Españoles." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap. 6.

[473] "Por la mucha hermosura que avia en las damas de la ciudad i Corte, el adorno de los miradores i calles, las libreas costosas i varias i muchas, que todo hazia un florido campo o lienço de Flandres." Ibid., ubi supra.

[474] The royal nuptials were commemorated in a Latin poem, in two books, "De Pace et Nuptiis Philippi et Isabellæ." It was the work of Fernando Ruiz de Villegas, an eminent scholar of that day, whose writings did not make their appearance in print till nearly two centuries later,—and then not in his own land, but in Italy. In this epithalamium, if it may be so called, the poet represents Juno as invoking Jupiter to interfere in behalf of the French monarchy, that it may not be crushed by the arms of Spain. Venus, under the form of the duke of Alva,—as effectual a disguise as could be imagined,—takes her seat in the royal council, and implores Philip to admit France to terms, and to accept the hand of Isabella as the pledge of peace between the nations. Philip graciously relents; peace is proclaimed; the marriage between the parties is solemnized, with the proper Christian rites; and Venus appears, in her own proper shape, to bless the nuptials! One might have feared that this jumble of Christian rites and heathen mythology would have scandalized the Holy Office, and exposed its ingenious author to the honors of a san benito. But the poet wore his laurels unscathed, and, for aught I know to the contrary, died quietly in his bed. See Opera Ferdinandi Ruizii Villegatis, (Venetiis, 1736,) pp. 30-70.

[475] The sovereign remedy, according to the curious Brantôme, was new-laid eggs. It is a pity the prescription should be lost. "On luy secourust son visage si bien par des sueurs d'œufs frais, chose fort propre pour cela, qu'il n'y parut rien; dont j'en vis la Reyne sa mere fort curieuse à luy envoyer par force couriers beaucoup de remedes, mais celui de la sueur d'œuf en estoit le souverain." Œuvres, tom. V. p. 129.

[476] "Aussi l'appelloit-on la Reyna de la paz y de la bondad, c'est-à-dire la Reyne de la paix et de la bonté; et nos François l'appelloient l'olive de paix." Ibid., ubi supra.

[477] "Et bien heureux et heureuse estoit celuy ou celle qui pouvoit le soir dire 'J'ay veu la Reyne.'" Ibid., ubi supra.

[478] The difficulty began so soon as Isabella had crossed the borders. The countess of Ureña, sister of the duke of Albuquerque, one of the train of the duke of Infantado, claimed precedence of the countess of Rieux and Mademoiselle de Montpensier, kinswomen of the queen. The latter would have averted the discussion by giving the Castilian dame a seat in her carriage; but the haughty countess chose to take the affair into her own hands; and her servants came into collision with those of the French ladies, as they endeavored to secure a place for their mistress's litter near the queen. Isabella, with all her desire to accommodate matters, had the spirit to decide in favor of her own followers, and the aspiring lady was compelled—with an ill grace—to give way to the blood royal of France. It was easier, as Isabella, or rather as her husband, afterwards found, to settle disputes between rival states than between the rival beauties of a court. The affair is told by Lansac, Négociations relatives au Règne de François II., p. 171.

[479] "Elle ne porta jamais une robe deux fois, et puis la donnoit à ses femmes et ses filles: et Dieu sçait quelles robbes, si riches et si superbes, que la moindre estoit de trois ou quatre cens escus; car le Roy son mary l'entretenoit fort superbement de ces choses là." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. V. p. 140.

[480] The MS., which is in Italian, is in the Royal Library at Paris. See the extracts from it in Raumer's Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 104 et seq.

[481] "Don Felipe Segundo nuestro señor, el cual con muy suntuosas, y exquisitas fábricas dignas de tan grande Principe, de nuevo le ilustra, de manera que es, consideradas todas sus calidades, la mas rara casa que ningun Principe tiene en el mundo, á dicho de los estrangeros." Juan Lopez, ap. Quintana, Antiguëdad, Nobleza y Grandeza de la Villa y Corte de Madrid, p. 331.

[482] Ibid., ubi supra.—Sylva, Poblacion de España, (Madrid, 1675,) cap. 4.—Estrada, Poblacion de España, (Madrid, 1748,) tom. I. p. 123.

[483] I quote the words of a work now become very scarce. "De dos mil y quinientas y veinte casas que tenia Madrid quando su Magestad traxo desde Toledo á ella la Corte, en las quales quando mucho avria de doce mil a catorce mil personas,.... avia el año de mil y quinientos y noventa y ocho, repartidas en trece Parroquias doce mil casas, y en ellas trescientas mil personas y mas." Quintana, Antiguëdad de Madrid, p. 331.

[484] "No hay sino un Madrid."

[485] "Donde Madrid está, calle el mundo."

[486] "No se conoce cielo mas benevolo, mas apacible clima, influso mas favorable, con que sobresalen hermosos rostros, disposiciones gallardas, lucidos ingenios, coraçones valientes, y generosos animos." Sylva, Poblacion de España, cap 4.

[487]

"El aire de Madrid es tan sotil
Que mata a un hombre, y no apaga a un candil."

[488] Lucio Marineo gives a very different view of the environs of Madrid in Ferdinand and Isabella's time. The picture, by the hand of a contemporary, affords so striking a contrast to the present time that it is worth quoting. "Corren por ella los ayres muy delgados: por los quales siēpre bive la gēte muy sana. Tiene mas este lugar grādes términos y campos muy fertiles: los quales llamā lomos de Madrid. Por que cojen en ellos mucho pan y vino, y otras cosas necessarias y mātenimientos muy sanos." Cosas Memorables de España, fol. 13.

[489] Such at least is Ford's opinion. (See the Handbook of Spain, p. 720 et seq.) His clever and caustic remarks on the climate of Madrid will disenchant the traveller whose notions of the capital have been derived only from the reports of the natives.

[490] "Solo Madrid es corte."

Ford, who has certainly not ministered to the vanity of the Madrileño, has strung together these various proverbs with good effect.

[491] Balmes, Protestantism and Catholicity compared, p. 215.

[492] "Il y avoit bien 30. ans que ceux de Brusselles avoyent commencé, et avoyent percé des collines, des champs et chemins, desquels ils avoient achapté les fonds des proprietaires, on y avoit faict 40. grandes escluses..... et cousta dix huits cent mille florins." Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, tom. I. fol. 26.

[493] "Je vois une grande jeunesse en ces pays, avec les mœurs desquelz ne me sçaurois ny ne voudrois accommoder; la fidélité du monde et respect envers Dieu et son prince si corrompuz,..... que ne désirerois pas seullement de les pas gouverner,.... mais aussy me fasche de le veoir, congnoistre et de vivre.... entre telles gens." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. IV. p. 476.

[494] Gerlache, Histoire du Royaume des Pays-Bas, (Bruxelles, 1842,) tom. I. p. 71.

[495] "Es menester ver como la nobleza se ha desde mucho tiempo desmandada y empeñada por usura y gastos superfluos, gastando casi mas que doble de lo que tenían en edificios, muebles, festines, danzas, mascaradas, fuegos de dados, naipes, vestidos, libreas, seguimiento de criados y generalmente en todas suertes de deleytes, luxuria, y superfluidad, lo que se avia comenzado antes de la yda de su magestad á España. Y desde entonces uvo un descontento casi general en el país y esperanza de esta gente asi alborotada de veer en poco tiempo una mudanza." Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

[496] Apologie de Guillaume IX. Prince d'Orange contre la Proscription de Philippe II. Roi d'Espagne, presentée aux Etats Généraux des Pays-Bas, le 13 Decembre, 1580, ap. Dumont, Corps Diplomatique, tom. V. p. 384.

[497] M. Groen Van Prinsterer has taken some pains to explain the conduct of William's parents, on the ground, chiefly, that they had reason to think their son, after all, might he allowed to worship according to the way in which he had been educated (p. 195). But whatever concessions to the Protestants may have been wrung from Charles by considerations of public policy, we suspect few who have studied his character will believe that he would ever have consented to allow one of his own household, one to whom he stood in the relation of a guardian, to be nurtured in the faith of heretics.

[498] See particularly Margaret's letter to the king, of March 13, 1560, Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 260 et seq.

[499] M. Groen Van Prinsterer has industriously collated the correspondence of the several parties, which must be allowed to form an edifying chapter in the annals of matrimonial diplomacy. See Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 202.

[500] Mémoires de Granvelle, tom. I. p. 251.

[501] Raumer, Hist. Tasch., p. 109, ap. Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 115.

[502] Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 284.

[503] It may give some idea of the scale of William's domestic establishment to state, that, on reducing it to a more economical standard, twenty-eight head-cooks were dismissed. (Van der Haer, De Initiis Tumult., p. 182, ap. Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 200*.) The same contemporary tells us that there were few princes in Germany who had not one cook, at least, that had served an apprenticeship in William's kitchen,—the best school in that day for the noble science of gastronomy.

[504] "Audivi rem domesticam sic splendide habuisse ut ad ordinarium domus ministerium haberet 24 Nobiles, pueros vero Nobiles (Pagios nominamus) 18." Ibid., ubi supra.

[505] "Rei domesticæ splendor, famulorumque et asseclarum multitudo magnis Principibus par. Nec ulla toto Belgio sedes hospitalior, ad quam frequentiùs peregrini Proceres Legatique diverterent, exciperenturque magnificentiùs, quàm Orangii domus." Strada, De Bello Belgico, p. 99.

[506] "Le prince d'Orange, qui tient un grand état de maison, et mène à sa suite des comtes, des barons et beaucoup d'autres gentilshommes d'Allemagne, doit, pour le moins, 900,000 fl." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 239.

[507] In January, 1564, we find him writing to his brother, "Puis qu'il ne reste que à XV. cens florins par an, que serons bien tost délivré des debtes." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 196.

[508] "Il estoit d'une éloquence admirable, avec laquelle il mettoit en évidence les conceptions sublimes de son esprit, et faisoit plier les aultres seigneurs de la court, ainsy que bon luy sembloit." Gachard, (Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II., Préface, p. 3,) who quotes a manuscript of the sixteenth century, preserved in the library of Arras, entitled, "Commencement de l'Histoire des Troubles des Pays-Bas, advenuz soubz le Gouvernement de Madame la Duchesse de Parme."

[509] "Sy estoit singulièrement aimé et bien vollu de la commune, pour une gracieuse façon de faire qu'il avoit de saluer, caresser, et arraisonner privément et familièrement tout le monde." Ibid., ubi supra.

[510] "Il ne l'occuperoit point de ces choses mélancoliques, mais il lui feroit lire, au lieu des Saintes-Ecritures, Amadis de Gaule et d'autres livres amusants du même genre." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 203*.

[511] "Il estoit du nombre de ceulx qui pensent que la religion chrestienne soit une invention politique, pour contenir le peuple en office par voie de Dieu, non plus ni moins que les cérémonies, divinations et superstitions que Numa Pompilius introduisit à Rome." Commencement de l'Hist. des Troubles, MS., ap. Gachard, Cor. de Guillaume, tom. II., Préface, p. 5.

[512] "Tantôt Catholique, tantôt Calviniste ou Luthérien selon les différentes occasions, et selon ses divers desseins." Mémoires de Granvelle, tom. II. p. 54.

[513] "Estimant, ainsy que faisoient lors beaucoup de catholiques, que c'estoit chose cruelle de faire mourir ung homme, pour seulement avoir soustenu une opinion, jasoit qu'elle fût erronée." MS. quoted by Gachard, Cor. de Guillaume, tom. II., Préface, p. 4.

[514] "No se vee que puedan quedar aquí mas tiempo sin grandissimo peligro de que dende agora las cosas entrassen en alboroto." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VI. p. 166.

[515] "Harto se declaran y el Principe d'Oranges y Mons^r d'Egmont que aunque tuviessen la mayor voluntad del mundo para servir en esto á V. M. de tener cargo mas tiempo de los Españoles, no lo osarian emprender si bolviessen, por no perderse y su crédito y reputacion con estos estados." Ibid., p. 197.

[516] Some notion of the extent of these embarrassments may be formed from a schedule prepared by the king's own hand, in September, 1560. From this it appears that the ordinary sources of revenue were already mortgaged: and that, taking into view all available means, there was reason to fear there would be a deficiency at the end of the following year of no less than nine millions of ducats. "Where the means of meeting this are to come from," Philip bitterly remarks, "I do not know, unless it be from the clouds, for all usual resources are exhausted." This was a sad legacy, entailed on the young monarch by his father's ambition. The document is to be found in the Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VI. pp. 156-165.

[517] "Dizen todos los de aquella isla que ántes se dexarán ahogar con ellos, que de poner la mano mas adelante en el reparo tan necessario de los diques." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VI. p. 200.

[518] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 192.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, p. 111.

[519] "Hase con industria persuadido á los pueblos que V. M. quiere poner aquí á mi instancia la inquisicion de España so color de los nuevos obispados." Granvelle to Philip, Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VI. p. 554. See also Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I., passim.

[520] "Los quales, aunque pueden ser á proposito para administrar sus abadias, olvidan el beneficio recebido del principe y en las cosas de su servicio y beneficio comun de la provincia son durissimos, y tan rudes para que se les pueda persuadir la razon, como seria qualquier menor hombre del pueblo." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VI. p. 18.

The intention of the crown appears more clearly from the rather frank avowal of Granvelle to the duchess of Parma, made indeed some twenty years later, 1582, that it was a great object with Philip to afford a counterpoise in the states to the authority of William and his associates. Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. VIII. p. 96.

[521] Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VI. p. 17.

[522] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 71.

[523] Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VI. p. 612.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 263.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 31.

By another arrangement the obligations of Afflighen and the other abbeys of Brabant were commuted for the annual payment of eight thousand ducats for the support of the bishops. This agreement, as well as that with Antwerp, was afterwards set aside by the unscrupulous Alva, who fully carried out the original intentions of the crown.

[524] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 77.

[525] "En ce qui concerne les nouveaux évêchés, le Roi déclare que jamais Granvelle ne lui en conseilla l'érection; qu'il en fit même dans le principe un mystère au cardinal, et que celui-ci n'en eut connaissance que lorsque l'affaire était déjà bien avancée." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 207.

[526] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. VIII. p. 54.

[527] "Il serait prêt à y contribuer de sa fortune, de son sang et de sa propre vie." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 189.

[528] "Veo el odio de los Estados cargar sobre mi, mas pluguiesse á Dios que con sacrificarme fuesse todo remediado.... Que plugiera á Dios que jamas se huviera pensado en esta ereccion destas yglesias; amen, amen." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 117.

[529] Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 63.

[530] Strada, de Bello Belgico, p. 88.

[531] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 52.

[532] Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. p. 15.

[533] The nobles, it appears, had complained to Philip that they had been made to act this unworthy part in the cabinet of the duke of Savoy, when regent of the Netherlands. Granvelle, singularly enough, notices this in a letter to the Regent Mary, in 1555, treating it as a mere suspicion on their part. (See Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II., Préface, p. ix.) The course of things under the present regency may be thought to show there was good ground for this suspicion.

[534] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 195.

[535] Ibid., p. 197.

[536] "Que bien claro muestran muchos que no les pesaria de que fuessen mal, y que, si lo de allé diesse al través, bien brevemente se yria por acá el mismo camino. Y ha sido muestra dicha, que ninguno destos señores se haya declarado, que si lo hiziera alguno, otro que Dios no pudiera estorvar que lo de aqui no siguiera el camino de Francia." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 230.

[537] "Ce méchant animal nommé le peuple;"—the cardinal's own words, in a letter to the king. Ibid., p. 290.

[538] Strada, De Bello Belgico, p. 145.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 202.

[539] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. pp. 210, 214.

[540] "A qui ils imputent d'avoir écrit au Roi qu'il fallait couper une demi-douzaine de têtes et venir en force, pour conquérir le pays." Ibid., p. 203.

[541] "Lo principal es que venga con dinero y crédito, que con esto no faltará gente para lo que se huviesse de hazer coa los vezinos, y su presencia valdra mucho para assossegar todo lo de sus súbditos." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VI. p. 562.

[542] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 91.—Mémoires de Granvelle, tom. II. p. 24,—a doubtful authority, it must be admitted.

[543] "It is not true," Philip remarks, in a letter to the duchess dated July 17, 1562, "that Granvelle ever recommended me to cut off half a dozen heads. Though," adds the monarch, "it may perhaps be well enough to have recourse to this measure." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 207.

[544] Strada, De Bello Belgico, pp. 78, 79, 133, 134.—Renom de Francia. Alborotos de Flandes, MS.—Meteren. Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 31, 32.

[545] "Qu'il n'étoit ni de son caractère ni de son honneur d'être le Bourreau des Hérétiques." Mémoires de Granvelle, tom. I. p. 304.

[546] Strada, De Bello Belgico, pp. 136, 137.—Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.—Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. pp. 137, 138.

[547] "En las [cosas] de la religion no se çufre temporizar, sino castigarlas con todo rigor y severidad, que estos villacos sino es por miedo no hazen cosa buena, y aun con él, no todas vezes." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VI. p. 421.

[548] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 207.

[549] Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VI. p. 280.

[550] "Quoiqu'elle ne puisse dire qu'aucun des seigneurs ne soit pas bon catholique, elle ne voit pourtant pas qu'ils procèdent, dans les matières religieuses, avec toute la chaleur qui serait nécessaire." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 240.

[551] Ibid., p. 202.

[552] Ibid., ubi supra.

[553] "C'est une grande confusion de la multitude des nostres qui sont icy fuis pour la religion. On les estime en Londres, Sandvich, et comarque adjacente, de xviij à xx mille testes." Letter of Assonleville to Granvelle, Ibid., p. 247.

[554] "Et qu'aussy ne se feroit rien par le Cardinal sans l'accord des Seigneurs et inquisiteurs d'Espaigne, dont necessairement s'ensuyvroit, que tout se mettroit en la puissance et arbitrage d'iceulx Seigneurs inquisiteurs d'Espaigne." Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, p. 24.

[555] "Que, pour l'amour de Dieu, le Roi se dispose à venir aux Pays-Bas!.... ce serait une grande charge pour sa conscience, que de ne le pas faire." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 213.

[556] "Des choses de cette cour nous ne savons pas plus que ceux qui sont aux Indes..... Le délai que le Roi met à répondre aux lettres qu'on lui adresse cause un grand préjudice aux affaires; il pourra coûter cher un jour." Ibid., p. 199.

[557] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. pp. 236, 242.

[558] Philip's answer to the letter of the duchess in which she stated Granvelle's proposal was eminently characteristic. If Margaret could not do better, she might enter into negotiations with the malecontents on the subject; but she should take care to delay sending advice of it to Spain; and the king, on his part, would delay as long as possible returning his answers. For the measure, Philip concludes, is equally repugnant to justice and to the interests of the crown. (Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 237.) This was the royal policy of procrastination!

[559] "Conclusero una lega contra 'l Cardenal p'detto à diffesa commune contra chi volesse offendere alcun di loro, laqual confortorono con solenniss^o giuramento, ne si curarono che se non li particolari fossero secreti per all'hora; ma publicorono questa loro unione, et questa lega fatta contra il Card^le." Relatione di Tiepolo, MS.

[560] Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. pp. 36-38.

[561] "Que en otros tiempos por menor causa se havia mondado a Fiscales proceder." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 151.

[562] "Que solos los de España sean legitimos, que son las palabras de que aqui y en Italia se usa." Ibid., p. 153.

[563] "Car ce n'est ma coustume de grever aucuns de mes ministres sans cause." Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. p. 42.

[564] "S'estant le comte d'Egmont advanché aujourd'huy huict jours post pocula dire à Hoppérus, avec lequel il fut bien deux heures en devises, que ce n'estoit point à Granvelle que l'on en vouloit, mais au Roy, qui administre tres-mal le public et mesmes ce de la Religion, comme l'on luy at assez adverty." Morillon, Archdeacon of Mechlin, to Granvelle, Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 247.

[565] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. pp. 256, 258, 259.

[566] "Il n'est pas icy question de grever ledict cardinal, ains plustost de le descharger, voire d'une charge laquelle non-seulement lui est peu convenable et comme extraordinaire, mais aussi ne peult plus estre en ses mains, sans grand dangier d'inconvéniens et troubles." Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. p. 45.

[567] "Quant il n'y auroit que le désordre, mescontentement et confusion qui se trouve aujourd'huy en vos pays de par deçà, ce seroit assez tesmoinage de combien peu sert icy sa présence, crédit et auctorité." Ibid., p. 46.

[568] "Que ne sommes point de nature grans orateurs ou harangueurs, et plus accoustumez à bien faire qu'à bien dire, comme aussy il est mieulx séant à gens de nostre qualité." Ibid., p. 47.

[569] "Faisans cesser l'umbre dont avons servy en iceluy quatre ans." Ibid., p. 50.

[570] Mémoires de Granvelle, tom. II. p. 39 et seq.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 256.

[571] "Elle connait tout le mérite du cardinal, sa haute capacité, son expérience des affaires d'Etat, le zèle et le dévouement qu'il montre pour le service de Dieu et du Roi." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 266.

[572] "D'un autre côté, elle reconnaît que vouloir le maintenir aux Pays-Bas, contre le gré des seigneurs, pourrait entraîner de grands inconvénients, et même le soulèvement du pays." Ibid., ubi supra.

[573] Reiffenberg, Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 26, note.

[574] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 58.

[575] "Vous ne me reconnaîtriez plus, tant mes cheveux ont blanchi." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 268.

[576] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 274.

[577] "Moi, qui ne suis qu'un ver de terre, je suis menacé de tant de côtés, que beaucoup doivent me tenir déjà pour mort; mais je tâcherai, avec l'aide de Dieu, de vivre autant que possible, et si l'on me tue, j'espère qu'on n'aura pas gagné tout par là." Ibid., p. 284.

[578] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 190.

[579] "Hablándole yo en ello," writes the secretary Perez to Granvelle, "como era razon, me respondió que por su fee ántes aventuraría á perder essos estados que hazer esse agravio á V. S. en lo qual conoscerá la gran voluntad que le tiene." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VII. p. 102.

[580] "Cada vez que veo los despachos de aquellos tres señores de Flandes me mueven la colera de manera que, sino procurasse mucho templarla, creo parecia á V. Mag^d mi opinion de hombre frenetico." Carta del Duque de Alba al Rey, á 21 de Octobre de 1563, MS.

[581] "A los que destos meriten, quiten les las caveças, hasta poder lo hacer, dissimular con ellos." Ibid.

[582] "Comme je l'ai toujours trouvé plein d'empressement et de zèle pour tout ce qui touche le service da V. M. et l'avantage du pays, je supplie V. M. de faire au comte d'Egmont une réponse affectueuse, afin qu'il ne désespère pas de sa bonté." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom I. p. 281.

[583] The letter—found among the MSS. at Besançon—is given by Dom Prosper Levesque in his life of the cardinal. (Mémoires de Granvelle, tom. II. p. 52.) The worthy Benedictine assures us, in his preface, that he has always given the text of Granvelle's correspondence exactly as he found it; an assurance to which few will give implicit credit who have read this letter, which bears the marks of the reviser's hand in every sentence.

[584] Mémoires de Granvelle, tom. II. p. 55.

[585] "Le prince d'Orange est un homme dangereux, fin, rusé, affectant de soutenir le peuple..... Je pense qu'un pareil génie qui a des vûes profondes est fort difficile à ménager, et qu'il n'est guères possible de le faire changer." Ibid., pp. 53, 54.

[586] "Causant l'autre jour avec elle, le comte d'Egmont lui montra un grand mécontentement de ce que le Roi n'avait daigné faire un seul mot de réponse ni à lui, ni aux autres. Il dit que, voyant cela, ils étaient décidés à ordonner à leur courrier qu'il revint, sans attendre davantage." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 283.

[587] "Il a pensé, d'après ce que le cardinal lui a écrit, qu'il serait très à propos qu'il allât voir sa mère, avec la permission de la duchesse de Parme. De cette manière, l'autorité du Roi et la réputation du cardinal seront sauvées." Ibid., p. 285.

[588] That indefatigable laborer in the mine of MSS., M. Gachard, obtained some clew to the existence of such a letter in the Archives of Simancas. For two months it eluded his researches, when in a happy hour he stumbled on this pearl of price. The reader may share the enthusiasm of the Belgian scholar. "Je redoublai d'attention; et enfin, après deux mois de travail, je découvris, sur un petit chiffon de papier, la minute de la fameuse lettre dont faisait mention la duchesse de Parme: elle avait été classée, par une méprise de je ne sais quel officiai, avec les papiers de l'année 1562. On lisait en tête: De mano del Rey; secreta. Vous comprendrez, monsieur le Ministre, la joie que me fit éprouver cette découverte: ce sont là des jouissances qui dédommagent de bien des fatigues, de bien des ennuis!" Rapport à M. le Ministre de l'Intérieur, Ibid., p. clxxxv.

[589] "M'esbayz bien que, pour chose quelconque, vous ayez délaissé d'entrer au conseil où je vous avois laissé." Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne tom. II. p. 67.

[590] "Ne faillez d'y rentrer, et monstrer de combien vous estimez plus mon service et le bien de mes pays de delà, que autre particularité quelconque." Ibid., p. 68.

[591] Abundant evidence of Philip's intentions is afforded by his despatches to Margaret, together with two letters which they inclosed to Egmont. These letters were of directly opposite tenor; one dispensing with Egmont's presence at Madrid,—which had been talked of,—the other inviting him there. Margaret was to give the one which, under the circumstances, she thought expedient. The duchess was greatly distressed by her brother's manœuvring. She saw that the course she must pursue was not the course which he would prefer. Philip did not understand her countrymen so well as she did.

[592] "En effet, le prince d'Orange et le comte d'Egmont, les seuls qui se trouvassent à Bruxelles, montrèrent tant de tristesse et de mécontentement de la courte et sèche réponse du Roi, qu'il était à craindre qu'après qu'elle aurait été communiquée aux autres seigneurs, il ne fût pris quelque résolution contraire au service du Roi." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 294.

[593] "Con la venida de Mons. de Chantonnay, mi hermano, á Bruxelles, y su determinacion de encaminarse á estas partes, me paresció tomar color de venir hazia acá, donde no havia estado en 19 años, y ver á madama de Granvella, mi madre, que ha 14 que no la havia visto." Ibid., p. 298.

Granvelle seems to have fondly trusted that no one but Margaret was privy to the existence of the royal letter,—"secret, and written with the king's own hand." So he speaks of his departure in his various letters as a spontaneous movement to see his venerable parent. The secretary Perez must have smiled, as he read one of these letters to himself, since an abstract of the royal despatch appears in his own handwriting. The Flemish nobles also—probably through the regent's secretary, Armenteros—appear to have been possessed of the true state of the case. It was too good a thing to be kept secret.

[594] Schiller, Abfall der Niederlande, p. 147.

Among other freaks was that of a masquerade, at which a devil was seen pursuing a cardinal with a scourge of foxes'tails. "Deinde sequebatur diabolus, equum dicti cardinalis caudis vulpinis fustigans, magna cum totius populi admiratione et scandalo." (Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VIII. p. 77.) The fox's tail was a punning allusion to Renard, who took a most active and venomous part in the paper war that opened the revolution. Renard, it may be remembered, was the imperial minister to England in Queen Mary's time. He was the implacable enemy of Granvelle, who had once been his benefactor.

[595] Strada, De Bello Belgico, pp. 161-164.—Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum Belgicorum, p. 166.—Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 53.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. pp. 294, 295.

[596] The date is given by the prince of Orange in a letter to the landgrave of Hesse, written a fortnight after the cardinal's departure. (Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 226.) This fact, public and notorious as it was, is nevertheless told with the greatest discrepancy of dates. Hopper, one of Granvelle's own friends, fixes the date of his departure at the latter end of May. (Recueil et Mémorial, p. 36.) Such discrepancies will not seem strange to the student of history.

[597] "Ejus inimici, qui in senatu erant, non aliter exultavêre quam pueri abeunte ludimagistro." Vita Viglii, p. 38.

Hoogstraten and Brederode indulged their wild humor, as they saw the cardinal leaving Brussels, by mounting a horse,—one in the saddle, the other en croupe,—and in this way, muffled in their cloaks, accompanying the traveller along the heights for half a league or more. Granvelle tells the story himself, in a letter to Margaret, but dismisses it as the madcap frolic of young men. Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VII. p. 410, 426.

[598] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 226.

[599] "Le comte d'Egmont lui a dit, entre autres, que, si le cardinal revenait, indubitablement il perdrait la vie, et mettrait le Roi en risque de perdre les Pays-Bas." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 295.

[600] "Je n'ay entendu de personne chose dont je peusse concevoir quelque doubte que vous ne fussiez, à l'endroit de mon service, tel que je vous ay cogneu, ny suis si légier de prester l'oreille à ceulx qui me tascheront de mettre en umbre d'ung personage de vostre qualité, et que je cognois si bien." Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. p. 76.

[601] "Quiero de aquí adelante hazerme ciego y sordo, y tractar con mis libros y negocios particulares, y dexar el público á los que tanto saben y pueden, y componerme quanto al reposo y sossiego." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VIII, p. 91.—A pleasing illusion, as old as the time of Horace's "Beatus ille," &c.

[602] Gerlache, Royaume des Pays-Bas, tom. I. p. 79.

[603] "Vélà ma philosophie, et procurer avec tout cela de vivre le plus joyeusement que l'on peut, et se rire du monde, des appassionnez, et de ce qu'ilz dient sans fondement." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 240.

[604] "Ilz auront avant mon retour, que ne sera, à mon compte, plus tost que d'icy à deux mois, partant au commencement de juing." Ibid., p. 236.

[605] This remarkable letter, dated Madrid, May 6, is to be found in the Supplément à Strada, tom. II. p. 346.

[606] Hopper does not hesitate to regard this circumstance as a leading cause of the discontents in Flanders. "Se voyans desestimez ou pour mieux dire opprimez par les Seigneurs Espaignols, qui chassant les autres hors du Conseil du Roy, participent seulz avecq iceluy, et présument de commander aux Seigneurs et Chevaliers des Pays d'embas: ny plus ni moins qu'ilz font à aultres de Milan, Naples, et Sicille; ce que eulx ne veuillans souffrir en manière que ce soit, à esté et est la vraye ou du moins la principale cause de ces maulx et altérations." Recueil et Mémorial, p. 79.

[607] Viglius makes many pathetic complaints on this head, in his letters to Granvelle. See Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 319 et alibi.

[608] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. pp. 312, 332, et alibi.

[609] "Il faudrait envoyer le cardinal à Rome." Ibid., p. 329.

[610] Ibid., p. 295.

[611] Morillon, in a letter to Granvelle, dated July 9, 1564, tells him of the hearty hatred in which he is held by the duchess; who, whether she has been told that the minister only made her his dupe, or from whatever cause, never hears his name without changing color. Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VIII. p. 131.

[612] "Viglius lui fait souffrir les peines de l'enfer, en traversant les mesures qu'exige le service du Roi." Ibid., p. 314.

[613] "Ils espèrent alors pêcher, comme on dit, en eau trouble, et atteindre le but qu'ils poursuivent depuis longtemps: celui de s'emparer de toutes les affaires. C'est pourquoi ils out été et sont encore contraires à l'assemblée des états généraux.... Le cardinal, le président et leur séquelle craignent, si la tranquillité se rétablit dans le pays, qu'on ne lise dans leurs livres, et qu'on ne découvre leurs injustices, simonies, et rapines." Ibid., p. 311.

[614] Ibid., p. 320 et alibi.

[615] "Ce qu'elle se résent le plus contre v. i. S. et contre moy, est ce que l'avons si longuement gardé d'en faire son prouffit, qu'elle fait maintenant des offices et bénéfices et aultres grâces." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 406.

[616] "Ipsam etiam Ducissam in suam pertraxêre sententiam, honore etiam majore quam antea ipsam afficientes, quo muliebris sexus facilè capitur."—This remark, however, is taken, not from his correspondence with Granvelle, but from his autobiography. See Vita Viglii, p. 40.

[617] The extortions of Margaret's secretary, who was said to have amassed a fortune of seventy thousand ducats in her service, led the people, instead of Armenteros, punningly to call him Argenterios. This piece of scandal is communicated for the royal ear in a letter addressed to one of the king's secretaries by Fray Lorenzo de Villacancio, of whom I shall give a full account elsewhere. Gachard, Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II., Rapport, p. xliii.

[618] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I., p. 273 et alibi.

[619] Granvelle regarded such a step as the only effectual remedy for the disorders in the Low Countries. In a remarkable letter to Philip, dated July 20, 1565, he presents such a view of the manner in which the government is conducted as might well alarm his master. Justice and religion are at the lowest ebb. Public offices are disposed of at private sale. The members of the council indulge in the greatest freedom in their discussions on matters of religion. It is plain that the Confession of Augsburg would be acceptable to some of them. The truth is never allowed to reach the king's ears; as the letters sent to Madrid are written to suit the majority of the council, and so as not to give an unfavorable view of the country. Viglius is afraid to write. There are spies at the court, he says, who would betray his correspondence, and it might cost him his life. Granvelle concludes by urging the king to come in person, and with money enough to subsidize a force to support him. Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VIII. p. 620 et seq.

[620] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 317.

[621] Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, p. 39.—Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 222.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 347 et alibi.

[622] The Spanish ambassador to England, Guzman de Silva, in a letter dated from the Low Countries, refers this tendency among the younger nobles to their lax education at home, and to their travels abroad. "La noblesse du pays est généralement catholique: il n'y a que les jeunes gens dont, à cause de l'éducation relachée qu'ils out reçue, et de leur frequentation dans les pays voisins, les principes soient un peu équivoques." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 383.

[623] "Se dice publico que ay medios para descargar todas las deudas del Rey sin cargo del pueblo tomando los bienes de la gente de yglesia ó parte conforme al ejemplo que se ha hecho en ynglaterra y francia y tambien que ellos eran muy ricos y volberian mas templados y hombres de bien." Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

[624] "Leur office est devenu odieux au peuple; ils rencontrent tant de résistances et de calomnies, qu'ils ne peuvent l'exercer sans danger pour leurs personnes." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 353.

[625] Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, tom. I. p. 147.

[626] Ibid., ubi supra.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, p. 174.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. pp. 321-327.

[627] Strada, De Bello Belgico, p. 172.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 327 et alibi.

[628] Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, tom. I. pp. 146-149.

[629] "La dépense excède annuellement les revenus, de 600,000 florins." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 328.

[630] "Quant à la moyenne noblesse des Pays-Bas, les Seigneurs l'auront tantost à leur cordelle." Chantonnay to Granvelle, October 6, 1565, Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 426.

[631] That Granvelle understood well these consequences of convening the states-general is evident from the manner in which he repeatedly speaks of this event in his correspondence with the king. See, in particular, a letter to Philip, dated as early as August 20, 1563, where he sums up his remarks on the matter by saying: "In fine, they would entirely change the form of government, so that there would be little remaining for the regent to do, as the representative of your majesty, or for your majesty yourself to do, since they would have completely put you under guardianship." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VII. p. 186.

[632] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 329.

[633] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 14, 16.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 176.

[634] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 179.

[635] "Si, après avoir accepté le concile sans limitations dans tous ses autres royaumes et seigneuries, il allait y opposer des réserves aux Pays-Bas, cela produirait un fâcheux effet." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 328.

[636] Yet whatever slight Philip may have put upon the lords in this respect, he showed William, in particular, a singular proof of confidence. The prince's cuisine, as I have elsewhere stated, was renowned over the Continent; and Philip requested of him his chef, to take the place of his own, lately deceased. But the king seems to lay less stress on the skill of this functionary than on his trustworthiness,—a point of greater moment with a monarch. This was a compliment—in that suspicious age—to William, which, we imagine, he would have been slow to return by placing his life in the hands of a cook from the royal kitchens of Madrid. See Philip's letter in the Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II p. 89.

[637] Margaret would fain have settled the dispute by giving the countess of Egmont precedence at table over her fair rival. (Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 445.) But both Anne of Saxony and her household stoutly demurred to this decision,—perhaps to the right of the regent to make it. "Les femmes ne se cédent en rien et se tiegnent par le bras, ingredientes pari passu, et si l'on rencontre une porte trop estroicte, l'on se serre l'ung sur l'aultre pour passer également par ensamble, affin que il n'y ayt du devant ou derrière." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, Supplément, p. 22.

[638] There is a curious epistle, in Groen's collection, from William to his wife's uncle, the elector of Saxony, containing sundry charges against his niece. The termagant lady was in the habit, it seems, of rating her husband roundly before company. William, with some naïveté, declares he could have borne her ill-humor to a reasonable extent in private, but in public it was intolerable. Unhappily, Anne gave more serious cause of disturbance to her lord than that which arose from her temper, and which afterwards led to their separation. On the present occasion, it may be added, the letter was not sent,—as the lady, who had learned the nature of it, promised amendment. Ibid., tom. II. p. 31.

[639] "Au cas que le Roi s'en excuse, il doit demander que S. M. donne à la duchesse des instructions précises sur la conduite qu'elle a à tenir." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 337.

The original instructions prepared by Viglius were subsequently modified by his friend Hopper, at the suggestion of the prince of Orange. See Vita Viglii, p. 41.

[640] Ibid., ubi supra.

[641] "Non posse ei placere, velle Principes animis hominum imperare, libertatemque Fidei et Religionis ipsis adimere." Ibid., p. 42.

[642] Burgundius puts into the mouth of William on this occasion a fine piece of declamation, in which he reviews the history of heresy from the time of Constantine the Great downwards. This display of schoolboy erudition, so unlike the masculine simplicity of the prince of Orange, may be set down among those fine things, the credit of which may be fairly given to the historian rather than to the hero.—Burgundius, Hist. Belgica, (Ingolst., 1633,) pp. 126-131.

[643] "Itaque mane de lecto surgens, inter vestiendum apoplexiâ attactus est, ut occurrentes domestici amicique in summo cum discrimine versari judicarent." Vita Viglii, p. 42.

[644] "Elle conseille au Roi d'ordonner à Viglius de rendre ses comptes, et de restituer les meubles des neuf maisons de sa prévôté de Saint-Bavon, qu'il a dépouillées." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 350.

[645] "Lui promettons, en foy de gentilhomme et chevalier d'honeur, si durant son aller et retour lui adviene quelque inconvénient, que nous en prendrons la vengeance sur le Cardinal de Granvelle ou ceux qui en seront participans ou penseront de l'estre, et non sur autre." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 345.

[646] This curions document, published by Arnoldi, (Hist. Denkw., p. 282,) has been transferred by Groen to the pages of his collection. See Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, ubi supra.

[647] "Ibi tum offensus conviva, arreptam argenteam pelvim (quæ manibus abluendis mensam fuerat imposita) injicere Archiepiscopo in caput conatur: retinet pelvim Egmondanus: quod dum facit, en alter conviva pugno in frontem Archiepiscopo eliso, pileum de capite deturbat." Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumult, p. 190.

[648] If we are to trust Morillon's report to Granvelle, Egmont denied, to some one who charged him with it, having recommended to Philip to soften the edicts. (Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, Supplément, p. 374.) But Morillon was too much of a gossip to be the best authority; and, as this was understood to be one of the objects of the count's mission, it will be but justice to him to take the common opinion that he executed it.

[649] "Negavit accitos à se illos fuisse, ut docerent an permittere id posset, sed an sibi necessariò permittendum præscriberent." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 185.

[650] "Tum Rex in eorum conspectu, humi positus ante Christi Domini simulacrum, 'Ego verò, inquit, Divinam Majestatem tuam oro, quæsoque, Rex omnium Deus, hanc ut mihi mentem perpetuam velis, ne illorum, qui te Dominum respuerint, uspiam esse me aut dici Dominum acquiescam.'" Ibid., ubi supra.

[651] "Il retourne en Flandre, l'homme le plus satisfait du monde." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 349.

[652] "En ce qui touche la religion, il déclare qu'il ne peut consentir à ce qu'il y soit fait quelque changement; qu'il aimerait mieux perdre cent mille vies, s'il les avait." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 347.

[653] Ibid., ubi supra.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 187.

[654] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 347.

[655] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 92.

[656] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 364.

[657] "And everywhere great endeavors were used to deliver the imprisoned, as soon as it was known how they were privately made away in the prisons: for the inquisitors not daring any longer to carry them to a public execution, this new method of despatching them, which the king himself had ordered, was now put in practice, and it was commonly performed thus: They bound the condemned person neck and heels, then threw him into a tub of water, where he lay till he was quite suffocated." Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 155.

[658] Ibid., tom. I. p. 154.

[659] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 361 et alibi.

[660] "Tout vat de demain à demain, et la principale résolution en telles choses est de demeurer perpétuellement irrésolu." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 426.

[661] "Il y en a qui sont plus Roys que le Roy." Ibid., ubi supra.

[662] "Le Roi aura bien de la peine à se montrer homme." Ibid., ubi supra.

[663] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 358.

[664] "Le Roi peut être certain que, s'il accorde que les édits ne s'exécutent pas, jamais plus le peuple ne souffrira qu'on châtie les hérétiques; et les choses iront ainsi aux Pays-Bas beaucoup plus mal qu'en France." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 323.

[665] Ibid., tom. I. p. 371.

[666] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 246.

[667] "Entendant seullement à mez affaires, ne bougeant de ma chambre synon pour proumener, à faire exercice à l'église, et vers Madame, et faisant mes dépesches où je doibtz correspondre, sans bruyct." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. IX. p. 639.

[668] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 326.

[669] "Il lui suffit, pour se contenter d'être ou il est, de savoir que c'est la volonté du Roi, et cela lui suffira pour aller aux Indes, on en quelque autre lieu que ce soit, et même pour se jeter dans le feu." Ibid., p. 301.

[670] Ibid., p. 380.

[671] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 396.

[672] Ibid., p. 372.—Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, p. 57.

[673] "Car, quant à l'inquisition, mon intention est qu'elle se face par les inquisiteurs, comm'elle s'est faicte jusques à maintenant, et comm'il leur appertient par droitz divins et humains." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I., "Rapport," p. cxxix, note.

[674] Ibid., ubi supra.

[675] This letter was dated the twentieth of October. All hesitation seems to have vanished in a letter addressed to Granvelle only two days after, in which Philip says, "As to the proposed changes in the government, there is not a question about them." "Quant aux changements qu'on lui a écrit devoir se faire dans le gouvernement, il n'en est pas question." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 375.

[676] Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 333.

[677] "Dieu sçait qué visaiges ils ont monstrez, et qué mescontentement ils ont, voyans l'absolute volunté du Roy." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. 442.

[678] Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, p. 59.

[679] "Quâ conclusione acceptâ, Princeps Auriacencis cuidam in aurem dixit (qui pòst id retulit) quasi lætus gloriabundusque: visuros nos brevi egregiæ tragediæ initium." Vita Viglii, p. 45.

[680] "Une déclaration de guerre n'aurait pas fait plus d'impression sur les esprits, que ces dépêches, quand la connaissance en parvint au public." Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 94.

[681] "Se comienza á dar esperanza al pueblo de la libertad de conciencia, de las mudanzas del gobierno." Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

"Some demand a mitigation of the edicts; others," as Viglius peevishly complains to Granvelle, "say that they want at least as much toleration as is vouchsafed to Christians by the Turks, who do not persecute the enemies of their faith as we persecute brethren of our own faith, for a mere difference in the interpretation of Scripture!" (Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I, p. 287.) Viglius was doubtless of the opinion of M. Gerlache, that for Philip to have granted toleration would have proved the signal for a general massacre. Vide Hist. du Royaume des Pays-Bas, tom. I. p. 83.

[682] "On défiait les Espagnols de trouver aux Pays-Bas ces stupides Américains et ces misérables habitans du Pérou, qu'on avait égorgés par millions, quand on avait vu qu'ils ne savaient pas se défendre." Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. I. p. 97

[683] See a letter of Morillon to Granvelle, January 27, 1566, Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, Supplément, p. 22.

[684] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 390.

[685] "Il a appris avec peine que le contenu de sa lettre, datée du bois de Ségovie, a été mal accueilli aux Pays-Bas, ses intentions ne tendant qu'au service de Dieu et au bien de ces Etats, comme l'amour qu'il leur porte l'y oblige." Ibid., p. 400.

[686] Historians have usually referred the origin of the "Union" to a meeting of nine nobles at Breda, as reported by Strada. (De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 208.) But we have the testimony of Junius himself to the fact, as stated in the text; and this testimony is accepted by Groen, who treads with a caution that secures him a good footing even in the slippery places of history. (See Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 2.) Brandt also adopts the report of Junius. (Reformation in the Low Countries, tom. I. p. 162.)

[687] "Inique et contraire à toutes loix divines et humaines, surpassant la plus grande barbarie que oncques fut practiquée entre les tirans." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 3.

One might imagine that the confederates intended in the first part of this sentence to throw the words of Philip back upon himself,—"Comme il leur appertient par droitz divins et humains." Dépêche du Bois de Ségovie, Octobre 17, 1565.

[688] "Affin de n'estre exposéz en proye à ceulx qui, soubs ombre de religion, voudroient s'enrichir aux despens de nostre sang et de nos biens." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 4.

[689] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 134.

[690] "De sorte que si un Prestre, un Espagnol, ou quelque mauvais garnement veut mal, ou nuyre à autruy, par le moyen de l'Inquisition, il pourra l'accuser, faire apprehender, voire faire mourir, soit à droit, soit à tort." Supplément à Strada, tom. II. p. 300.

[691] "L'un des beaux caractères de ce temps." Borguet, Philippe II. et la Belgique, p. 43.

[692] Ibid., ubi supra.

[693] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 209.

[694] "Mettant le tout en hazard de venir ès mains de nos voisins." Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. p. 109.

[695] "J'aimerois mieulx, en cas que Sadicte Majesté ne le veuille dilaier jusques à là, et dès à présent persiste sur cette inquisition et exécution, qu'elle commisse quelque autre en ma place, mieulx entendant les humeurs du peuple, et plus habile que moi à les maintenir en paix et repos, plustost que d'encourir la note dont moi et les miens porrions estre souillés, si quelque inconvénient advînt au pays de mon gouvernement, et durant ma charge." Ibid., ubi supra.

[696] "Addidere aliqui, nolle se in id operam conferre, ut quinquaginta aut sexaginta hominum millia, se Provincias administrantibus, igni concrementur." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 203.

[697] Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. p. 112.

[698] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 378.

[699] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 33.

[700] "A ce propos le duc d'Albe répondit que dix mille grenouilles ne valoient pas la tête d'un saumon." Sismondi, Hist. des Français, tom. XVIII. p. 447.

Davila, in telling the same story, reports the saying of the duke in somewhat different words:—"Diceva che ... besognava pescare i pesci grossi, e non si curare di prendere le ranocchie." Guerre Civili di Francia, (Milano, 1807,) tom. I. p. 341.

[701] Henry the Fourth, when a boy of eleven years of age, was in the train of Catherine, and was present at one of her interviews with Alva. It is said that he overheard the words of the duke quoted in the text, and that they sank deep into the mind of the future champion of Protestantism. Henry reported them to his mother, Jeanne d'Albret, by whom they were soon made public. Sismondi, Hist. des Français, tom. XVIII. p. 447.—For the preceding paragraph see also De Thou, Hist. Universelle, tom. V. p. 34 et seq.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 23.—Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. V. p. 58 et seq.

[702] It is a common opinion that, at the meeting at Bayonne, it was arranged between the queen-mother and Alva to revive the tragedy of the Sicilian Vespers in the horrid massacre of St. Bartholomew. I find, however, no warrant for such an opinion in the letters of either the duke or Don Juan Manrique de Lara, major-domo to Queen Isabella, the originals of which are still preserved in the Royal Library at Paris. In my copy of these MSS. the letters of Alva to Philip the Second cover much the larger space. They are very minute in their account of his conversation with the queen-mother. His great object seems to have been, to persuade her to abandon her temporizing policy, and, instead of endeavoring to hold the balance between the contending parties, to assert, in the most uncompromising manner, the supremacy of the Roman Catholics. He endeavored to fortify her in this course by the example of his own master, the king of Spain, repeating Philip's declaration, so often quoted, under various forms, that "he would surrender his kingdom, nay life itself, rather than reign over heretics."

While the duke earnestly endeavored to overcome the arguments of Catherine de Medicis in favor of a milder, more rational, and, it may be added, more politic course in reference to the Huguenots, he cannot justly be charged with having directly recommended those atrocious measures which have branded her name with infamy. Yet, on the other hand, it cannot be denied that this bloody catastrophe was a legitimate result of the policy which he advised.

[703] "On voit journellement gens de ce pays aller en Angleterre, avec leurs familles et leurs instruments; et jà Londres, Zandvich et le pays allenviron est si plain, que l'on dit que le nombre surpasse 30,000 testes." Assonleville to Granvelle, January 15, 1565, Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 392.

[704] "Il y a longtemps que ces Païs-Bas sont les Indes d'Angleterre, et, tant qu'ilz les auront, ilz n'en ont besoing d'aultres." Ibid., p. 382.

[705] Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, tom. I. fol. 39, 40.—Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 17.

[706] Supplèment à Strada, tom. II. p. 293.

[707] Ibid., ubi supra.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 212.

[708] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 402.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 212.—Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne. tom. II. p. 132.

[709] Supplément à Strada, tom. II. p. 294.

[710] "Ostant l'Inquisition, qui en ce temps est tant odieuse ... et ne sert quasi de riens, pour estre les Sectaires assez cognuz; modérant quant et quant la rigeur des Placcarts ... publiant aussy quant et quant pardon general pour ceulx qui se sont meslez de laditte Ligue." Ibid., p. 295.

[711] "Le Prince d'Oranges et le Comte de Hornes disoyent en plain conseil qu'ils estoyent d'intention de se voulloir retirer en leurs maisons, ... se deuillans mesmes le dit Prince, que l'on le tenoit pour suspect et pour chief de ceste Confédération." Extract from the Procès d'Egmont, in the Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 42.

[712] "De laquelle estant advertis quelques quinze jours après, devant que les confédérés se trouvassent en court, nous déclarames ouvertement et rondemen qu'elle ne nous plaisoit pas, et que ce ne nous sambloit estre le vray moyen pour maintenir le repos et tranquillité publique." Extract from the "Justification" of William, (1567,) in the Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 11.

[713] This fact rests on the authority of a MS. ascribed to Junius. (Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 162.) Groen, however, distrusts the authenticity of this MS. (Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 12.) Yet, whatever may be thought of the expedition against Antwerp, it appears from William's own statement that the confederates did meditate some dangerous enterprise, from which he dissuaded them. See his "Apology," in Dumont, Corps Diplomatique, tom. V. p. 392.

[714] "Les estatz-généraulx ayans pleine puissance, est le seul remède à nos maulx; nous avons le moyen en nostre povoir sans aucune doubte de les faire assembler, mais on ne veult estre guéri." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 37.

[715] "Ils veullent que à l'obstination et endurcissement de ces loups affamez nous opposions remonstrances, requestes et en fin parolles, là où de leur costé ils ne cessent de brusler, coupper testes, bannir et exercer leur rage en toutes façons. Nous avons le moyen de les refrener sans trouble, sans difficulté, sans effusion de sang, sans guerre, et on ne le veult. Soit donques, prenons la plume et eux l'espée, nous les parolles, eux le faict." Ibid., p. 36.

[716] "Ire Ma^t. gar ernstlich bevelt das man nitt allain die sich in andere leren so begeben, sol verbrennen, sonder auch die sich widderumb bekeren, sol koppen lasen; welges ich wahrlich im hertzen hab gefült, dan bei mir nit finden kan das cristlich noch thunlich ist." Ibid., tom. I. p. 440.

[717] Ibid., tom. II. p. 30.

[718] Ibid., tom. I. p. 432.

[719] Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, p. 67.

[720] "Tant y a que craignant qu'il n'en suivit une très dangereuse issue et estimant que cette voye estoit la plus douce et vrayment juridique, je confesse n'avoir trouvé mauvais que la Requeste fut presentée." Apology, in Dumont, tom. V. p. 392.

[721] "He escripto diversas vezes que era bien ganar á M. d'Aigmont; él es de quien S. M. puede hechar mano y confiar mas que de todos los otros, y es amigo de humo, y haziéndole algun favor extraordinario señalado que no se haga á otros, demas que será ganarle mucho, pondrá zelos á los otros." Granvelle to Gonzalo Perez, June 27, 1563, Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VII. p. 115.

[722] "Il est tant lyé avec les Seigneurs, qu'il n'y a moien de le retirer et pour dire vray, nutat in religione, et ce qu'il dira en ce aujourd'huy, il dira tout le contraire lendemain." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, Supplément, p. 25.

[723] "Ce seigneur est à présent celui qui parle le plus, et que les autres mettent en avant, pour dire les choses qu'ils n'oseraient dire eux-mêmes." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 391.

[724] "Le prince d'Orange procède avec plus de finesse que M. d'Egmont: il a plus de crédit en général et en particulier, et, si l'on pouvait le gagner, on s'assurerait de tout le reste." Ibid., ubi supra.

[725] Correspondance de Philippe II, tom. I. pp. 399, 401.

[726] "Libello ab Orangio cæterisque in lenius verborum genus commutato." Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum, p. 207.

Alonzo del Canto, the royal contador, takes a different, and by no means so probable a view of William's amendments. "Quand les seigneurs tenaient leurs assemblées secrètes à Bruxelles, c'était en la maison du prince d'Orange, où ils entraient de nuit par la porte de derrière: ce fut là que la requête des confédérés fut modifiée et rendue pire." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 411.

[727] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 59 et seq.

[728] Strade, De Bello Belico, tom. I. p. 213.

[729] "Hommes genti Nassaviæ infensissimos de nece ipsius, deque fortunarum omnium publicatione agitavisse cum Rege." Ibid., p. 215. See also Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 403.

[730] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 404.

[731] "Ils répondirent qu'ils ne voulaient pas se battre pour le maintien de l'inquisition et des placards, mais qu'ils le feraient pour la conservation du pays." Ibid., ubi supra.

[732] "Eo ipso die sub vesperam conjurati Bruxellas advenere. Erant illi in equis omnino ducenti, forensi veste ornati, gestabantque singuli bina ante ephippium sclopeta, præibat ductor Brederodius, juxtàque Ludovicus Nassavius." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 221.

[733] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. pp. 74, 75.

[734] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 221.

[735] Ibid., ubi supra.

[736] Ibid., pp. 222, 226.—Vandervynckt, Troubles de Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 138.—Meteren, Hist. de Pays-Bas, fol. 40.

[737] "Nobiles enixi eam rogare, ut proferat nomina eorum qui hoc detulere: cogatque illos accusationem legitimè ac palàm adornare." Strada, De Bello Belgico tom. I. p. 222.

[738] "Quando nonnisi Regis dignitatem, patriæque salutem spectabant, haud dubiè postulatis satisfacturam." Ibid., ubi supra.

[739] The copy of this document given by Groen is from the papers of Count Louis of Nassau. Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. pp. 80-84.

[740] "Lesquels ne doibvent espérer, sinon toute chose digne et conforme à sa bénignité naifve et accoustumée." Ibid., p. 84.

The phrase must have sounded oddly enough in the ears of the confederates.

[741] "Pendant que s'attend sa responce, Son Alteze donnera ordre, que tant par les inquisiteurs, où il y en a eu jusques ores, que par les officiers respectivement, soit procédé discrètement et modestement." Ibid. p. 85.

[742] "Ne desirons sinon d'ensuyvre tout ce que par Sa Ma^té. avecq l'advis et consentement des éstats-généraulx assambléz serat ordonné pour le maintenement de l'anchienne religion." Ibid., p. 86.

[743] "Vous prians de ne passer plus avant par petites practicques secrètes et de attirer plus personne." Ibid., p. 88.

[744] "De bonne part et pour le service du Roy." Ibid., p. 89.

[745] "Et comme ma dite dame respondit qu'elle le croyt ainsy, n'affermant nullement en quelle part elle recevoit nostre assemblée, luy fut replicqué par le dit S^r de Kerdes: Madame, il plairast à V. A. en dire ce qu'elle en sent, à quoy elle respondit qu'elle ne pouvoit juger." Ibid., ubi supra.—See also Strada, (De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 225,) who, however, despatches this interview with the Seigneur de Kerdes in a couple of sentences.

[746] Count Louis drew up a petition to the duchess, or rather a remonstrance, requesting her to state the motives of this act, that people might not interpret it into a condemnation of their proceedings. To this Margaret replied, with some spirit, that it was her own private affair, and she claimed the right that belonged to every other individual, of managing her own household in her own way.—One will readily believe that Louis did not act by the advice of his brother in this matter. See the correspondence as collected by the diligent Groen, Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. pp. 100-105.

[747] Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bays fol. 41.

[748] "Illum quidem, ut Gubernatricis animum firmaret, ita locutum, quasi nihil ei à mendicis ac nebulonibus pertimescendum esset." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 226.

[749] "Se verò libenter appellationem illam, quæ ea cumque esset, accipere, ac Regis patriæque causâ Gheusios se mendicosque re ipsâ futuros." Ibid., ubi supra.

[750] Ibid., ubi supra.—Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum, p. 211.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 149.—Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 142 et seq.—This last author tells the story with uncommon animation.

[751] So says Strada. (De Bello Belgico, tom. II. p. 227.) But the duchess, in a letter written in cipher to the king, tells him that the three lords pledged the company in the same toast of "Vivent les Gueux," that had been going the rounds of the table. "Le prince d'Oranges et les comtes d'Egmont et de Hornes vinrent à la maison de Culembourg après de dîner; ils burent avec les confédérés, et crièrent aussi vivent les gueux!" Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 409.

[752] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 227.—Vandervynckt Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 143.

The word gueux is derived by Vander Haer from Goth, in the old German form, Geute. "Eandem esse eam vocem gallicam quæ esset Teutonum vox, Geuten, quam maiore vel Gothis genti Barbaræ tribuissent, vel odio Gothici nominis convicium fecissent." De Initiis Tumultuum, p. 212.

[753] Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum, loc. cit.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 228.

Arend, in his Algemeene Geschiedenis des Vaderlands, has given engravings of these medals, on which the devices and inscriptions were not always precisely the same. Some of these mendicant paraphernalia are still to be found in ancient cabinets in the Low Countries, or were in the time of Vandervynckt. See his Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 143.

[754] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 228.—Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum, p. 212.

[755] "En sortant de la porte de la ville, ils ont fait une grande décharge de leurs pistolets." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 408.

[756] "Vos si mecum in hoc preclaro opere consentitis, agite, et qui vestrum salvam libertatem, me duce volent, propinatum hoc sibi poculum, benevolentiæ meæ significationem genialiter accipiant, idque manûs indicio contestentur." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 231.

[757] "Estans mesmes personnages si prudes, discrets et tant imbus de tout ce que convient remonstrer a V. M., outre l'affection que j'ay toujours trouvé en eux, tant adonnez au service d'icelle." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 24.

[758] "Crederes id ab illius accidisse genio, qui non contentus admonendo aurem ei vellicasse, nunc quasi compedibus injectis, ne infaustum iter ingrederetur, attineret pedes." Strada, de Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 235.

[759] "Les seules réponses qu'il ait obtenues de S. M., sont qu'elle y pensera, que ces affaires sont de grande importance, etc." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 426.

[760] Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 41.—Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, p. 78.—Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum, p. 216.

[761] "Ceste moderation, que le comun peuple apelloit meurderation." Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 41.

[762] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. pp. 233, 234, 239.—Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 170.—See the forged document mentioned in the text in the Supplément à Strada, tom. II. p. 330.

[763] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 150 et seq.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. pp. 239, 240.—Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 127.

[764] Languet, Epist. secr., quoted by Groen, Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 180.—See also Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 241.—Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, tom. I. p. 172.

[765] Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, ubi supra.

[766] Ibid., p. 173.

[767] Ibid., p. 171.

[768] "Se y sont le dimanche dernier encoires faict deux presches, l'une en françois l'autre en flamand, en plein jour, et estoient ces deux assemblées de 13 à 14 mille personnes." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 65.

[769] Ibid., pp. 80-88.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 243.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 42.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 433.

A Confession of Faith, which appeared in 1563, was revised by a Calvinistic synod, and reprinted in Antwerp, in May of the present year, 1566. The prefatory letter addressed to King Philip, in which the Reformers appealed to their creed and to their general conduct as affording the best refutation of the calumnies of their enemies, boldly asserted that their number in the Netherlands at that time was at least a hundred thousand. Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 158.

[770] "La Duquesa, ya demasiado informada de las platicas inclinaciones y disimulaciones de este Principe, defirió á resolverse en ello." Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, cap. 15, MS.

[771] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 244.

[772] A mob of no less than thirty thousand men, according to William's own statement. "A mon semblant, trouvis, tant hors que dedans la ville, plus de trente mil hommes." Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. p. 136.

[773] "Viderent, per Deum, quid agerent: ne, si pergerent, eos aliquando pœniteret." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 244.

[774] For the account of the proceedings at Antwerp, see Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. pp. 136, 138, 140 et seq.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. pp. 244-248.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 42.—Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, pp. 90, 91.—Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. pp. 173-176.—Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

[775] "Insignia etiam à mercatoribus usurpari cœpta." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 238.

[776] "Ils auraient prêché hors de Bruxelles, si Madame n'y avait pourvu, allant jusqu'à dire qu'avec sa personne, sa maison et sa garde, elle s'y opposerait, et ferait pendre en sa présence les ministres." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 447.

[777] "So pena de proceder contra los Predicadores ministros y semejantes con el ultimo suplicio y confiscacion de hacienda por aplicarlo al provecho de los que havian la apprehension de ellos y por falta de hacienda, su magestad madará librar del suyo seiscientos florines." Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

[778] "Je suis forcée avecq douleur et angoisse d'esprit lui dire de rechief que nonobstant tous les debvoirs que je fais journellement, ... je ne puis remédier ny empescher les assemblées des presches publicques." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 72.

[779] "Sains aide et sans ordres, de manière que, dans tout ce qu'elle fait, elle doit aller en tâtonnant et au hasard." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 428.

[780] "Le prince se prépare de longue main à la défense qu'il sera forcé de faire contre le Roi." Ibid., p. 431.

It was natural that the relations of William with the party of reform should have led to the persuasion that he had returned to the opinions in which ha had been early educated. These were Lutheran. There is no reason to suppose that at the present time he had espoused the doctrines of Calvin. The intimation of Armenteros respecting the prince's change of religion seems to have made a strong impression on Philip. On the margin of the letter he wrote against the passage, "No one has said this so unequivocally before;"—"No lo ha escrito nadie así claro."

[781] "Vos os engañariades mucho en pensar que yo no tubiese toda confianza de vos, y quando hubiese alguno querido hazer oficio con migo en contrario á esto, no soy tan liviano que hubiese dado credito á ello, teniendo yo tanta esperiencia de vuestra lealtad y de vuestros servicios." Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. p. 171.

[782] "Que le roi, résolu de les tromper tous, commençait par tromper sa sœur." Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bays, tom. II. p. 148.

[783] This responsibility is bluntly charged on them by Renom de Francia. "El dia de las predicaciones oraciones y cantos estando concertado, se acordó con las principales villas que fuese el San Juan siguiente y de continuar en adelante, primero en los Bosques y montañas, despues en los arrabales y Aldeas y pues en las villas, por medida que el numero, la andacia y sufrimiento creciese." Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

[784] "Qui vulgari joco duodecim Apostoli dicebantur." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 248.

[785] "S'est mise en une telle colère contre nous, qu'elle a pensé crever." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 178.

[786] "Alioqui externa remedia quamvis invitos postremò quæsituros." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 248.

[787] The memorials are given at length by Groen, Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. pp. 159-167.

[788] See the letter of Louis to his brother dated July 26, 1566, Ibid., p. 178.

[789] The person who seems to have principally served her in this respectable office was a "doctor of law," one of the chief counsellors of the confederates. Count Megen, her agent on the occasion, bribed the doctor by the promise of a seat in the council of Brabant. Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 435.

[790] "Le tout est en telle désordre," she says in one of her letters, "que, en la pluspart du païs, l'on est sans loy, foy, ni roy." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 91.

Anarchy could not be better described in so few words.

[791] "Il ne reste plus sinon qu'ils s'assemblent et que, joincts ensemble, ils se livrent à faire quelque sac d'églises villes, bourgs, ou païs, de quoy je suis en merveilleusement grande crainte;" Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 121.

[792] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 432.

[793] The fullest account of the doings of the council is given by Hopper, one of its members. Recueil et Mémorial, pp. 81-87.

[794] "Ceux du conseil d'Etat sont étonnés du délai que le Roi met à répondre." Montigny to Margaret, July 21. Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 434.

[795] "Pour l'inclination naturelle que j'ay toujours eu de traieter mes vassaulx et subjects plus par voye d'amour et clémence, que de crainte et de rigeur, je me suis accommodé à tout ce que m'a esté possible." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 100.

[796] "Ay treuvé convenir et nécessaire que l'on conçoive certaine aultre forme de modération de placcart par delà, ayant égard que la saincte foy catholique et mon authorité soyent gardées ... et y feray tout ce que possible sera." Ibid., p. 103.

[797] "N'abhorrissant riens tant que la voye de rigeur." Ibid., ubi supra.

[798] "Y assí vos no lo consentais, ni yo lo consentiré tan poco." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 439.

[799] "Pero no conviene que esto se entienda allá, ni que vos teneis esta órden mia, sino es para lo de agora, pero que la esperais para adelante, no desesperando ellos para entonces dello." Ibid., ubi supra.

[800] Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, pp. 106, 114.

[801] "Comme il ne l'a pas fait librement, ni spontanément, il n'entend être lié par cette autorisation, mais au contraire il se réserve de punir les coupables, et principalement ceux qui ont été les auteurs et fauteurs des séditions." Correspondance de Philippe II, tom. I. p. 443.

One would have been glad to see the original text of this protest, which is in Latin, instead of M. Gachard's abstract.

[802] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 236.

Among those who urged the king to violent measures, no one was so importunate as Fray Lorenzo de Villacancio, an Augustin monk, who distinguished himself by the zeal and intrepidity with which he ventured into the strongholds of the Reformers, and openly denounced their doctrines. Philip, acquainted with the uncompromising temper of the man, and his devotion to the Catholic Church, employed him both as an agent and an adviser in regard to the affairs of the Low Countries. where Fray Lorenzo was staying in the earlier period of the troubles. Many of the friar's letters to the king are still preserved in Simancas, and astonish one by the boldness of their criticisms on the conduct of the ministers, and even of the monarch himself, whom Lorenzo openly accuses of a timid policy towards the Reformers.

In a memorial on the state of the country, prepared, at Philip's suggestion, in the beginning of 1566, Fray Lorenzo urges the necessity of the most rigorous measures towards the Protestants in the Netherlands. "Since your majesty holds the sword which God has given to you, with the divine power over our lives, let it be drawn from the scabbard, and plunged in the blood of the heretics, if you do not wish that the blood of Jesus Christ, shed by these barbarians, and the blood of the innocent Catholics whom they have oppressed, should cry aloud to Heaven for vengeance on the sacred head of your majesty!... The holy king David showed no pity for the enemies of God. He slew them, sparing neither man nor woman. Moses and his brother, in a single day, destroyed three thousand of the children of Israel. An angel, in one night, put to death more than sixty thousand enemies of the Lord. Your majesty is a king, like David; like Moses, a captain of the people of Jehovah; an angel of the Lord,—for so the Scriptures style the kings and captains of his people;—and these heretics are the enemies of the living God!" And in the same strain of fiery and fanatical eloquence he continues to invoke the vengeance of Philip on the heads of his unfortunate subjects in the Netherlands.

That the ravings of this hard-hearted bigot were not distasteful to Philip may be inferred from the fact that he ordered a copy of his memorial to be placed in the hands of Alva, on his departure for the Low Countries. It appears that he had some thoughts of sending Fray Lorenzo to join the duke there,—a project which received little encouragement from the latter, who probably did not care to have so meddlesome a person as this frantic friar to watch his proceedings.

An interesting notice of this remarkable man is to be found in Gachard, Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II., Rapport, pp. xvi.-1.

[803] "Y por la priesa que dieron en esto, no ubo tiempo de consultarlo á Su Santidad, como fuera justo, y quiza avra sido así mejor, pues no vale nada, sino quitandola Su Santidad que es que la pone; pero en esto conviene que aya el secreto que puede considerar." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 445.

[804] "Y en esto conviene el mismo secreto que en lo de arriba." Ibid., ubi supra.

These injunctions of secrecy are interpolations in the handwriting of the "prudent" monarch himself.

[805] "Perderé todos mis estados, y cien vidas que tuviesse, porque yo no pienso ni quiero ser señor de hereges." Ibid., p. 446.

[806] "Et, au regard de la convocation des dicts Estats généraulx, comme je vous ay escript mon intention, je ne treuve qu'il y a matière pour la changer ne qu'il conviengne aulcunement qu'elle se face en mon absence, mesmes comme je suis si prest de mon partement." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 165.

[807] Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. III. p. 321.

[808] "Accendunt animos Ministri, fugienda non animo modò, sed et corpore idola: eradicari, extirpari tantam summi Dei contumeliam opportere affirmant." Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum, p. 236.

[809] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. pp. 250-252.—Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum, p. 232 et seq.—Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, p. 96.—Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, pp. 183, 185.

[810] "Si Mariette avait peur, qu'elle se retirât sitôt en son nid." Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II., Préface, p. lii.

[811] Ibid., ubi supra.

[812] "Nullus ex eo numero aut casu afflictus, aut ruinâ oppressus decidentium ac transvolantium fragmentorum, aut occursu collisuque festinantium cum fabrilibus armis levissimè sauciatus sit." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 257.

"No light argument," adds the historian, "that with God's permission the work was done under the immediate direction of the demons of Hell!"

[813] Ibid., pp. 255-258.—Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum, p. 237 et seq.—Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 193.—Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II., Préface, pp. liii, liv.

[814] "Pro focis pugnatur interdum acriùs quàm pro aris." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 260.

[815] Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 201.

[816] But the Almighty, to quote the words of a contemporary, jealous of his own honor, took signal vengeance afterwards on all those towns and villages whose inhabitants had stood tamely by, and seen the profanation of his temples.—"Dios que es justo y zelador de su honra por caminos y formas incomprehensibles, lo ha vengado despues cruelmente, por que todos esos lugares donde esas cosas han acontecido ban sido tomados, saqueados, despojados y arruinados por guerra, pillage, peste y incomodidades, en que, asi los males y culpados, como los buenos por su sufrimiento y connivencia, han conocido y confesado que Dios ha sido corrido contra ellos." Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

[817] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 259.

[818] "En tous ces monastères et cloistres, ils abattent touttes sépultures des comtes et comtesses de Flandres et aultres." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 183.

[819] "Hic psittaco sacrosanctum Domini corpus porrigerent: Hic ex ordine collocatis imaginibus ignem subijeerent, cadentibus insultarent: Hic statuis arma induerent, in armatos depugnarent, deiectos, Viuant Geusij clamare imperarent, ut ad scopum sic ad Christi imaginem iaculaturi collimarent, libros bibliothecarum butiro inunctos in ignem conijcerent, sacris vestibus summo ludibrio per vicos palàm vterentur." Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum, p. 238.

[820] Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, p. 98.

[821] Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 182.

[822] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 260.

[823] "Y de lo que venia del saco de la plateria y cosas sagradas de la yglesia (que algunos ministros y los del consistorio juntavan en una) distribuyendo á los fieles reformados algunos frutos de su reformacion, para contentar á los hambrientos." Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

[824] "Haciéndoles pagar el precio de los azotes con que fueron azotados." Ibid.

[825] "Il répondit que la première chose à faire était de conserver l'Etat; que, ensuite on s'occuperait des choses de la religion. Elle répliqua, non sans humeur, qu'il lui paraissait plus nécessaire de pourvoir d'abord à ce qu'exigeait le service de Dieu, parce que la ruine de la religion serait un plus grand mal, que la perte du pays." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 449.

[826] "Il repartit que tous ceux qui avaient quelque chose à perdre, ne l'entendaient pas de cette manière." Ibid., p. 450.

[827] Vide ante, p. 265.

[828] "Et me disoient..... que les sectaires voulloient venir tuer, en ma présence, tous les prestres, gens d'église et catholicques." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 188.

[829] "La duchesse se trouve sans conseil ni assistance, pressée par l'ennemi au dedans et au dehors." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 455.

[830] "Nonobstant touttes ces raisons et remonstrances, par plusieurs et divers jours, je n'y ay voullu entendre, donnant par plusieurs fois soupirs et signe de douleur et angoisse de cœur, jusques à là que, par aulcuns jours, la fiebvre m'a détenue, et ay passé plusieurs nuiets sans repos." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 194.

[831] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 454.

[832] "Egmont a tenu le même langage, en ajoutant qu'on lèverait 40,000 hommes, pour aller assiéger Mons." Ibid., ubi supra.

[833] Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 196.—Strada, De Bello Belgico tom. I. p. 266.—Vita Viglii, p. 48.—Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, p. 99.

[834] At Margaret's command, a detailed account of the circumstances under which these concessions were extorted from her was drawn up by the secretary Berty. This document is given by Gachard, Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II., Appendix, p. 588.

[835] The particulars of the agreement are given by Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 45. See also Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 204.—Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. pp. 455, 459.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. cxliv.

[836] "Elle le supplie d'y venir promptement, à main armée, afin de le conquérir de nouveau." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 453.

[837] Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. II. p. 177.

[838] Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. pp. 220, 223, 231, 233; Préface, pp. lxii.-lxiv.

[839] The document is given entire by Groen, Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 429 et seq.

[840] Tiepolo, the Venetian minister at the court of Castile at this time, in his report made on his return, expressly acquits the French nobles of what had been often imputed to them, having a hand in these troubles. Their desire for reform only extended to certain crying abuses; but, in the words of his metaphor, the stream which they would have turned to the irrigation of the ground soon swelled to a terrible inundation.—"Contra l'opinion de'principali della lega, che volevano indur timore et non tanto danno.... Dico che questo fu perchè essi non hebbero mai intentione di ribellarsi dal suo sig^re ma solamente con questi mezzi di timore impedir che non si introducesse in quei stati il tribunal dell'Inquisitione." Relatione di M. A. Tiepolo, 1567, MS.

[841] "En supposant que le Roi voulût admettre deux religions (ce qu'elle ne pouvait croire), elle ne voulait pas, elle, être l'exécutrice d'une semblable détermination; qu'elle se laisserait plutôt mettre en pièces." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 453.

[842] The report of this curious dialogue, somewhat more extended than in these pages, is to be found in the Vita Viglii, p. 47.

[843] "En paroles et en faits, ils se sont déclarés contre Dieu et contre le Roi." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 453.

[844] Ibid., ubi supra.

[845] "Le président, qu'on menace de tous côtés d'assommer et de mettre en pièces, est devenu d'une timidité incroyable." Ibid., p. 460.

Viglius, in his "Life," confirms this account of the dangers with which he was threatened by the people, but takes much more credit to himself for presence of mind than the duchess seems willing to allow. Vita Viglii, p. 48.

[846] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. pp. 255, 260.

[847] "Disant n'avoir aulcun d'elle, mais bien de Vostre Majesté, laquelle n'avoit esté content me laisser en ma maison, mais m'avoit commandé me trouver à Bruxelles vers Son Altesse, ou avoie receu tant de facheries." Supplément à Strada, tom. II. p. 505.

[848] "Ne me samblant debvoir traicter affaires de honneur avecq Dames." Ibid., ubi supra.

[849] "They tell me," writes Morillon to Granvelle, "it is quite incredible how old and gray Egmont has become. He does not venture to sleep at night without his sword and pistols by his bedside!" (Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, Supplément, p. 36.) But there was no pretence that at this time Egmont's life was in danger. Morillon, in his eagerness to cater for the cardinal's appetite for gossip, did not always stick at the improbable.

[850] "Il leur en coûtera cher (s'écria-t-il en se tirant la barbe), il leur en coûtera cher; j'en jure par l'âme de mon père." Gachard, Analectes Belgiques, p. 254.

[851] "De tout cela (disje) ne se perdit un seul moment en ce temps, non obstant la dicte maladie de Sa Maj^te, la quelle se monstra semblablement selon son bon naturel, en tous ces negoces et actions tousjours tant modeste, et temperée et constante en iceulx affaires, quelques extremes qu'ilz fussent, que jamais l'on n'a veu en icelle signal, ou de passion contre les personnes d'une part, ou de relasche en ses negoces de l'aultre." Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, p. 104.

[852] At this period stops the "Recueil et Mémorial des Troubles des Pays-Bas" of Joachim Hopper, which covers a hundred quarto pages of the second volume (part second) of Hoynck van Papendrecht's "Analecta Belgica." Hopper was a jurist, a man of learning and integrity. In 1566 he was called to Madrid, raised to the post of keeper of the seals for the affairs of the Netherlands, and made a member of the council of state. He never seems to have enjoyed the confidence of Philip in anything like the degree which Granvelle and some other ministers could boast; for Hopper was a Fleming. Yet his situation in the cabinet made him acquainted with the tone of sentiment as well as the general policy of the court; while, as a native of Flanders, he could comprehend, better than a Spaniard, the bearing this policy would have on his countrymen. His work, therefore, is of great importance as far as it goes. It is difficult to say why it should have stopped in mediis, for Hopper remained still in office, and died at Madrid ten years after the period to which he brings his narrative. He may have been discouraged by the remarks of Viglius, who intimates, in a letter to his friend, that the chronicler should wait to allow time to disclose the secret springs of action. See the Epistolæ ad Hopperum, p. 419.

[853] Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 206.

[854] "Questo è il nuvolo che minaccia ora i nostri paesi; e n'uscirà la tempesta forse prima che non si pensa. Chi la prevede ne dà l'avviso; e chi n'è avvisato, o con intrepidezza l'incontri, o con avvedimento la sfugga." Bentivoglio, Guerra di Fiandra, p. 118.

[855] "Nullum prodire è Regis ore verbum seu privatè seu publicè, quin ad ejus aures in Belgium fideliter afferatur." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 281.

[856] An abstract of the letter is given by Gachard, Correspondance de Philippe II. tom. I. p. 485.

[857] "Sa Ma^té et ceulx du Conseil seront bien aise que sur le prétext de la religion ils pourront parvenir à leur pretendu, de mestre le pais, nous aultres, et nous enfans en la plus misérable servitude qu'on n'auroit jamais veu, et come on ast tousjours craint cela plus que chose que soit." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 324.

[858] Egmont's deposition at his trial confirms the account given in the text—that propositions for resistance, though made at the meeting, were rejected. Hoorne in his "Justification," refers the failure to Egmont. Neither one nor the other throws light on the course of discussion. Bentivoglio, in his account of the interview, shows no such reserve; and he gives two long and elaborate speeches from Orange and Egmont, in as good set phrase as if they had been expressly reported by the parties themselves for publication. The Italian historian affects a degree of familiarity with the proceedings of this secret conclave by no means calculated to secure our confidence. Guerra di Fiandra, pp. 123-128.

[859] "Siesse qu'elle jure que s'et la plus grande vilagnerie du monde..... et que s'et ung vray pasquil fameulx et qui doit ettre forgé pardechà, et beaucoup de chozes semblables." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 400.

[860] "En fin s'et une femme nourie en Rome, il n'y at que ajouter foy." Ibid., p. 401.

Yet Egmont, on his trial, affirmed that he regarded the letter as spurious! (Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 327.) One who finds it impossible that the prince of Orange could lend himself to such a piece of duplicity, may perhaps be staggered when he calls to mind his curious correspondence with the elector and with King Philip in relation to Anne of Saxony, before his marriage with that princess. Yet Margaret, as Egmont hints, was of the Italian school; and Strada, her historian, dismisses the question with a doubt,—"in medio ego quidem relinquo." A doubt from Strada is a decision against Margaret.

[861] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom I. p. 474.

[862] Ibid., p. 491.

[863] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 282.

[864] Ibid., ubi supra.

[865] Hopper, Recueil et Mémorial, p. 109.

[866] Ibid., p. 113.

[867] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. p. 391.

[868] "Prætereà consistoria, id est senatus ac cœtus, multis in urbibus, sicuti jam Antverpiæ cæperant, instituerunt: creatis Magistratibus, Senatoribusque, quorum consiliis (sed anteà cum Antverpianâ curiâ, quam esse principem voluere, communicatis) universa hæreticorum Resput. temperaretur." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I p. 283.

[869] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. II. pp. 455, 456.

[870] Ibid., p. 496.

[871] I quote almost the words of William in his famous Apology, which suggests the same explanation of his conduct that I have given in the text.—"Car puis que dès le berceau j'y avois esté nourry, Monsieur mon Pere y avoit vescu, y estoit mort, ayant chassé de ses Seigneuries les abus de l'Eglise, qui est-ce qui trouvera estrange si cette doctrine estoit tellement engravée en mon cœur, et y avoit jetté telles racines, qu'en son temps elle est venuë à apporter ses fruits." Dumont, Corps Diplomatique, tom. V. part i. p. 392.

[872] "Il y a plus de trois mois, qu'elle se lève avant le jour, et que le plus souvent elle tient conseil le matin et le soir; et tout le reste, de la journée et de la nuit, elle le consacre à donner des audiences, à lire les lettres et les avis qui arrivent de toutes parts, et à déterminer les résponses à y faire." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 496.

Sleep seems to have been as superfluous to Margaret as to a hero of romance.

[873] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. pp. 289, 290.

[874] "J'aimerais mieux que my langue fût attachée au palais, et devenir muet, comme un poisson, que d'ouvrir la bouche pour persuader au peuple chose tant cruelle et déraisonnable." Chronique contemporaine, cited by Gachard. Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 561, note.

[875] "Suadere itaque illis, ut à publicis certè negotiis abstineant, ac res quique suas in posterum curent: néve Regem brevi affecturum ingenitæ benignitatis oblivisci cogant. Se quidem omni ope curaturam, ne, quam ipsi ruinam comminentur, per hæc vulgi turbamenta Belgium patiatur." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 295.

[876] "Nec ullis conditionibus flecti te patere ad clementiam; sed homines scelestos, atque indeprecabile supplicium commeritos, ferro et igni quamprimùm dele." Ibid., p. 300.

[877] "Periere in eâ pugnâ quæ prima cum rebellibus commissa est in Belgio, Gheusiorum mille ac quingenti: capti circiter trecenti, jugulatique pænè omnes Beavorii jussu, quod erupturi Antverpienses, opemque reliquiis victæ factionis allaturi crederentur." Ibid., p. 301.

[878] For the account of the troubles in Antwerp, see Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 226 et seq.—Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Naussau, tom. III. p. 59.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. pp 300-303.—Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 247.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. pp. 526, 527.—Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum, pp. 314-317.—Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

[879] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 310.

[880] Strada gives an extract from the letter: "Deinde si deditio non sequeretur, invaderent quidem urbem, quodque militum est, agerent; à cædibus tamen non puerorum modò, senúmque ac mulierum abstinerent; sed civium nullus, nisi dum inter propugnandum se hostem gereret, enecaretur." Ibid., p. 311.

[881] "Quasi verò, inquit, vestra conditio eadem hodie sit, ac nudiustertius. Serò sapitis Valencenates: ego certè conditionibus non transigo cadente cum hoste." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 314.

[882] "Feruntque ter millies explosas murales machinas, mœnium quàm hominum majori strage." Ibid., ubi supra.

[883] So states Margaret's historian, who would not be likely to exaggerate the number of those who suffered. The loyal president of Mechlin dismisses the matter more summarily, without specifying any number of victims. "El señor de Noilcarmes se aseguró de muchos prisioneros principales Borgeses y de otros que avian sido los autores de la rebelion, á los quales se hizo luego en diligencia su pleyto." (Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.) Brandt, the historian of the Reformation, (vol. I. p. 251,) tells us that two hundred were said to have perished by the hands of the hangman at Valenciennes, on account of the religious troubles, in the course of this year.

[884] For information, more or less minute, in regard to the siege of Valenciennes, see Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. pp. 303-315.—Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum, pp. 319-322.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 49.—Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. p. 501.—Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

[885] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. pp. 315-323 et seq.

[886] "Il ne comprenait pas pourquoi la gouvernante insistait, après qu'il lui avait écrit une lettre de sa main, contenant tout ce que S. A. pouvait désirer d'un gentilhomme d'honneur, chevalier de l'Ordre, naturel vassal du Roi, et qui toute sa vie avait fait le devoir d'homme de bien, comme il le faisait encore journellement." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 321.

[887] "Ferez cesser les calumnies que dictes se semer contre vous, ensamble tous ces bruits que scavez courrir de vous, encoires que en mon endroict je les tiens faulx et que à tort ils se dyent; ne pouvant croire que en ung cœur noble et de telle extraction que vous estes, successeur des Seigneurs," etc. Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. III. p. 44.

[888] "Servir et m'employer envers et contre tous, et comme me sera ordonné de sa part, sans limitation ou restrinction." Ibid., ubi supra.

[889] "Je seroys aulcunement obligé et constrainct, le cas advenant, que on me viendroict à commander chose qui pourroit venir contre ma conscience ou au déservice de Sa Ma^té et du pays." Ibid., p. 46.

[890] "Vous asseurant que, où que seray, n'espargneray jamais mon corps ni mon bien pour le service de Sa Ma^té et le bien commun de ces pays." Ibid., p. 47.

[891] Ibid., p. 42.

[892] "In ansehung das wir in dissen länden allein seindt, und in höchsten nöten und gefehrden leibs und lebens stecken, und keinen vertrauwen freundt umb uns haben, deme wir unser gemüthe und hertz recht eröffnen dörffen." Ibid., p. 39.

[893] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 319.

[894] "Orasse ilium, subduceret sese, gravidamque cruore tempestatem ab Hispaniâ impendentem Belgarum Procerum capitibus ne opperiretur." Ibid., p. 321.

[895] "Perdet te, inquit Orangius, hæc quam jactas dementia Regis, Egmonti; ac videor mihi providere animo, utinam falso, te pontem scilicet futurum, quo Hispani calcato, in Belgium transmittant." Ibid., ubi supra.

[896] The secretary Pratz, in a letter of the 14th of April, thus kindly notices William's departure: "The prince has gone, taking along with him half a dozen heretical doctors and a good number of other seditious rogues." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 526.

[897] "Tibi vero hoc persuade amiciorem me te habere neminem cui quidvis libere imperare potes. Amor enim tui eas egit radices in animo meo ut minui nullo temporis aut locorum intervallo possit." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. III. p. 70.

It is not easy to understand why William should have resorted to Latin in his correspondence with Egmont.

[898] "Ayant tousjours porté en vostre endroit l'affection que je pourrois faire pour ung mien fils, ou parent bien proche. Et vous vous povez de ce confier, toutes les fois que les occasions se présenteront, que feray le mesme." Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. II. p. 371.

[899] William's only daughter was maid of honor to the regent, who made no objection to her accompanying her father, saying that, on the young lady's return she would find no diminution of the love that had been always shown to her. Ibid., ubi supra.

[900] According to Strada, some thought that William knew well what he was about when he left his son behind him at Louvain; and that he would have had no objection that the boy should be removed to Madrid,—considering that, if things went badly with himself, it would be well for the heir of the house to have a hold on the monarch's favor. This is rather a cool way of proceeding for a parent, it must be admitted. Yet it is not very dissimilar from that pursued by William's own father, who, a stanch Lutheran himself, allowed his son to form part of the imperial household, and to be there nurtured in the Roman Catholic faith. See Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 373.

[901] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. III. p. 100.

[902] "Pour ne le jecter d'advantaige en désespoir et perdition, aussy en contemplation de ses parens et alliez, je n'ai peu excuser luy dire qu'il seroit doncques aînsy qu'il avoit faict, et qu'il revinst au conseil." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 238.

[903] William was generous enough to commend Hoorne for this step, expressing the hope that it might induce such a spirit of harmony in the royal council as would promote the interests of both king and country. See the letter, written in Latin, dated from Breda, April 14, in Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau tom. III. p. 71.

[904] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 322.

[905] Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 235.

[906] "Egit ipsa privatim magnæ Virgini grates, quòd ejus ope tantam urbem sine prælio ac sanguine, Religioni Regique reddidisset." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 328.

[907] Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, tom. I. p. 254.

[908] Gachard has transferred to his notes the whole of this sanguinary document. See Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. pp. 550, 551.

[909] "La peine et le mécontentement qu'il a éprouvés, de ce que l'on a fait une chose si illicite, si indécente, et si contraire à la religion chrétienne." Ibid., ubi supra.

[910] Viglius was not too enlightened to enter his protest against the right to freedom of conscience, which, in a letter to his friend Hopper, he says may lead every one to set up his own gods—"lares aut lemures"—according to his fancy. Yet the president was wise enough to see that sufficient had been done at present in breaking up the preachings. "Time and Philip's presence must do the rest." (Epistolæ ad Hopperum, p. 433.) "Those," he says in another letter, "who have set the king against the edict have greatly deceived him. They are having their ovation before they have gained the victory. They think they can dispose of Flemish affairs as they like at Toledo, when hardly a Spaniard dares to show his head in Brussels." Ibid., p. 428.

[911] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. III. pp. 80-93.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 329.

[912] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 332.

[913] Groen's inestimable collection contains several of Brederode's letters, which may remind one in their tone of the dashing cavalier of the time of Charles the First. They come from the heart, mingling the spirit of daring enterprise with the careless gayety of the bon vivant, and throw far more light than the stiff, statesmanlike correspondence of the period on the character, not merely of the writer, but of the disjointed times in which he lived.

[914] Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 255.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 50.—Vander Haer, De Initiis Tumultuum, p. 327.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 533.

[915] Margaret's success draws forth an animated tribute from the president of Mechlin. "De manera que los negocios de los payses bajos por la gracia de Dios y la prudencia de esta virtuosa Dama y Princesa con la asistencia de los buenos consejeros y servidores del Rey en buenos terminos y en efecto remediados, las villas reveldes y alteradas amazadas, los gueuses reducidos ó huidos; los ministros y predicantes echados fuera ó presos; y la autoridad de su Magestad establecida otra vez." Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

[916] This was fulfilling the prophecy of the prince of Orange, who in his letter to Hoorne tells him, "In a short time we shall refuse neither bridle nor saddle. For myself," he adds, "I have not the strength to endure either." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. III. p. 72.

[917] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 333.

[918] See Meteren, (Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 49,) who must have drawn somewhat on his fancy for these wholesale executions, which, if taken literally, would have gone nigh to depopulate the Netherlands.

[919] "Thus the gallowses were filled with carcasses, and Germany with exiles." Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, tom. I. p. 257.

[920] "Ex trabibus decidentium templorum, infelicia conformarent patibula, ex quibus ipsi templorum fabri cultoresque pendêrent." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 333.

[921] "Le bruit de l'arrivée prochaine du duc, à la tête d'une armée, fait fuir de toutes parts des gens, qui se retirent en France, en Angleterre, au pays de Clèves, en Allemagne et ailleurs." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 546.

[922] Ibid., ubi supra.

[923] "Par les restrictions extraordinaires que V. M. a mises à mon autorité, elle m'a enlevé tout pouvoir et m'a privée des moyens d'achever l'entier rétablissement des affaires de ce pays: à présent qu'elle voit ces affaires en un bon état, elle en veut donner l'honneur à d'autres, tandis que, moi seule, j'ai eu les fatigues et les dangers." Ibid., p. 523.

[924] "Où l'autorité du Roi est plus assurée qu'elle ne l'était au temps de l'Empereur." Ibid., p. 532.

[925] Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, tom. I. p. 258.

[926] "Ledit évêque, dans la première audience qu'il lui a donnée, a usé d'ailleurs de termes si étranges, qu'il l'a mis en colère, et que, s'il eût eu moins d'amour et de respect pour S. S., cela eût pu le faire revenir sur les résolutions qu'il a prises." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 488.

The tart remonstrance of Philip had its effect. Granvelle soon after wrote to the king, that his holiness was greatly disturbed by the manner in which his majesty had taken his rebuke. The pope, Granvelle added, was a person of the best intentions, but with very little knowledge of the world, and easily kept in check by those who show their teeth to him;—"reprimese quando se le muestran los dientes." Ibid., tom. II. p. lviii.

[927] "Que lui et le temps en valaient deux autres." Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 199.

The hesitation of the king drew on him a sharp rebuke from the audacious Fray Lorenzo Villavicencio, who showed as little ceremony in dealing with Philip as with his ministers. "If your majesty," he says, "consulting only your own ease, refuses to make this visit to Flanders, which so nearly concerns the honor of God, his blessed Mother, and all the saints, as well as the weal of Christendom, what is it but to declare that you are ready to accept the regal dignity which God has given you, and yet leave to him all the care and trouble that belong to that dignity? God would take this as ill of your majesty, as you would take it of those of your vassals whom you had raised to offices of trust and honor, and who took the offices, but left you to do the work for them! To offend God is a rash act, that must destroy both soul and body." Gachard, Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II., Rapport, p. xlviii.

[928] "Ne extingui quidem posse sine ruinâ victoris." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 338.

Better expressed by the old Castilian proverb, "El vencido vencido, y el vencidor perdido."

[929] "At illos non armis sed beneficiis expugnari." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 339.

[930] Ibid., p. 340.

[931] "Ouy, et que plus est, oserions presques asseurer Vostre Majesté plusieurs des mauvais et des principaulx, voiant ledit prince de Heboli, se viendront réconcilier à luy, et le supplier avoir, par son moien, faveur vers Vostre Majesté." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 519.

[932] The debate is reported with sufficient minuteness both by Cabrera (Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 7,) and Strada (De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 338). They agree, however, neither in the names of the parties present, nor in the speeches they made. Yet their disagreement in these particulars is by no means so surprising as their agreement in the most improbable part of their account,—Philip's presence at the debate.

[933] "Comme si c'eust esté une saincte guerre." Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 52.

[934] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 350.

[935] "Il répète," says Gachard, "dans une dépêche du 1^er septembre, qu'au milieu des bruits contradictoires qui circulent à la cour, il est impossible de démêler la vérité." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I., Rapport, p. clvi.

[936] "Ceterùm, ut jam jamque iturus, legit comites, conquisivit impedimenta, adornavit naves: mox hiemem, aut negotia variè causatus, primó prudentes, dein vulgum, diutissimè provincias fefellit." Taciti Annales, I. xlvii.

[937] "Es la primera que se me da en mi vida de cosas desta cualidad en cuantas veces he servido, ni de su Magestad Cesárea que Dios tenga, ni de V. M." Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 354.

[938] A magnanimous Castilian historian pronounces a swelling panegyric on this little army in a couple of lines: "Los Soldados podian ser Capitanes, los Capitanes Maestros de Campo, y los Maestros de Campo Generales." Hechos de Sancho Davila, (Valladolid, 1713,) p. 26.

The chivalrous Brantôme dwells with delight on the gallant bearing and brilliant appointments of these troops, whom he saw in their passage through Lorraine. "Tous vieux et aguerrys soldatz, tant bien en poinct d'habillement et d'armes, la pluspart dorées, et l'autre gravees, qu'on les prenoit plustost pour capitanes que soldats." Œuvres, tom. I. p. 60.

[939]

"Corpus in Italia est, tenet intestina Brabantus;
Ast animam nemo. Cur? quia non habuit."

Borgnet, Philippe II. et la Belgique, p. 60.

[940] No two writers, of course, agree in the account of Alva's forces. The exact returns of the amount of the whole army, as well as of each company, and the name of the officer who commanded it, are to be found in the Documentos Inéditos (tom. IV. p. 382). From this it appears that the precise number of horse was 1,250, and that of the foot 8,800, making a total of 10,050.

[941] A poem in ottava rima, commemorating Alva's expedition, appeared at Antwerp the year following, from the pen of one Balthazar de Vargas. It has more value in a historical point of view than in a poetical one. A single stanza, which the bard devotes to the victualling of the army, will probably satisfy the appetite of the reader:—

"Y por que la Savoya es montañosa,
Y an de passar por ella las legiones,
Seria la passada trabajosa
Si a la gente faltassen provisiones,
El real comissario no reposa.
Haze llevar de Italia municiones
Tantas que proveyo todo el camino
Que jamas falto el pan, y carno, y vino."

[942] Ossorio, Albæ Vita, tom. II. p. 237.—Trillo, Rebelion y Guerras de Flandes, (Madrid, 1592,) fol. 17.—Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 490.

[943] So say Schiller, (Abfall der Niederlande, s. 363,). Cabrera, (Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 15,) et auct. al. But every schoolboy knows that nothing is more unsettled than the route taken by Hannibal across the Alps. The two oldest authorities, Livy and Polybius, differ on the point, and it has remained a vexed question ever since,—the criticism of later years, indeed, leaning to still another route, that across the Little St. Bernard. The passage of Hannibal forms the subject of a curious discussion introduced into Gibbon's journal, when the young historian was in training for the mighty task of riper years. His reluctance, even at the close of his argument, to strike the balance, is singularly characteristic of his sceptical mind.

[944] "A suidar da quel nido di Demoni, le sceleraggini di tanti Appostati." Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 487.

[945] The Huguenots even went so far as to attempt to engage the reformed in the Low Countries to join them in assaulting the duke in his march through Savoy. Their views were expressed in a work which circulated widely in the provinces, though it failed to rouse the people to throw off the Spanish yoke. Sec Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 194.

[946] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. pp. 350-354.—Ossorio, Albæ Vita, tom. II. p. 232 et seq.—Hechos de Sancho Davila, p. 26.—Trillo, Rebelion y Guerras de Flandes, fol. 16, 17.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 15.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 52.—Lanario, Guerras de Flandes, fol. 15.—Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS.

Chronological accuracy was a thing altogether beneath the attention of a chronicler of the sixteenth century. In the confusion of dates in regard to Alva's movements, I have been guided as far as possible by his own despatches. See Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 349 et seq.

[947] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 354.—Ossorio, Albæ Vita, tom. I. p. 241.

[948] Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 52.—Old Brantôme warms as he contemplates these Amazons, as beautiful and making as brave a show as princesses! "Plus il y avoit quatre cents courtisanes à cheval, belles et braves comme princesses, et huict cents à pied, bien en point aussi." Œuvres, tom. I. p. 62.

[949] "Ninguna Historia nos enseña haya passado un Exercito por Pais tan dilatado y marchas tan continuas, sin cometer excesso: La del Duque es la unica que nos la hace ver. Encantò à todo el mundo." Rustant, Historia del Duque de Alva, tom. II. p. 124.—So also Herrera, Historia General, tom. I. p. 650.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 15.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 354.

[950] "Comme le Duc le vid de long, il dit tout haut; Voicy le grand hereticque, dequoq le Comte s'espouvanta: neantmoins, pource qu'on le pouvoit entendre en deux façons, il l'interpreta de bonne part." Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 53.

[951] "Vimos los que allí estábamos que el Duque de Alba usó de grandísimos respetos y buenas crianzas, y que Madama estuvo muy severa y mas que cuando suelen negociar con ella Egmont y estos otros Señores de acá, cosa que fué muy notada de los que lo miraban."

A minute account of this interview, as given in the text, was sent to Philip by Mendivil, an officer of the artillery, and is inserted in the Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 397 et seq.

[952] This document, dated December 1, 1566, is not to be found in the Archives of Simancas, as we may infer from its having no place in the Documentos Inéditos, which contains the succeeding commission. A copy of it is in the Belgian Archives, and has been incorporated in Gachard's Correspondance de Philippe II. (tom. II., Appendix, No. 88.) It is possible that a copy of this commission was sent to Margaret, as it agrees so well with what the king had written to her on the subject.

[953] To this second commission, dated January 31, 1567, was appended a document, signed also by Philip, the purport of which seems to have been to explain more precisely the nature of the powers intrusted to the duke,—which it does in so liberal a fashion, that it may be said to double those powers. Both papers, the originals of which are preserved in Simancas, have been inserted in the Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. pp. 388-396.

[954] "Par quoy requerrons à ladicte dame duchesse, nostre seur, et commandons à tous nos vassaulx et subjectz, de obéyr audict duc d'Alve en ce qu'il leur commandera, et de par nous, come aïant telle charge, et comme à nostre propre personne."—This instrument, taken from the Belgian archives, is given entire by Gachard, Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II., Appendix, No. 102.

[955] "Despues que los han visto han quedado todos muy lastimados, y á todos cuantos Madama habla les dice que se quierre ir á su casa por los agravios que V. M. le ha hecho." Carta de Mendivil, ap. Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV p. 399.

[956] Ibid., p. 403.

[957] Ibid., p. 400.

[958] "En todo el sermon no trató cuasi de otra cosa sino de que los españoles eran traidores y ladrones, y forzadores de mugeres, y que totalmente el pais que los sufria era destruido, con tanto escándolo y maldad que merescia ser quemado." Ibid., p. 401.

[959] Yet there was danger in it, if, as Armenteros warned the duke, to leave his house would be at the risk of his life. "Tambien me ha dicho Tomás de Armenteros que diga al Duque de Alba que en ninguna manera como fuera de su casa porque si lo hace será con notable peligro de la vida." Ibid., ubi supra.

[960] "Despues de haberse sentado le dijo el contentamiento que tenia de su venida y que ningún otro pudiera venir con quien ella mas se holgara." Ibid., p. 404.

[961] "Que lo que principalmente traia era estar aquí con esta gente para que la justicia fuese obedecida y respetada, y los mandamientos de S. E. ejecutadas, y que S. M. á su venida hallase esto en la paz, tranquilidad y sosiego que era razon." Ibid., p. 406.

[962] "Podráse escusar con estos diciéndoles que yo soy cabezudo y que he estado muy opinatre en sacar de aquí esta gente, que yo huelgo de que á mí se me eche la culpa y de llevar el odio sobre mí á trueque de que V. E. quede descargada." Ibid., p. 408.

[963] Supplément à Strada, tom. II. p. 524.

[964] "Tenendo per certo che V. M. non vorrà desautorizarmi, per autorizare altri, poi che questo non e giusto, ne manco saria servitio suo, se non gran danno et inconveniente per tutti li negotii." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 505.

[965] "Il y est si odieux qu'il suffirait à y faire haïr toute la nation espagnole." Ibid., p. 556.

[966] Ibid., ubi supra.

[967] "Elle est affectée, jusqu'au fond de l'âme, de la conduite du Roi à son égard." Ibid., p. 567.

[968] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pay-Bas, tom. II. p. 207.

[969] "Seu vera seu ficta, facilè Gandavensibus credita, ab iisque in reliquum Belgium cum Albani odio propagata." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 368.

[970] See his remarkable letter to the king, of October 21, 1563: "A los que destos merecen, quítenles las caveças, hasta poderlo hacer dissimular con ellos." Papiers d'Etat de Granvelle, tom. VII. p. 233.

[971] "Les Espaignols font les plus grandes foulles qu'on ne sçauroit escryre; ils confisquent tout, à tort, à droit, disant que touts sont hérétiques, qui ont du bien, et ont à perdre."

The indignant writer does not omit to mention the "two thousand" strumpets who came in the duke's train; "so," he adds, "with what we have already, there will be no lack of this sort of wares in the country." Lettre de Jean de Hornes, Aug. 25, 1567, Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 565.

[972] Clough, Sir Thomas Gresham's agent, who was in the Low Countries at this time, mentions the licence of the Spaniards. It is but just to add, that he says the government took prompt measures to repress it, by ordering some of the principal offenders to the gibbet. Burgon, Life of Gresham, vol. II. pp. 229, 230.

[973] The duchess, in a letter to Philip, September 8, 1567, says that a hundred thousand people fled the country on the coming of Alva! (Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 357.) If this be thought a round exaggeration, dictated by policy or by fear, still there are positive proofs that the emigration at this period was excessive. Thus, by a return made of the population of London and its suburbs, this very year of 1567, it appears that the number of Flemings was as large as that of all other foreigners put together. See Bulletins de l'Académie Royale de Bruxelles, tom. XIV. p. 127.

[974] Thus Jean de Hornes, Baron de Boxtel, writes to the prince of Orange: "J'ay prins une résolution pour mon faict et est que je fay tout effort de scavoir si l'on poulrast estre seurement en sa maison: si ainsy est, me retireray en une des miennes le plus abstractement que possible sera; sinon, regarderay de chercher quelque résidence en desoubs ung aultre Prince." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. III. p. 125.

[975] Göthe, in his noble tragedy of "Egmont," seems to have borrowed a hint from Shakespeare's "blanket of the dark," to depict the gloom of Brussels,—where he speaks of the heavens as wrapt in a dark pall from the fatal hour when the duke entered the city. Act IV. Scene I.

[976] Vera y Figueroa, Vida de Alva, p. 89.

[977] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 578.

[978] Ibid., p. 563.

[979] "Qu'il lui avait peiné infiniment que le Roi n'eût tenu compte de monseigneur et de ses services, comme il le méritait." Ibid., ubi supra.

[980] "Que s'il voyait M. de Hornes, il lui dirait des choses qui le satisferaient, et par lesquelles celui-ci connaîtrait qu'il n'avait pas été oublié de ses amis." Ibid., p. 564.

[981] According to Strada, Hoogstraten actually set out to return to Brussels, but, detained by illness or some other cause on the road, he fortunately received tidings of the fate of his friends in season to profit by it and make his escape. De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 358.

[982] Ibid., p. 359.—Ossorio, Albæ Vita, tom. II. p. 248. Also the memoirs of that "Thunderbolt of War," as his biographer styles him, Sancho Davila himself. Hechos de Sancho Davila, p. 29.

A report, sufficiently meagre, of the affair, was sent by Alva to the king. In this no mention is made of his having accompanied Egmont when he left the room where they had been conferring together. See Documentos Inéditos, tom. II. p. 418.

[983] "Et tamen hoc ferro sæpè ego Regis causam non infeliciter defendí." Strada, de Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 359.

[984] Clough, Sir Thomas Gresham's correspondent, in a letter from Brussels, of the same date as the arrest of Egmont, gives an account of his bearing on the occasion, which differs somewhat from that in the text; not more, however, than the popular rumors of any strange event of recent occurrence are apt to differ. "And as touching the county of Egmond, he was (as the saying ys) apprehendyd by the Duke, and comyttyd to the offysers: whereuppon, when the capytane that had charge [of him] demandyd hys weapon, he was in a grett rage; and tooke hys sword from hys syde, and cast it to the grounde." Burgon, Life of Gresham, vol. II. p. 234.

[985] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 574.

[986] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 359.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 54.—Hechos de Sancho Davila, p. 29.—Ossorio, Albæ Vita, tom. II. p. 248.—Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 223.—Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 418.

[987] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 226.

[988] "Toutes ces mesures étaient nécessaires, vu la grande autorité du comte d'Egmont en ces pays, qui ne connaissaient d'autre roi que lui." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 582.

[989] Ibid., ubi supra.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 54.

[990] "L'emprisonnement des deux comtes ne donne lieu à aucune rumeur; au contraire, la tranquillité est si grande, que le Roi ne le pourrait croire." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 575.

[991] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 359.

[992] Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 260.

[993] "Que, s'il apprenait que quelques-uns en fissent, encore même que ce fût pour dire le credo, il les châtierait; que, quant aux priviléges de l'Ordre, le Roi, après un mûr examen de ceux-ci, avait prononcé, et qu'on devait se soumettre." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 578.

[994] "Adeò contracto ac penè nullo cum imperio moderari, an utile Regi, an decorum ei quam Rex sororem appellare non indignatur, iliius meditationi relinquere." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 360.

[995] "Il vaut mieux que le Roi attende, pour venir, que tous les actes de rigueur aient été faits; il entrera alors dans le pays comme prince benin et clément, pardonnant, et accordant des faveurs à ceux qui l'auront mérité." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 577.

[996] "An captus quoque fuisset Taciturnus, (sic Orangium nominabat,) atque eo negante dixisse fertur, Uno illo retibus non incluso, nihil ab Duce Albano captum." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 360.

[997] "Grace à Dieu, tout est parfaitement tranquille aux Pays-Bas." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 589.

[998] "Le repos aux Pays-Bas ne consiste pas à faire couper la tête à des hommes qui se sont laissé persuader par d'autres." Ibid., p. 576.

[999] "Os habemos hecho entender que nuestra intencion era de no usar de rigor contra nuestros subegetos que durante las revueltas pasadas pudiesen haber ofendido contra Nos, sino de toda dulzura y clemencia segun nuestra inclinacion natural." Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 440.

[1000] The ordinance, dated September 18, 1567, copied from the Archives of Simancas, is to be found in the Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 489 et seq.

[1001] "Statimque mercatores decem primarios Tornacenses è portu Flissingano fugam in Britanniam adornantes capi, ac bonis exutos custodiri jubet." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 361.

[1002] "Mais l'intention de S. M. n'est pas de verser le sang de ses sujets, et moi, de mon naturel, je ne l'aime pas davantage." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 576.

[1003] "Novum igitur consessum judicum instituit, exteris in eum plerisque adscitis; quem Turbarum ille; plebes, Sanguinis appellabat Senatum." Reidani Annales, (Lugdunum Batavorum, 1633,) p. 5.

[1004] "Les plus savants et les plus intègres du pays, et de la meilleure vie." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 576.

[1005] Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 300.

[1006] Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 54.

[1007] Viglius, who had not yet seen the man, thus mentions him in a letter to his friend Hopper: "Imperium ac rigorem metuunt cujusdam Vergasi, qui apud eum multum posse, et nescio quid aliud, dicitur." Epist. ad Hopperum, p. 451.

[1008] "Une activité toute juvénile." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 583.

[1009] Ibid., ubi supra.

[1010] Bulletins de l'Académie Royale de Belgique, tom. XVI. par. ii. p. 58.

[1011] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 242. Hessels was married to a niece of Viglius. According to the old councillor, she was on bad terms with her husband, because he had not kept his promise of resigning the office of attorney-general, in which he made himself so unpopular in Flanders. (Epist. ad Hopperum, p. 495.) In the last chapter of this Book the reader will find some mention of the tragic fate of Hessels.

[1012] "Letrados no sentencian sino en casos probados; y como V. M. sabe, los negocios de Estado son muy diferentes de las leyes que ellos tienen." Bulletins de l'Académie Royale de Belgique, tom. XVI. par. ii. p. 52, note.

[1013] "En siendo el aviso de condemnar á muerte, se decia que estaba muy bien y no habia mas que ver; empero, si el aviso era de menor pena, no se estaba á lo que ellos decian, sino tornabase á ver el proceso, y decianles sobre ello malas palabras, y hacianles ruin tratamiento." Gachard cites the words of the official document. Bulletins de l'Académie Royale de Belgique, tom. XVI. par. ii. p. 67.

[1014] Ibid., p. 68 et seq.

[1015] "Qu'ils seraient et demeureraient à jamais bons catholiques, selon que commandait l'Eglise catholique romaine; que, par haine, amour, pitié ou crainte de personne, ils ne laisseraient de dire franchement et sincèrement leur avis, selon qu'en bonne justice ils trouvaient convenir et appartenir; qu'ils tiendraient secret tout ce qui se traiterait au conseil, et qu'ils accuseraient ceux qui feraient le contraire." Bulletins de l'Académie Royale de Belgique, tom. XVI. par. ii. p. 56.

[1016] Ibid., p. 57.

[1017] Belin, in a letter to his patron, Cardinal Granvelle, gives full vent to his discontent with "three or four Spaniards in the duke's train, who would govern all in his name. They make but one head under the same hat." He mentions Vargas and Del Rio in particular. Granvelle's reply is very characteristic. Far from sympathizing with his querulous follower, he predicts the ruin of his fortunes by this mode of proceeding. "A man who would rise in courts must do as he is bidden, without question. Far from taking umbrage, he must bear in mind that injuries, like pills, should he swallowed without chewing, that one may not taste the bitterness of them;"—a noble maxim, if the motive had been noble. See Levesque, Mémoires de Granvelle, tom. II. pp. 91-94.

[1018] The historians of the time are all more or less diffuse on the doings of the Council of Troubles, written as they are in characters of blood. But we look in vain for any account of the interior organization of that tribunal, or of its mode of judicial procedure. This may be owing to the natural reluctance which the actors themselves felt, in later times, to being mixed up with the proceedings of a court so universally detested. For the same reason, as Gachard intimates, they may not improbably have even destroyed some of the records of its proceedings. Fortunately that zealous and patriotic scholar has discovered in the Archives of Simancas sundry letters of Alva and his successor, as well as some of the official records of the tribunal, which in a great degree supply the defect. The result he has embodied in a luminous paper prepared for the Royal Academy of Belgium, which has supplied me with the materials for the preceding pages. See Bulletins de l'Académie Royale des Sciences, des Lettres et des Beaux Arts de Belgique, tom. XVI. par. ii. pp. 50-78.

[1019] "Hasta que vean en que para este juego que se comiença." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 598.

[1020] "Car l'incertitude où celles-ci se trouvent du sort qu'on leur réserve, les fera plus aisément à consentir aux moyens de finances justes et honnêtes qui seront établis par le Roi." Ibid., p. 590.

[1021] "Porqué creo yo que, con la voluntad de los Estados, no se hallarán estas, que es menester ponerlos de manera que no sea menester su voluntad y consentimiento para ello.... Esto irá en cifra, y aun creo que seria bien que fuese en una cartilla á parte que descifrase el mas confidente." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 590.

[1022] Ibid., p. 610.

[1023] "Para que cada uno piense que á la noche, ó á la mañana, se le puede caer la casa encima." Ibid., tom. II. p. 4.

[1024] "Esto se ha de proponer en la forma que yo propuse á los de Anvers los cuatrocientos mill florines para la ciudadela, y que ellos entiendan que aunque se les propone y se les pide, es en tal manera que lo que se propusiere no se ha de dejar de hacer." Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 492.

[1025] Thus, for example, when Alva states that the council had declared all those who signed the Compromise guilty of treason, Philip notes, in his own handwriting, on the margin of the letter, "The same should he done with all who aided and abetted them, as in fact the more guilty party." (Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 590.) These private memoranda of Philip are of real value to the historian, letting him behind the curtain, where the king's own ministers could not always penetrate.

[1026] Cornejo, Disension de Flandes, fol. 63 et seq.—Hist. des Troubles et Guerres Civiles des Pays-Bas, pp. 133-136.—Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. pp. 428-439.—Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. III. p. 119.

[1027] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 13.

[1028] "Non-seulement afin qu'il servît d'ôtage pour ce que son père pourrait fairs en Allemagne, mais pour qu'il fût élevé catholiquement." Ibid., tom. I. p. 596.

[1029] Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 372.—Vandervynckt, Troubles de Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 261.

[1030] Strada, ubi supra.—Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 243.—Aubéri, Histoire de Hollande, p. 25.

[1031] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. III. p. 159.

[1032] "Or, il vaut beaucoup mieux avoir un royaume ruiné, en le conservant pour Dieu et le roi, au moyen de la guerre, que de l'avoir tout entier sans celle-ci, au profit du démon et des hérétiques, ses sectateurs." Correspondance de Philippe II. tom. I. p. 609.

[1033] This appears not merely from the king's letters to the duke, but from a still more unequivocal testimony, the minutes in his own handwriting on the duke's letters to him. See, in particular, his summary approval of the reply which Alva tells him he has made to Catherine de Medicis. "Yo lo mismo, todo lo demas que dice en este capitulo, que todo ha sido muy á proposito." Ibid., p. 591.

[1034] Ranke, Civil Wars and Monarchy in France in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, (Eng. trans.,) vol. I. p. 349.

[1035] The cardinal of Lorraine went so far as to offer, in a certain contingency, to put several strong frontier places into Alva's hands. In case the French king and his brothers should die without heirs the king of Spain might urge his own claim through his wife, as nearest of blood, to the crown of France. "The Salic law," adds the duke, "is but a jest. All difficulties will be easily smoothed away with the help of an army." Philip, in a marginal note to this letter, intimates his relish for the proposal. See Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 593.

[1036] The municipality of Brussels, alarmed at the interpretation which the duke, after Margaret's departure, might put on certain equivocal passages in their recent history, obtained a letter from the regent, in which she warmly commends the good people of the capital as zealous Catholics, loyal to their king, and, on all occasions, prompt to show themselves the friends of public order. See the correspondence, ap. Gachard, Analectes Belgiques, p. 343 et seq.

[1037] Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 481 et seq.

[1038] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 583.

[1039] The king's acknowledgments to his sister are condensed into the sentence with which he concludes his letter, or, more properly, his billet. This is dated October 13, 1568, and is published by Gachard, in the Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II., Appendix No. 119.

[1040] "Elle reçut," says De Thou with some humor, "enfin d'Espagne une lettre pleine d'amitié et de tendresse, telle qu'on a coûtume d'écrire à une personne qu'on remercie après l'avoir dépouillée de sa dignité." Hist. Universelle, tom. V. p. 439.

[1041] A copy of the original is to be found in the Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II., Appendix No. 118.

[1042] The letter has been inserted by Gachard in the Analectes Belgiques, pp. 295-300.

[1043] "Suplicar muy humilmente, y con toda afeccion, que V. M. use de clemencia y misericordia con ellos, conforme á la esperanza que tantas vezes les ha dado, y que tenga en memoria que cuanto mas grandes son los reyes, y se acercan mas á Dios, tanto mas deben ser imitadores de esta grande divina bondad, poder, y clemencia." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 603.

[1044] Ibid., loc. cit.

[1045] Ibid., tom. II. p. 6.

[1046] "Superavitque omnes Elizabetha Angliæ Regina, tam bonæ caræque sororis, uci scribebat, vicinitate in posterum caritura;" "sive," adds the historian, with candid scepticism, "is amor fuit in Margaritam, sive sollicitudo ex Albano successore." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 365.

[1047] Historians vary considerably as to the date of Margaret's departure. She crossed the frontier of the Netherlands probably by the middle of January, 1568. At least, we find a letter from her to Philip when she had nearly reached the borders, dated at Luxembourg, on the twelfth of that month.

[1048] See, among others, Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 128; Guerres Civiles du Pays-Bas, p. 128; De Thou, Hist. Gen., tom. V. p. 439; and Renom de Francia, Alborotos de Flandes, MS., who, in these words, concludes his notice of Margaret's departure: "Dejando gran reputacion de su virtud y un sentimiento de su partida en los corazones de los vasallos de por acá el qual crecio mucho despues ansi continuo quando se describio el gusto de los humores y andamientos de su succesor."

[1049] De Thou, Hist. Gen., tom. V. p. 437.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 54.—The latter historian cites the words of the original instrument.

[1050] "Voulans et ordonnans qu'ainsi en soit faict, afin que ceste serieuse sentence serve d'exemple, et donne crainte pour l'advenir, sans aucune esperance de grace." Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 54.

[1051] Among contemporary writers whom I have consulted, I find no authorities for this remarkable statement except Meteren and De Thou. This might seem strange to one who credited the story, but not so strange as that a proceeding so extraordinary should have escaped the vigilance of Llorente, the secretary of the Holy Office, who had all its papers at his command. I have met with no allusion whatever to it in his pages.

[1052] "Au moyen de la patente de gouverneur général que le duc aura reçue, il pourra faire cesser les entraves que mettait le conseil des finances à ce qu'il disposât des deniers des confiscations." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 609.

[1053] Bulletins de l'Académie Royale de Belgique, tom. XVI. par. ii. p. 62.

[1054] Ibid., ubi supra.

[1055] Ibid., p. 63.

[1056] "Le magistrat s'est plaint de l'infraction de ses privilèges, à cause de l'envoi dudit prévôt; mais il faudra bien qu'il prenne patience." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 13.

[1057] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. pp. 243-247.

The author tells us he collected these particulars from the memoirs and diaries of eye-witnesses,—confirmed, moreover, by the acts and public registers of the time. The authenticity of the statement, he adds, is incontestable.

[1058] See the circular of Alva to the officers charged with these arrests, in the Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II., Appendix, p. 660.

[1059] "Et, affin que ledict duc d'Alve face apparoir de plus son affection sanguinaire et tyrannicque, il a, passé peu de temps, faict appréhender, tout sur une nuict, [le 3 mars, 1568,] en toutes les villes des pays d'embas, ung grand nombre de ceulx qu'il a tenu suspect en leur foy, et les faict mectre hors leurs maisons et lictz en prison, pour en après, à sa commodité, faire son plaisir et volunté avecque lesdicts prisonniers." Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. III. p. 9.

The extract is from a memorial addressed by William to the emperor, vindicating his own course, and exposing, with the indignant eloquence of a patriot, the wrongs and calamities of his country. This document, printed by Gachard, is a version from the German original by the hand of a contemporary. A modern translation—so ambitious in its style that one may distrust its fidelity—is also to be found in the Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, Supplément, p. 91 et seq.

[1060] "Se prendieron cerca de quinientos.... He mandado justiciar todos," says Alva to the king, in a letter written in cipher, April, 13. 1568. (Documentos inéditos, tom. IV. p. 488.) Not one escaped! It is told with an air of nonchalance truly appalling.

[1061] "Que cada dia me quiebran la cabeza con dudas de que si el que delinquió desta manera meresce la muerte, ó si el que delinquió desta otra meresce destierro, que no me dejan vivir, y no basta con ellos." Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 488.

[1062] "En este castigo que agora se hace y en el que vendrá despues, de Pascua tengo que pasará de ochocientas cabezas." Ibid., p. 489.

[1063] "Les Bourgeois qui estoyët riches de quarante, soixante, et cent mille florins, il les faysoit attacher à la queuë d'un cheval, et ainsi les faysoit trainer, ayant les mains liées sur les dos, jusques au lieu où on les debvoit pendre." Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 55.

[1064] Ibid., ubi supra.

[1065] "Ille [Vargas] promiscuè laqueo, igne, homines enecare." Reidanus, Annales, p. 6.

[1066] Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 274.

[1067] "Hark how they sing!" exclaimed a friar in the crowd; "should they not be made to dance too?" Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 275.

[1068] It will be understood that I am speaking of the period embraced in this portion of the history, terminating at the beginning of June, 1568, when the Council of Blood had been in active operation about four months,—the period when the sword of legal persecution fell heaviest. Alva, in the letter above cited to Philip, admits eight hundred—including three hundred to be examined after Easter—as the number of victims. (Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 489.) Viglius, in a letter of the twenty-ninth of March, says fifteen hundred had been already cited before the tribunal, the greater part of whom—they had probably fled the country—were condemned for contumacy. (Epist. ad Hopperum, p. 415.) Grotius, alluding to this period, speaks even more vaguely of the multitude of the victims, as innumerable. "Stipatæ reis custodiæ, innumeri mortales necati: ubique una species ut captæ civitatis." (Annales, p. 29.) So also Hooft, cited by Brandt: "The gallows, the wheels, stakes, and trees in the highways, were loaden with carcasses or limbs of such as had been hanged, beheaded, or roasted; so that the air, which God had made for respiration of the living, was now become the common grave or habitation of the dead." (Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 261.) Language like this, however expressive, does little for statistics.

[1069] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 4.

[1070] Sentences passed by the Council of Blood against a great number of individuals—two thousand or more—have been collected in a little volume, (Sententien en Indagingen van Alba,) published at Amsterdam, in 1735. The parties condemned were for the most part natives of Holland, Zealand, and Utrecht. They would seem, with very few exceptions, to have been absentees, and, being pronounced guilty of contumacy, were sentenced to banishment and the confiscation of their property. The volume furnishes a more emphatic commentary on the proceedings of Alva than anything which could come from the pen of the historian.

[1071] "Acabando este castigo comenzaré á prender algunos particulares de los mas culpados y mas ricos para moverlos á que vengan á composición." Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 489.

[1072] "Destos tales se saque todo el golpe de dinero que sea possible." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1073] Sententien van Alva, bl. 122-124.

[1074] "Combien d'Hospitaux, Vefues, et Orphelins, estoyent par ce moyen privés de leur rentes, et moyës de vivre!" Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 55

[1075] Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. p. 265.

[1076] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 247.

[1077] Ibid., p. 245.

[1078] "Par laquelle auparavant jamais ouye tyrannie et persécution, ledict duc d'Albe a causé partout telle peur, que aulcuns milles personnes, et mesmement ceulx estans principaulx papistes, se sont retirez en dedens peu de temps hors les Pays-Bas, en considération que ceste tyrannie s'exerce contre tous, sans aulcune distinction de la religion." Correspondance de Guillaume le Taciturne, tom. III. p. 14.

[1079] "Que temo no venga á ser mayor la espesa de los ministros que el útil que dello se sacará." Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 495.

[1080] "El tribunal todo que hice para estas cosas no solamente no me ayuda, pero estórbame tanto que tengo mas que hacer con ellos que con los delincuentes." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1081] Vargas passed as summary a judgment on the people of the Netherlands as that imputed to the Inquisition, condensing it into a memorable sentence, much admired for its Latinity. "Hæretici fraxerunt templa, boni nihil faxerunt contrà, ergo debent omnes patibulare." Reidanus, Annales, p. 5.

[1082] "Quand on l'éveilloit pour dire son avis. il disoit tout endormi, en se frottant ces veux, ad patibulum, ad patibulum, c'est-à-dire, au gibet, au gibet." Aubéri, Mem. pour servir à l'Hist. de Hollande, p. 22.

[1083] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 12.

[1084] Brandt, Reformation in the Low Countries, vol. I. pp. 263, 264; et alibi.

[1085] Grotius, Annales, p. 29.—Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 450.

[1086] Campana, Guerra de Fiandra, fol. 38.—Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. IX. p. 555.

[1087] "Valde optaremus tandem aliquam funesti hujus temporis, criminaliumque processuum finem, qui non populum tantum nostrum, sed vicinos omnes exasperant." Viglii, Epist. ad Hopperum, p. 482.

[1088] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 15.

[1089] "Y quando por esta causa se aventurassen los Estados, y me viniesse á caer el mundo encima." Ibid., p. 27.

Philip seems to have put himself in the attitude of the "justum et tenacem" of Horace. His concluding hyperbole is almost a literal version of the Roman bard:—

"Si fractus illabatur orbis,
Impavidum ferient ruinæ."

[1090] Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, Supplément, p. 87.

[1091] "Il n'est pas seulement content de s'employer à la nécessité présente par le moyen par eulx proposé touchant sa vasselle, ains de sa propre personne, et de tout ce que reste en son pouvoir." Ibid., p. 88.

[1092] Ibid., ubi supra.

[1093] The funds were chiefly furnished, as it would seem, by Antwerp, and the great towns of Holland, Zealand, Friesland, and Groningen, the quarter of the country where the spirit of independence was always high. The noble exiles with William contributed half the amount raised. This information was given to Alva by Villers, one of the banished lords, after he had fallen into the duke's hands in a disastrous affair, of which some account will be given in the present chapter. Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 27.

[1094] "Ipse Arausionensis monilia, vasa algentea, tapetes, cætera supellectilis divendit, digna regio palatio ornamenta, sed exigui ad bellum momenti." Reidanus, Annales, p. 6.

[1095] The "Justification" has been very commonly attributed to the pen of the learned Languet, who was much in William's confidence, and is known to have been with him at this time. But William was too practised a writer, as Groen well suggests, to make it probable that he would trust the composition of a paper of such moment to any hand but his own. It is very likely that he submitted his own draft to the revision of Languet, whose political sagacity he well understood. And this is the most that can be fairly inferred from Languet's own account of the matter: "Fui Dillemburgi per duodecim et tredecim dies, ubi Princeps Orangiæ mihi et aliquot aliis curavit prolixe explicari causas et initia tumultuum in inferiore Germania et suam responsionem ad accusationes Albani." It fared with the prince's "Justification" as it did with the famous "Farewell Address" of Washington, so often attributed to another pen than his, but which, however much it may have been benefited by the counsels and corrections of others, bears on every page unequivocal marks of its genuineness.

The "Justification" called out several answers from the opposite party. Among them were two by Vargas and Del Rio. But in the judgment of Viglius—whose bias certainly did not lie on William's side—these answers were a failure. See his letter to Hopper (Epist. ad Hopperum, p. 458). The reader will find a full discussion of the matter by Groen, in the Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. III. p. 187.

[1096] "En quoy ne gist pas seulement le bien de ce faict, mais aussi mon honeur et réputation, pour avoir promis aus gens de guerre leur paier le dict mois, et que j'aymerois mieulx morir que les faillir à ma promesse." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, Supplément, p. 89.

[1097] Mendoza, Comentarios, p. 42 et seq.—Cornejo, Disension de Flandres, p. 63.

[1098] Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 56.—De Thou, Hist. Universelle, tom. V. p. 443.

[1099] "Ains, comme gens predestinez à leur malheur et de leur general, crierent plus que devant contre luy jusques à l'appeller traistre, et qu'il s'entendoit avec les ennemis. Luy, qui estoit tout noble et courageux, leur dit: 'Ouy, je vous monstreray si je le suis.'" Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 382.

[1100] Brantôme has given us the portrait of this Flemish nobleman, with whom he became acquainted on his visit to Paris, when sent thither by Alva to relieve the French monarch. The chivalrous old writer dwells on the personal appearance of Aremberg, his noble mien and high-bred courtesy, which made him a favorite with the dames of the royal circle. "Un tres beau et tres agreable seigneur, surtout de fort grande et haute taille et de tres belle apparence." (Œuvres, tom. I. p. 383.) Nor does he omit to mention, among other accomplishments, the fluency with which he could speak French and several other languages. Ibid., p. 384.

[1101] See a letter written, as seems probable, by a councillor of William to the elector of Saxony, the week after the battle. Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. III. p. 221.

[1102] It is a common report of historians, that Adolphus and Aremberg met in single combat in the thick of the fight, and fell by each other's hands. See Cornejo, Disension de Flandes, fol. 63; Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 282, et al. An incident so romantic found easy credit in a romantic age.

[1103] The accounts of the battle of Heyligerlee, given somewhat confusedly, may be found in Herrera, Hist. del Mundo, tom. I. p. 688 et seq.; Campana, Guerra di Fiandra, (Vicenza, 1602,) p. 42 et seq.; Mendoza, Comentarios, (Madrid, 1592,) p. 43 et seq.; Cornejo, Disension de Flandes, fol. 66 et seq.; Carnero, Guerras de Flandes, (Brusselas, 1625,) p. 24 et seq.; Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 382 et seq.; Bentivoglio, Guerra di Fiandra, p. 192 et seq.

The last writer tells us he had heard the story more than once from the son and heir of the deceased Count Aremberg, who sorely lamented that his gallant father should have thrown away his life for a mistaken point of honor.

In addition to the above authorities, I regret it is not in my power to cite a volume published by M. Gachard since the present chapter was written. It contains the correspondence of Alva relating to the invasion by Louis.

[1104] Viglii, Epist. ad Hopperum, p. 481.—The sentence of the prince of Orange may be found in the Sententien van Alba, p. 70.

[1105] Ibid.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 373.—Vera y Figueroa, Vida de Alva, p. 101.

The Hotel de Culemborg, so memorable for its connection with the early meetings of the Gueux, had not been long in possession of Count Culemborg, who purchased it as late as 1556. It stood on the Place du Petit Sablon. See Reiffenberg, Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 363.

[1106] "His tamen Albanus facilè contemptis, quippe à diuternâ rerum experientiâ suspicax, et suopte ingenio ab aliorum consiliis, si ultrò præsertim offerrentur aversus." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 386.

[1107] Ibid., ubi supra.—Guerres Civiles du Pays-Bas, p. 171.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 57.

The third volume of the Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau contains a report of this execution from an eye-witness, a courier of Alva, who left Brussels the day after the event, and was intercepted on his route by the patriots. One may imagine the interest with which William and his friends listened to the recital of the tragedy; and how deep must have been their anxiety for the fate of their other friends,—Hoorne and Egmont in particular,—over whom the sword of the executioner hung by a thread. We may well credit the account of the consternation that reigned throughout Brussels. "Il affirme que c'estoit une chose de l'autre monde, le crys, lamentation et juste compassion qu'aviont tous ceux de la ville du dit Bruxelles, nobles et ignobles, pour ceste barbare tyrannie, mais que nonobstant, ce cestuy Nero d'Alve se vante en ferat le semblable de tous ceulx quy potra avoir en mains." P. 241.

[1108] If we are to believe Bentivoglio, Backerzele was torn asunder by horses. "Da quattro cavalli fu smembrato vivo in Brusselles il Casembrot già segretario dell'Agamonte." (Guerra di Fiandra, p. 200.) But Alva's character, hard and unscrupulous as he may have been in carrying out his designs, does not warrant the imputation of an act of such wanton cruelty as this. Happily it is not justified by historic testimony; no notice of the fact being found in Strada, or Meteren, or the author of the Guerres Civiles du Pays-Bas, not to add other writers of the time, who cannot certainly be charged with undue partiality to the Spaniards. If so atrocious a deed had been perpetrated, it would be passing strange that it should not have found a place in the catalogue of crimes imputed to Alva by the prince of Orange. See, in particular, his letter to Schwendi, written in an agony of grief and indignation, soon after he had learned the execution of his friends. Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. III. p. 244.

[1109] Bor, the old Dutch historian, contemporary with these events, says that, "if it had not been for the countess-dowager, Hoorne's step-mother, that noble would actually have starved in prison from want of money to procure himself food!" Arend, Algemeene Geschiedenis des Vaderlands, D. II. St. v. bl. 37.

[1110] "Ce dernier fait chaque jour des aveux, et on peut s'attendre qu'il dira des merveilles, lorsqu'il sera mis à la torture." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 589.

[1111] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 247.

[1112] The Interrogatoires, filling nearly fifty octavo pages, were given to the public by the late Baron Reiffenberg, at the end of his valuable compilation of the correspondence of Margaret. Both the questions and answers, strange as it may seem, were originally drawn up in Castilian. A French version was immediately made by the secretary Pratz,—probably for the benefit of the Flemish councillors of the bloody tribunal. Both the Castilian and French MSS. were preserved in the archives of the house of Egmont until the middle of the last century, when an unworthy heir of this ancient line suffered them to pass into other hands. They were afterwards purchased by the crown, and are now in a fitting place of deposit,—the Archives of the Kingdom of Holland. The MS. printed by Reiffenberg is in French.

[1113] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 14.

[1114] Supplément à Strada, tom. I. p. 244.

[1115] Ibid., p. 219.—Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 588.

[1116] "La suppliant de prendre en cette affaire la détermination que la raison et l'équité réclament." Ibid., p. 607.

[1117] Ibid., p. 614.

[1118] Ibid., p. 599.

[1119] "Le Comte d'Egmont," said Granvelle, in a letter so recent as August 17, 1567, "disait au prince que leurs menées étaient découvertes; que le Roi faisait des armements; qu'ils ne sauraient lui résister; qu'ainsi il leur fallait dissimuler, et s'accommoder le mieux possible, en attendant d'autres circonstances, pour réaliser leurs desseins." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 56

[1120] "Tout ce qui s'est passé doit être tiré au clair, pour qu'il soit bien constant que dans une affaire sur laquelle le monde entier a les yeux fixés, le Roi et lui ont procédé avec justice." Ibid., p. 669.

[1121] This tedious instrument is given in extenso by Foppens, Supplément à Strada, tom. I. pp. 44-63.

[1122] Indeed, this seems to have been the opinion of the friends of the government. Councillor Belin writes to Granvelle, December 14, 1567: "They have arrested Hoorne and Egmont, but in their accusations have not confined themselves to individual charges, but have accumulated a confused mass of things." Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 182.

[1123] For example, see the thirty-eighth article, in which the attorney-general accuses Egmont of admitting, on his examination, that he had parted with one of his followers, suspected of heretical opinions, for a short time only, when, on the contrary, he had expressly stated that the dismissal was final, and that he had never seen the man since. Supplément à Strada, tom. I. p. 40.

[1124] Egmont's defence, of which extracts, wretchedly garbled, are given by Foppens, has been printed in extenso by M. de Bavay, in his useful compilation, Procès du Comte d'Egmont, (Bruxelles, 1854,) pp. 121-153.

[1125] "Suppliant à tous ceux qui la verront, croire qu'il a respondu à tous les articles sincerement et en toute vérité, comme un Gentilhomme bien né est tenu et obligé de faire." Supplément à Strada, tom. I. p. 209.

[1126] Foppens has devoted nearly all the first volume of his "Supplément" to pieces illustrative of the proceedings against Egmont and Hoorne. The articles of accusation are given at length. His countrymen are under obligations to this compiler, who thus early brought before them so many documents of great importance to the national history. The obligations would have been greater, if the editor had done his work in a scholar-like way,—instead of heaping together a confused mass of materials, without method, often without dates, and with so little care, that the titles of the documents are not seldom at variance with the contents.

[1127] At least such is the account which Foppens gives of the "Justification," as it is termed, of Hoorne, of which the Flemish editor has printed only the preamble and the conclusion, without so much as favoring us with the date of the instrument. (Supplément à Strada, tom. I. pp. 241-243.) M. de Bavay, on the other hand, has given the defence set up by Egmont's counsel in extenso. It covers seventy printed pages, being double the quantity occupied by Egmont's defence of himself. By comparing the two together, it is easy to see how closely the former, though with greater amplification, is fashioned on the latter. Procès du Comte d'Egmont, pp. 153-223.

[1128] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. I. p. 582.

[1129] "Quoique, avant le départ du duc, il ait été reconnu, dans les délibérations qui ont eu lieu à Madrid en sa présence, que cette prétention n'était pas fondée, le Roi, vu la gravité de l'affaire, a ordonné que quelques personnes d'autorité et de lettres se réunissent de nouveau, pour examiner la question.—Il communique au duc les considérations qui ont été approuvées dans cette junte, et qui confirment l'opinion précédemment émise." Ibid., p. 612.

[1130] The letters patent were antedated, as far back as April 15, 1567, probably that they might not appear to have been got up for the nonce. Conf. Ibid., p. 528.

[1131] "J'espère en la bonté, clémence et justice de Votre Majesté qu'icelle ne voudra souffrir que je sorte vos pays, avec mes onze enfants, pour aller hors d'iceux chercher moyen de vivre, ayant été amenée par feu de bonne mémoire l'Empereur, votre père." Ibid., tom. II. p. 5.

[1132] "Haud facilè sine commiseratione legi à quoquam potest." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 387.

According to Alva's biographer, Ossorio, the appeal of the countess would probably have softened the heart of Philip, and inclined him to an "ill-timed clemency," had it not been for the remonstrance of Cardinal Espinosa, then predominant in the cabinet, who reminded the king that "clemency was a sin when the outrage was against religion." (Albæ Vita, p. 282.) To one acquainted with the character of Philip the "probability" of the historian may seem somewhat less than probable.

[1133] Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 18.

[1134] Supplément à Strada, tom. I. p. 90.

[1135] Ibid., p. 252.—By a decree passed on the eighteenth of May, Egmont had been already excluded from any further right to bring evidence in his defence. The documents connected with this matter are given by Foppens, Ibid., tom. I. pp. 90-103.

[1136] Among the documents analyzed by Gachard is one exhibiting the revenues of the great lords of the Low Countries, whose estates were confiscated. No one except the prince of Orange had an income nearly so great as that of Egmont, amounting to 63,000 florins. He had a palace at Brussels, and other residences at Mechlin, Ghent, Bruges, Arras, and the Hague.

The revenues of Count Hoorne amounted to about 8,500 florins. Count Culemborg, whose hotel was the place of rendezvous for the Gueux, had a yearly income exceeding 31,000 florins. William's revenues, far greater than either, rose above 152,000. Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 116.

[1137] Supplément à Strada, tom. I. pp. 252-257.

[1138] In a letter dated January 6, 1568, Alva tells the king that Viglius, after examining into the affair, finds the evidence so clear on the point, that nothing more could be desired. Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 4.

[1139] For the facts connected with the constitution of the Toison d'Or, I am indebted to a Dutch work, now in course of publication in Amsterdam (Algemeene Geschiedenis des Vaderlands, van de vroegste tijden tot op heden, door Dr. J. P. Arend). This work, which is designed to cover the whole history of the Netherlands, may claim the merits of a thoroughness rare in this age of rapid bookmaking, and of a candor rare in any age. In my own ignorance of the Dutch, I must acknowledge my obligations to a friend for enabling me to read it. I must further add, that for the loan of the work I am indebted to the courtesy of B. Homer Dixon, Esq., Consul for the Netherlands in Boston.

[1140] M. de Bavay has devoted seventy pages or more of his publication to affidavits of witnesses in behalf of the prosecution. (Procès du Comte d'Egmont, pp. 267-322.) But their testimony bears almost exclusively on the subject of Egmont's dealings with the sectaries,—scarcely warranting the Flemish editor's assertion in his preface, that he has been able to furnish "all the elements of the conviction of the accused by the duke of Alva."

M. de Bavay's work is one of the good fruits of that patriotic zeal which animates the Belgian scholars of our time for the illustration of their national history. It was given to the public only the last year, after the present chapter had been written. In addition to what is contained in former publications, it furnishes us with complete copies of the defence of Egmont, as prepared both by himself and his counsel, and with the affidavits above noticed of witnesses on the part of the government. It has supplied me, therefore, with valuable materials, whether for the correction or the corroboration of my previous conclusions.

[1141] The resistance, to which those who signed the Compromise were pledged, was to the Inquisition, in case of its attempt to arrest any member of their body. Ante, Book II.

[1142] By the famous statute, in particular, of Edward the Third, the basis of all subsequent legislation on the subject. Some reflections, both on this law and the laws which subsequently modified it, made with the usual acuteness of their author, may be found in the fifteenth chapter of Hallam's Constitutional History of England.

[1143] The original document is to be found in the archives of Brussels, or was in the time of Vandervynckt, who, having examined it carefully, gives a brief notice of it. (Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. pp. 256, 257.) The name of its author should be cherished by the historian, as that of a magistrate who, in the face of a tyrannical government, had the courage to enter his protest against the judicial murders perpetrated under its sanction.

[1144] Among other passages, see one in a letter of Margaret to the king, dated March 23, 1567. "Ceulx de son conseil icy, qui s'employent tout fidèlement et diligemment en son service, et entre aultres le comte d'Egmont dont je ne puis avoir synon bon contentement." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 235.

[1145] M. de Gerlache, in a long note to the second edition of his history, enters into a scrutiny of Egmont's conduct as severe as that by the attorney-general himself,—and with much the same result. (Hist. du Royaume des Pays-Bas, tom. I. pp. 99-101.) "Can any one believe," he asks, "that if, instead of having the 'Demon of the South'for his master, it had been Charles the Fifth or Napoleon, Egmont would have been allowed to play the part he did with impunity so long?" This kind of Socratic argument, as far as it goes, proves only that Philip did no worse than Charles or Napoleon would have done. It by no means proves Egmont to have deserved his sentence.

[1146] Relacion de la Justicia que se hizo de los Contes Agamont y Orne, MS.

[1147] "Marcharent dans la ville en bataille, et avecques une batterie de tambourins et de phiffres si pitieuse qu'il n'y avoit spectateur de si bon cœur qui ne palist et ne pleurast d'une si triste pompe funebre." Mondoucet, ap. Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 363.

[1148] De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom V. p. 450.—Guerres Civiles du Pays-Bas, p. 172.—Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 57.—Relacion de la Justicia que se hizo de los Contes Agamont y Orne, MS.

[1149] "Sur quoy le Duc lui repondit fort vivement et avec une espece de colere, qu'il ne l'avoit pas fait venir à Brusselle pour mettre quelque empechement à l'execution de leur sentence, mais bien pour les consoler et les assister à mourir chretiennement." Supplement à Strada, tom. I. p. 259.

[1150] "Venian en alguna manera contentos de pensar que sus causas andaban al cabo, y que havian de salir presto y bien despachados este dia." Relacion de la Justicia, MS.

[1151] "Voicy une sentence bien rigoureuse, je ne pense pas d'avoir tant offencé Sa Majesté, pour meriter un tel traittement; neanmoins je le prens en patience et prie le Seigneur, que ma mort soit une expiation de mes pechés, et que par là, ma chere Femme et mes Enfans n'encourent aucun blame, ny confiscation. Car mes services passez meritent bien qu'on me fasse cette grace. Puis qu'il plait à Dieu et au Roy, j'accepte la mort avec patience." Supplément à Strada, tom. I. p. 259.—These remarks of Egmont are also given, with very little discrepancy, by Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 56; in the Relacion de la Justicia que se hizo de los Contes Agamont y Orne, MS.; and in the relation of Mondoucet, ap. Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 364.

[1152] "Et combien que jamais mon intention n'ait esté de riens traicter, ni faire contre la Personne, ni le service de Vostre Majesté, ne contre nostre vraye, ancienne, et catholicque Religion, si est-ce que je prens en patience, ce qu'il plaist à mon bon Dieu de m'envoyer." Supplément à Strada, tom. I. p. 261.

[1153] "Parquoy, je prie a Vostre Majesté me le pardonner, et avoir pitié de ma pauvre femme, enfans et serviteurs, vous souvenant de mes services passez. Et sur cest espoir m'en vois me recommander à la miséricorde de Dieu. De Bruxelles prest à mourir, ce 5 de Juing 1568." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1154] "Et luy donna une bague fort riche que le roy d'Espaigne luy avoit donné lors qu'il fut en Espaigne, en signe d'amitié, pour la luy envoyer et faire tenir." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 361.

[1155] "En après, le comte d'Aiguemont commença à soliciter fort l'advancement de sa mort, disant que puis qu'il devoit mourir qu'on ne le devoit tenir si longuement en ce travail." Mondoucet, Ibid., p. 366.

[1156] "Il estoit vestu d'une juppe de damas cramoisy, et d'un manteau noir avec du passement d'or, les chausses de taffetas noir et le bas de chamois bronzé, son chapeau de taffetas noir couvert de force plumes blanches et noires." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1157] Ossorio, Albæ Vita, p. 287.—Guerres Civiles du Pays-Bas, p. 177.—Relacion de la Justicia, MS.

[1158] This personage, whose name was Spel, met with no better fate than that of the victims whose execution he now superintended. Not long after this he was sentenced to the gallows by the duke, to the great satisfaction of the people, as Strada tells us, for the manifold crimes he had committed. De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 387.

[1159] The executioner was said to have been formerly one of Egmont's servants. "El verdugo, que hasta aquel tiempo no se havia dejado ver, por que en la forma de morir se le tuvo este respeto, hizo su oficio con gran presteza, al qual havia hecho dar aquel maldito oficio el dicho Conde, y dicen aver sido lacayo suyo." Relacion de la Justicia, MS.—This relacion forms part of a curious compilation in MS., entitled "Cartas y Papeles varios," in the British Museum. The compiler is supposed to have been Pedro de Gante, secretary of the duke of Naxera, who amused himself with transcribing various curious "relations" of the time of Charles the Fifth and Philip the Second.

[1160] "Todas las boticas se cerraron, y doblaron por ellos todo el dia las campanas de las Yglesias, que no parecia otra cosa si no dia de juicio." Relacion de la Justicia, MS.

[1161] "Lesquelz pleuroient et regrettoient de voir un si grand capitaine mourir ainsi." Mondoucet, ap. Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 367.

[1162] "II se pourmena quelque peu, souhaytant de pouvoir finir sa vie au service de son Prince et du pais." Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 58.

[1163] "Alzò los ojos al cielo por un poco espacio con un semblante tan doloroso, como se puede pensar le tenia en aquel transito un hombre tan discreto." Relacion de la Justicia, MS.

[1164] "En gran silencio, con notable lastima, sin que por un buen espacio se sintiese rumor ninguno." Ibid.

[1165] "Fuere, qui linteola, contemplo periculo, Egmontii cruore consparserint, servaverintque, seu monumentum amoris, seu vindictæ irritamentum." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 394.

[1166] Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 58.—Guerres Civiles du Pays-Bas, p. 177—Relacion de la Justicia, MS.

M. de Bavay has published a letter from one of the bishop of Ypres's household, giving an account of the last hours of Egmont, and written immediately after his death. (Procès du Comte d'Egmont, pp. 232-234.) The statements in the letter entirely corroborate those made in the text. Indeed, they are so nearly identical with those given by Foppens in the Supplément à Strada, that we can hardly doubt that the writer of the one narrative had access to the other.

[1167] "Que avia servido á su magestad veinte y ocho años y no pensaba tener merecido tal payo, pero que se consolaba que con dar su cuerpo á la tierra, saldria de los continuos trauajos en que havia vivido." Relacion de la Justicia, MS.

[1168] "Se despita, maugreant et regrettant fort sa mort, et se trouva quelque peu opiniastre en la confession, la regrettant fort, disant qu'il estoit assez confessé." Mondoucet, ap. Brantôme, tom. I. p. 365.

[1169] "Il étoit agé environ cinquante ans, et étoit d'une grande et belle taille, et d'une phisionomie revenante." Supplément à Strada, tom. I. p. 264.

[1170] "The death of this man," says Strada, "would have been immoderately mourned, had not all tears been exhausted by sorrow for Egmont." De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 396.

For the account of Hoorne's last moments, see Relacion de la Justicia, MS.; Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 58; Supplément à Strada, tom. I. pp. 265, 266; Mondoucet, ap. Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 367; De Thou, Hist. Universelle, tom. I. p. 451; Ossorio, Albæ Vita, p. 287.

[1171] "Plusieurs allarent à l'église Saincte Claire où gisoit son corps, baisant le cercueil avec grande effusion de larmes, comme si ce fust esté les saincts ossemens et reliques de quelque sainct." Mondoucet, ap. Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 367.

[1172] Arend, Algemeene Geschiedenis des Vaderlands, D. II. St. v. bl. 66.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 395.

[1173] "Les gens du comte d'Aiguemont plantèrent ses armes et enseignes de deuil à sa porte du palais; mais le duc d'Albe en estant adverty, les en fit bien oster bientost et emporter dehors." Mondoucet, ap. Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 367.

[1174] Mondoucet, the French ambassador at the court of Brussels, was among the spectators who witnessed the execution of the two nobles. He sent home to his master a full account of the tragic scene, the most minute, and perhaps the most trustworthy, that we have of it. It luckily fell into Brantôme's hands, who has incorporated it into his notice of Egmont.

[1175] "La comtesse d'Aiguemont, qui emporta en cette assemblée le bruit d'être la plus belle de toutes les Flamandes." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 364.

[1176] Gerlache, Hist. du Royaume des Pays-Bas, tom. I. p. 96.

[1177] "Qu'il avoit vu tomber la tête de celui qui avoit fait trembler deux fois la France." Supplément à Strada, tom. I. p. 266.

[1178] Morillon, in a letter to Granvelle, dated August 3, 1567, a few weeks only before Egmont's arrest, gives a graphic sketch of that nobleman, which, although by no friendly hand, seems to be not wholly without truth. "Ce seigneur, y est-il dit, est haut et présumant de soy, jusques à vouloir embrasser le faict de la république et le redressement d'icelle et de la religion, que ne sont pas de son gibier, et est plus propre peur conduire une chasse ou volerie, et, pour dire tout, une bataille, s'il fut esté si bien advisé que de se cognoistre et se mesurer de son pied; mais les flatteries perdent ces gens, et on leur fait accroire qu'ilz sont plus saiges qu'ilz ne sont, et ilz le croient et se bouttent sy avant, que aprèz ilz ne se peuvent ravoir, et il est force qu'ilz facent le sault." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. I. p. lxix.

[1179] "Je diray de lui que c'estoit le seigneur de la plus belle façon et de la meilleure grace que j'aye veu jamais, fust ce parmy les grandz, parmy ses pairs, parmy les gens de guerre, et parmy les dames, l'ayant veu en France et en Espagne, et parlé à luy." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 369.

An old lady of the French court, who in her early days had visited Flanders, assured Brantôme that she had often seen Egmont, then a mere youth, and that at that time he was excessively shy and awkward, so much so, indeed, that it was a common jest with both the men and women of the court. Such was the rude stock from which at a later day was to spring the flower of chivalry!

[1180] "Posteà in publicâ lætitiâ dum uterque explodendo ad signum sclopo ex provocatione contenderent, superatus esset Albanus, ingenti Belgarum plausu ad nationis suæ decus referentium victoriam ex Duce Hispano." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 391.

[1181] Schiller, in his account of the execution of the two nobles, tells us that it was from a window of the Hôtel de Ville, the fine old building on the opposite side of the market-place, that Alva watched the last struggles of his victims. The cicerone, on the other hand, who shows the credulous traveller the memorabilia of the city, points out the very chamber in the Maison du Roi in which the duke secreted himself.—Valeat quantum.

[1182] "Qu'il avoit procuré de tout son povoir la mitigation, mais que l'on avoit répondu que, si il n'y eut esté aultre offence que celle qui touchoit S. M., le pardon fut esté facille, mais qu'elle ne pouvoit remettre l'offense faicte si grande à Dieu." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, Supplément, p. 81.

[1183] "J'entendz d'aucuns que son Exc. at jecté des larmes aussi grosses que poix en temps que l'on estoit sur ces exécutions." Ibid., ubi supra.

They must have been as big as crocodiles'tears.

[1184] Ante, Book II.

[1185] "Je suis occupé à réunir mes troupes, Espagnoles, Italiennes, et Allemandes; quand je serai prêt, vous recevrez ma réponse." Archives de la Maison d'Orange-Nassau, tom. III. p. xx.

[1186] "Il lui rend compte de ce qu'il a fait pour l'exécution des ordres que le Roi lui donna à son départ, et qui consistaient à arrêter et à châtier exemplairement les principaux du pays qui s'étaient rendus coupables durant les troubles." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 29.

[1187] "C'a été une chose de grand effet en ce pays, que l'exécution d'Egmont; et plus grand a été l'effet, plus l'exemple qu'on a voulu faire sera fructueux." Ibid., p. 28.

[1188] Ossorio, Albæ Vita, p. 278.

[1189] "V. M. peult considérer le regret que ça m'a esté de voir ces pauvres seigneurs venus à tels termes, et qu'il ayt fallut que moy en fusse l'exécuteur." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 252.

[1190] "Madame d'Egmont me faict grand pitié et compassion, pour la voir chargée de unze enfans et nuls addressez, et elle, dame sy principale, comme elle est, sœur du comte palatin, et de si bonne, vertueuse, catholicque et exemplaire vie, qu'il n'y a homme qui ne la regrette." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1191] The duke wrote no less than three letters to the king, of this same date, June 9. The precis of two is given by Gachard, and the third is published entire by Reiffenberg. The countess and her misfortunes form the burden of two of them.

[1192] "Il ne croit pas qu'il y ait aujourd'hui sur la terre une maison aussi malheureuse; il ne sait même si la contesse aura de quoi souper ce soir." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 28.

[1193] "Je treuve ce debvoir de justice estre faict comme il convient et vostre considération très-bonne." Correspondance de Marguerite d'Autriche, p. 255.

[1194] "Mais personne ne peult délaisser de se acquitter en ce en quoy il est obligé." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1195] "Quant à la dame d'Egmont et ses unze enfans, et ce que me y représentez, en me les recommandant, je y auray tout bon regard." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1196] Arend, (Algemeene Geschiedenis des Vaderlands, D. II. St. v. bl. 66,) who gets the story, to which he attaches no credit himself, from a contemporary, Hooft.

[1197] Supplément à Strada, tom. I. p. 252.

[1198] "Laquelle, ainsi qu'elle estoit en sa chambre et sur ces propos, on luy vint annoncer qu'on alloit trancher la teste à son mary." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 368.

Under all the circumstances, one cannot insist strongly on the probability of the anecdote.

[1199] One of her daughters, in a fit of derangement brought on by excessive grief for her father's fate, attempted to make away with herself by throwing herself from a window. Relacion de la Justicia, MS.

[1200] This was the duplicate, no doubt, of the letter given to the bishop of Ypres, to whom Egmont may have intrusted a copy, with the idea that it would be more certain to reach the hands of the king than the one sent to his wife.

[1201] "La misère où elle se trouve, étant devenue veuve avec onze enfans, abandonnée de tous, hors de son pays et loin de ses parents, l'a empêchée d'envoyer plus tôt au Roi la dernière et très-humble requête de son défunt mari." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 31.

[1202] "De la bénignité et pitié du Roi." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1203] "Ce que m'obligerat, le reste de mes tristes jours, et toute ma postérité, à prier Dieu pour la longue et heureuse vie de V. M." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1204] "S'il ne leur avait pas donné quelque argent, ils mourraient de faim." Ibid., p. 38.

[1205] It seems strange that Göthe, in his tragedy of "Egmont," should have endeavored to excite what may be truly called a meretricious interest in the breasts of his audience, by bringing an imaginary mistress, named Clara, on the stage, instead of the noble-hearted wife, so much better qualified to share the fortunes of her husband and give dignity to his sufferings. Independently of other considerations, this departure from historic truth cannot be defended on any true principle of dramatic effect.

[1206] Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 183.

[1207] After an annual grant, which rose from eight to twelve thousand livres, the duke settled on her a pension of two thousand gulden, which continued to the year of his death, in 1578. (Arend, Algemeene Geschiedenis des Vaderlands, D. II. St. v. bl. 66.) The gulden, or guilder, at the present day, is equivalent to about one shilling and ninepence sterling, or thirty-nine cents.

[1208] Philip, Count Egmont, lived to enjoy his ancestral honors till 1590, when he was slain at Ivry, fighting against Henry the Fourth and the Protestants of France. He died without issue, and was succeeded by his brother Lamoral, a careless prodigal, who with the name seems to have inherited few of the virtues of his illustrious father. Arend, Algemeene Geschiedenis des Vaderlands, D. II. St. v. bl. 66.

[1209] Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 259.

[1210] "La mort des comtes d'Egmont et de Hornes, et ce qui s'est passé avec l'électeur de Trèves, servent merveilleusement ses desseins." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 37.

[1211] "Les exécutions faites ont imprimé dans les esprits une terreur si grande, qu'on croit qu'il s'agit de gouverner par le sang à perpétuité'." Ibid., p. 29.

[1212] "Il n'y a plus de confiance du frère au frère, et du père au fils." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1213] Ibid., ubi supra.

[1214] "Funestum Egmontii finem doluere Belgæ odio majore, quàm luctu." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 394.

[1215] The Flemish councillor, Hessels, who, it may be remembered, had particular charge of the provincial prosecutions, incurred still greater odium by the report of his being employed to draft the sentences of the two lords. He subsequently withdrew from the bloody tribunal, and returned to his native province, where he became vice-president of the council of Flanders. This new accession of dignity only made him a more conspicuous mark for the public hatred. In 1577, in a popular insurrection which overturned the government of Ghent, Hessels was dragged from his house, and thrown into prison. After lying there a year, a party of ruffians broke into the place, forced him into a carriage, and, taking him a short distance from town, executed the summary justice of Lynch law on their victim by hanging him to a tree. Some of the party, after the murder, were audacious enough to return to Ghent, with locks of the gray hair of the wretched man displayed in triumph on their bonnets.

Some years later, when the former authorities were reëstablished, the bones of Hessels were removed from their unhallowed burial-place, and laid with great solemnity and funeral pomp in the church of St. Michael. Prose and verse were exhausted in his praise. His memory was revered as that of a martyr. Miracles were performed at his tomb; and the popular credulity went so far, that it was currently reported in Ghent that Philip had solicited the pope for his canonization! See the curious particulars in Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. pp. 451-456.

[1216] "Este es un pueblo tan fácil, que espero que con ver la clemencia de V. M., haciendose el pardon general, se ganarán los ánimos á que de buena gana lleven la obediencia que digo, que ahora sufren de malo." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 29.

[1217] "Le bruit public qui subsiste encore, divulgue qu'il est mort empoisonné." Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 285.—The author himself does not indorse the vulgar rumor.

[1218] Meteren tells us that Montigny was killed by poison, which his page, who afterwards confessed the crime, put in his broth. (Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 60.) Vandervynckt, after noticing various rumors, dismisses them with the remark, "On n'a pu savoir au juste ce qu'il était devenu." Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 237.

[1219] His revenues seem to have been larger than those of any other Flemish lord, except Egmont and Orange, amounting to something more than fifty thousand florins annually. Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 115.

[1220] Ibid., Rapport, p. xxxvii.

It was reported to Philip's secretary, Erasso, by that mischievous bigot, Fray Lorenzo Villavicencio; not, as may be supposed, to do honor to the author of it, but to ruin him.

[1221] Correspondance de Philippe II. tom. I. p. 439.

[1222] See the letters of the royal contador, Alonzo del Canto, from Brussels. (Ibid., tom. I. pp. 411, 425.) Granvelle, in a letter from Rome, chimes in with the same tune,—though, as usual with the prelate, in a more covert manner. "Le choix de Berghes et Montigny n'est pas mauvais, si le but de leur mission est d'informer le Roi de l'état des choses: car ils sont ceux qui en ont le mieux connaissance, et qui peut-être y ont pris le plus de part." Ibid., p. 417.

[1223] "Autrement, certes, Madame, aurions juste occasion de nous doloir et de V. A. et des seigneurs de par delà, pour nous avoir commandé de venir ici, pour recevoir honte et desplaisir, estantz forcés journellement de véoir et oyr choses qui nous desplaisent jusques à l'âme, et de veoir aussy le peu que S. M. se sert de nous." Ibid. p. 498.

[1224] This letter is dated November 18, 1566. (Ibid., p. 486.) The letter of the two lords was written on the last day of the December following.

[1225] Her letter is dated March 5, 1567. Ibid., p. 516.

[1226] Ibid., p. 535.

[1227] "De lui dire (mais seulement après qu'il se sera assuré qu'une guérison est à peu près impossible) que le Roi lui permet de retourner aux Pays-Bas: si, au contraire, il lui paraissait que le marquis pût se rétablir, il se contenterait de lui faire espérer cette permission." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1228] "Il sera bien, en cette occasion, de montrer le regret que le Roi et ses ministres ont de sa mort, et le cas qu'ils font des seigneurs des Pays-Bas!" Ibid., p. 536.

[1229] Ibid., ubi supra.

[1230] "Elle espère le voir sous peu, puisque le Roi lui a fait dire que son intention était de lui donner bientôt son congé." Ibid., p. 558.—The letter is dated July 13.

[1231] The order for the arrest, addressed to the conde de Chinchon, alcayde of the castle of Segovia, is to be found in the Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 526.

[1232] This fact is mentioned in a letter of the alcayde of the fortress, giving an account of the affair to the king. Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 3.

[1233] The contents of the paper secreted in the loaf are given in the Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. pp. 527-533.—The latter portion of the fourth volume of this valuable collection is occupied with documents relating to the imprisonment and death of Montigny, drawn from the Archives of Simancas, and never before communicated to the public.

[1234] "Il ne les fera point exécuter, mais il les retiendra en prison, car ils peuvent servir à la vérification de quelque point du procès de Montigny lui-même." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 37.

[1235] Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 60.

[1236] "Et consommée en larmes et pleurs afin que, en considération des services passés de sondit mari, de son jeune âge à elle, qui n'a été en la compagnie de son mari qu'environ quatre mois, et de la passion de Jésus Christ, S. M. veuille lui pardonner les fautes qu'il pourrait avoir commises." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 94.

[1237] Ibid., p. 123, note.

[1238] Ibid., p. 90.

[1239] "Visto el proceso por algunos de Consejo de S. M. destos sus Estados por mí nombrados para el dicho efecto." Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 535.

[1240] The sentence may be found, Ibid., pp. 535-537.

[1241] "Porque no viniese á noticia de ninguno de los otros hasta saber la voluntad de V. M." Ibid., p. 533.

[1242] "Así que constando tan claro de sus culpas y delictos, en cuanto al hecho da la justicia no habia que parar mas de mandarla ejecutar." Ibid., p. 539

[1243] "Por estar acá el delincuento que dijeran que se habia hecho entre compadres, y como opreso, sin se poder defender jurídicamente." Ibid., p. 561.

[1244] "Parescia á los mas que era bien darle un bocado ó echar algun género de veneno en la comida ó bebida con que se fuese muriendo poco á poco, y pudiese componer las cosas de su ánima como enfermo." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1245] "Mas á S. M. paresció que desta manera no se cumplía con la justicia." Ibid. ubi supra.—These particulars are gathered from a full report of the proceedings sent, by Philip's orders, to the duke of Alva, November 2, 1570.

[1246] The garrote is still used in capital punishments in Spain. It may be well to mention, for the information of some of my readers, that it is performed by drawing a rope tight round the neck of the criminal, so as to produce suffocation. This is done by turning a stick to which the rope is attached behind his head. Instead of this apparatus, an iron collar is more frequently employed in modern executions.

[1247] This is established by a letter of the cardinal himself, in which he requests the king to command all officials to deliver into his hands their registers, instruments, and public documents of every description,—to be placed in these archives, that they may hereafter be preserved from injury. His biographer adds, that few of these documents—such only as could be gleaned by the cardinal's industry—reach as far back as the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella. Quintinilla, Vida de Ximenes, p. 264.

[1248] M. Gachard, who gives us some interesting particulars of the ancient fortress of Simancas, informs us that this tower was the scene of some of his own labors there. It was an interesting circumstance, that he was thus exploring the records of Montigny's sufferings in the very spot which witnessed them.

[1249] "Así lo cumplió poniéndole grillos para mayor seguridad, aunque esto fué sin órden, porque ni esto era menester ni quisiera S. M. que se hubiera hecho." Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 561.

[1250] Meteren, Hist. des Pays-Bas, fol. 60.

[1251] This lying letter, dated at Simancas, October 10, with the scrap of mongrel Latin which it enclosed, may be found in the Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. pp. 550-552.

[1252] The instructions delivered to the licentiate Don Alonzo de Arellano are given in full, Ibid., pp. 542-549.

[1253] "Aunque S. M. tenia por cierto que era muy jurídica, habida consideracion á la calidad de su persona y usando con él de su Real clemencia y benignidad habia tenido por bien de moderarla en cuanto á la forma mandando que no se ejecutase en público, sino allí en secreto por su honor, y que se daria á entender haber muerto de aquella enfermedad." Ibid., p. 563.

[1254] The confession of faith may be found in the Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 553.

[1255] "Si el dicho Flores de Memorancí quisiese ordenar testamento no habrá para que darse á esto lugar, pues siendo confiscados todos sus bienes y por tales crímines, ni puede testar ni tiene de qué." Ibid., p. 548.

[1256] "Empero si todavía quisiere hacer alguna memoria de deudas ó descargos se le podrá permitir como en esto no se haga mencion alguna de la justicia y ejecucion que se hace, sino que sea hecho como memorial de hombre enfermo y que se temia morir." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1257] "Quant aux mercèdes qu'il a accordées, il n'y a pas lieu d'y donner suite." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 169.

[1258] "En lo uno y en lo otro tuvo las demostraciones de católico y buen cristiano que yo deseo para mí." See the letter of Fray Hernando del Castillo, Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. pp. 554-559.

[1259] "Fuéle creciendo por horas el desengaño de la vida, la paciencia, el sufrimiento, y la conformidad con la voluntad de Dios y de su Rey, cuya sentencia siempre alabó por justa, mas siempre protestando de su inocencia." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1260] "Y acabada su plática y de encomendarse á Dios todo el tiempo que quiso, e verdugo hizo su oficio dándole garrote." See the account of Montigny's death despatched to the duke of Alva. It was written in cipher, and dated November 2, 1570. Ibid., p. 560 et seq.

[1261] "Poniendo pena de muerte á los dichos escribano y verdugo si lo descubriesen." Ibid., p. 564.

[1262] "Y no será inconveniente que se dé luto á sus criados pues son pocos." La órden que ha de tener el Licenciado D. Alonzo de Arellano, Ibid., p. 542 et seq.

[1263] Ibid., p. 549. Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II p. 159.

[1264] Carta de D. Eugenio de Peralta á S. M., Simancas, 17 de Octubre, 1570, Documentos Inéditos, tom. IV. p. 559.

[1265] "No las mostrando de propósito sino descuidadamente á las personas que paresciere, para que por ellas se divulgue haber fallescido de su muerte natural." Ibid., p. 564.

[1266] "El cual si en lo interior acabó tan cristianamente como lo mostró en lo exterior y lo ha referido el fraile que le confesó, es de creer que se habrá apiadado Dios de su ánima." Carta de S. M. al Duque de Alba, del Escurial, á 3 de Noviembre, 1570, Ibid., p. 565.

[1267] "Esto mismo borrad de la cifra, que de los muertos no hay que hacer sino buen juico." Ibid., ubi supra, note.

[1268] The confiscated estates of the marquis of Bergen were restored by Philip to that nobleman's heirs, in 1577. See Vandervynckt, Troubles des Pays-Bas, tom. II. p. 235.

[1269] "Attendu que est venu à sa notice que ledict de Montigny seroit allé de vie à trespas, par mort naturelle, en la forteresse de Symancques, où il estoit dernièrement détenu prisonier." Correspondance de Philippe II., tom. II. p. 171.

[1270] For the preceding pages I have been indebted, among other sources, to Sagredo, "Memorias Historicas de los Monarcas Othomanos," (trad. Cast., Madrid, 1684,) and to Ranke, "Ottoman and Spanish Empires;" to the latter in particular. The work of this eminent scholar, resting as it mainly does on the contemporary reports of the Venetian ministers, is of the most authentic character; while he has the rare talent of selecting facts so significant for historical illustration, that they serve the double purpose of both facts and reflections.

[1271] Cervantes, in his story of the Captive's adventures in Don Quixote, tells us that it was common with a renegado to obtain a certificate from some of the Christian captives of his desire to return to Spain; so that if he were taken in arms against his countrymen, his conduct would be set down to compulsion, and he would thus escape the fangs of the Inquisition.

[1272] See the History of the Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. III. part ii. chap. 21.

[1273] Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. IX. p. 415 et seq.—Herrera, Historia General, lib. V. cap. 18.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap. 8.—Segrado, Monarcas Othomanos, p. 234 et seq.

[1274] "Halló Don Alvaro un remedio para la falta del agua que en parte ayudó á la necessidad, y fué, que uno de su campo le mostró, que el agua salada se podía destilar por alambique, y aunque salió buena, y se bevia, no se hazia tanta que bastasse, y se gastava mucha leña, de que tenían falta." Herrera, Historia General, tom. I. p. 434.

[1275] For the account of the heroic defence of Gelves, see—and reconcile, if the reader can—Herrera, ubi supra; Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. IX. pp. 416-421; Leti, Filippo II., tom. I. pp. 349-352; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap. 11, 12; Campana, Vita di Filippo II., par. II. lib. 12; Segrado, Monarcas Othomanos, p. 237 et seq.—Sepulveda, De Rebus Gestis Philippi II., pp. 63-87.

[1276] "Questa sola utilità ne cava il Re di quei luoghi per conservatione de quali spende ogni anno gran somma di denari delle sue entrate." Relatione de Soriano, 1560, MS.

[1277] Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. IX. p. 426.—Sepulveda, De Rebus Gestis Philippi II. p. 90.

[1278] The details of the battle were given in a letter, dated September 5, 1558, by Don Alonzo to the king. His father fell, it seems, in an attempt to rescue his younger son from the hands of the enemy. Though the father died, the son was saved. It was the same Don Martin de Cordova who so stoutly defended Mazarquivir against Hassem afterwards, as mentioned in the text. Carta De Don Alonso de Córdova al Rey, de Toledo, MS.

[1279] The tidings of this sad disaster, according to Cabrera, hastened the death of Charles the Fifth (Filipe Segundo, lib. IV. cap. 13). But a letter from the imperial secretary, Gaztelu, informs us that care was taken that the tidings should not reach the ear of his dying master. "La muerte del conde de Alcaudete y su desbarato se entendió aquí por carta de Don Alonso su hijo que despachó un correo desde Toledo con la nueva y por ser tan ruyn y estar S. Magd. en tal disposicion no se le dixo, y se tendra cuydado de que tampoco la sepa hasta que plazca á Dios esté libre; porque no sé yo si hay ninguno en cuyo tiempo haya sucedido tan gran desgracia como esta." Carta de Martin de Gaztelu al Secretario Molina, de Yuste, Set. 12, 1558, MS.—The original of this letter, like that of the preceding, is in the Archives of Simancas.

[1280] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI cap. 10.

[1281] For this siege, the particulars of which are given in a manner sufficiently confused by most of the writers, see Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. IX. p. 431 et seq.; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 10; Sepulveda, De Rebus Gestis Philippi II., p. 94; Salazar de Mendoza, Monarquia de España, (Madrid, 1770,) tom. II. p. 127; Miniana, Historia de España, pp. 341, 342; Caro de Torres, Historia de las Ordenes Militares, fol. 154.

[1282] According to Cabrera, (Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 12,) two thousand infidels fell on this occasion, and only ten Christians; a fair proportion for a Christian historian to allow. Ex uno, etc.

[1283] Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. IX. p. 455.

[1284] Campana, Vita di Filippo II., tom. II. p. 138.

[1285] Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. IX. p. 461.

[1286] Ibid., p. 442 et seq.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 13.—Campana, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. pp. 137-139.—Herrera, Hist. General, lib. X cap. 4.

The last historian closes his account of the siege of Mazarquivir with the following not inelegant and certainly not parsimonious tribute to the heroic conduct of Don Martin and his followers: "Despues de noventa y dos dias que sostuvo este terrible cerco, y se embarcó para España, quedando para siempre glorioso con los soldados que con el se hallaron, ellos por aver sido tan obedientes, y por las hazañas que hizieron, y el por el valor y prudencia con que los governó: por lo qual comparado á qualquiera de los mayores Capitanes del mundo." Historia General, lib. X. cap. 4.

[1287] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 18.—Herrera, Hist. General, tom. I. p. 559 et seq.

[1288] The affair of the Rio de Tetuan is given at length in the despatches of Don Alvaro Bazan, dated at Ceuta, March 10, 1565. The correspondence of this commander is still preserved in the family archives of the marquis of Santa Cruz, from which the copies in my possession were taken.

[1289] Helyot, Hist. des Ordres Réligieux et Militaires, (Paris, 1792, 4to.,) tom. III. pp. 74-78.—Vertot, History of the Knights of Malta, (Eng. trans., London, 1728, fol.,) vol. II. pp. 18-24.

[1290] Boisgelin, on the authority of Matthew Paris, says that, in 1224, the Knights of St. John had 19,000 manors in different parts of Europe, while the Templars had but 9,000. Ancient and Modern Malta, (London, 1805, 4to.,) vol. II. p, 19.

[1291] For an account of the institutions of the order of St. John, see Helyot, Ordres Réligieux, tom. II. p. 58 et seq.; also the Old and New Statutes, appended to vol. II. of Vertot's History of the Knights of Malta.

[1292] The original deed of cession, in Latin, is published by Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. p. 157 et seq.

[1293] "Rhodes," from the Greek {Greek: rhodon ῥὁδον}. The origin of the name is referred by etymologists to the great quantity of roses which grew wild on the island. The name of Malta (Melita) is traced to the wild honey, {Greek: meli μἑλι}, of most excellent flavor, found among its rocks.

[1294] A recent traveller, after visiting both Rhodes and Malta, thus alludes to the change in the relative condition of the two islands. "We are told that, when L'Isle Adam and his brave companions first landed on this shore, their spirits sank within them at the contrast its dry and barren surface presented to their delicious lost Rhodes; I have qualified myself for adjudging that in most respects the tables are now turned between the two islands, and they certainly afford a very decisive criterion of the results of Turkish and Christian dominion." The Earl of Carlisle's Diary in Turkish and Greek Waters, (Boston, 1855,) p. 204;—an unpretending volume, which bears on every page evidence of the wise and tolerant spirit, the various scholarship, and the sensibility to the beautiful, so characteristic of its noble author.

[1295] For the account of Malta I am much indebted to Boisgelin, "Ancient and Modern Malta." This work gives the most complete view of Malta, both in regard to the natural history of the island and the military and political history of the order, that is to be found in any book with which I am acquainted. It is a large repository of facts crudely put together, with little to boast of on the score of its literary execution. It is interesting as the production of a Knight of St. John, one of the unhappy few who survived to witness the treachery of his brethren and the extinction of his order. The last of the line, he may well be pardoned, if, in his survey of the glorious past, he should now and then sound the trumpet of glorification somewhat too loudly.

[1296] "The galleys of the order alone resisted the fury of the waves; and when Charles the Fifth was told that some vessels appeared still to live at sea, he exclaimed, 'They must, indeed, be Maltese galleys which can outride such a tempest!' The high opinion he had formed of this fleet was fully justified; for the standard of the order was soon in sight." Boisgelin, Ancient and Modern Malta, vol. II. p. 34.

[1297] Ibid., p. 61 et alibi.

[1298] The value of the freight was estimated at more than 80,000 ducats.—"Se estimo la presa mas de ochenta mil ducados, de sedas de levante, y alombras y otras cosas, cada uno piense lo que se diria en la corte del Turco, sobre la perdida desta nave tan poderosa, y tan rica." La Verdadera Relacion de todo lo que el Año de M.D.LXV. ha succedido en la Isla de Malta, por Francisco Balbi de Correggio, en todo el Sitio Soldado, (Barcelona 1568,) fol. 19.

[1299] Ibid., fol. 17.

[1300] Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. pp. 192-195.—Sagredo, Monarcas Othomanos, p. 244.—Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 26 et seq.—Boisgelin, Ancient and Modern Malta, vol. II. pp. 71-73.—De Thou, Hist. Universelle, tom. V. pp. 51-53—J. M. Calderon de la Barca, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, (Madrid, 1796,) p. 28.

[1301] Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. p. 197.—Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 28.—The latter chronicler, who gives a catalogue of the forces, makes the total amount of fighting men not exceed six thousand one hundred. He speaks, however, of an indefinite number besides these, including a thousand slaves, who in various ways contributed to the defence of the island.

[1302] "De modo que quādo los turcos llegaron sobre sant Ermo, hauia ochocientos hombres dentro para pelear." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 37.

[1303] Ibid., fol. 31.—Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. p. 198.

[1304] "En este tiempo ya todos los esclauos assi de sant Juan como de particulares estauan en la carcel, que seriā bien mil esclauos. Y quando los sacauan a trabajar a las postas adonde se trabajaua, los sacauan de dos en dos, asidos de vna cadena." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 37.

[1305] Ibid., fol. 23.

[1306] Ibid., fol. 21.—Vertot says, of a hundred and sixty pounds'weight. (Knights of Malta, vol. II. p. 202.) Yet even this was far surpassed by the mammoth cannon employed by Mahomet at the siege of Constantinople, in the preceding century, which, according to Gibbon, threw stone bullets of six hundred pounds.

Since the above lines were written, even this achievement has been distanced by British enterprise. The "Times" informs us of some "monster guns," intended to be used in the Baltic, the minimum weight of whose shot is to be three cwt., and the maximum ten.

[1307] Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 26.—The old soldier goes into the composition of the Turkish force, in the general estimate of which he does not differ widely from Vertot.

[1308] Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 84.

[1309] Ibid., ubi supra.

[1310] Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 37 et seq.—Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. pp. 200-202.—- Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, p. 42.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 24.

[1311] In Vertot's account of this affair, much is said of a nondescript outwork, termed a cavalier,—conveying a different idea from what is understood by that word in modern fortifications. It stood without the walls, and was connected with the ravelin by a bridge, the possession of which was hotly contested by the combatants. Balbi, the Spanish soldier, so often quoted,—one of the actors in the siege, though stationed at the fort of St. Michael,—speaks of the fight as being carried on in the ditch. His account has the merit of being at once the briefest and the most intelligible.

[1312] Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 40, 41.—Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. pp. 203-205.—Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, p. 48 et seq.—Segrado, Monarcas Othomanos, p. 245.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 24.—Herrera, Historia General, lib. XII. cap. 4.

[1313] Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 39

[1314] Ibid., fol. 39-42.—Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, p. 46.—De Thou, Hist. Universelle, tom. V. p. 58.—Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. p. 204.—Miniana, Hist. de España, p. 350.

[1315] For the preceding pages, setting forth the embassies to La Valette, and exhibiting in such bold relief the character of the grand-master, I have been chiefly indebted to Vertot (Knights of Malta, vol. I. pp. 309-312). The same story is told, more concisely, by Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, pp. 60-67; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 25; De Thou, Hist. Universelle, tom. V. p. 61; Campana, Filippo Secondo, par. II. p. 159; Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 44, 45.

[1316] The remains of Medran were brought over to Il Borgo, where La Valette, from respect to his memory, caused them to be laid among those of the Grand Crosses.—"El gran Maestre lo mando enterrar era una sepultura, adonde se entierran los cavalleros de la gran Cruz, porque esta era la mayor honra, que en tal tiempo le podia hazer, y el muy bien la merecia." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 51.

[1317] The invention of this missile Vertot claims for La Valette. (Knights of Malta, vol. II. p. 215.) Balbi refers it to a brother of the Order, named Ramon Fortunii. (Verdadera Relacion, p. 48.)

[1318] The first shot was not so successful, killing eight of their own side!—"Mas el artillero, o fuesse la prissa, o fuesse la turbacion que en semejantes casos suele sobre venir en los hombres el se tuvo mas a mano drecha, que no deviera, pues de aquel tiro mato ocho de los nuestros que defendian aquella posta." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 50.

[1319] Ibid., fol. 49-51.—Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, p. 72 et seq.—Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. pp. 214-216.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 25.—Sagredo, Monarcas Othomanos, p. 245.—Herrera, Historia General, lib. XII. cap. 6

[1320] "En este assalto y en todos me han dicho cavalleros, que pelearō no solamente ellos, y los soldados, mas que los forçados, bonas vollas, y Malteses murieron con tanto animo, como qualquiera otra persona de mayor estima." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 51.

[1321] "Que si su señoria Illustrissima tenia otra persona, para tal cargo mejor, q̃ la embiasse, quel lo obedeceria como a tal, mas quel queria quedar en sant Ermo, como privado cavallero, y por sa religion sacrificar su cuerpo." Ibid., fol 44.

[1322] "La escuridad de la noche, fue luego muy clara, por la grāde cātidad de los fuegos artificiales, que de ambas partes se arojavan, y de tal manera que los que estavamos en san Miguel, veyamos muy claramente sant Ermo, y los artilleros de sant Angel y de otras partes apuntavan, a la lumbre de los fuegos enemigos." Ibid., fol 48.

[1323] Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 53.

[1324] Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. p. 214.

[1325] Ibid., pp. 216, 217.—Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 54.—Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, p. 80 et seq.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 25.

[1326] "Ellos como aquellos q̃ la mañana navia de ser su postrer dia en este mūdo, unos con otros se confessavan, y rogavan a nuestro señor que por su infinita misericordia, la tuviesse de sus animas, pues le costaron su preciossissima sangre para redemirlas." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 54.

See also Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. pp. 217, 218;—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 25.

[1327] Vertot, whose appetite for the marvellous sometimes carries him into the miraculous, gives us to understand that not one of the garrison survived the storming of St. Elmo. (Knights of Malta, vol. II. p. 219.) If that were so, one would like to know how the historian got his knowledge of what was doing in the fortress the day and night previous to the assault. The details quoted above from Balbi account for this knowledge, and carry with them an air of probability. (Verdadera Relacion, fol. 55.)

[1328] "Luego que entraron los Turcos en sant Ermo, abatieron el estādarte de san Juan, y en su lugar plantaron una vandera del gran Turco, y en todo aquel dia no hizieron otra cosa, que plantar vāderas, y vanderillas por la muralla, segun su costumbre." Ibid., fol. 55.

See also, for the storming of St. Elmo, Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, pp. 81-84; Miniana, Hist. de España, p. 351; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 25; Campana, Filippo Secondo, par. II. p. 159; Sagredo, Monarcas Othomanos, p. 245; Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. p. 219 et seq.

[1329] "A todos nos pesava en el anima porque aquellas eran fiestas que solian hazer los cavalleros en tal dia, para honor deste su santo avogado." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 55.

[1330] Ibid., fol. 58.—Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. p. 220.

[1331] Balbi has given a catalogue of the knights who fell in the siege, with the names of the countries to which they respectively belonged. Verdadera Relacion, fol. 56.

[1332] Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. II. p. 219.

No name of the sixteenth century appears more frequently in the ballad poetry of Spain than that of Dragut. The "Romancero General" contains many romances, some of them of great beauty, reciting the lament of the poor captive chained to the galley of the dread rover, or celebrating his naval encounters with the chivalry of Malta,—"las velas de la religion," as the squadrons of the order were called.

[1333] Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 33.

[1334] The two principal authorities on whom I have relied for the siege of Malta are Balbi and Vertot. The former was a soldier, who served through the siege, his account of which, now not easily met with, was printed shortly afterwards, and in less than three years went into a second edition,—being that used in the present work. As Balbi was both an eye-witness and an actor, on a theatre so limited that nothing could be well hidden from view, and as he wrote while events were fresh in his memory, his testimony is of the highest value. It loses nothing by the temperate, home-bred style in which the book is written, like that of a man anxious only to tell the truth, and not to magnify the cause or the party to which he is attached. In this the honest soldier forms a contrast to his more accomplished rival, the Abbé de Vertot.

This eminent writer was invited to compose the history of the order, and its archives were placed by the knights at his disposal for this purpose. He accepted the task; and in performing it he has sounded the note of panegyric with as hearty a good will as if he had been a knight hospitaller himself. This somewhat detracts from the value of a work which must be admitted to rest, in respect to materials, on the soundest historical basis. The abbé's turn for the romantic has probably aided, instead of hurting him, with the generality of readers. His clear and sometimes eloquent style, the interest of his story, and the dramatic skill with which he brings before the eye the peculiar traits of his actors, redeem, to some extent, the prolixity of his narrative, and have combined, not merely to commend the book to popular favor, but to make it the standard work on the subject.

[1335] By another ordinance, La Valette caused all the dogs in La Sangle and Il Borgo to be killed, because they disturbed the garrisons by night, and ate their provisions by day. Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 29.

[1336] Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 2.

[1337] Ibid., p. 4.—Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 64.—Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, p. 94.—Sagredo, Monarcas Othomanos, p. 296.

[1338] Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, p. 91.—Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 3.—De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. V. p. 67.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 26.—Sagredo, Monarcas Othomanos, p. 246

[1339] Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 61, 62, 68.—Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, pp. 95-100.—Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. pp. 4-7.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 26.—Herrera, Historia General, lib. XII. cap. 7.

[1340] "No avia hombre que no truxesse aljuba, el que menos de grana, muchos de tela de oro, y de plata, y damasco carmesi, y muy buenas escopetas de fez, cimitaras de Alexandria, y de Damasco, arcos muy finos, y muy ricos turbantes." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 70.

[1341] "Cargadas de gente muy luzida, vista por cierto muy linda, sino fuera tan peligrosa." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1342] "Nuestro predicador fray Ruberto, el qual en todo el assalto yva por todas las postas con un crucifixo en la una mano, y la espada en la otra: animandonos a bien morir, y pelear por la fe de Iesu Christo: y fue herido este dia su paternidad." Ibid., fol. 73.

[1343] "Echo nueve barcas delas mayores a fondo que no se salvo ninguno, y auria en estas barcas ochocientos Turcos." Ibid., fol. 72.

[1344] This seems to have been Balbi's opinion.—"En conclusion, la casa mata del comendador Guiral fue este dia a juyzio de todos la salvacion de la Isla, porque si las barcas ya dichas echavan su gēte en tierra, no les pudieramos resistir en ninguna manera." Ibid., fol. 73.

[1345] Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 13.

[1346] Compare Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 13, and Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 73.—The latter chronicler, for a wonder, raises the sum total of the killed to a somewhat higher figure than the abbé,—calling it full four thousand.

[1347] The particulars of the assaults on St. Michael and the Spur are given by Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 61-74; and with more or less inaccuracy by Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. pp. 8-13; Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, pp. 110-116; De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. V. pp. 72-74; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap. 26; Herrera, Historia General, lib. XII. cap. 7; Sagredo, Monarcas Othomanos, p. 246; Campana, Vita di Filippo Secondo, tom. II. p. 160.

[1348] Cruel indeed, according to the report of Balbi, who tells us that the Christians cut off the ears of the more refractory, and even put some of them to death,—pour encourager les autres.—"Han muerto en esta jornada al trabajo mas de quinientos esclavos; mas los pobres llegaron atal de puros cansados y acabados del trabajo continuo, que no podían estar en pie, y se dexavan cortar las orejas y matar por no poder trabajar mas." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 66.

[1349] Ibid., fol. 67, 77.—Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 18.—Campana, Vita di Filippo Secondo, tom. II. p. 160.

[1350] "En fin era in todo diligente, vigilante y animoso, y jamas se conoscio en su valeroso semblante ninguna señal de temor, antes con su presencia dava esfuerço y animo à sus cavalleros y soldados." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 77.

[1351] "Luego que todas estas baterias començaron de batir, y todas en un tiempo, era tanto el ruydo y temblor que parecia quererse acabar el mūdo, y puedese bien creer que el ruydo fuesse tal, pues se sentia muy claramente dende Caragoça, y dende Catania, que ay ciento y veynte millas de Malta a estas dos ciudades." Ibid., fol. 78.

[1352] Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. pp. 21, 22.

[1353] "Dixo publicamente, que el no aguardava socorro ya sino era del omnipotente Dios el qual era el socorro verdadero, y el que hasta entonces nos havia librado, y que ni mas ni menos nos libraria por el avenir, delas manos delos enemigos da su santa fee." Balbi, Verdadera Relación, fol. 81.

[1354] "Esta habla del gran Maestre luego fue divulgada, y asi toda la gente se determino de primero morir que venir a manos de turcos vivos, pero tambien se determino de vender muy bien sus vidas, y asi ya no se tratava de socorro." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1355] "No quedo hombre ni muger de edad para ello que no lo ganasse con devocion grandissima, y con muy firme esperança y fe de yr ala gloria, muriendo en la jornada." Ibid., fol. 71.

[1356] "Tenia mandado, que en todos los dias de assalto se llevassen por todas las postas adonde se peleasse, muchos buyvelos de vino aguado, y pan para refrescar su gente, pues de gente no podia." Ibid., fol. 91.

[1357] "Si todas estas buenas ordenes no uviera, no baeraran fuerças humanas para resistir a tanta furia pertinacia, principalmēte, siendo nosotros tan pocos, y ellos tantos." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1358] "El gran Maestre sin mudarse, ni alterarse de su semblante valeroso, dixo, Vamos a morir alla todos cavalleros, q̃ oy es el dia." Ibid., fol. 90.

[1359] Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 24.

[1360] Vertot speaks of this last attack as having been made on the eighteenth of August. His chronology may be corrected by that of Balbi, whose narrative, taking the form of a diary, in which the transactions of each day are separately noted, bears the stamp of much greater accuracy. Balbi gives the seventh of August as the date. For the preceding pages see Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 89-93; Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. pp. 18-24; Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, pp. 146-150; De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. V. p. 83 et seq.; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 27; Campana, Vita di Filippo Secondo, tom. II. p. 16; Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 450.

[1361] "Y sino solenne como en esta religion se suele hazer, alomenos cōtrita a lo que las lagrimas de muchos hombres y mugeres davan señal." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 94

[1362] "Y como el comendador era hombre de linda disposicion, y armado de unas armas doradas y ricas, los turcos tiraron todos a el." Ibid., fol. 76.

[1363] Ibid., ubi supa.—Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 14.

[1364] Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 66, 82.

[1365] Ibid. fol. 78.

[1366] "Muchas vezes solo se yva a san Lorenço, y alli en su apartamiento hazia sus oraciones. Y eneste exercicio se occupava quando se tenia algun sosiego." Ibid., fol. 84.

[1367] Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 29.

[1368] "Lo qual sabido por el gran Maestre como aquel que jamas penso sino morir el primo por su religion, y por quitar toda sospecha despues de aver hecho llevar en sant Angel todas las reliquias y cosas de mas valor, mando quitar la puente, dando a entender a todo el mundo que enel no avia retirar, sino morir en el Burgo, o defenderlo." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 94.

See also Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 29.; Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, p. 167 et seq.

[1369] "Ya seles canocia, que les faltavan muchas pieças que avian embarcado, y cada noche se sentia como las retiravan, ala sorda sin los alaridos que davan al principio quando las plantaron." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 101.

[1370] Ibid., fol. 106 et seq.—Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 33.—Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, pp. 172-176.—De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. V. p. 88.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 28.—Campana, Vita di Filippo Secondo, tom. II. p. 166.

[1371] "Como nuestra armada estuvo en parte q̃ la descubriamos claramente, cada galera tiro tres vezes." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 104.

[1372] "En el retirar su artilleria, tan calladamente que no se sentia sino el chillido de las ruedas, y Dios sabe lo que al gran Maestre pesava, porque siempre tuvo especrança de ganarle parte della, si el socorro se descubriera." Ibid., fol. 105.

[1373] The armory, in the government palace of Valetta, still contains a quantity of weapons, sabres, arquebuses, steel bows, and the like, taken at different times from the Turks. Among others is a cannon of singular workmanship, but very inferior in size to the two pieces of ordnance mentioned in the text. (See Bigelow's Travels in Malta and Sicily, p. 226.) Those glorious trophies of the great siege should have found a place among the national relics.

[1374] "Yo no creo que musica jamas consolasse humanos sentidos, como á nosotros consolo el son de nuestras campanas, alos ocho, dia dela Natividad de nuestra señora. Porque el gran Maestre las hizo tocar todas ala hora que se solia tocar al arma, y avía tres meses que no las aviamos oydo sino para arma." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 105.

[1375] "Esta mañana pues tocaron la missa, la cual se canto muy de mañana, y en pontifical, muy solemnemente, dando gracias á nuestro señor Dios, y á su bendita madre por las gracias que nos avian hecho." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1376] "No dexando de pelear aquel dia, y en sangrentar muy bien sus espadas." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 119.

[1377] "Lo qual se vio claramente dende a dos o tres dias porque los cuerpos que se avian ahogado subieron encima del agua, los quales eran tantos que parecian mas de tres mil, y avia tanto hedor en todo aquello que no se podia hombre llegar ala cala." Ibid., fol. 120.

As an offset against the three thousand of the enemy who thus perished by fire and water, the chronicler gives us four Christians slain in the fight, and four smothered from excessive heat in their armor!

[1378] For the preceding pages see Balbi, (Verdadera Relacion, fol. 117-121,) who contrived to be present in the action; also Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. pp. 35-37; De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. V. p. 89; Miniana, Hist. de España, p. 353; Campana, Vita di Filippo Secondo, tom. II, p. 160; Herrera, Historia General, tom. I. p. 591; Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, p. 180 et seq.

[1379] "Se vinieron al Burgo, tanto por ver la persona del gran Maestre tan dichosa y valerosa, como por ver la grandissima disformidad y llaneza de nuestras baterias." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 121.

[1380] Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 39.

[1381] "Al entrar del qual despues que la Real capitana uvo puesto sus estandartes los pusieron todas las demas, y muy ricos, la Real traya enla flama un crucifixo muy devoto." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 122.

[1382] "Fueronse para Palacio, adonde dio el gran Maestre a todos muy realmente de cenar, porque ya el governador del Gozo le avia embiado muchos refrescos, y don Garcia y todos los capitanes del armada le presentaron de la misma manera." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1383] Balbi expresses his satisfaction at the good cheer, declaring that the dainties brought by the viceroy, however costly, seemed cheap to men who had been paying two ducats for a fowl, and a real and a half for an egg. Ibid., ubi supra.

[1384] Herrera, Historia General, vol. I. p. 592.

[1385] Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 38.

[1386] Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 121.—De Thou reduces the mortality to twenty thousand. (Hist. Universelle, tom. V. p. 592.) Herrera, on the other hand, raises it to forty thousand. (Historia General, tom. I. p. 90.) The whole Moslem force, according to Balbi, was forty-eight thousand, exclusive of seamen. Of these about thirty thousand were Turks. The remainder belonged to the contingents furnished by Dragut and Hassem. Conf., fol. 25 and 121.

[1387] Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 128.—Balbi gives a list of all the knights who perished in the siege. Cabrera makes a similar estimate of the Christian loss. (Filipe Segundo, lib. VI. cap. 28.) De Thou rates it somewhat lower (Hist. Universelle, tom. V. p. 90); and Vertot lower still. (Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 38.) Yet Balbi may be thought to show too little disposition, on other occasions, to exaggerate the loss of his own side for us to suspect him of exaggeration here.

[1388] "En todo este sitio no se a justiciado sino un solo Italiano Senes el qual mando justiciar Melchior de Robles: porque dixo publicamente estando en el mayor aprieto, que mas valiera que tomaramos las quatro pagas que los turcos nos ofrecian, y el passage." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 128.

[1389] For this act of retributive justice, so agreeable to the feelings of the reader, I have no other authority to give than Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 18.

[1390] Ibid., pp. 39, 40.—Calderon, Gloriosa Defensa de Malta, pp. 189, 190.—De Thou, Hist. Universelle, tom. V. p. 91.

[1391] "Havia en la Isla de Malta quinze mil hombres de pelea, los quales bastaran para resistir a qualquiera poder del gran Turco en campaña rasa." Balbi, Verdadera Relacion, fol. 129.

Besides the Spanish forces, a body of French adventurers took service under La Valette, and remained for some time in Malta.

[1392] Vertot tells us that the projected expedition of Solyman against Malta was prevented by the destruction of the grand arsenal of Constantinople, which was set on fire by a secret emissary of La Valette. (Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 41.) We should be better pleased if the abbé had given his authority for this strange story, the probability of which is not at all strengthened by what we know of the grand-master's character.

[1393] It was common for the Maltese cities, after the Spanish and Italian fashion, to have characteristic epithets attached to their names. La Valette gave the new capital the title of "Umillima,"—"most humble,"—intimating that humility was a virtue of highest price with the fraternity of St. John. See Boisgelin, Ancient and Modern Malta, vol. I. p. 29.

[1394] "Plus de huit mille ouvriers y furent employés; et afin d'avancer plus aisément les travaux, le Pape Pie V. commanda qu'on y travaillât sans discontinuer, même les jours de Fêtes." Helyot, Hist. des Ordres Religieux.

[1395] The style of the architecture of the new capital seems to have been, to some extent, formed on that of Rhodes, though, according to Lord Carlisle, of a more ornate and luxuriant character than its model. "I traced much of the military architecture of Rhodes, which, grave and severe there, has here both swelled into great amplitude and blossomed into copious efflorescence; it is much the same relation as Henry VII.'s Chapel bears to a bit of Durham Cathedral." Diary in Turkish and Greek Waters, p. 200.

The account of Malta is not the least attractive portion of this charming work, to which Felton's notes have given additional value.

[1396] Vertot, Knights of Malta, vol. III. p. 42.

[1397] Ibid., pp. 42-48.—Boisgelin, Ancient and Modern Malta, vol. I. pp. 127-142.

[1398] An interesting description of this cathedral, well styled the Westminster Abbey of Malta, may be found in Bigelow's Travels in Sicily and Malta (p. 190),—a work full of instruction, in which the writer, allowing himself a wider range than that of the fashionable tourist, takes a comprehensive survey of the resources of the countries he has visited, while he criticizes their present condition by an enlightened comparison with the past.

[1399] "Lorsqu'on commence l'Evangile, le Grand-Maître la prend des mains du Page et la tient tonte droite pendant le tems de l'Evangile. C'est la seule occasion où l'on tient l'épée nue à l'Eglise." Helyot, Hist. des Ordres Religieux, tom. III. p. 93.

[1400] Boisgelin, Ancient and Modern Malta, vol. I. p. 35.

The good knight dwells with complacency on the particulars of a ceremony in which he had often borne a part himself. It recalled to his mind the glorious days of an order, which he fondly hoped might one day be restored to its primitive lustre.

[1401] Alfieri, Schiller, and, in our day, Lord John Russell, have, each according to his own conceptions, exhibited the poetic aspect of the story to the eyes of their countrymen. The Castilian dramatist, Montalvan, in his "Príncipe Don Carlos," written before the middle of the seventeenth century, shows more deference to historic accuracy, as well as to the reputation of Isabella, by not mixing her up in any way with the fortunes of the prince of Asturias.

[1402] This correspondence is printed in a curious volume, of the greatest rarity, entitled, Elogios de Don Honorato Juan, (Valencia, 1659,) p. 60 et seq.

[1403] "Egli in collera reiterò con maraviglia et riso di S. M. et de'circumstanti, che mai egli non saria fuggito." Relatione di Badoaro, MS.

[1404] "Reprehendio al Principe su nieto su poca mesura i mucha desenboltura con que vivia i trataba con su tia, i encomendòla su correcion, diziendo era en lo q̃ mas podia obligar a todos." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. II. cap. 11.

[1405] "Ne attende ad altro che a leggirli gli officii di M. Tullio per acquetare quei troppo ardenti desiderii." Relatione di Badoaro, MS.

[1406] "En lo del estudio esta poco aprovechado, porque lo haze de mala gana y ausy mesmo los otros exercicios de jugar y esgremyr, que para todo es menester premya." Carta de García de Toledo al Emperador, 27 de Agosto, 1557, MS.

[1407] "Hasta agora no se que los medicos ayan tratado de dar ninguna cosa al principe para la colera, ny yo lo consintiera hazer, sin dar primero quenta dello a vuestra magestad." Ibid.

[1408] "Deseo mucho que V. M. fuese servido que el principe diese una buelta por allá para velle por que entendidos los impedimentos que en su edad tiene mandasse V. M. lo que fuera de la horden con que yo le sirvo se deba mudar." Del mismo al mismo, 13 de Abril, 1558, MS.

[1409] So cruel, according to the court gossip picked up by Badoaro, that, when hares and other game were brought to him, he would occasionally amuse himself by roasting them alive!—-"Dimostra havere un animo fiero, et tra gli effetti che si raccontana uno è, che alle volte, che dalla caccia gli viene portato o lepre o simile animale, si diletta di vedirli arrostire vivi." Relatione de Badoaro, MS.

[1410] "Da segno di dovere essere superbissimo, perchè non poteva sofferire di stare lungamente nè innanzi al padre nè avo con la berretta in mano, et chiama il padre fratello, et l'avo padre." Ibid.

[1411] "Dice a tutti i propositi tante cose argute che 'l suo ministro ne raccolse un libretto." Ibid.

Another contemporary also notices the precocious talents of the boy, as shown in his smart sayings.—"Dexo de contar las gracias que tiene en dichos maravillosos que andan por boca de todos desparzidos, dexo de contar lo que haze para provar lo que dize." Cordero, Promptuario de Medallas, ap. Castro, Historia de los Protestantes Españoles, p. 328.

[1412] "Le pauvre prince est si bas et exténué, il va d'heure a heure tant affoiblissant, que les plus sages de ceste court en ont bien petite espérance." L'Evêque de Limoges au Roi, 1^er Mars, 1559, ap. Négociations relatives an Règne de François II., p. 291.

[1413] "Delante de la Princesa venia don Carlos a su juramento con mal calor de quartanaria en un cavallo blanco con rico guarnimiento i gualdrapa de oro i plata bordado sobre tela de oro parda, como el vestido galan con muchos botones de perlas i diamantes." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. V. cap. 7.

[1414] Ibid., ubi supra.

[1415] Strada, in a parallel which he has drawn of the royal youths, gives the palm to Don John of Austria. His portrait of Carlos is as little flattering in regard to his person as to his character.—"Carolus, præter colorem et capillum, ceterùm corpore mendosus; quippe humero clatior, et tibia alterâ longior erat; nee minus dehonestamentum ab indole feroci et contumaci." De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 609.

[1416] "Este dia despues de haber comido queriendo Su Alteza bajar por una escalera escura y de ruines pasos echó el pie derecho en vacio, y dió una vuelta sobre todo el cuerpo, y así cayó de cuatro ó cinco escalones. Dió con la cabeza un gran golpe en una puerta cerrada, y quedó la cabeza abajo y los pies arriba." Relacion de la enfermedad del Príncipe por el Doctor Olivares, Documentos Inéditos, tom. XV. p. 554.

[1417] According to Guibert, the French ambassador, Carlos was engaged in a love adventure when he met with his fall,—having descended this dark stairway in search of the young daughter of the porter of the garden. See Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 119.

[1418] Ferreras, Hist. de l'Espagne, tom. IX. p. 429.

[1419] Dr. Olivares bears emphatic testimony to this virtue, little to have been expected in his patient.—"Lo que á su salud cumplia hizo de la misma suerte, siendo tan obediente á los remedios que á todos espantaba que por fuertes y recios que fuesen nunca los reusó, antes todo el tiempo que estuvo en su acuerdo él mismo los pedia, lo cual fué grande ayuda para la salud que Dios le dió." Documentos Inéditos, tom. XV. p. 571.

[1420] Another rival appeared, to contest the credit of the cure with the bones of Fray Diego. This was Our Lady of Atocha, the patroness of Madrid, whose image, held in the greatest veneration by Philip the Second, was brought to the chamber of Carlos, soon after the skeleton of the holy friar. As it was after the patient had decidedly begun to mend, there seems to be the less reason for the chroniclers of Our Lady of Atocha maintaining, as they sturdily do, her share in the cure. (Perada, La Madona de Madrid, (Valladolid, 1604,) p. 151.) The veneration for the patroness of Madrid has continued to the present day. A late journal of that capital states that the queen, accompanied by her august consort and the princess of Asturias, went, on the twenty-fourth of March, 1854, in solemn procession to the church, to decorate the image with the collar of the Golden Fleece.

[1421] "Con todo eso tomando propriamente el nombre de milagro, á mi juicio no lo fué, porque el Príncipe se curó con los remedios naturales y ordinarios, con los cuales se suelen curar otros de la misma enfermedad estando tanto y mas peligrosos." Documentos Inéditos, tom. XV. p. 570.

[1422] Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 132.

[1423] "Il aymoit fort à ribler le pavé, et faire à coups d'espée, fust de jour, fust de nuit, car il avoit avec luy dix ou douze enfans d'honneur des plus grandes maisons d'Espagne.... Quand il alloit par les ruës quelque belle dame, et fust elle des plus grandes du pays, il la prenoit et la baisoit par force devant tout le monde; il l'appelloit putain, bagasse, chienne, et force autres injures leur disoit-il." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 323.

[1424] "Dió un bofeton a Don Pedro Manuel, i guisadas i picadas en menudas pieças hizo comer las votas al menestral." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 22.

De Foix, a French architect employed on the Escorial at this time, informed the historian De Thou of the prince's habit of wearing extremely large leggings, or boots, for the purpose mentioned in the text. "Nam et scloppetulos binos summa arte fabricatos caligis, quæ amplissimæ de more gentis in usu sunt, eum gestare solitum resciverat." (Historiæ sui Temporis, lib. XLI.) I cite the original Latin, as the word caligæ has been wrongly rendered by the French translator into culottes.

[1425] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 22.

[1426] "Curilla vos os atreveis a mi, no dexando venir a servirme Cisneros? por vida de mi padre que os tengo de matar" Ibid., ubi supra.

[1427] "Il qual Niccolo lo fece subito et co'parole di Complimento rende gratie à sua Altezza, offerendoli sempre tutto quel che per lui si poteva." Lettera di Nobili, Ambasciatore del Granduca di Toscagna al Re Philippo, 24 di Luglio, 1567, MS.

[1428] "Ci si messe di mezzo Ruigomes et molti altri nè si è mai possuto quietar'fin tanto che Niccolo no'li ha prestato sessantamila scudi co'sua polizza senza altro assegniamento." Ibid.

[1429] "Mostra di esser molto religioso solicitando come fa le prediche et divini officii, anzi in questo si può dir che eccede l'honesto, et suol dire, Chi debbe far Elemosine, se non la danno i Prencipi?" Relatione di Tiepolo, MS.

[1430] "È splendetissimo in tutte le cose et massime nel beneficiar chi lo serve. Il che fa così largamente che necessita ad amarlo anco i servitori del Padre." Ibid.

[1431] "È curioso nel intendere i negozii del stato, ne i quali s'intrometterebbe volontieri, et procura di saper quello che tratta il Padre, et che egli asconde gli fa grande offesa." Ibid.

Granvelle, in one of his letters, notices with approbation this trait in the character of Carlos. "Many are pleased with the prince, others not. I think him modest, and inclined to employ himself, which, for the heir of such large dominions, is in the highest degree necessary." Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 128.

[1432] "Mi mayor amigo que tengo en esta vida, que harè lo que vos me pidieredes." Elogios de Honorato Juan, p. 66.

The last words, it is true, may be considered as little more than a Castilian form of epistolary courtesy.

[1433] "Su Alteza añada, y quite todo lo que le pareciere de mi testamento, y este mi Codicilo, que aquello que su Alteza mandare lo doy, y quiero que sea tan valido como si estuviesse expressado en este mi Codicilo, o en el testamento." Ibid., p. 73.

[1434] "Così come sono allegri i Spagnuoli d'haver per loro Sig^re un Rè naturale così stanno molto in dubio qual debbe esser il suo governo." Relatione di Tiepolo, MS.

[1435] Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 132.

[1436] Herrera, Historia General, tom. I. p. 680.

[1437] Raumer (Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 153), who cites a manuscript letter of Antonio Perez to the councillor Du Vaire, extant in the Royal Library of Paris. A passage in a letter to Carlos from his almoner, Doctor Hernan Suarez de Toledo, has been interpreted as alluding to his intercourse with the deputies from Flanders: "Tambien he llorado, no haber parecido bien que V. A. hablase a los procuradores, como dicen que lo hizo, no se lo que fue, pero si que cumple mucho hacer los hombres sus negocios propios, con consejo ageno, por que los muy diestros nunca fian del suyo." The letter, which is without date, is to be found in the archiepiscopal library of Toledo.

[1438] De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 376.

[1439] "È principe," writes the nuncio, "che quello, che ha in cuore, ha in bocca." Lettera del Nunzio al Cardinale Alessandrini, Giugno, 1566, MS.

[1440] "Que eran de grandisimo engaño, y error peligrosisimo, inventado y buscado todo por el demonio, para dar travajo a V. A. y pensar darle á todos, y para desasogear, y aun inquietar la grandeza de la monarquia." Carta de Hernan Suarez al Príncipe, MS.

[1441] The intimate relations of Doctor Suarez with Carlos exposed him to suspicions in regard to his loyalty or his orthodoxy,—we are not told which,—that might have cost him his life, had not this letter, found among the prince's papers after his death, proved a sufficient voucher for the doctor's innocence. Soto, Anotaciones a la Historia de Talabera, MS.

[1442] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 13.—Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 376.—Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, (Madrid, 1627,) fol. 37.

[1443] Letter of Fourquevaulx, January 19, 1568 ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 85.

[1444] "Avia muchos dias, que el Príncipe mi Señor andaba inquieto sin poder sosegar, y decia, que avia de matar á un hombre con quien estaba mal, y de este dió parte al Señor Don Juan, pero sin declararle quien fuese." De la Prision y Muerte del Príncipe Don Carlos, MS.

[1445] "Pero el Prior le engaño, con persuadirle dixese cual fuese el hombre, por que seria possible poder dispensar conforme à la satisfaccion, que S. A. pudiese tomar, y entonces dixo, que era el Rey su Padre con quien estaba mál, y le havia de matar." Ibid.

[1446] Ibid.

[1447] "Ya avia llegado de Sevilla Garci Alvarez Osorio con ciento y cincuenta mil escudos de los seiscientos mil que le avia embiado a buscar y proveer: y que assi se apercibiesse para partir en la noche siguiente pues la resta le remitirian en polizas en saliendo de la Corte." Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 40.

[1448] Ibid., ubi supra.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 22.

[1449] "Sono molti giorni che stando il Ré fuori comandò segretamente che si facesse fare orationi in alcuni monasterii, acciò nostro Signore Dio indrizzasse bene et felicemente un grand negotio, che si li offeriva. Questo è costume di questo Prencipe veramente molto religioso, quando li occorre qualche cosa da esseguire, che sia importante." Lettera del Nunzio, 24 di Gennaio, 1568, MS.

[1450] "On the next day, when I was present at the audience, he appeared with as good a countenance as usual, although he was already determined in the same night to lay hands on his son, and no longer to put up with or conceal his follies and more than youthful extravagances." Letter of Fourquevaulx, February 5, 1568, ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 138.

[1451] Ibid., ubi supra.—Relacion del Ayuda de Camara, MS.

[1452] Relacion del Ayuda de Camara, MS.—Lettera di Nobili, Gennaio 21, 1568, MS.

De Thou, taking his account from the architect Louis de Foix, has provided Carlos with still more formidable means of defence. "Ce Prince inquiet ne dormoit point, qu'il n'eût sous son chevet deux épées nues et deux pistolets chargez. Il avoit encore dans sa garderobe deux arquebuses avec de la poudre et des balles, toujours prêtes à tirer." Hist. Universelle, tom. V. p. 439.

[1453] Ibid., ubi supra.

[1454] "Così S. M^ta fece levare tutte l'armi, et tutti i ferri sino à gli alari di quella camera, et conficcare le finestre." Lettera di Nobili, Gennaio 21, 1568, MS.

[1455] "Aquí alço el principe grandes bozes diziendo, mateme Vra M^d y no me prenda porque es grande escandalo para el reyno y sino yo me mataré, al qual respondio el rey que no lo hiciere que era cosa de loco, y el principe respondio no lo hare como loco sino como desesperado pues Vra M^d me trata tan mal." Relacion del Ayuda de Camara, MS.

[1456] "Erasi di già tornato nel letto il Principe usando molte parole fuor di proposito: le quali non furno asverttite come dette quasi singhiozzando." Lettera di Nobili, Gennaio 25, 1568, MS.

[1457] "Y á cada uno de por sí con lagrimas (segun me ha certificado quien lo vió) les daba cuenta de la prission del Príncipe su hijo." Relacion del Ayuda de Camara, MS.

[1458] "Martes veinte de Enero de 1568, llamó S. M. á su cámara á los de el Consejo de Estado, y estubieron en ella desde la una de la tarde asta las nueve de la noche, no se sabe que se tratase, el Rey hace informacion, Secretario de ella és Oyos, hallase el Rey pressente al examen de los testigos, ay escripto casi un feme en alto." Ibid.

I have two copies of this interesting MS., one from Madrid, the other from the library of Sir Thomas Phillips. Llorente's translation of the entire document, in his Histoire de l'Inquisition, (tom. III. pp. 151-158,) cannot claim the merit of scrupulous accuracy.

[1459] "Unos le llamaban prudente, otros severo, porque su risa i cuchillo eran confines." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 22.

These remarkable words seem to escape from Cabrera, as if he were noticing only an ordinary trait of character.

[1460] "Mirabanse los mas cuerdos sellando la boca con el dedo i el silencio." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1461] "In questo mezo è prohibito di mandar corriero nessuno, volendo essere Sus Maestà il primo á dar alli Prencipi quest'aviso." Lettera del Nunzio, Gennaio 21, 1568, MS.

[1462] "En fin yo he querido hacer en esta parte sacrificio à Dios de mi propia carne y sangre y preferir su servicio y el bien y beneficio público á las otras consideraciones humanas." Traslado de la Carta que su magestad escrivió à la Reyna de Portugal sobre le prision del Principe su hijo, 20 de Enero, 1568, MS.

[1463] "Solo me ha parecido ahora advertir que el fundamento de esta mi determinacion no depende de culpa, ni inovediencia, ni desacato, ni es enderezada à castigo, que aunque para este havia la muy suficiente materia, pudiera tener su tiempo y su termino." Ibid.

[1464] "Ni tampoco lo he tomado por medio, teniendo esperanza que por este camino se reformarán sus excesos y desordenes. Tiene este negocio otro principio y razon, cuyo remedio no consiste en tiempo, ni medios; y que es de mayor importancia y consideracion para satisfacer yo á la dicha obligacion que tengo á Dios nuestro señor y á los dichos mis Reynos." Ibid.

[1465] "Pues aunque es verdad que en el discurso de su vida y trato haya habido ocasion de alguna desobediencia ó desacato que pudieran justificar qualquiera demostracion, esto no me obligaría á llegar á tan estrecho punto. La necesidad y conveniencia han producido las causas que me han movido muy urgentes y precisas con mi hijo primogenito y solo." Carta del Rey á su Embajador en Roma, 22 de Enero, 1568, MS.

[1466] Letter of Fourquevaulx, ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries vol. I. p. 136.

[1467] "Querria el Papa saber por carta de V. M. la verdad." Carta de Zuñiga al Rey, 28 de Abril, 1568, MS.

[1468] Lorea, Vida de Pio Quinto, (Valladolid, 1713,) p. 131.

[1469] In the Archives of Simancas is a department known as the Patronato, or family papers, consisting of very curious documents, of so private a nature as to render them particularly difficult of access. In this department is deposited the correspondence of Zuñiga, which, with other documents in the same collection, has furnished me with some pertinent extracts.

[1470] "Estan en el archivo de Simancas, donde en el año mil i quinientos i noventa i dos los metio don Cristoval de Mora de su Camara en un cofrecillo verde en que se conservan," Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 22.

[1471] It is currently reported, as I am informed, among the scholars of Madrid, that in 1828, Ferdinand the Seventh caused the papers containing the original process of Carlos, with some other documents, to be taken from Simancas; but whither they were removed is not known. Nor since that monarch's death have any tidings been heard of them.

[1472] "Rispose che questo saria el manco, perchè se non fosse stato altro pericolo che della persona del Rè si saria guardata, et rimediato altramente, ma che ci era peggio, si peggio può essere, al che sua Maestà ha cercato per ogni via di rimediare due anni continui, perchè vedeva pigliarli la mala via, ma non ha mai potuto fermare ne regolare questo cervello, fin che è bisognato arrivare a questo." Lettera del Nunzio, Gennaio 24, 1568, MS.

[1473] "Non lascerò però di dirle, ch'io ho ritratto et di luogo ragionevole, che si sospetta del Prencipe di poco Cattolico: et quello, che lo fà credere, è che fin'adesso non li han fatto dir messa." Lettera di Nobili, Gennaio 25, 1698, MS.

[1474] "El Papa alaba mucho la determinacion de V. M. porque entiende que la conservacion de la Christianidad depende de que Dios de à V. M. muchos años de vida y qu edespues tenga tal sucesor que sepa seguir sus pisadas." Carta de Zuñiga, Junio 25, 1568, MS.

[1475] Leti has been more fortunate in discovering a letter from Don Carlos to Count Egmont, found among the papers of that nobleman at the time of his arrest. (Vita di Filippo II. tom. I. p. 543.) The historian is too discreet to vouch for the authenticity of the document, which indeed would require a better voucher than Leti to obtain our confidence.

[1476] De Castro labors hard to prove that Don Carlos was a Protestant. If he fails to establish the fact, he must be allowed to have shown that the prince's conduct was such as to suggest great doubts of his orthodoxy, among those who approached the nearest to him. See Historia de los Protestantes Españoles, p. 319 et seq.

[1477] "Sua Maestà ha dato ordine, che nelle lettere, che si scrivono a tutti li Prencipi et Regni, si dica, che la voce ch'è uscita ch 'l Prencipe havesse cercato di offendere la Real persona sua propria è falsa, et questo medesimo fa dire a bocea da Ruy Gomez all'Imbasciatori." Lettera del Nunzio Gennaio 27, 1568, MS.

[1478] "Si tien per fermo che privaranno il Prencipe della successione, et non lo liberaranno mai." Lettera del Nunzio, Febraio 14, 1568, MS.

[1479] "Para rezarse le diesen las Oras, Breviario i Rosario que pidiese, i libros solamente de buena dotrina i devocion, si quisiese leer y oir." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, b. VII. cap. 22.

[1480] The montero was one of the body-guard of the king for the night. The right of filling this corps was an ancient privilege accorded to the inhabitants of a certain district named Espinosa de los Monteros. Llorente, Histoire de l'Inquisition, tom. III. p. 163.

[1481] The regulations are given in extenso by Cabrera, (Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 22,) and the rigor with which they were enforced is attested by the concurrent reports of the foreign ministers at the court. In one respect, however, they seem to have been relaxed, if, as Nobili states, the prince was allowed to recreate himself with the perusal of Spanish law-books, which he may have consulted with reference to his own case. "Hà domandato, che li siano letti li statuti, et le leggi di Spagna: ne'quali spende molto studio. Scrive assai di sua mano, et subito scritto lo straccia." Lettera di Nobili, Giugno 8, 1568, MS.

[1482] "Per questa causa dunque il Rè et Regina vechia di quel regno hanno mandato qui un ambasciatore a far offltio col Rè cattolico per il Prencipe, dolersi del caso, offerirsi di venire la Regina propria a governarlo como madre." Lettera del Nunzio, Marzo 2, 1568, MS.

[1483] Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. II. p. 141.

[1484] Ibid., pp. 146-148.

[1485] "Reyna y Princesa lloran: Don Juan vá cada noche á Palacio, y una fué muy llano, como de luto, y el Rey le riñió, y mandó no andubiesse de aquel modo, sino como solia de antes." Relación del Ayuda de Cámara, MS.

[1486] "Sua Maestà ha fatto intendere a tutte le città del Reyno, che non mandino huomini o imbasciator nessuno, ne per dolersi, ne per cerimonia, ne per altro; et pare che habbia a caro, che nessuno glie ne parli, et così ogn'huomo tace." Lettera del Nunzio, Febraio 14, 1568, MS.

[1487] Letter of Fourquevaulx, April 13, 1568. ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. II. p. 143.

A letter of condolence from the municipality of Murcia was conceived in such a loyal and politic vein as was altogether unexceptionable. "We cannot reflect," it says, "without emotion, on our good fortune in having a sovereign so just, and so devoted to the weal of his subjects, as to sacrifice to this every other consideration, even the tender attachment which he has for his own offspring." This, which might seem irony to some, was received by the king, as it was doubtless intended, in perfect good faith. His indorsement, in his own handwriting, on the cover, shows the style in which he liked to be approached by his loving subjects. "This letter is written with prudence and discretion."—A translation of the letter, dated February 16, 1568, is in Llorente, Histoire de l'Inquisition, tom. III. p. 161.

[1488] Letter of Fourquevaulx, ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries.

[1489] Ibid., ubi supra.

[1490] "Quella per il Rè conteneva specificatamente molti agravii, che in molti anni pretendi, che li siano statti fatti da Sua Maestà, et diceva ch'egli se n'andava fuori delli suoi Regni per no poter sopportare tanti agravii, che li faceva." Lettera del Nunzio, Marzo 2, 1568, MS.

[1491] Ibid.

[1492] "Vi è ancora una lista, dove scriveva di sua mano gli amici, et li nemici suoi, li quali diceva hi havere a perseguitare sempre fino alla morte, tra li quali il primo era scritto il Rè suo padre, di poi Rui Gomez et la moglie, il Presidente, il Duca d'Alba, et certi altri." Lettera del Nunzio, Marzo 2, 1568, MS.

[1493] "No salio el Rey de Madrid, ni aun a Aranjuez, ni a San Lorenço a ver su fabrica, tan atento al negocio del Principe estaba, i sospechoso a las murmuraciones de sus pueblos fieles i reverentes, que ruidos estraordinarios en su Palacio le hazian mirar, si eran tumultos para sacar a su Alteza de su camara." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VIII. cap. 5.

[1494] "Onde fù chiamato il confessore et il medico, ma egli seguitando nella sua disperatione non volse ascoltare nè l'unno nè l'altro." Lettera del Nunzio, MS.

My copy of this letter, perhaps through the inadvertence of the transcriber, is without date.

[1495] "Ne volendo in alcun modo curare nè il corpo nè l'anima, la quai cosa faceva stare il Rè et gli altri con molto dispiacere, vedendoli massima di continuo crescere il male, et mancar la virtù." Ibid.

[1496] "Vea V. A. que harán y dirán todos quando se entienda que no se confiesa, y se vayan descubriendo otras cosas terribles, que le son tanto, que llegan á que el Santo Oficio tuviera mucha entrada en otro para saber si era cristiano ó no." Carta de Hernán Suarez de Toledo al Príncipe, Marzo 18, 1568, MS.

[1497] "Spogliarsi nudo, et solo con una robba di taffetà su le carni star quasi di continuo ad una finestra, dove tirava vento, caminare con li piedi discalzi per la camara que tuttavia faceva stare adacquata tanto che sempre ci era l'acqua per tutto." Lettera del Nunzio, MS.

[1498] "Farsi raffredare ogni notte due o tre volti il letto con uno scaldaletto pieno di neve, et tenerlo le notte intiere nel letto." Ibid.

[1499] Three days, according to one authority. (Lettera di Nobili di 30 di Luglio, 1568, MS.) Another swells the number to nine days (Carta de Gomez Manrique, MS.); and a third—one of Philip's cabinet ministers—has the assurance to prolong the prince's fast to eleven days, in which he allows him, however, an unlimited quantity of cold water. "Ansi se determinó de no comer y en esta determinacion passaron onze dias sin que bastasen persuasiones ni otras diligencias á que tomase cosa bevida ni que fuese para salud sino aqua fria." Carta de Francisco de Erasso, MS.

[1500] "Doppo essere stato tre giorni senza mangiare molto fantastico et bizzaro mangiò un pasticcio fredolo di quatri perdici con tutta la pasta: et il medesimo giorno bevve trecento once d'aqqua fredda." Lettera di Nobili, Luglio 30 1568, MS.

Yet Carlos might have found warrant for his proceedings, in regard to the use of snow and iced water, in the prescriptions of more than one doctor of his time. De Castro—who displays much ingenuity, and a careful study of authorities, in his discussion of this portion of Philip's history—quotes the writings of two of these worthies, one of whom tells us, that the use of snow had increased to such an extent, that not only was it recommended to patients in their drink, but also to cool their sheets; and he forthwith prescribes a warming-pan, to be used in the same way as it was by Carlos. Historia de los Protestantes Españoles, p. 370.

[1501] "Visitabale el Doctor Olivares Protomedico i salia a consultar con sus conpañeros en presencia de Rui Gomez de Silva la curacion, curso i accidentes de la enfermedad." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 22.

[1502] "Mostrando molta contritione, et se bene si lassava curare il corpo per non causarsi egli stesso la morte, mostrava pero tanto disprezzo delle cose del mondo, et tanto desiderio delle celesti; che pareva veramente che Nostro Signore Dio gli havesse riserbato il cumulo di tutti le gratie à quel ponto." Lettera del Nunzio, MS.

[1503] "Tanto hanno da durare le mie miserie." Ibid.

[1504] "And so," says Cabrera, somewhat bluntly, "the king withdrew to his apartment with more sorrow in his heart, and less care."—"Algunas oras antes de su fallecimiento, por entre los onbros del Prior don Antonio i de Rui Gomez le echò su benedicion, i se recogiò en su camara cō mas dolor i menos cuidado." Filipe Segundo, lib. VIII. cap. 5.

[1505] "Il Rè non l'ha visitato, ne lassato che la Regina ne la Principessa lo veggiano, forse considerando che poi che già si conosceva disperato il caso suo, queste visite simili poterono più presto conturbare l'una at l'altra delle parti, che aiutarli in cosa nessuna." Lettera del Nunzio, MS.

[1506] "Il Prencipe di Spagna avante la morte diceva, che perdoneva a tutti, et nominatamenta al Padre, che l'haveva carcerato, et a Ruy Gomez, cardinal Presidente Dottor Velasco, et altri, per lo consiglio de'quali credeva essere stato preso." Lettera del Nunzio, Luglio 28, 1568, MS.

[1507] "Et battendosi il petto come poteva, essendoli mancata la virtù a poco a poco, ritirandosi la vita quasi da membro in membro espirò con molta tranquilità et constanza." Lettera del Nunzio, MS.

[1508] "Et testificono quelli, che vi si trovorno che Christiano nessuno può morir più cattolicamente, ne in maggior sentimento di lui." Lettera di Nobili, Luglio 30, 1568, MS.

[1509] See, among others, Quintana, Historia de la Antigüedad Nobleza y Grandeza de la Villa y Corte de Madrid, (1629,) fol. 368; Colmenares, Historia de la Insigne Ciudad de Segovia, (Madrid, 1640,) cap. 43; Pinelo, Anales de Madrid, MS.; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VIII. cap. 5; Herrera, Historia General, lib. XV. cap. 3; Carta de Francisco de Erasso, MS.; Carta de Gomez Manrique, MS.

[1510] Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 147.

Von Raumer has devoted some fifty pages of his fragmentary compilation to the story of Don Carlos, and more especially to the closing scenes of his life. The sources are of the most unexceptionable kind, being chiefly the correspondence of the French ministers with their court, existing among the MSS. in the Royal Library at Paris. The selections made are pertinent in their character, and will be found of the greatest importance to illustrate this dark passage in the history of the time. If I have not arrived at the same conclusions in all respects as those of the illustrious German scholar, it may be that my judgment has been modified by the wider range of materials at my command.

[1511] Llorente, Histoire de l'Inquisition, tom. III. p. 171 et seq.

[1512] "Quoique ces documens ne soient pas authentiques, ils méritent qu'on y ajoute foi, en ce qu'ils sont de certaines personnes employées dans le palais du roi." Ibid., p. 171.

[1513] Thus, for example, he makes the contradictory statements, at the distance of four pages from each other, that the prince did, and that he did not, confide to Don John his desire to kill his father (pp. 148, 152). The fact is, that Llorente in a manner pledged himself to solve the mystery of the prince's death, by announcing to his readers, at the outset, that "he believed he had discovered the truth." One fact he must be allowed to have established,—one which, as secretary to the Inquisition, he had the means of verifying,—namely, that no process was ever instituted against Carlos by the Holy Office. This was to overturn a vulgar error, on which more than one writer of fiction has built his story.

[1514] "Le cicalerie, et novellacce, che si dicono, sono molto indigne d'essere ascoltate, non che scritte, perchè in vero il satisfar al popolaccio in queste simil cose è molto difficile; et meglio è farle, siccome porta il giusto et l'honesto senza curarsi del giudicio d'huomini insani, et che parlono senza ragione di cose impertinenti et impossibili di autori incerti, dappochi, et maligni." Lettera di Nobili, Luglio 30 1568, MS.

[1515] Letter of Antonio Perez to the counsellor Du Vair, ap. Rauner, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 153.

[1516] "Mais afin de sauver l'honneur du sang royal, l'arrêt fut exécuté en secret et on lui fit avaler un bouillon empoisoné, dont il mourut quelques heures après, au commencement de sa vingt-troisième année." De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. V. p. 436.

[1517] "Mas es peligroso manejar vidrios, i dar ocasion da tragedias famosas, acaecimientos notables, violentas muertes por los secretos executores Reales no sabidas, i por inesperadas terribles, i por la estrañeza i rigor de justicia, despues de largas advertencias a los que no cuidando dellas incurrieron en crimen de lesa Magestad." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VII. cap. 22.

The admirable obscurity of the passage, in which the historian has perfectly succeeded in mystifying his critics, has naturally led them to suppose that more was meant by him than meets the eye.

[1518] "Ex morbo ob alimenta partim obstinate recusata, partira intemperanter adgesta, nimiamque nivium refrigerationem, super animi aigritudinem (si modò vis abfuit), in Divi Jacobi pervigilio extinctus est." Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 378.

[1519] Apologie, ap. Dumont, Corps Diplomatique, tom. V. par. i. p. 389.

[1520] "Parquoy le roi conclud sur ses raisons que le meilleur estoit de le faire mourir; dont un matin on le trouva en prison estouffé d'un linge." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. I. p. 320.

A taste for jesting on this subject seems to have been still in fashion at the French court as late as Louis the Fourteenth's time. At least, we find that monarch telling some one that "he had sent Bussy Rabutin to the Bastile for his own benefit, as Philip the Second said when he ordered his son to be strangled." Lettres de Madame de Sevigné, (Paris, 1822.) tom. VIII. p. 368.

[1521] A French contemporary chronicler dismisses his account of the death of Carlos with the remark, that, of all the passages in the history of this reign, the fate of the young prince is the one involved in the most impenetrable mystery. Matthieu, Breve Compendio de la Vida Privada de Felipe Segundo, (Span, trans.,) MS.

[1522] The Abbé San Real finds himself unable to decide whether Carlos took poison, or, like Seneca, had his veins opened in a warm bath, or, finally, whether he was strangled with a silk cord by four slaves sent by his father to do the deed, in Oriental fashion. (Verdadera Historia de la Vida y Muerte del Príncipe Don. Carlos, Span, trans., MS.) The doubts of San Real are echoed with formal solemnity by Leti, Vita di Flippo II., tom. I. p. 559.

[1523] Von Raumer, who has given an analysis of this letter of Antonio Perez, treats it lightly, as coming from "a double-dealing, bitter enemy of Philip," whose word on such a subject was of little value. (Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 155.) It was certainly a singular proof of confidence in one who was so habitually close in his concerns as the prince of Eboli, that he should have made such a communication to Perez. Yet it must be admitted that the narrative derives some confirmation from the fact, that the preceding portions of the letter containing it, in which the writer describes the arrest of Carlos, conform with the authentic account of that event as given in the text.

It is worthy of notice, that both De Thou and Llorente concur with Perez in alleging poison as the cause of the prince's death. Though even here there is an important discrepancy; Perez asserting it was a slow poison, taking four months to work its effect, while the other authorities say that its operation was immediate. Their general agreement, moreover, in regard to the employment of poison, is of the less weight, as such an agency would be the one naturally surmised under circumstances where it would be desirable to leave no trace of violence on the body of the victim.

[1524] If we may take Brantôme's word, there was some ground for such apprehension at all times. "En fin il estoit un terrible masle; et s'il eust vescu, assurez-vous qu'il s'en fust faict aeroire, et qu'il eust mis le pere en curatelle." Œuvres, tom. I. p. 323.

[1525] "Li più favoriti del Rè erono odiati da lui a morte, et adesso tanto più, et quando questo venisse a regnare si teneriano rovinati loro." Lettera del Nunzio, Febraio 14, 1568, MS.

[1526] Ante. p. 177.

It is in this view that Dr. Salazar de Mendoza does not shrink from asserting, that, if Philip did make a sacrifice of his son, it rivalled in sublimity that of Isaac by Abraham, and even that of Jesus Christ by the Almighty! "Han dicho de él lo que del Padre Eterno, que no perdonó á su propio Hijo. Lo que del Patriarca Abraham en el sacrificio de Isaac su unigénito. A todo caso humano excede la gloria que de esto le resulta, y no hay con quien comparalla." (Dignidades de Castilla y Leon, p. 417.) He closes this rare piece of courtly blasphemy by assuring us that in point of fact Carlos died a natural death. The doctor wrote in the early part of Philip the Third's reign, when the manner of the prince's death was delicate ground for the historian.

[1527] Philip the Second is not the only Spanish monarch who has been charged with the murder of his son. Leovogild, a Visigothic king of the sixth century, having taken prisoner his rebel son, threw him into a dungeon, where he was secretly put to death. The king was an Arian, while the young prince was a Catholic, and might have saved his life if he had been content to abjure his religion. By the Church of Rome, therefore, he was regarded as a martyr; and it is a curious circumstance that it was Philip the Second who procured the canonization of the slaughtered Hermenegild from Pope Sixtus the Fifth.

For the story, taken from that voluminous compilation of Florez, "La España Sagrada," I am indebted to Milman's History of Latin Christianity (London, 1854, vol. I. p. 446), one of the remarkable works of the present age, in which the author reviews, with curious erudition, and in a profoundly philosophical spirit, the various changes that have taken place in the Roman hierarchy: and while he fully exposes the manifold errors and corruptions of the system, he shows throughout that enlightened charity which is the most precious of Christian graces, as unhappily it is the rarest.

[1528] Lettera di Nobili, Luglio 30, 1568, MS.

[1529] I have before me another will made by Don Carlos in 1564, in Alcalá de Henares, the original of which is still extant in the Archives of Simancas. In one item of this document, he bequeathes five thousand ducats to Don Martin de Cordova, for his gallant defence of Mazarquivir.

[1530] Lettera del Nunzio, Luglio 28, 1568, MS.—Quintana, Historia de Madrid, fol. 369.

[1531] "Partieron con el cuerpo, aviendo el Rey con la entereza de animo que mantuvo sienpre, conpuesto desde una ventana las diferencias de los Consejos disposiendo la precedencia, cesando assi la competencia." Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VIII. cap. 5.

[1532] The particulars of the ceremony are given by the Nunzio, Lettera di 28 di Luglio, MS.—See also Quintana, Historia de Madrid, fol. 369.

[1533] Pinelo, Anales de Madrid, MS.—Quintana, Historia de Madrid, fol. 369.—Lettera del Nunzio, Luglio 28, 1568, MS.—Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. VIII. cap. 5.

[1534] Carta del Rey á Zuñiga, Agosto 27, 1568, MS.

[1535] "Digo la missa el Cardenal Tarragona, asistiendo á las honras 21 cardenales idemas de los obispos y arzobispos." Aviso de un Italiano plático y familiar de Ruy Gomez de Silva, MS.

[1536] "Oracion funebre," writes the follower of Ruy Gomez, "no la hubo, pero ye hizo estos epitaphios y versos por mi consolacion." Ibid.

Whatever "consolation" the Latin doggerel which follows in the original may have given to its author, it would have too little interest for the reader to be quoted here.

[1537] "Il Rè como padre ha sentito molto, ma come christiano la comporta con quells patienza con che dovemo ricevere le tribulationi, che ci manda Nostro Signore Dio." Lettera del Nunzio, Luglio 24, 1568, MS.

[1538] Raumer has given an extract from this letter, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 149.

[1539] Besides Brantôme, and De Thou, elsewhere noticed in this connection, another writer of that age, Pierre Matthieu, the royal historiographer of France, may be thought to insinuate something of the kind, when he tells us that "the circumstance of Isabella so soon following Carlos to the tomb had suggested very different grounds from those he had already given as the cause of his death." (Breve Compendio de la Vida Privada del Rey Felipe Segundo, MS.) But the French writer's account of Philip is nearly as apocryphal as the historical romance of San Real, who, in all that relates to Carlos in particular, will be found largely indebted to the lively imagination of his predecessor.

[1540] "Aussi dit on que cela fut cause de sa mort en partie, avec d'autres subjects que je ne dirai point à ceste heure; car il ne se pouvoit garder de l'aimer dans son ame, l'honorer et reverer, tant il la trouvoit aymable et agréable à ses yeux, comme certes elle l'estoit en tout." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. V. p. 128.

[1541] "Luy eschappa de dire que c'avoit esté fait fort meschamment de l'avoir fait mourir et si innocentement, dont il fut banny jusques au plus profond des Indes d'Espagne. Cela est tres que vray, à ce que l'on dit." Ibid., p. 132.

[1542] Apologie, ap. Dumont, Corps Diplomatique, tom. V. par. i. p. 389.

Strada, while he notices the common rumors respecting Carlos and Isabella, dismisses them as wholly unworthy of credit. "Mihi, super id quod incomperta sunt, etiam veris dissimilia videntur." De Bello Belgico, tom. I. p. 379.

[1543] At the head of these writers must undoubtedly be placed the Abbé San Real, with whose romantic history of Don Carlos I am only acquainted in the Castilian translation, entitled "Verdadera Historia de la Vida y Muerte del Principe Don Carlos." Yet, romance as it is, more than one grave historian has not disdained to transplant its flowers of fiction into his own barren pages. It is edifying to see the manner in which Leti, who stands not a little indebted to San Real, after stating the scandalous rumors in regard to Carlos and Isabella, concludes by declaring: "Ma come io sorivo historia, e non romanzo, non posso afirmar nulli di certo, perche nulla di certo hò possuto raccore." Leti, Vita di Filippo II., tom. I. p. 560.

[1544] "Monsieur le prince d'Hespaigne fort extenué, la vint saluer, qu'elle recent avec telle caresse et comportement, que si le père et toute la compaignie en ont receu ung singulier contentement ledit prince l'a encores plus grand, comme il a demonstré depuis et démonstre lorsqu'il la visite, qui ne peut estre souvent; car outre que les conversations de ce pays ne sont pas si fréquentes et faciles qu'en France, sa fièvre quarte le travaille tellement, que de jour en jour il va s'exténuant." L'Evêque de Limoges au Roi, 23 février, 1559. Négociations relatives au Règne de François II., p. 272.

[1545] "Ayant ladite dame mis toute la peine qu'il a esté possible à luy donner, aux soirs, quelque plaisir du bail et autres honnestes passetemps, desquels il a bon besoin, car le pauvre prince est si has et exténué, il va d'heure à heure tant affoiblissant, que les plus sages de œste court en out bien petite espérance." L'Evêque de Limoges au Roi, 1^er mars, 1569, Ibid., p. 291.

[1546] "La royne et la princesse la visitent bien souvent, et sopent en un jardin qui est auprès de la meson, et le prince avec elles, qui aime la royne singulièrement, de façôn qu'il ne ce peut soler de an dire bien. Je croys qu'il voudrait estre davantage son parent." Claude de ... à la Reine Mère, août, 1560, Ibid., p. 460.

[1547] "On entendit aussi très-souvent ce jeune Prince, lorsqu'il sortoit de la chambre de la Reine Elizabeth, avec qui il avoit de longs et fréquens entretiens, se plaindre et marquer sa colère et son indignation, de ce que son pere la lui avoit enlevée." De Thou, Histoire Universelle, tom. V. p. 434.

[1548] "Vous dirès-ge, madame, que sy se n'estoit la bonne compaignie où je suis en se lieu, et l'heur que j'ai de voir tous les jours le roy mon seigneur, je trouverois se lieu l'un des plus fâcheux du monde. Mais je vous assure, madame, que j'ay un si bon mari et suis si heureuse que, quant il le seroit cent fois davantage, je ne m'y fâcherois point." La Reine Catholique à la Reine Mère, Négociations relatives au Règne de François II. p. 813.

[1549] Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 129.

[1550] Ibid., p. 130.

[1551] Ibid., ubi supra.

[1552] "Ceste taille, elle l'accompagnoit d'un port, d'une majesté, d'un geste, d'un marcher et d'une grace entremeslée de l'espagnole et de la françoise en gravité et en douceur." See Brantôme, (Œuvres, tom. V. p. 129,) whose loyal pencil has traced the lineaments of Isabella as given in the text.

[1553] Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 131.

[1554] Letter of Fourquevaulx, February 5, 1568, ap. Ibid., p. 139.

[1555] "Gli amici, in primo loco la Regína, la quale diceva che gli era amorevolissima, Don Giovanni d'Austria suo carissimo et diletissimozio," etc. Lettera del Nunzio, Marzo 2, 1568, MS.

[1556] Letter of Fourquevaulx, October 3, 1568, ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 158.

[1557] "Pero la Reyna hacia muy poco caudal de lo que los medicos decian dando á entender con su Real condicion y gracioso semblante tener poca necesidad de sus medicinas." Relacion de la Enfermedad y Essequias funebres de la Serenissima Reyna de España Doña Ysabel de Valois, por Juan Lopez, Catedratico del Estudio de Madrid, (Madrid, 1569,) fol. 4.

[1558] Ibid., ubi supra.

The learned professor has given the various symptoms of the queen's malady with as curious a minuteness as if he had been concocting a medical report. As an order was issued, shortly after the publication of the work, prohibiting its sale, copies of it are exceedingly rare.

[1559] Quintana, Historia de Madrid, fol. 390.—Letter of Fourquevaulx, October 3, 1568, ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 139.—Juan Lopez, Relacion de la Enfermedad de la Reyna Ysabel, ubi supra.—Pinelo, Anales de Madrid, MS.

[1560] "Porque en efecto, el modo y manera conque ella las trataba, no hera de senora á quien pareciesen servir, sino de madre y compañera." Juan Lopez, Relacion de la Enfermedad de la Reyna Ysabel, loc. cit.

[1561] Ibid.—Pinelo, Anales de Madrid, MS.

[1562] Letter of Fourquevaulx, October 3, 1568, ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 159.

[1563] "Habia ordenado se tragese el lignum crucis del Rey nuestro Señor, que es una muy buena parte que con grandismo hornato de oro y perlas de supremo valor S. M. tiene." Juan Lopez, Relacion de la Enfermedad de la Reyna Ysabel.

[1564] Letter of Fourquevaulx, ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. vol. I p. 159.

[1565] Ibid., loc. cit.

The correspondence of the French ambassador, Fourquevaulx, is preserved in MS., in the Royal Library at Paris. Raumer, with his usual judgment, has freely extracted from it; and the freedom with which I have drawn upon him shows the importance of his extracts to the illustration of the present story. I regret that my knowledge of the existence of this correspondence came too late to allow me to draw from the original sources.

[1566] "Bistieron a la Reyna de habito de S. Francisco, y la pusieron en un ataud poniendo con ella la infanta que en poco espacio habiendo racebido agua de Espiritu Santo murió." Juan Lopez, Relacion de la Enfermedad de la Reyna Ysabel.

[1567] "Fue cosa increible el doblar, y chamorear, por todas las parroquias, y monasterios, y hospitales. Lo cual causó un nuebo dolor y grandisimo aumento de aristeza, siendo ya algo tarde los grandes que en la corte se hallaban, y mayordomos de S. M. sacaron el cuerpo de la Reyna, y binieron con el a la Capilla Real." Ibid.

[1568] "Jamais on ne vit peuple si desolé ny si affligé, ni tant jeter de hauts cris, ny tant espandre de larmes qu'il fit.... Que, pour maniere de parler, vous eussiez dit, qu'il l'idolatroit plustost qu'il ne l'honoroit et reveroit." Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. V. p. 131.

[1569] "Puesto el cuerpo por este orden cubierto con un muy rico paño de brocado rodeado el cadalso de muchas achas en sus muy sumtuosos blandones de plata." Juan Lopez, Relacion de la Enfermedad de la Reyna Ysabel, ubi supra.

[1570] "Las damas en las tribunas de donde oye misa con hartos suspiros y sollozos llebaban el contrapunto á la suave, tristé y contemplatiba musica, conque empezaron el oficio la capilla de S. M." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1571] "Las cuales viendo sparta el cuerpo, dieron muchos gritos y suspiros y abriendole la duquesa de Alba, trajo muchos polbos de olores aromaticos de grande olor y fragrancia, y embalsamon a la Reyna: la cual aunque habia pasado tanto tiempo estaba como si entonces acabara de morir, y con tan gran hermosura en el rostro que no parecia esta muerta." Ibid., ubi supra.

[1572] Letter of St. Goar, June 18, 1573, ap. Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. I. p. 163.—Quintana, Historia de Madrid, fol. 370.

[1573] Letter of Catherine de Medicis, ap. Raumer, vol. I. p. 162.

[1574] Letter of Cardinal Guise. Feb. 6, 1569, ap. Ibid., 163.

[1575] The openness with which Carlos avowed his sentiments for Isabella may be thought some proof of their innocence. Catherine de Medicis, in a letter to Fourquevaulx, dated February 28, 1568, says, alluding to the prince's arrest: "I am concerned that the event very much distresses my daughter, as well with regard to her husband as in respect of the prince, who has always let her know the good-will he bears to her." Ibid., p. 141.

[1576] The French historian, De Thou, by no means disposed to pass too favorable a judgment on the actions of Philip, and who in the present case would certainly not be likely to show him any particular grace, rejects without hesitation the suspicion of foul play on the part of the king. "Quelques-uns soupçonnerent Philippe de l'avoir fait empoissoner, parce qu'il lui avoit fait un crime de la trop grande famil projectID434018d6a5fd4iarité qu'elle avoit avec Dom Carlos. Il est néanmoins facile de se convaincre du contraire, par la grande et sincère douleur que sa mort causa, tant à la Cour que dans toute l'Espagne; le Roi la pleura, comme une femme qu'il aimoit tres-tendrement." Histoire Universelle, tom. V. p. 437.

[1577] Brantôme, Œuvres, tom. V. p. 137.

Yet Isabella's mother, Catherine de Medicis, found fault with her daughter, in the interview at Bayonne, for having become altogether a Spaniard, saying to her tauntingly, "Muy Española venis." To which the queen meekly replied, "It is possible that it may be so; but you will still find me the same daughter to you as when you sent me to Spain." The anecdote is told by Alva in a letter to the king. Carta del Duque de Alva al Rey, MS.

[1578] "Aussi l'appelloit-on la Reyna de le paz y de la bondad, c'est-à-dire la Reyn de la paix et de la bonté; et nos François l'appellarent l'olive de paix." Ibid p. 129.

[1579] "Elle est morte au plus beau et plaisant avril de son aage.... Car elle estoit de naturel et de tainct pour durer longtemps belle, et aussi que la vieillesss ne l'eust osé attaquer car sa beauté fut esté plus forte." Ibid., p. 137.

Book I.
CHAPTER I.
ABDICATION OF CHARLES THE FIFTH.
PAGE
Introductory Remarks—Spain under Charles the Fifth—He prepares to resign the Crown—His Abdication—His Return to Spain—His Journey to Yuste	1
CHAPTER II.
EARLY DAYS OF PHILIP.
Birth of Philip the Second—His Education—Intrusted with the Regency—Marries Mary of Portugal—Visit to Flanders—Public Festivities—Ambitious Schemes—Returns to Spain	11
CHAPTER III.
ENGLISH ALLIANCE.
Condition of England—Character of Mary—Philip's Proposals of Marriage—Marriage Articles—Insurrection in England	30
CHAPTER IV.
ENGLISH ALLIANCE.
Mary's Betrothal—Joanna Regent of Castile—Philip embarks for England—His splendid Reception—Marriage of Philip and Mary—Royal Entertainments—Philip's Influence—The Catholic Church restored—Philip's Departure	43
CHAPTER V.
WAR WITH THE POPE.
Empire of Philip—Paul the Fourth—Court of France—League against Spain—The Duke of Alva—Preparations for War—Victorious Campaign	59
CHAPTER VI.{xii}
WAR WITH THE POPE.
Guise enters Italy—Operations in the Abruzz—Siege of Civitella—Alva drives out the French—Rome menaced by the Spaniards—Paul consents to Peace—Paul's Subsequent Career	73
CHAPTER VII.
WAR WITH FRANCE.
England joins in the War—Philip's Preparations—Siege of St. Quentin—French Army routed—Storming of St. Quentin—Successes of the Spaniards	85
CHAPTER VIII.
WAR WITH FRANCE.
Extraordinary Efforts of France—Calais surprised by Guise—The French invade Flanders—Bloody Battle of Gravelines—Negotiations for Peace—Mary's Death—Accession of Elizabeth—Treaty of Cateau-Cambresis	102
CHAPTER IX.
LATTER DAYS OF CHARLES THE FIFTH.
Charles at Yuste—His Mode of Life—Interest in Public Affairs—Celebrates his Obsequies—Last Illness—Death and Character	120
Book II.
CHAPTER I.
VIEW OF THE NETHERLANDS.
Civil Institutions—Commercial Prosperity—Character of the People—Protestant Doctrines—Persecution by Charles the Fifth	146
CHAPTER II.
SYSTEM ESTABLISHED BY PHILIP.
Unpopular Manners of Philip—He enforces the Edicts—Increase of the Bishoprics—Margaret of Parma Regent—Meeting of the States-General—Their spirited Conduct—Organization of the Councils—Rise and Character of Granvelle—Philip's Departure	157
CHAPTER III.
PROTESTANTISM IN SPAIN.
Philip's Arrival in Spain—The Reformed Doctrines—Their Suppression—Autos da Fé—Prosecution of Carranza—Extinction of Heresy—Fanaticism of the Spaniards	170
CHAPTER IV.{xiii}
PHILIP'S THIRD MARRIAGE.
Reception of Isabella—Marriage Festivities—The Queen's Mode of Life—The Court removed to Madrid	183
CHAPTER V.
DISCONTENT IN THE NETHERLANDS.
The Reformation—Its Progress in the Netherlands—General Discontent—William of Orange	192
CHAPTER VI.
OPPOSITION TO THE GOVERNMENT.
Grounds of Complaint—The Spanish Troops—The New Bishoprics—Influence of Granvelle—Opposed by the Nobles—His Unpopularity	201
CHAPTER VII.
GRANVELLE COMPELLED TO WITHDRAW.
League against Granvelle—Margaret desires his Removal—Philip deliberates—Granvelle dismissed—Leaves the Netherlands	213
CHAPTER VIII.
CHANGES DEMANDED BY THE LORDS.
Policy of Philip—Ascendancy of the Nobles—The Regent's Embarrassments—Egmont sent to Spain	226
CHAPTER IX.
PHILIP'S INFLEXIBILITY.
Philip's Duplicity—His Procrastination—Despatches from Segovia—Effect on the Country—The Compromise—Orange and Egmont	238
CHAPTER X.
THE CONFEDERATES.
Design of the Confederates—They enter Brussels—The Petition—The Gueux	253
CHAPTER XI.
FREEDOM OF WORSHIP.
The Edicts suspended—The Sectaries—The Public Preachings—Attempt to suppress them—Meeting at St. Trond—Philip's Concessions	260
CHAPTER XII.{xiv}
THE ICONOCLASTS.
Cathedral of Antwerp sacked—Sacrilegious Outrages—Alarm at Brussels—Churches granted to Reformers—Margaret repents her Concessions—Feeling at Madrid—Sagacity of Orange—His Religious Opinions	273
CHAPTER XIII.
THE REGENT'S AUTHORITY REËSTABLISHED.
Reaction—Appeal to Arms—Tumult in Antwerp—Siege of Valenciennes—The Government triumphant	290
CHAPTER XIV.
TRANQUILLITY RESTORED.
Oath imposed by Margaret—Refused by Orange—He leaves the Netherlands—Submission of the Country—New Edict—Order restored	299
Book III.
CHAPTER I.
ALVA SENT TO THE NETHERLANDS.
Alva's Appointment—His remarkable March—He arrives at Brussels—Margaret disgusted—Policy of the Duke—Arrest of Egmont and Hoorne	310
CHAPTER II.
CRUEL POLICY OF ALVA.
The Council of Blood—Its Organization—General Prosecutions—Civil War in France—Departure of Margaret—Her administration reviewed	327
CHAPTER III.
REIGN OF TERROR.
Numerous Arrests—Trials and Executions—Confiscations—Orange assembles an Army—Battle of Heyligerlee—Alva's Proceedings	340
CHAPTER IV.
TRIALS OF EGMONT AND HOORNE
The Examination—Efforts in their Behalf—Specification of Charges—Sentence of Death—The Processes reviewed	355
CHAPTER V.{xv}
EXECUTION OF EGMONT AND HOORNE.
The Counts removed to Brussels—Informed of the Sentence—Procession to the Scaffold—The Execution—Character of Egmont—Fate of his Family—Sentiment of the People	364
CHAPTER VI.
SECRET EXECUTION OF MONTIGNY.
Bergen and Montigny—Their Situation in Spain—Death of Bergen—Arrest of Montigny—Plot for his Escape—His Process—Removal to Simancas—Closer Confinement—Midnight Execution	378
Book IV.
CHAPTER I.
THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE.
Condition of Turkey—African Corsairs—Expedition against Tripoli—War on the Barbary Coast	393
CHAPTER II.
THE KNIGHTS HOSPITALLERS OF ST. JOHN.
Masters of Rhodes—Driven from Rhodes—Established at Malta—Menaced by Solyman—La Valette—His Preparations for Defence	409
CHAPTER III.
SIEGE OF MALTA.
Condition of Malta—Arrival of the Turks—They reconnoitre the Island—Siege of St. Elmo—Its Heroic Defence—Its Fall	414
CHAPTER IV.
SIEGE OF MALTA.
Il Borgo invested—Storming of St. Michael—Slaughter of the Turks—Incessant Cannonade—General Assault—The Turks Repulsed—Perilous Condition of Il Borgo—Constancy of La Valette	432
CHAPTER V.
SIEGE OF MALTA.
The Turks dispirited—Reinforcement from Sicily—Siege raised—Mustapha defeated—Rejoicings of the Christians—Mortification of Solyman—Review of the Siege—Subsequent History of La Valette	445
CHAPTER VI.{xvi}
DON CARLOS.
His Education and Character—Dangerous Illness—Extravagant Behavior—Opinions respecting him—His Connection with the Flemings—Project of Flight—Insane Conduct—Arrest	456
CHAPTER VII.
DEATH OF DON CARLOS.
Causes of his Imprisonment—His Rigorous Confinement—His Excesses—His Death—Llorente's Account—Various Accounts—Suspicious Circumstances—Quarrel in the Palace—Obsequies of Carlos	471
CHAPTER VIII.
DEATH OF ISABELLA.
Queen Isabella—Her Relations with Carlos—Her Illness and Death—Her Character	490

HISTORY

PHILIP THE SECOND,

WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT,

PREFACE.

CONTENTS.

HISTORY OF PHILIP THE SECOND.

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

BOOK II.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIV.

BOOK III.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

BOOK IV.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

FOOTNOTES: