Philip and Mayenne--The English attack upon Lisbon--Assassination
of Henry III.--Philip’s plans in France--The war of the League--The
battle of Ivry--Philip’s attitude towards Mayenne--Farnese enters
France--Relief of Paris--Retirement of Farnese--Philip changes his
plans in France--Farnese’s second campaign--Henry IV. goes to
mass--Enters Paris as king--Exit of the Spaniards.
Henry III. thought by one stroke to rid himself of his enemies by
killing Guise, and terrorising his party. “At last,” he said to his
mother, immediately after the execution, “at last I am King of France.”
“You have plunged your country into ruin,” replied Catharine. “You have
boldly cut out the cloth, but do not know how to sew the garment
together.” She spoke truly, for she knew her son. When the news reached
Paris a great gust of rage passed over the city. It was Christmas Day,
but all rejoicing turned to sorrow, and dirges took the place of Te
Deums. From the pulpits thundered denunciations of the royal murderer,
and by the middle of January (1589) the Sorbonne, under the promptings
of the Spanish party, had declared that the subjects of Henry III. were
released from their allegiance. A council of government was formed, with
Mayenne, Guise’s brother, as president and lieutenant-general of the
realm. All through France the example of Paris was followed, and the
League was soon the great governing power of the country, Henry finding
himself little more than King of Blois. He was therefore obliged to draw
closer to Henry of Navarre; and at first Philip feared that this
coalition would unite all Frenchmen against him, now that the popular
Guise had fallen. But Mayenne had no one else to lean upon, and in the
first letter after his brother’s death told the Spanish king that the
whole of the Catholics of France threw themselves at his feet.
Henceforward the springs that moved the puppets in Catholic France
obtained their impulsion from Madrid. Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador,
although he had kept a few miles from the king’s court at Blois, had
since the murder of Guise become more and more incensed with him, as he
drifted nearer to the Huguenot cause, and now fled from the king’s court
without a word of farewell to Paris, in the pretended fear that Henry
intended to have him poisoned. Henceforward the old soldier, the last
disciple of Alba, as he called himself, was tireless in organising and
stimulating the resistance of the people of Paris against the king and
the Huguenots. He was old and blind, but he went from outpost to outpost
animating the soldiers; he laboured day and night with the nuncio,
Gaetano, in stiffening Mayenne, and until his last ducat was spent and
he had no food or firing for himself, he sheltered and fed the starving
and homeless Leaguers. Through all the weary sieges of Paris, until
broken and blind at last he went to end his days in despair as a monk,
Mendoza continued to urge Philip to action against the Huguenots, to
resist the insults offered to himself, to harry France with fire and
sword in the name of the faith--the counsels, indeed, of the old Alba
school to which he belonged. Philip, as usual, was cool and
irresponsive. He told his minister--when he condescended to write to him
at all, which was very rarely--that he must be patient and prudent, and
must seek to be friendly with all parties. Philip, indeed, was far from
pleased at the drift of affairs in France. It was evident thus early
that Mayenne was a weak reed upon whom to depend, and now that
Protestantism and legitimate royalty in France were united, he (Philip)
did not believe in the permanency of the League. All his life he had
been manœuvring against France becoming officially Protestant, which
would have foreboded the dreaded coalition of France, England, Holland,
and the northern powers against him. His treasury, moreover, was drained
almost to its last ducat by the catastrophe of the Armada, and
terrifying rumours were reaching him from his spies in England of a
great fleet of revenge being fitted out by Drake to invade his own
shores, in conjunction with an attack across the Pyrenees by the forces
of Henry of Navarre. Drake and Norris, however, with their joint-stock
fleet in the interests of Don Antonio, turned out to be less formidable
opponents on this occasion than had been feared. Philip was dangerously
ill, and sick at heart. The Portuguese populace was almost entirely in
favour of the native pretender, and was pledged to rise when he
appeared. There were no adequate forces in Spain to resist an attack,
and if the English expedition had not been entirely mismanaged from the
first, there is but little doubt that Philip’s rule in Portugal might
easily have been ended. Want of money, shortness of provisions, and
utter indiscipline of the men on the English fleet, contributed the
germs of failure to the enterprise, and the waste of ten days in burning
and sacking the lower town at Corunna, where the sickness and laxity
caused by the drunkenness of the men practically disabled the English
force, gave the stout-hearted Archduke Albert in Lisbon time to organise
the defence and dominate the Portuguese by terror. In the meanwhile,
too, Philip’s council in Madrid conquered their first paralysis of
dismay, and took such hasty measures as were possible to repel the
invasion. The fatal insistence also of Norris and Don Antonio to leave
Drake and his fleet at Peniche whilst they marched overland to besiege
Lisbon, placed the crown of disaster on the attempt. For Antonio had
overrated his support. Only priests and a few peasants joined his
standard. Lisbon was completely dominated by the archduke, and no
Portuguese dared to raise a head, for fear of losing it. So when Norris
and his 12,000 Englishmen appeared outside Lisbon (May 21, 1589),
without siege-train or battering guns, they found the gates fast closed
against them, and after a week of fruitless bloodshed they had sadly to
retrace their steps again and join Drake’s fleet at the mouth of the
river. Of 18,000 men that sailed out of Plymouth only about 6000 ever
returned, and Don Antonio’s chance of reigning again in Portugal had
gone for ever.
In August 1589 Mendoza wrote from Paris in jubilant strains. The king
(Henry III.) had been besieging the capital with 40,000 men, and it
could have held out no longer. Mayenne had lost heart, the
much-prayed-for Spanish troops to help them came not. Despair reigned
in the League, when suddenly the last of the Valois, Henry III., in his
turn, fell under the dagger of the fanatic monk Jacques Clement. “It was
the hand of God,” said Mendoza, “that has done this for His greater
glory, and for the advantage of His religion.” Philip, however, never
loved the idea of the killing of kings, and was not so enthusiastic
about this as was his ambassador. He was no hero; and if fanatics began
killing anointed monarchs there was no telling where such an example
would stop.
The event, moreover, added much to his present perplexity. If Guise had
lived, and Henry of Navarre had been amenable to reason, the realm of
France might have been divided between Guise, Navarre, the Infanta, the
Duke of Savoy, and Philip; but the Huguenot king had assumed the
sovereignty of the whole country as soon as Henry III. fell, and had
already shown that he was a soldier and diplomatist of the highest
order, whom no cajolery would induce to surrender any portion of his
birthright. And yet it was a matter of life and death to Philip that
France should not become a heretic power, and he was obliged to tackle
the monster with what strength he had left.
The first impulse of the governing council of the League in Paris on the
news of the death of the king was to elect Philip sovereign of France,
but the idea of the Guises had always been to obtain all or part of the
realm for themselves, and consequently Mayenne procured the proclamation
in Paris of Henry of Navarre’s uncle, Cardinal de Bourbon, as Charles X.
He was understood to be only a stop-gap, for he was old, foolish, and
childless, and the problem of the fate of France was still held in
suspense. But they could never even catch their king, for his nephew
Henry seized him before the Leaguers could reach him, and he never let
him go again. It is certain that by this time Philip had slowly made up
his mind that, as he mainly would have to fight and destroy
Protestantism in France, he alone should enjoy the reward. If the affair
could have been settled cheaply and without fighting, the Lorraines, the
Savoys, the Bourbons, and his own House might have divided the spoil;
but if his arms and money had to win the reward, it must be his, and his
alone. It was the most disastrous resolution he could have taken in his
own interest, for it enabled Henry of Navarre to assume the position of
the patriot withstanding foreign aggression; and gradually drew to him
crowds of Frenchmen, who otherwise would have stood aloof. After the
king’s death Henry IV. abandoned the siege of Paris and rapidly moved to
Normandy, where Elizabeth’s subsidies and the aid from his own Rochelle
might reach him. Then he began that brilliant series of victories over
Mayenne that commenced at Arques. Through a country already rallying to
his national banner, he marched to Paris again. He struck terror into
the Leaguers and Spanish inside, who were intriguing for the crown of
France, which the great Bourbon was winning by his sword; and, after
harrying St. Germains, he again marched on to attack Mayenne’s main army
at Dreux. The Spanish Leaguers from Flanders were commanded by Egmont,
the son of the man whom Alba had killed. His cavalry at first charged
Henry’s infantry and broke it. Then the king himself, with his white
plume for a guide, led his 2000 horsemen like a whirlwind against the
Leaguers. Nothing could stand before them. The German mercenaries
dropped their arms and fled, the Lorrainers and Egmont’s Walloons were
swept away by the irresistible avalanche, and the battle of Ivry was won
(March 14, 1590). Then without a pause Paris found itself again
encircled with the victorious troops of the Béarnais. The sufferings of
the rebel city and the events of the struggle cannot be recounted here.
Philip’s far-off share in them alone concerns us for the moment. It is
said by those who were near Philip at the time, that the news of
Mayenne’s rout at Ivry was not entirely displeasing to him. It had been
evident to the Spaniards for some time that Mayenne would take the first
opportunity of causing himself to be proclaimed king in Paris. Mendoza
and Moreo, the Spanish agents in Paris, were already sounding notes of
alarm about him in their letters to the king, and Philip must have
known, now he had lost Ivry, that, come what might, Mayenne’s chance had
gone. It had become certain that, if Henry IV. was to be beaten at all,
it must be by an experienced warrior like Alexander Farnese with great
national forces, that France indeed must be conquered before Philip
could be called its king. The alternative, however, seemed to be a
Protestant rival nation on his frontier, and an entire alteration of the
balance of Europe, in which he would be left isolated and impotent; and
he must fight to the death to prevent that. Farnese had lost much of his
popularity since the Armada, and he fretted at the fact. He knew that
doubts wore whispered to his uncle, not only of his loyalty, but even of
his orthodoxy; and, although Philip expressed himself as being quite
satisfied with his explanations about the Armada, Farnese feared that
his constant ill-health foreboded death by poison. He was weary, too,
with the petty war of treachery, surprises, and skirmishes which still
continued between him and the Dutchmen under William the Silent’s son,
Maurice. It was like new life to him when at last he got the stirring
news from Philip that he was to conquer France for the Church and for
the House of Spain. But for the Salic law, the Infanta would undoubtedly
have been the heiress to the crown, and Philip made light of the Salic
law, and boldly asserted his daughter’s right. Farnese was, above all
things, a prudent commander, and insisted upon having sufficient
resources for the business he had to do, and his persistence on this
point again raised rumours against him. Philip’s principal agent in
France, Moreo, did not hesitate to say that he was a traitor, who was
plotting for his own ends; and the Spanish nobles about Farnese’s
person, seeing which way the tide was running, joined in the sneers at
his slowness. But he would not move, leaving Flanders unprotected, and
risking his fame and life, by crossing the frontier with an inadequate
force. His insistence at length gained his point, and large remittances
were sent to him from Madrid, with which he could organise a good force
of 13,000 men; and by August 23 he joined Mayenne at Meaux and marched
to attack Henry’s besieging army before Paris. Some provisions were
passed into the famished city, the siege was partly raised, and soon the
tactical skill of Farnese began to tell upon Henry’s army, which was
melting away with discouragement. He once more abandoned the siege, and
the League army entered Paris on September 18, 1590. But then began the
feeling that eventually led even the Parisians to welcome Henry.
Farnese made no pretence to respect Mayenne’s authority, and the
Frenchmen who had looked upon the Spanish forces as their allies found
now to their dismay that they were their masters. Mayenne himself was
inclined to be sulky and rebellious, and it was necessary for Farnese to
teach him and Paris that they were powerless without Spanish troops; so
he and his force once more marched towards the Flemish frontier, and
Paris was again invested. Philip’s fanatic councillors insisted that
Farnese had abandoned the task because of his want of sympathy, and the
king grew colder still towards his nephew, and somewhat changed his
plans. It must now have been evident to him that the French nation would
not willingly accept him or his daughter as sovereign, and he reverted
to his former idea of dismemberment. The Infanta really had a good claim
to the duchy of Brittany, which had never formed part of the French
realm, and was excepted from the action of the Salic law. The Duke of
Mercœur, whose wife was also descended from the House of Brittany,
had been holding the province for the League, and was hard pressed. He
begged for aid from Philip, who sent him a force of 5000 men under Don
Juan del Aguila, whilst the Duke of Savoy, Philip’s son-in-law, had
entered Marseilles with his army, Toulouse was garrisoned by 4000
Spaniards, and all Provence and Dauphiné was falling under the
Savoy-Spanish yoke. The Spaniards in Brittany were not long in showing
their teeth. They seized and fortified Blavet and other ports against
Mercœur himself, and this brought Elizabeth on the scene with 3000
English troops. She could never have the Spaniards in ports opposite her
shores, she said. And so practically all over France little wars were
being waged. The country, utterly desolated and exhausted, yearned for
peace and firm government before all things, and gradually came to the
conclusion that they were more likely to obtain them from their own
countryman, Henry, than from the Spanish king and his hangers-on. At the
same time Philip’s treasury had become more and more depleted and his
credit quite ruined with the bankers. He was, moreover, himself old and
weary with never-ending labour at small details, and decided to strike a
supreme blow once more to end heresy in France before he gave up the
struggle in despair. Farnese therefore, to his annoyance this time (for
he was obliged to leave Maurice of Nassau in undisturbed possession of
Holland), received fresh orders from the king in September 1591 once
more to cross the frontier and end the fight.
He found the leaders of the League all at discord one with the other and
with the Spaniards. Mayenne’s vanity and greed had disgusted every one,
and it soon became apparent to Farnese that no aid towards Spanish aims
could be gained from him. He had, indeed, selfishly done his best only a
few months before to impede the solution which might have drawn a
majority of Frenchmen to the side of the League and the Spaniards,
namely, the marriage of the Infanta with the young Duke of Guise. Henry
IV. was besieging Rouen with an army of 20,000 men, nearly all mercenary
Germans and English, and although his energy somewhat delayed Parma’s
advance, when the latter reached Rouen he found Mayenne disinclined to
accept the assistance of the Spaniards, such was his growing jealousy
of them, owing partly to the diplomacy of Henry. It was not until the
end of April 1592 that Parma entered Rouen in triumph. But the triumph
did not last long. Parma was wounded and seriously ill, and found his
supplies cut off and his force hemmed in by Henry. It was only by
consummate strategy that he withdrew with the loss of nearly half his
men to Flanders, there to die in December of the same year (1592).
Philip could not now shut his eyes to the fact that he had lost.
Frenchmen of all classes hated the idea of Spanish domination, Mayenne
and the Catholics understood that the Béarnais was going to win, for he
had taken the patriotic side, and they began to cast about for means to
secure themselves from ruin. If the king would only go to mass, all
might be well. Henry on his side was also desirous of coming to terms.
The war had desolated France, and the time was ripe for an arrangement.
When, however, in January 1593, the Estates met in the Louvre, a last
attempt was made by the Spanish party to have their way by diplomacy.
Feria, the son of Philip’s old friend by his English wife, entered Paris
as the king’s representative to claim the crown for the Infanta, who
might be married to a French prince, to be chosen by Philip, or if the
Estates refused this, that the crown should be given to the Duke of
Guise, who might marry the Infanta. If Philip had proposed the latter
solution first, it might have been accepted; but whilst Feria was
bickering over the Infanta’s impossible claim, and losing precious weeks
in communicating with his distant master almost daily, Henry, outside
the city, was busy gaining over the Estates, showing himself gay,
confident, conciliating, and, above all, French. Gabrielle d’Estrées,
the _politicians_, the Leaguers, the clergy, and his own interests, all
urged him to conform to the Catholic faith. On July 25, 1593, he took
what he called “the mortal leap,” and attended mass at St. Denis. In
March 1594 the Béarnais entered Paris as king. The next day, through a
pitiless storm, the Spanish garrison, with Feria, marched out of the
gate of St. Denis. “Commend me to your master, gentlemen,” cried Henry,
“but come back hither no more.” The war lingered on until Philip was
nearly dying in 1598. Spanish troops still held parts of Picardy and
French Flanders, and once Amiens fell into their hands, but at the end
of the period even Mayenne commanded the French forces against them; and
pride, and belief in the divine support, alone prevented Philip from
making terms before. Henry at last listened to the promptings of the
pope, and made peace with his enemy alone. He broke faith with Elizabeth
and the Dutch, but he consolidated once more the French nation. Philip’s
ill-starred attempts to dominate France had thus failed, but he had
succeeded in preventing it from becoming a Protestant Power.