It was not alone in Germany that the old was vanishing. The movement
in that country was part of a general condition prevailing in England,
France, and Spain; all with the same tendency--the passing of the power
from many small despotisms to one greater one. It was an advance,
although a slow one, in the path of progress. Feudalism--that
newfangled system which had so tried the soul of Duke Welf in the ninth
century--was dissolving.
In England the war with France, and the War of the Roses, by
impoverishing the nobles had broken their remaining authority, and that
system which had been gradually perishing since the Conquest was
virtually dead.
In France Louis XI. had cunningly conceived the idea of recovering the
power of the throne by an apparent friendship with the people; and a
combination was thus formed against which a decrepit feudalism could
not long stand.
In Spain the smaller kingdoms had at last been merged into two larger
ones, and by the union of Castile and Aragon under Ferdinand and
Isabella, and the expulsion of the Moors which quickly followed that
event, that country was at last consolidated into one kingdom--in which
feudalism no longer existed as a disturbing power.
In northern Italy also, among that brilliant group of small republics,
there was this same centralizing tendency at work. Florence had passed
into the strong keeping of the Medici (1434), while Genoa and most of
the Lombard republics were gravitating toward the control of Milan.
It was at this period that there were for the first time formed those
combinations and alliances between the nations of Europe which led
finally to a system existing for the preservation of the _balance of
power_. In fact, after the various monarchies had assumed these firmer
and more definite outlines, there began a process of weaving them
together into a larger whole; and the threads used in this process are
known as _European diplomacy_, which, as we have recently seen, is
stronger than individual sovereigns!
It was perfectly in keeping with the spirit of the fifteenth century
that the Imperial throne of Germany should be occupied, at this time of
centralizing tendencies, by a man determined not alone to reign but to
rule.
Maximilian I., son of the sleepy Frederick III., was chosen by the
electors in 1486. He was full of energy, intelligence, and heart, and
was, besides, the handsomest prince in Europe, and his wife, Mary of
Burgundy, was the fairest of princesses.
The people, weary of disorder and insecurity, were glad to feel the
touch of a strong hand. Maximilian firmly planted the foundations of
the house of Hapsburg. From that time the choice of the Electors was
merely a formal recognition of the hereditary rights of that family.
This prince, standing on the dividing line between the old and new,
possessed the qualities of both. He was stately, brave, and chivalric,
and at the same time educated according to the highest standards of his
time, devoted to literature, art, and poetry, and with comprehensive
and progressive plans for his kingdom. He had a sincere desire to
reform abuses. He introduced into Germany the post office, and the
system for the conveyance of letters, throughout two thousand
independent territories!
The Turks were advancing on the east, the French King was harassing him
on the west, and the Pope always trying to embroil him with other
kingdoms and to drain his Empire. His was not an easy task.
He was not a Charlemagne nor a Frederick Barbarossa, but he infused
strength and a power of resistance into Germany at a period of extreme
weakness, and he reunited to the house of Hapsburg the kingdoms of
Hungary and Bohemia.
There was evidence that the long thraldom to Rome was passing away, in
the fact that Maximilian assumed Imperial authority without receiving
the crown from papal hands; his father Frederick having been the last
Emperor who made pilgrimage to Rome for that purpose (in 1452).
When Maximilian came to the throne in 1493 an event of transcendent
importance had just occurred. Europe had learned with amazement that
when the sun disappeared in that mysterious Western Ocean, it passed on
to shine upon other lands beyond--lands teeming with life and riches.
The most fascinating field for adventure the world had ever known was
suddenly opened to Europe, and the magnet of boundless wealth was
transferred from the East to the West. A stream of adventurous and
rapacious men, from all the lands excepting Germany, was moving toward
the setting sun.
Spain, only recently obscure, poor and struggling to free her land from
an alien race, suddenly found herself mistress of her own territory,
consolidated, and with an empire and resources in the West, practically
boundless.
The good Queen Isabella, who had been the instrumentality in bringing
about these changes for her country, had the satisfaction of seeing her
kingdom at one bound take its place in the first rank among the nations
of Europe.
Her chief care now was to make alliances for her children suited to
this new position. She and Ferdinand aimed high. They secured the
daughter of Maximilian, Emperor of Germany, for their son, who was heir
to the crown of Spain; but the hopes from this union were quickly
blighted, as the young prince suddenly died during the wedding
festivities. Then another marriage was arranged for their oldest
daughter Joanna with Philip, Maximilian's son, who was also heir to the
Imperial throne.
But Isabella's sorrows matched her triumphs and successes in magnitude.
Joanna became hopelessly insane. Another daughter, who married the
King of Portugal, was buried in the same grave with the infant who was
expected to unite the crowns of Spain and Portugal, while for her
youngest child Katharine was reserved the unhappy fate of becoming the
wife of Henry VIII. of England.
It is sad to remember that this admirable woman, in her intense desire
to drive heretic Jews out of her country, was prevailed upon, by her
confessor Torquemada, to establish the Inquisition in Spain. Believing
as she devoutly did that heresy meant eternal death, and little
suspecting the engine for cruelty it was to become, this kindest and
best of women may be forgiven for this fatal mistake.
Overwhelmed by private griefs and sorrows, Isabella died in 1506,
leaving her crazed daughter Joanna a widow, with two sons, the elder
six years old. She would have been consoled could she have known that,
in thirteen years from that time, this grandson would wear not alone
the crown of Spain, but the great Imperial crown of Germany, and would
be lord of a greater empire, and wield more power, than any living
sovereign.