Philip established his capital at Madrid, and commenced the Palace
of the Escurial, nineteen miles distant, which stands to-day as
his monument. His coronation was celebrated by an _auto-da-fe_ at
Valladolid, which it is said "he attended with much devotion." One of
the victims, an officer of distinction, while awaiting his turn said
to him: "Sire, how can you witness such tortures?" "Were my own son in
your place I should witness it," was the reply; which was a key to the
character of the man.
[Illustration: From the painting by Velasquez.
The Surrender of Breda.]
He asserted his claim through his mother, the Princess Isabel of
Portugal, to the throne of that country, and after a stubborn contest
with the Lusitanians, the long-desired union of Spain and Portugal was
accomplished. This event was celebrated by Cervantes in a poem which
extravagantly lauds his sovereign. Henry VIII. had been succeeded in
England by Mary, daughter of his unhappy Queen, Catherine of Aragon,
who, it will be remembered, was the daughter of Ferdinand and
Isabella. Mary had inherited the intense religious fervor and perhaps
the cruel instincts of her mother's family, and she quickly set about
restoring Protestant England to the Catholic faith. Philip saw in a
union with Mary and a joint sovereignty over England, such as he hoped
would follow, an immense opportunity for Spain. The marriage took
place with great splendor, and in the desire to please her handsome
husband, of whom she was very fond, she commenced the work which has
given her the title, "Bloody Mary." In vain were human torches lighted
to lure Philip from Spain, where he lingered. She did not win his
love, nor did Philip reign conjointly with his royal consort in
England. Mary died in 1558, and her Protestant sister Elizabeth,
daughter of Anne Boleyn, was Queen of England.
Philip had made up his mind that Protestantism should be exterminated
in his kingdom of the Netherlands. He could not go there himself, so
he looked about for a suitable instrument for his purpose. The Duke of
Alva was the man chosen. He was appointed Viceroy, with full authority
to carry out the pious design. Heresy must cease to exist in the
Netherlands. The arrival of Alva, clothed with such despotic powers,
and the atrocities committed by him, caused the greatest indignation
in the Netherlands. The Prince of Orange, aided by the Counts Egmont
and Horn, organized a party to resist him, and a revolution was
commenced which lasted for forty years, affording one of the blackest
chapters in the history of Europe. The name of Alva stands at the head
of the list of men who have wrought desolation and suffering in the
name of religion. The other European states protested, and Elizabeth,
in hot indignation, gave aid to the persecuted states.
Philip had contracted a marriage, after Mary's death, with the
daughter of that terrible woman Catherine de Medici, widow of Henry
II. of France, and there is much reason to believe that it was this
Duke of Alva who planned the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. There were
sinister conferences between Catherine, Philip, and Alva, and little
doubt exists that the hideous tragedy which occurred in Paris on the
night of August 24, 1572, was arranged in Madrid, and had its first
inception in the cruel breast of Alva.
There had not been much love existing before between Philip and
Elizabeth, who it is said had refused the hand of her Spanish
brother-in-law. But after her interference in the Netherlands, and
when her ships were intercepting and waylaying Spanish ships returning
with treasure from the West, and when at last the one was the accepted
champion of the Protestant, and the other of the Catholic cause, they
became avowed enemies. Philip resolved to prepare a mighty armament
for the invasion of England.
In 1587 Elizabeth sent Sir Francis Drake to reconnoiter and find out
what Philip was doing. He appeared with twenty-five vessels before
Cadiz. Having learned all he wanted, and burned a fleet of merchant
vessels, he returned to his Queen.
In May, 1588, a fleet of one hundred and thirty ships, some "the
largest that ever plowed the deep," sailed from Lisbon for the English
coast. We may form some idea to-day of what must have been the feeling
in England when this Armada, unparalleled in size, appeared in the
English Channel! If Sir Francis Drake's ships were fewer and smaller,
he could match the Spaniards in audacity. He sent eight fireships
right in among the close-lying vessels. Then, in the confusion which
followed, while they were obstructed and entangled with their own
fleet, he swiftly attacked them with such vigor that ten ships were
sunk or disabled, and the entire fleet was demoralized. Then a storm
overtook the fleeing vessels, and the winds and the waves completed
the victory. As in the Spanish report of the disaster thirty-five is
the number of ships acknowledged to be lost, we may imagine how great
was the destruction. So ended Philip's invasion of England, and the
great Spanish "Armada."
Philip II. died, 1598, in the Palace of the Escurial which he had
built, and with that event ends the story of Spain's greatness. The
period of one hundred and twenty-five years, including the reigns of
Ferdinand and Isabella, of Charles V., and of Philip II., is, in a
way, one of unmatched splendor. Spain had not like England by slow
degrees expanded into great proportions, but through strange and
perfectly fortuitous circumstances, she had, from a proud obscurity,
suddenly leaped into a position of commanding power and magnificence.
Fortune threw into her lap the greatest prize she ever had to bestow,
and at the same time gave her two sovereigns of exceptional qualities
and abilities. The story of this double reign is the romance, the
fairy tale of history. Then came the magnificent reign of Charles V.
with more gifts from fortune--the imperial crown, if not a substantial
benefit to Spain, still bringing dignity and eclat. But under this
glittering surface there had commenced even then a decline. Under
Philip II. she was still magnificent, Europe was bowing down to her,
but the decline was growing more manifest; and with the accession of
his puny son, Philip III., there was little left but a brilliant past,
which a proud and retrospective nation was going to feed upon for over
three centuries. But it takes some time for such dazzling effulgence
to disappear. The glamour of the Spanish name was going to last a
long time and picturesquely veil her decay. The memory of such an
ascendancy in Europe nourished the intense national pride of her
people. The name Castilian took on a new significance.
Nor can we wonder at their pride in the name "Castilian." Its glory
was not the capricious gift of fortune, but won by a devotion, a
constancy, and a fidelity of purpose which are unique in the history
of the world. For seven hundred years the race for which that name
stands had kept alive the national spirit, while their land was
occupied by an alien civilization. These were centuries of privation
and suffering and hardship; but never wavering in their purpose, and
by brave deeds which have filled volumes, they reclaimed their land
and drove out the Moors.
This is what gives to the name "Castilian," its proud significance.
But when degenerate Hidalgos and Grandees, debauched by wealth
and luxury, gloried in the name; when by rapacity and cruelty they
destroyed the lands their valor had won; and when the Inquisition
became their pastime and the rack and the wheel their toys--then
the name Castilian began to take on a sinister meaning. Spain's most
glorious period was not when she was converting the Indies and Mexico
and Peru into a hell, not when Charles V. was playing his great game
of diplomacy in Europe, but in that pre-Columbian era when a brave and
rugged people were keeping alive their national life in the mountains
of the Asturias. Well may Spain do honor to that time by calling the
heir to her throne the "Prince of the Asturias!"