The never-ending piracies of Algiers had for centuries made this city
or state the object of the hatred of all Christian princes, and the
dread of all Christian peoples. The opinion entertained by Europeans of
the pirates of Algiers can be compared to nothing but that inculcated
of the demons of another world. Among the most daring, ambitious, and
successful of this race of marauders was Barbarossa: he aspired to
something above the character of a “salt-water thief,” and intruded
upon the lands as well as the vessels and subjects of his opposite
neighbour, Charles I. of Spain, and V. of Germany.
The emperor was politic as well as brave; he watched for an opportunity
of avenging himself with safety; and he thought he had found this when
he learnt that the emperor of the corsairs was gone to Constantinople.
A volume written upon the power of Barbarossa could not display it
so eloquently as the circumstance of the monarch, possessed of more
extensive territories in Europe than had been held by one man since the
time of Charlemagne, being obliged to wait till this Cacus was absent
from his den before he would venture to assail it. Charles prided
himself upon being a brave knight, but this was a wide departure from
the laws of chivalry, which commanded all who acknowledged them to send
due notice to an enemy of an intended hostile attack.
This absence appeared to Charles a favourable opportunity for
attempting the subjugation or destruction of Algiers. It was the autumn
of 1541, the season of storms at sea and of diseases and plagues on the
coast of Africa. Ambitious princes do not often benefit by the study of
history; they think their own genius or their own power can overcome
obstacles that have been fatal to others; otherwise Charles might
have learnt what would be the issue of his enterprise by turning to
the melancholy story of the death of Louis IX. of France. Neither did
he want for prudent advice from living counsellors. The great seaman
Admiral Doria, who was likewise an excellent general, and of approved
valour, when consulted by the emperor on the subject, said: “_Let me
persuade you from this enterprise; for, par Dieu, if we go thither, we
shall all perish._” But Charles was never easily turned aside from a
favourite project by good advice, and he replied: “_Twenty-two years
of empire for me, and seventy-two years of life for you, ought to be
sufficient to make us both die content._” A few days after this advice
had been asked and refused, the emperor and his army embarked; and upon
their landing in Africa, were immediately assailed by the diseases and
subjected to the famine that had been predicted. Before they commenced
the attack, an eloquent and politic gentleman was sent to the old
eunuch Hasem, who commanded in the absence of Barbarossa, to endeavour
to intimidate him, and, if that could not be effected, to corrupt him.
But this trustworthy governor replied, that “_it was very foolish to
attempt to give advice to an enemy, but it would be still more foolish
for the enemy to attend to that advice when it was given_.” These
dispositions reduced the emperor to the necessity of attacking the
place in form. The defence of the Algerines was firm and vigorous; and
their valour, assisted by frightful tempests, compelled the emperor to
raise a siege in which his army was perishing with famine and misery.
When he returned to Europe, Charles V. instantly sent Aretin a gold
chain of the value of a hundred ducats, to engage him to be silent
on the subject of his disaster. “_This_,” said Aretin, “_is but a
poor present for such an enormous piece of folly._” Aretin, we should
inform our young readers, was an Italian writer, who by some bold
satires directed against princes and other conspicuous characters, had
elevated himself to the position of a kind of European censor. As in
most such cases, the persons attacked really gave importance to satires
which, if they had been left alone, like other bubbles, would have
burst very innocuously. But the speculation answered: potentates vied
with each other in throwing sops to this Cerberus, whose own life as a
man, like, we fear, that of most other satirists, was as obnoxious to
censure as any of those he unscrupulously attacked.