REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES.
Early life of Don John of Austria--Acknowledged by Philip--His Thirst
for Distinction--His Cruise in the Mediterranean--Made
Commander-in-chief--The War renewed--Removal of the Moriscoes.
1569.
As Don John of Austria is to occupy an important place, not only in the
war with the Moriscoes, but in some of the most memorable scenes in the
remainder of this history, it will be proper to acquaint the reader with
what is known of the earlier part of his career. Yet it is precisely
over this part of it that a veil of mystery hangs, which no industry of
the historian has been able wholly to remove.
It seems probable that he was born in the year 1547.[122] The
twenty-fourth of February is assigned by common consent--I hardly know
on what ground--as the day of his birth. It was also, it may be
remembered, the birthday of his father, Charles the Fifth. His mother,
Barbara Blomberg, was an inhabitant of Ratisbon, in Germany. She is
described as a beautiful young girl, who attracted the emperor's notice
several years after the death of the empress Isabella.[123] The Spanish
chroniclers claim a noble descent for Barbara.[124] Indeed, it would go
hard but a Spaniard could make out a pedigree for his hero. Yet there
are several circumstances which suggest the idea that the mother of Don
John must have occupied a very humble position.
[Sidenote: DON JOHN OF AUSTRIA.]
Subsequently to her connexion with Charles she married a German named
Kegell, on whom the emperor bestowed the office of commissary.[125] The
only other notice, so far as I am aware, which Charles took of his
former mistress was the settlement on her of a yearly pension of two
hundred florins, which he made the day before his death.[126] It was
certainly not a princely legacy, and infers that the object of it must
have been in a humble condition in life to have rendered it important to
her comfort. We are led to the same conclusion by the mystery thrown
around the birth of the child, forming so strong a contrast to the
publicity given to the birth of the emperor's natural daughter, Margaret
of Parma, whose mother could boast that in her veins flowed some of the
best blood of the Netherlands.
For three years the boy, who received the name of Geronimo, remained
under his mother's roof, when, by Charles's order, he was placed in the
hands of a Fleming, named Maffi, a musician in the imperial band. This
man transferred his residence to Leganes, a village in Castile, not far
from Madrid. The instrument still exists that contains the agreement by
which Maffi, after acknowledging the receipt of a hundred florins,
engages for fifty florins annually, to bring up the child with as much
care as if he were his own.[127] It was a moderate allowance, certainly,
for the nurture of one who was some day to come before the world as the
son of an emperor. It showed that Charles was fond of a bargain, though
at the expense of his own offspring.
No instruction was provided for the child except such as he could pick
up from the parish priest, who, as he knew as little as Maffi did of the
secret of Geronimo's birth, probably bestowed no more attention on him
than on the other lads of the village. And we cannot doubt that a boy of
his lively temper must have preferred passing his days in the open
fields, to confinement in the house and listening to the homilies of his
teacher. As he grew in years, he distinguished himself above his young
companions by his courage. He took the lead in all their rustic sports,
and gave token of his belligerent propensities by making war on the
birds in the orchards, on whom he did great execution with his little
crossbow.[128]
Four years were passed in this hardy way of life, which, if it did
nothing else for the boy, had the advantage of strengthening his
constitution for the serious trials of manhood, when the emperor thought
it was time to place him in a situation where he would receive a better
training than could be found in the cottage of a peasant. He was
accordingly transferred to the protection of Luis Quixada, Charles's
trusty major-domo, who received the child into his family at
Villagarcia, in the neighbourhood of Valladolid. The emperor showed his
usual discernment in the selection of a guardian for his son. Quixada,
with his zeal for the faith, his loyalty, his nice sentiment of honour,
was the very type of the Castilian hidalgo in his best form; while he
possessed all those knightly qualities which made him the perfect mirror
of the antique chivalry. His wife, Dona Magdalena de Ulloa, sister of
the marquis of Mota, was a lady yet more illustrious for her virtues
than for her rank. She had naturally the most to do with the training of
the boy's earlier years; and under her discipline it was scarcely
possible that one of so generous a nature should fail to acquire the
courtly breeding and refinement of taste which shed a lustre over the
stern character of the soldier.
However much Quixada may have reposed on his wife's discretion, he did
not think proper to try it, in the present instance, by communicating to
her the secret of Geronimo's birth. He spoke of him as the son of a
great man, his dear friend, expressing his desire that his wife would
receive him as her own child. This was the less difficult, as Magdalena
had no children of her own. The solicitude shown by her lord may
possibly have suggested to her the idea that the boy was more nearly
related to him than he chose to acknowledge,--in short, that he was the
offspring of some intrigue of Quixada previous to his marriage.[129] But
an event which took place not long after the child's introduction into
the family, is said to have awakened in her suspicions of an origin more
in accordance with the truth. The house at Villagarcia took fire; and,
as it was in the night, the flames gained such head that they were not
discovered till they burst through the windows. The noise in the street
roused the sleeping inmates; and Quixada, thinking first of his charge,
sprang from his bed, and, rushing into Geronimo's apartment, snatched up
the affrighted child, and bore him in his arms to a place of safety. He
then reentered the house, and, forcing his way through the smoke and
flames, succeeded in extricating his wife from her perilous situation.
This sacrifice of love to loyalty is panegyrized by a Castilian
chronicler as "a rare achievement, far transcending any act of heroism
of which antiquity could boast."[130] Whether Magdalena looked with the
same complacency on the proceeding we are not informed. Certain it is,
however, that the interest shown by her husband in the child had no
power to excite any feeling of jealousy in her bosom. On the contrary,
it seemed rather to strengthen her own interest in the boy, whose
uncommon beauty and affectionate disposition soon called forth all the
tenderness of her nature. She took him to her heart, and treated him
with all the fondness of a mother,--a feeling warmly reciprocated by the
object of it, who, to the day of his death, regarded her with the truest
feelings of filial love and reverence.
In 1558, the year after his retirement to Yuste, Charles the Fifth,
whether from a wish to see his son, or, as is quite as probable, in the
hope of making Quixada more contented with his situation, desired his
major-domo to bring his family to the adjoining village of Cuacos. While
there, the young Geronimo must doubtless sometimes have accompanied his
mother, as he called Dona Magdalena, in her visits to the monastery.
Indeed, his biographer assures us that the sight of him operated like a
panacea on the emperor's health.[131] We find no allusion to him,
however, in any of the letters from Yuste; and, if he did go there, we
may be sure that Charles had sufficient control over himself not to
betray, by any indiscreet show of fondness, his relationship to the
child.[132] One tradition respecting him lingered to a late period
among the people of Cuacos, where the peasants, it is said, pelted him
with stones as he was robbing their orchards. It was the first lesson in
war of the future hero of Lepanto.
[Sidenote: DON JOHN OF AUSTRIA.]
There is no reason to doubt that the boy witnessed the obsequies of the
emperor. One who was present tells us that he saw him there, dressed in
full mourning, and standing by the side of Quixada, for whose page he
passed among the brethren of the convent.[133] We may well believe that
a spectacle so solemn and affecting as these funeral ceremonies must
have sunk deep into his young mind, and heightened the feelings of
veneration with which he always regarded the memory of his father. It
was, perhaps, the appearance of Geronimo as one of the mourners that
first suggested the idea of his relationship to the emperor. We find a
letter from Quixada to Philip, dated soon after, in which he speaks of
rumours on the subject as current in the neighbourhood.[134]
Among the testamentary papers of Charles was found one in an envelope
sealed with his private seal, and addressed to his son Philip, or in
case of his death, to his grandson Carlos, or whoever might be in
possession of the crown. It was dated in 1554, before his retirement to
Yuste. It acknowledged his connexion with a German maiden, and the birth
of a son named Geronimo. The mother's name was not given. He pointed out
the quarter where information could be got respecting the child, who was
then living with the violin-player at Leganes. He expressed the wish
that he should be trained up for the ecclesiastical profession, and
that, when old enough, he should enter a convent of one of the reformed
orders. Charles would not, however, have any constraint put on the
inclinations of the boy, and in case of his preferring a secular life,
he would have a suitable estate settled on him in the kingdom of Naples,
with an annual income of between thirty and forty thousand ducats.
Whatever course Geronimo might take, the emperor requested that he
should receive all the honour and consideration due to him as his son.
His letter concluded by saying that, although for obvious reasons he had
not inserted these directions in his will, he wished them to be held of
the same validity as if he had.[135] Philip seems from the first to have
so regarded them, though, as he was then in Flanders, he resolved to
postpone the public acknowledgment of his brother till his return to
Spain.
Meanwhile, the rumours in regard to Geronimo's birth had reached the
ears of the regent, Joanna. With natural curiosity, she ordered her
secretary to write to Quixada and ascertain the truth of the report. The
trusty hidalgo endeavoured to evade the question, by saying that some
years since a friend of his had entrusted a boy to his care; but as no
allusion whatever was made to the child in the emperor's will, the story
of their relationship to each other should be treated as idle
gossip.[136] The reply did not satisfy Joanna, who seems to have settled
it in her own mind that the story was well founded. She took an
occasion soon after to write to Dona Magdalena, during her husband's
absence from home, expressing her wish that the lady would bring the boy
where she could see him. The place selected was at an _auto de fe_ about
to be celebrated in Valladolid. Dona Magdalena, reluctant as she was,
felt herself compelled to receive the request from such a source as a
command, which she had no right to disobey. One might have thought that
a ceremony so heartrending and appalling in its character as an _auto de
fe_ would be the last to be selected for the indulgence of any feeling
of a light and joyous nature. But the Spaniard of that and of a much
later age regarded this as the sweetest sacrifice that could be offered
to the Almighty; and he went to it with the same indifference to the
sufferings of the victim--probably with the same love of
excitement--which he would have felt in going to a bull-fight.
On the day which had been named, Magdalena and her charge took their
seats on the carpeted platform reserved for persons of rank, in full
view of the scaffold appropriated to the martyrs who were to suffer for
conscience' sake. It was in the midst of the august company here
assembled, that the son of Charles the Fifth was to receive his first
lesson in the school of persecution; that he was to learn to steel his
heart against sympathy with human suffering; to learn, above all, that
compassion for the heretic was a crime of the deepest dye. It was a
terrible lesson for one so young--of an age when the mind is most open
to impressions; and the bitter fruits of it were to be discerned ere
long in the war with the Moriscoes.
As the royal train approached the place occupied by Dona Magdalena, the
regent paused and looked around for the boy. Magdalena had thrown her
mantle about him, to conceal him as much as possible from the public
eye. She now drew it aside; and Joanna looked so long and earnestly on
the child, that he shrunk abashed from her gaze. It was not, however,
before she had recognized in his bright blue eyes, his ample forehead,
and the rich yellow locks that clustered round his head, some of the
peculiarities of the Austrian line, though happily without the deformity
of the protruding lip, which was no less its characteristic. Her heart
yearned with the tenderness of a sister, as she felt convinced that the
same blood flowed in his veins as in her own; and, stooping down, she
threw her arms around his neck, and, kissing him, called him by the
endearing name of brother.[137] She would have persuaded him to go with
her and sit by her side, but the boy, clinging closely to his
foster-mother, refused to leave her for the stranger lady.
This curious scene attracted the attention of the surrounding
spectators, which was hardly diverted from the child by the appearance
of the prisoners on the scaffold to receive their sentences. When these
had been pronounced, and the wretched victims led away to execution, the
multitude pressed so eagerly round Magdalena and the boy, that it was
with difficulty the guards could keep them back, till the regent, seeing
the awkwardness of their situation, sent one of her train, the count of
Osorno, to their relief; and that nobleman, forcing his way through the
crowd, carried off Geronimo in his arms to the royal carriage.[138]
[Sidenote: DON JOHN ACKNOWLEDGED BY PHILIP.]
It was not long before all mystery was dispelled by the public
acknowledgment of the child as the son of the emperor. One of the first
acts of Philip, after his return to Spain in 1559, was to arrange an
interview with his brother. The place assigned for the meeting was an
extensive park, not far from Valladolid, in the neighbourhood of the
convent of _La Espina_, a spot much resorted to by the Castilian princes
of the older time for the pleasures of the chase.
On the appointed day, Quixada, richly dressed, and mounted on the best
horse in his stables, rode forth, at the head of his vassals, to meet
the king, with the little Geronimo, simply attired, and on a common
palfrey, by his side. They had gone but a few miles when they heard,
through the woods, the sound of horses' hoofs, announcing the approach
of the royal cavalcade. Quixada halted, and alighting, drew near to
Geronimo, with much deference in his manner, and, dropping on one knee,
begged permission to kiss his hand. At the same time he desired his ward
to dismount, and take the charger which he had himself been riding.
Geronimo was sorely bewildered by what he would have thought a merry
jest on the part of his guardian, had not his sedate and dignified
character forbidden the supposition. Recovering from his astonishment,
he complied with his guardian's directions; and the vision of future
greatness must have flashed on his mind, if, as we are told, when
preparing to mount, he turned round to Quixada, and with an affected air
of dignity, told him that, "since things were so, he might hold the
stirrup for him."[139]
They had not proceeded far when they came in sight of the royal party.
Quixada pointed out the king to his ward, adding that his majesty had
something of importance to communicate to him. They then dismounted; and
the boy, by his guardian's instructions, drawing near to Philip, knelt
down and begged leave to kiss his majesty's hand. The king, graciously
extending it, looked intently on the youth; and at length broke silence
by asking "if he knew who was his father." Geronimo, disconcerted by the
abruptness of the question, and, indeed, if the reports of his origin
had ever reached his ears, ignorant of their truth, cast his eyes on the
ground and made no answer. Philip, not displeased with his
embarrassment, was well satisfied, doubtless, to read in his intelligent
countenance and noble mien an assurance that he would do no discredit to
his birth. Alighting from his horse, he embraced Geronimo, exclaiming,
"Take courage, my child, you are descended from a great man. The emperor
Charles the Fifth, now in glory, is your father as well as mine."[140]
Then, turning to the lords who stood around, he presented the boy to
them as the son of their late sovereign, and his own brother. The
courtiers, with the ready instinct of their tribe, ever prompt to
worship the rising sun, pressed eagerly forward to pay their obeisance
to Geronimo. The scene was concluded by the king's buckling a sword on
his brother's side, and throwing around his neck the sparkling collar of
the Golden Fleece.
The tidings of this strange event soon spread over the neighbourhood,
for there were many more witnesses of the ceremony than those who took
part in it; and the king and his retinue found, on their return, a
multitude of people gathering along the route, eager to get a glimpse of
this newly discovered gem of royalty. The sight of the handsome youth
called forth a burst of noisy enthusiasm from the populace, and the air
rang with their tumultuous _vivas_ as the royal party rode through the
streets of the ancient city of Valladolid. Philip expressed his
satisfaction at the events of the day, by declaring that "he had never
met better sport in his life, or brought back game so much to his
mind."[141]
Having thus publicly acknowledged his brother, the king determined to
provide for him an establishment suited to his condition. He assigned
him for his residence one of the best mansions in Madrid. He was
furnished with a numerous band of retainers, and as great state was
maintained in his household as in that of a prince of the blood. The
count of Priego acted as his chief major-domo; Don Luis Carrillo, the
eldest son of that noble, was made captain of the guard; and Don Luis de
Cordova master of the horse. In short, nobles and cavaliers of the best
blood in Castile did not disdain to hold offices in the service of the
peasant boy. With one or two exceptions, of little importance, he
enjoyed all the privileges that belonged to the royal _infantes_. He did
not, like them, have apartments in the palace; and he was to be
addressed by the title of "Excellency," instead of "Highness," which was
their peculiar prerogative. The distinction was not always scrupulously
observed.[142]
A more important change took place in his name, which from _Geronimo_
was now converted into _John of Austria_,--a lofty name, which intimated
his descent from the imperial house of Hapsburg, and on which his deeds
in after-life shed a lustre greater than the proudest title that
sovereignty could confer.
Luis Quixada kept the same place after his pupil's elevation as before.
He continued to be his _ayo_, or governor, and removed with Dona
Magdalena to Madrid, where he took up his residence in the house of Don
John. Thus living in the most intimate personal relations with him,
Quixada maintained his influence unimpaired till the hour of his own
death.
Philip fully appreciated the worth of the faithful hidalgo, who was
fortunate in thus enjoying the favour of the son in as great a degree as
he had done that of the father,--and, as it would seem, with a larger
recompense for his services. He was master of the horse to Don Carlos,
the heir to the crown; he held the important post of president of the
Council of the Indies; and he possessed several lucrative benefices in
the military order of Calatrava. In one of his letters to the king, we
find Quixada remarking that he had endeavoured to supply the
deficiencies of his pupil's early education by training him in a manner
better suited to his destinies in after-life.[143] We cannot doubt that,
in the good knight's estimate of what was essential to such a training,
the exercises of chivalry must have found more favour than the monastic
discipline recommended by the emperor. However this may have been,
Philip resolved to give his brother the best advantages for a liberal
education by sending him to the University of Alcala, which, founded by
the great Ximenes, a little more than a century before, now shared with
the older school of Salamanca the glory of being the most famous seat of
science in the Peninsula. Don John had for his companions his two
nephews, Don Carlos and Alexander Farnese, the son of Margaret of Parma.
They formed a triumvirate, each member of which was to fill a large
space in the pages of history; Don Carlos from his errors and
misfortunes, and the two others from their military achievements. They
were all of nearly the same age. Don John, according to a writer of the
time, stood foremost among the three for the comeliness, or rather
beauty of his person, no less than for the charm of his manners;[144]
while the soul was filled with those nobler qualities which gave promise
of the highest excellence.[145]
[Sidenote: DON JOHN'S THIRST FOR DISTINCTION.]
His biographers tell us that Don John gave due attention to his studies,
but the studies which found most favour in his eyes were those connected
with the art of war. He was perfect in all chivalrous accomplishments;
and he sighed for some field on which he could display them. The
knowledge of his real parentage filled his soul with a generous
ambition, and he longed by some heroic achievement to vindicate his
claim to his illustrious descent.
At the end of three years, in 1564, he left the university. The
following year was that of the famous siege of Malta; and all
Christendom hung in suspense on the issue of the desperate conflict,
which a handful of warriors, on their lonely isle, were waging against
the whole strength of the Ottoman empire. The sympathies of Don John
were roused in behalf of the Christian knights; and he resolved to cast
his own fortunes into the scale with theirs, and win his maiden laurels
under the banner of the Cross. He did not ask the permission of his
brother. That he knew would be refused to him. He withdrew secretly from
the court, and with only a few attendants took his way to Barcelona,
whence an armament was speedily to sail, to carry succour to the
besieged. Everywhere on the route he was received with the respect due
to his rank. At Saragossa he was lodged with the archbishop, under whose
roof he was detained by illness. While there he received a letter from
the king, who had learned the cause of his departure, commanding him to
return, as he was altogether too young to take part in this desperate
strife. Don John gave little heed to the royal orders. He pushed on to
Barcelona, where he had the mortification to find that the fleet had
sailed. He resolved to cross the mountains and take ship at Marseilles.
The viceroy of Catalonia could not dissuade the hot-headed youth from
his purpose, when another despatch came from court, in which Philip, in
a more peremptory tone than before, repeated his orders for his brother
to return, under pain of his severe displeasure. A letter from Quixada
had warned him of the certain disgrace which awaited him, if he
continued to trifle with the royal commands. Nothing remained but to
obey; and Don John, disappointed in his scheme of ambition, returned to
the capital.[146]
This adventure caused a great sensation throughout the country. The
young nobles and cavaliers about the court, fired by Don John's example,
which seemed like a rebuke on their own sluggishness, had hastened to
buckle on their armour, and follow him to the war.[147] The common
people, peculiarly sensible in Spain to deeds of romantic daring, were
delighted with the adventurous spirit of the young prince, which gave
promise that he was one day to take his place among the heroes of the
nation. This was the beginning of the popularity of John of Austria with
his countrymen, who in time came to regard him with feelings little
short of idolatry. Even Philip, however necessary he may have thought it
to rebuke the insubordination of his brother, must in his heart have
been pleased with the generous spirit he had exhibited. At least, the
favour with which he continued to regard the offender showed that the
royal displeasure was of no long continuance.
The sudden change in the condition of Don John might remind one of some
fairy tale, where the poor peasant boy finds himself all at once
converted by enchantment into a great prince. A wiser man than he might
well have had his head turned by such a rapid revolution of the wheel of
fortune; and Philip may naturally have feared that the idle dalliance of
a court, to which his brother was now exposed, might corrupt his simple
nature and seduce him from the honourable path of duty. Great,
therefore, must have been his satisfaction, when he saw that, far from
this, the elevation of the youth had only served to give a wider
expansion to his views, and to fill his bosom with still higher and
nobler aspirations.
The discreet conduct of Don John in regard to his nephew, Don Carlos,
when the latter would have engaged him in his wild and impracticable
schemes, established him still more firmly in the royal favour.[148]
In the spring of the year 1568, an opportunity occurred for Philip to
gratify his brother's ambition, by entrusting him with the command of a
fleet then fitting out, in the port of Carthagena, against the Barbary
corsairs, who had been making alarming depredations of late on the
Spanish commerce. But, while giving him this appointment, the king was
careful to supply the lack of experience in his brother by naming as
second in command an officer in whose abilities he perfectly confided.
This was Antonio de Zuniga y Requesens, grand commander of St. James, an
eminent personage, who will come frequently before the reader in the
progress of the narrative. Requesens, who at this time filled the post
of ambassador at Rome, was possessed of the versatility of talent so
important in an age when the same individual was often required to
exchange the duties of the cabinet for those of the camp. While Don John
appeared before the public as the captain of the fleet, the actual
responsibility for the conduct of the expedition rested on his
lieutenant.
On the third of June, Don John sailed out of port, at the head of as
brave an armament as ever floated on the waters of the Mediterranean.
The prince's own vessel was a stately galley, gorgeously fitted up, and
decorated with a profusion of paintings, the subjects of which, drawn
chiefly from ancient history and mythology, were of didactic import,
intended to convey some useful lesson to the young commander. The moral
of each picture was expressed by some pithy maxim inscribed beneath it
in Latin. Thus, to whatever quarter Don John turned his eyes, they were
sure to fall on some homily for his instruction; so that his galley
might be compared to a volume richly filled with illustrations, that
serve to impress the contents on the reader's memory.[149]
The cruise was perfectly successful; and Don John, on his return to
port, some eight months later, might boast that, in more than one
engagement, he had humbled the pride of the corsairs, and so far
crippled them that it would be long before they could resume their
depredations; that, in fine, he had vindicated the honour of his
country's flag throughout the Mediterranean.
His return to Madrid was welcomed with the honours of a triumph.
Courtier and commoner, men of all classes, in short, vied with each
other in offering up the sweet incense of adulation, filling his young
mind with lofty visions of the future, that beckoned him forward in the
path of glory.
[Sidenote: DON JOHN MADE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF.]
When the insurrection of the Moriscoes broke out in 1568, the eyes of
men naturally turned on Don John of Austria, as the person who would
most likely be sent to suppress it. But Philip thought it would be
safer to trust the command to those who, from their long residence in
the neighbourhood, were better acquainted with the character of the
country and of its inhabitants. When, however, the dissensions of the
rival chiefs made it necessary to send some one invested with such
powers as might enable him to overawe this factious spirit and enforce
greater concert of action, the council of state recommended Don John to
the command. Their recommendation was approved by the king, if, indeed,
it was not originally made at his suggestion.
Still the "prudent" monarch was careful not to invest his brother with
that independent command which the public supposed him to possess. On
the contrary, his authority was restricted within limits almost as
narrow as those which had curbed it in the Mediterranean. A council of
war was appointed, by whose opinions Don John was to be guided in every
question of moment. In case of a division of opinion, the question was
to be referred to the decision of Philip.[150]
The chief members of this body, in whom the supreme power was virtually
lodged, were the marquis of Mondejar, who from this time does not appear
to have taken the field in person; the duke of Sessa, grandson of the
great captain, Gonsalvo de Cordova, and endowed with no small portion of
the military talent of his ancestor; the archbishop of Granada, a
prelate possessed of as large a measure of bigotry as ever fell to the
lot of a Spanish ecclesiastic; Deza, president of the Audience, who
hated the Moriscoes with the fierce hatred of an inquisitor; and,
finally, Don John's faithful _ayo_, Quixada, who had more influence over
him than was enjoyed by any other, and who had come to witness the first
of his pupil's campaigns, destined, alas! to be the closing one of his
own.[151]
There could hardly have been a more unfortunate device than the
contrivance of so cumbrous a machinery as this council, opposed as it
was, from its very nature, to the despatch so indispensable to the
success of military operations. The mischief was increased by the
necessity of referring every disputed point to the decision of the king.
As this was a contingency that often occurred, the young prince soon
found almost as many embarrassments thrown in his way by his friends as
by his foes,--embarrassments which nothing but an uncommon spirit of
determination on his own part could have overcome.
On the sixth of April, 1569, Don John took leave of the king, then at
Aranjuez, and hastened towards the south. His coming was eagerly
expected by the inhabitants of Granada; by the Christians, from their
hopes that it would remedy the disorders in the army and bring the war
to a speedy conclusion; by the Moriscoes, from the protection they
anticipated he would afford them against the violence of the Spaniards.
Preparations were made in the capital for giving him a splendid
reception. The programme of the ceremonies was furnished by Philip
himself.[152] At some miles from the city, Don John was met by the count
of Tendilla, at the head of a small detachment of infantry, wearing
uniforms partly of the Castilian fashion, partly of the
Morisco,--presenting altogether a strange and picturesque spectacle, in
which silks, velvets, and rich embroidery floated gaily amidst the iron
mail and burnished weapons of the warrior.[153] As the prince proceeded
along his route, he was met by a long train of ecclesiastical and civic
functionaries, followed by the principal cavaliers and citizens of
Granada. At their head were the archbishop and the president, the latter
of whom was careful to assert his rank by walking on the right of the
prelate. Don John showed them both the greatest deference; and as they
drew near, he dismounted from his horse, and, embracing the two
churchmen, stood with hat in hand, for some moments, while conversing
with them.[154] As their train came up, the president presented the most
eminent persons to the prince, who received them with that frank and
graceful courtesy which won the hearts of all who approached him. He
then resumed his route, escorted on either side by the president and the
archbishop. The neighbouring fields were covered with spectators, and on
the plains of Beyro he found a large body of troops, not less than ten
thousand, drawn up to receive him. As he approached, they greeted him
with salvoes of musketry, delivered with admirable precision. As Don
John glanced over their beautiful array, and beheld their perfect
discipline and appointments, his eyes brightened and his cheek flushed
with a soldier's pride.
Hardly had he entered the gates of Granada, when he was surrounded by a
throng of women, who gathered about him in an attitude of supplication.
They were the widows, the mothers, and the daughters of those who had so
miserably perished in the massacres of the Alpujarras. They were clad in
mourning, some of them so scantily as too plainly to reveal their
poverty. Falling on their knees, with tears streaming from their eyes,
and their words rendered almost inarticulate by their sobs, they
demanded justice,--justice on the murderers of their kindred. They had
seen their friends fall, they said, beneath the blows of their
executioners; but the pain with which their hearts were then rent was
not so great as what they now felt on learning that the cruel acts of
these miscreants were to go unpunished.[155] Don John endeavoured to
calm their agitation by expressions of the deepest sympathy for their
misfortunes,--expressions of which none who saw his countenance could
doubt the truth; and he promised that he would do all in his power to
secure them justice.
A livelier scene awaited him as the procession held its way along the
streets of the ancient capital. Everywhere the houses were gaily
decorated with tapestries of cloth of gold. The multitude who thronged
the avenues filled the air with their loyal acclamations. Bright eyes
glanced from balconies and windows, where the noblest matrons and
maidens of Granada, in rich attire, were gathered to look upon the
splendid pageant, and the young hero who was the object of it.[156] In
this state he moved along until he reached the palace of the Royal
Audience, where, by the king's command, apartments had been sumptuously
fitted up for his accommodation.[157]
[Sidenote: DISCUSSIONS OF THE COUNCIL.]
The following day, a deputation waited on Don John from the principal
Moriscoes of the city, claiming his protection against the injuries and
insults to which they were exposed whenever they went abroad. They
complained especially of the Spanish troops quartered on them, and of
the manner in which they violated the sanctity of their dwellings by the
foulest outrages. Don John replied in a tone that expressed little of
the commiseration which he had shown to the female petitioners on the
preceding day. He told the Moriscoes that he had been sent to restore
order to Granada, and that those who had proved loyal would find
themselves protected in all their rights. Those, on the contrary, who
had taken part in the late rebellion, would be chastised with unsparing
rigour.[158] He directed them to state their grievances in a memorial,
with a caution to set down nothing which they could not prove, or it
would go hard with them. The unfortunate Moriscoes found that they were
to expect such justice only as comes from the hand of an enemy.
The first session of the council showed how defective was the system for
conducting the war. In the discussions that ensued, Mondejar remarked
that the contest, in his opinion, was virtually at an end; that the
Moriscoes, for the most part, were in so favourable a mood, that he
would undertake, if the affair were placed in his hands, to bring them
all to submission in a very short time. This proposal was treated with
contempt by the haughty president, who denounced them as a false-hearted
race, on whose promises no one could rely. The war, he said, would never
be ended so long as the Moriscoes of the capital were allowed to
communicate with their countrymen in the mountains, and to furnish them
with secret intelligence respecting what was passing in the Christian
camp. The first step was to remove them all from Granada into the
interior; the second, to make such an example of the miscreants who had
perpetrated the massacres in the Alpujarras as should strike terror into
the hearts of the infidels, and deter them from any further resistance
to authority. In this division of opinion the members took different
sides, according to the difference of their tempers. The
commander-in-chief and Quixada both leaned to Mondejar's opinion. After
a protracted discussion, it became necessary to refer the question to
the king, who was by no means distinguished for the promptness with
which he came to his conclusions. All this required much time, during
which active operations could not be resumed.[159]
Yet Don John did not pass it idly. He examined the state of the works in
Granada and its neighbourhood; he endeavoured to improve the condition
of the army, and to quell the spirit of insubordination which had risen
in some portions of it; finally, he sent his commands for enforcing
levies, not merely in Andalusia and the adjoining provinces, but in
Castile. The appeal was successful; and the great lords in the south,
more particularly, gathering their retainers, hastened to Granada, to
draw their swords under this popular chieftain.[160]
Meanwhile the delay was attended with most mischievous consequences, as
it gave the enemy time to recover from the disasters of the previous
campaign. Aben-Humeya had returned, as we have seen in the former
chapter, to his mountain throne, where he soon found himself in greater
strength than before. Even the "Moriscoes of the peace," as they were
called, who had resumed their allegiance to the crown, exasperated by
the outrages of the Spanish soldiery, and the contempt which they showed
for the safe-conduct of the marquis of Mondejar, now came in great
numbers to Aben-Humeya's camp, offering their services, and promising to
stand by him to the last. Other levies he drew from Africa. The Moslem
princes to whom he had applied for succour, though refusing to embark
openly in his cause, as he had desired, allowed such of their subjects
as chose to join his standard. In consequence a considerable body of
Barbary Moors crossed the sea, and entered into the service of the
Morisco chief. They were a fierce, intrepid race, accustomed to a life
of wild adventure, and possessing a better acquaintance with military
tactics than belonged to the Spanish mountaineers.[161]
While strengthened by these recruits, Aben-Humeya drew a much larger
revenue than formerly from his more extended domains.[162] Though showy
and expensive in his tastes, he did not waste it all on the maintenance
of the greater state which he now assumed in his way of living. He
employed it freely in the pay of foreign levies, and in procuring arms
and munitions for his own troops; and he profited by his experience in
the last campaign, and by the example of his African mercenaries, to
introduce a better system of tactics among his Morisco warriors. The
policy he adopted, as before, was to avoid pitched battles, and to
confine himself chiefly to the _guerilla_ warfare, better suited to the
genius of the mountaineer. He fell on small detachments of Spaniards,
who were patrolling the country, cut off the convoys, and thus greatly
straitened the garrisons in their supplies. He made forays into the
Christian territories, penetrating even into the _vega_, and boldly
carried the war up to the walls of Granada.
His ravages in this quarter, it is true, did not continue long after the
arrival of Don John, who took effectual measures for protecting the
capital from insult. But the prince was greatly chagrined by seeing the
rapid extension of the Morisco domain. Yet he could take no decisive
measures to check it until the council had determined on some plan of
operations. He was moreover fettered by the king's orders not to take
the field in person, but to remain and represent him in Granada, where
he would find enough to do in regulating the affairs and providing for
the safety of the city.[163] Philip seems to have feared that Don John's
adventurous spirit would lead him to some rash act that might
unnecessarily expose him to danger. He appears, indeed, as we may gather
from numerous passages in his letters, to have been more concerned for
the safety of his brother than for the success of the campaign.[164] He
may have thought, too, that it was better to trust the war to the hands
of the veteran chief, the marquis of Los Velez, who could boast so much
larger experience than Don John, and who had possessed the king with a
high idea of his military talents.
[Sidenote: THE WAR RENEWED.]
This nobleman still held the command of the country east of the
Alpujarras, in which lay his own large property. He had, as we have
seen, a hard and arrogant nature, which could ill brook the paramount
authority of the young commander-in-chief, to whom he rarely
condescended to write, preferring to make his communications directly to
the king.[165] Philip, prompted by his appetite for power, winked at
this irregular proceeding, which enabled him to take a more direct part
in the management of affairs than he could otherwise have done. It was a
most injudicious step, and was followed, as we shall see, by disastrous
consequences.
The marquis, without waiting for orders, resolved to open the campaign
by penetrating into the Alpujarras with the small force he had under his
command. But a body of some four hundred troops, which he had caused to
occupy the pass of Ravaha, was cut off by the enemy, and the haughty
chieftain reluctantly obeyed the orders of Don John to abandon his
design. Aben-Humeya's success encouraged him to attack the marquis in
his new quarters at Verja. It was a well-concerted enterprise, but
unfortunately, before the time arrived for its execution, it was
betrayed by a prisoner to the Spanish commander. It consequently failed.
Aben-Humeya penetrated into the heart of the town, where he found
himself in the midst of an ambuscade, and with difficulty, after a heavy
loss, effected his retreat. But if the victory remained with the
Spaniards, the fruits of it fell to the Moriscoes. The spirit shown by
the Moslem prince gave new life to his countrymen, and more than
counterbalanced the effects of his defeat. The rich and populous country
of the Rio de Almanzora rose in arms. The marquis of Los Velez found it
expedient to abandon his present position, and to transfer his quarters
to Adra, a seaport on the Mediterranean, which would afford him greater
facilities for receiving reinforcements and supplies.[166]
The spirit of insurrection now spread rapidly over other parts of the
Alpujarras, and especially along the sierra of Bentomiz, which stretches
from the neighbourhood of Alhama towards the south. Here the
mountaineers, who had hitherto taken no part in the troubles of the
country, ranging themselves under the crimson banner of Aben-Humeya,
broke forth into open rebellion. The inhabitants of Velez and of the
more important city of Malaga were filled with consternation, trembling
lest the enemy should descend on them from the mountains and deluge
their streets with blood. They hastily mustered the militia of the
country, and made preparations for their defence.
Fortunately, at this conjuncture, they were gladdened by the sight of
the grand-commander, Requesens, who sailed into the harbour of
Velez-Malaga with a squadron from Italy, having on board several
battalions of Spanish veterans, who had been ordered home by the
government to reinforce the army of the Alpujarras. There were no better
troops in the service, seasoned as they were by many a hard campaign,
and all under the most perfect discipline. The first step of
Requesens,--the same officer, it will be remembered, who had acted as
the lieutenant of Don John of Austria in his cruise in the
Mediterranean,--was to request of his young general the command of the
expedition against the rebels of Bentomiz. These were now gathered in
great force on the lofty table-land of Fraxiliana, where they had
strengthened the natural defences of the ground by such works as
rendered the approach to it nearly impracticable. The request was
readily granted; and the grand-commander of St. James, without loss of
time, led his battalions into the heart of the sierra.
We have not space for the details. It is enough to say that the
expedition was one of the best-conducted in the war. The enemy made a
desperate resistance; and, had it not been for the timely arrival of the
bold burghers of Malaga, the grand-commander would have been driven from
the field. The Morisco women fought by the side of their husbands; and
when all was lost, many threw themselves headlong from the precipices
rather than fall into the hands of the Spaniards.[167] Two thousand of
the enemy were slain, and three thousand captives, with an immense booty
of gold, silver, jewels, and precious stuffs, became the spoil of the
victors. The spirit of rebellion was effectually crushed in the sierra
of Bentomiz.
Yet it was not a bloodless victory. Full six hundred of the Christians
fell on the field of battle. The loss bore most heavily on the troops
from Italy. Nearly every captain in this valiant corps was wounded.[168]
The bloody roll displayed, moreover, the name of more than one cavalier
as distinguished for his birth as for his bravery. Two thousand
Moriscoes succeeded in making their escape to the camp of Aben-Humeya.
They proved a seasonable reinforcement, for that chief was meditating an
assault on Seron.[169]
This was a strongly-fortified place, perched like an eagle's eyry on the
summit of a bold cliff that looked down on the Rio de Almanzora, and
commanded its formidable passes. It was consequently a most important
post, and at this time was held by a Spanish garrison under an officer
named Mirones. Aben-Humeya sent a strong detachment against it,
intending to carry it by storm. But the Moriscoes had no battering
train, and, as it soon appeared, were little skilled in the art of
conducting a siege. It was resolved, therefore, to abandon the present
plan of operations, and to reduce the place by the slower but surer way
of blockade. Five thousand men, accordingly, sat down before the town on
the 18th of June, and effectually cut off all communication from abroad.
The garrison succeeded in conveying intelligence of their condition to
Don John, who lost no time in ordering Alonso de Carbajal to march with
a body of troops and a good supply of provisions to their relief. But,
just after his departure, Don John received information that the king
had entrusted the marquis of Los Velez with the defence of Seron. He,
therefore, by Quixada's advice, countermanded his orders to Carbajal,
and directed him to return. That officer, who had approached within a
short distance of the place, reluctantly obeyed, and left Seron to its
fate. The marquis of Los Velez, notwithstanding the jealousy he
displayed of the interference of Don John in the affair, showed so
little alacrity in providing for the safety of the beleaguered fortress,
that the garrison, reduced to extremity, on the eleventh of July,
surrendered on honourable terms. But no sooner had they given up the
place, than the victors, regardless of the terms of capitulation,
murdered in cold blood every male over twelve years of age, and made
slaves of the women and children. This foul act was said to have been
perpetrated by the secret command of Aben-Humeya. The Morisca chief
might allege, in vindication of his perfidy, that he had but followed
the lesson set him by the Spaniards.[170]
[Sidenote: REMOVAL OF THE MORISCOES.]
The loss of Seron caused deep regret to the army. Nor could this regret
be mitigated by the reflection, that its loss was to be attributed not
so much to the valour of the Moslems as to the misconduct of their own
commanders, or rather to the miserable system adopted for carrying on
the war. The triumph of the Moriscoes, however, was greatly damped by
the intelligence which they had received, shortly before the surrender
of Seron, of disasters that had befallen their countrymen in Granada.
Philip, after much hesitation, had given his sanction to Deza's project
for the removal of the Moriscoes from the capital into the interior of
the country. The day appointed for carrying the measure into effect was
the twenty-third of June. A large body of troops, with the principal
commanders, was secretly assembled in the capital to enforce the
execution of the plan. Meanwhile, rumours were current that the
Moriscoes in the city were carrying on a secret communication with their
countrymen in the Alpujarras; that they supplied the mountaineers with
arms and money; that the young men were leaving Granada to join their
ranks; finally, that a conspiracy had been planned for an assault on the
city, and even that the names of the leaders were given. It is
impossible, at this time, to say what foundation there was for these
charges; but the reader may recollect that similar ones had been
circulated previous to the barbarous massacre in the prison of the
Chancery.
On the twenty-third of the month, on the eve of St John's, an edict was
published, commanding all the Morisco males in Granada between ten and
sixty years of age, to repair to the parish churches to which they
respectively belonged, where they were to learn their fate. The women
were to remain some time longer in the city, to dispose of the most
valuable effects, such as could not easily be transported. This was not
difficult, at the low prices for which, in their extremity, they were
obliged to part with their property. We are left in ignorance of the
fate of the children, who, no doubt, remained in the hands of the
government, to be nurtured in the Roman Catholic faith.[171]
Nothing could exceed the consternation of the Moriscoes on the
publication of this decree, for which, though so long suspended by a
thread, as it were, over their heads, they were wholly unprepared. It is
not strange, as they recalled the atrocious murders perpetrated in the
prison of the Chancery, that they should have been led to believe that
nothing less than a massacre of the whole Moorish population was now
designed. It was in vain that the marquis of Mondejar endeavoured to
allay their fears. They were somewhat comforted by the assurance of the
President Deza, given under his own hand, that their lives were in no
danger. But their apprehensions on this point were not wholly quieted
till Don John had pledged his royal word that no harm should come to
their persons; that, in short, the great object of the government was to
secure their safety. They then submitted without any attempt at
resistance. Resistance, indeed, would have been hardly possible,
destitute as they were of weapons or other means of defence, and
surrounded on all quarters by the well-armed soldiery of Castile. They
accordingly entered the churches assigned to them, at the doors of which
strong guards were stationed during the night.
On the following morning the Moriscoes were marched out and formed into
a procession, which was to take its way to the great hospital in the
suburbs. This was a noble building, erected by the good Queen Isabella
the Catholic, not long after the Conquest. Here they were to stay till
the arrangements were completed for forming them into divisions
according to their several places of destination. It was a sad and
solemn spectacle, that of this company of exiles, as they moved with
slow and uncertain step, bound together by cords,[172] and escorted, or
rather driven along like a gang of convicts, by the fierce soldiery.
There they were, the old and the young, the rich and the poor, now,
alas! brought to the same level, the forms of most of them bowed down,
less by the weight of years than of sorrow, their hands meekly folded on
their breasts, their cheeks wet with tears, as they gazed for the last
time on their beautiful city, the sweet home of their infancy, the proud
seat of ancient empire, endeared to them by so many tender and glorious
recollections.[173]
The march was conducted in an orderly manner, with but a single
interruption, which, however, was near being attended by the most
disastrous consequences. A Spanish alguazil, offended at some words that
fell from one of the prisoners--for so they might be called--requited
him with a blow from his staff. But the youth whom he struck had the
fiery blood of the Arab in his veins. Snatching up a broken tile, he
dealt such a blow on the offender's head as nearly severed his ear from
it. The act cost him his life. He was speedily cut down by the
Spaniards, who rushed to the assistance of their wounded comrade. A
rumour now went round that the Moriscoes had attempted the life of Don
John, whose dress resembled in its colour that of the alguazil. The
passions of the soldiery were roused. They flocked to the scene of
violence, uttering the most dreadful imprecations. Their swords and
lances glittered in the air, and in a few moments would have been
sheathed in the bodies of their terrified victims.
Fortunately, the quick eye of Don John discerned the confusion.
Surrounded by a body-guard of arquebusiers, he was there in person to
superintend the removal of the Moriscoes. Spurring his horse forward
into the midst of the tumult, and showing himself to the troops, he
exclaimed that no one had offered him any harm. He called on them to
return to their duty, and not to dishonour him as well as themselves, by
offering violence to innocent men, for whose protection he had so
solemnly pledged his word. The soldiers, abashed by the rebuke of their
young chief, and satisfied with the vengeance they had taken on the
offender, fell back into their ranks. The trembling Moriscoes gradually
recovered from their panic, the procession resumed its march, and
without further interruption reached the hospital of Isabella.[174]
[Sidenote: REMOVAL OF THE MORISCOES.]
There the royal _contadores_ were not long in ascertaining the number of
the exiles. It amounted to thirty-five hundred. That of the women, who
were soon to follow, was much greater.[175] The names, the ages, and the
occupations of the men were all carefully registered. The following day
they were marched into the great square before the hospital, where they
were distributed into companies, each under a strong escort, to be
conducted to their various places of destination. These, far from being
confined to Andalusia, reached into New Castile. In this arrangement we
may trust that so much respect was paid to the dictates of humanity, as
not to separate those of the same kindred from one another. But the
chroniclers give no information on the subject; probably regarding
details of this sort, in regard to the fallen race, as below the dignity
of history.
It was on the twenty-fifth of June, 1569, that, bidding a sad farewell
to the friends and companions of their youth, from whom they were now to
be for ever parted, they set forth on their doleful pilgrimage. The
morning light had broken on the red towers of the Alhambra, as the bands
of exiles, issuing from the gates of their beloved capital, the spot
dearest to them upon earth, turned their faces towards their new
homes,--homes which many of them were destined never to behold. The
government, with shameful indifference, had neglected to provide for the
poor wanderers the most common necessaries of life. Some actually
perished of hunger by the way. Others, especially those accustomed from
infancy to a delicate nurture, sank down and died of fatigue. Some were
seized by the soldiers, whose cupidity was roused by the sight of their
helplessness, and were sold as slaves. Others were murdered by their
guards in cold blood.[176] Thus reduced far below their original number,
they reached their appointed places, there to linger out the remainder
of their days in the midst of a population who held them in that
abhorrence with which a good Catholic of the sixteenth century regarded
"the enemies of God."[177]
But the evils which grew out of this stern policy of the government were
not wholly confined to the Moriscoes. This ingenious people were so far
superior to the Spaniards in the knowledge of husbandry, and in the
various mechanical arts, that they formed the most important part of the
population of Granada. The only art in which their rivals excelled them
was that which thrives at the expense of every other--the art of war.
Aware of this, the government had excepted some of the best artisans in
the capital from the doom of exile which had fallen on their countrymen,
and they had accordingly remained in the city. But their number was too
small to produce the result desired; and it was not long before the
quarter of the town which had been occupied by the Moriscoes exhibited a
scene of woeful desolation. The light and airy edifices, which displayed
in their forms the fantastic graces of Arabian architecture, fell
speedily into decay. The parterres and pleasure-grounds, filled with
exotics, and glowing in all the exuberance of southern vegetation,
became a wilderness of weeds; and the court-yards and public squares,
where tanks and sparkling fountains, fed by the streams of the Sierra
Nevada, shed a refreshing coolness over the atmosphere in the sultriest
months of summer, were soon converted into a melancholy heap of rubbish.
The mischiefs growing out of the removal of the Moriscoes fell sorely on
the army. The men had been quartered, as we have seen, in the houses of
the Moriscoes. From the present occupants, for the most part needy and
thriftless speculators, they met with very different fare from what they
had enjoyed under the former wealthy and luxurious proprietors. The
troops supplied the deficiency, as far as they could, by plundering the
citizens. Hence incessant feuds arose between the people and the army,
and a spirit of insubordination rapidly grew up in the latter, which
made it more formidable to its friends than to its foes.[178]
An eyewitness of these troubles closes his narrative of the removal of
the Moriscoes by remarking that it was a sad spectacle to one who
reflected on the former policy and prosperity of this ill-starred race;
who had seen their sumptuous mansions in the day of their glory, their
gardens and pleasure-grounds, the scene of many a gay revel and jocund
holiday, and who now contrasted all this with the ruin into which
everything had fallen.[179] "It seems," he concludes, "as if Providence
had intended to show, by the fate of this beautiful city, that the
fairest things in this world are the most subject to decay."[180] To the
philosopher of the present age it may seem rather the natural result of
that system of religious intolerance which had converted enemies those
who, under a beneficent rule, would have been true and loyal subjects,
and who by their industry and skill would have added incalculably to the
resources of the country.