WAR WITH THE TURKS.
Losses of the Combatants--Don John's Generosity--Triumphant
Return--Enthusiasm throughout Christendom--Results of the
Battle--Operations in the Levant--Conquest of Tunis--Retaken by the
Turks.
1571--1574.
Long and loud were the congratulations now paid to the young
commander-in-chief by his brave companions-in-arms, on the success of
the day. The hours passed blithely with officers and men, while they
recounted to one another their manifold achievements. But feelings of
gloom mingled with their gaiety, as they gathered tidings of the loss of
friends who had bought this victory with their blood.
It was, indeed, a sanguinary battle, surpassing, in this particular, any
sea-fight of modern times. The loss fell much the most heavily on the
Turks. There is the usual discrepancy about numbers; but it may be safe
to estimate their loss at nearly twenty-five thousand slain and five
thousand prisoners. What brought most pleasure to the hearts of the
conquerors was the liberation of twelve thousand Christian captives,
who had teen chained to the oar on board the Moslem galleys, and who now
came forth, with tears of joy streaming down their haggard cheeks, to
bless their deliverers.[328]
The loss of the allies was comparatively small,--less than eight
thousand.[329] That it was so much less than that of their enemies, may
be referred in part to their superiority in the use of fire-arms; in
part also to their exclusive use of these, instead of employing bows and
arrows, weapons on which, though much less effective, the Turks, like
the other Moslem nations, seem to have greatly relied. Lastly, the Turks
were the vanquished party, and in their heavier loss suffered the almost
invariable lot of the vanquished.
As to their armada, it may almost be said to have been annihilated. Not
more than forty galleys escaped out of near two hundred and fifty which
entered into the action. One hundred and thirty were taken and divided
among the conquerors. The remainder, sunk or burned, were swallowed up
by the waves. To counterbalance all this, the confederates are said to
have lost not more than fifteen galleys, though a much larger number,
doubtless, were rendered unfit for service. This disparity affords good
evidence of the inferiority of the Turks in the construction of their
vessels, as well as in the nautical skill required to manage them. A
great amount of booty, in the form of gold, jewels, and brocade, was
found on board several of the prizes. The galley of the
commander-in-chief alone is stated to have contained one hundred and
seventy thousand gold sequins,--a large sum, but not large enough, it
seems, to buy off his life.[330]
The losses of the combatants cannot be fairly presented without taking
into the account the quality as well as the number of the slain. The
number of persons of consideration, both Christians and Moslems, who
embarked in the expedition, was very great. The roll of slaughter showed
that in the race of glory they gave little heed to their personal
safety. The officer second in command among the Venetians, the
commander-in-chief of the Turkish armament, and the commander of its
right wing, all fell in the battle. Many a high-born cavalier closed at
Lepanto a long career of honourable service. More than one, on the other
hand, dated the commencement of their career from this day. Such was
Alexander Farnese, prince of Parma. Though he was but a few years
younger than his uncle, John of Austria, those few years had placed an
immense distance between their conditions, the one filling the post of
commander-in-chief, the other being only a private adventurer. Yet even
so, he succeeded in winning great renown by his achievements. The galley
in which he sailed was lying yardarm and yardarm alongside of a Turkish
galley, with which it was hotly engaged. In the midst of the action
Farnese sprang on board of the enemy, and with his good broadsword hewed
down all who opposed him, opening a path into which his comrades poured
one after another, and, after a short but murderous contest, succeeded
in carrying the vessel. As Farnese's galley lay just astern of Don
John's, the latter could witness the achievement of his nephew, which
filled him with an admiration he did not affect to conceal. The
intrepidity displayed by the young warrior on this occasion gave augury
of his character in later life, when he succeeded his uncle in command,
and surpassed him in military renown.[331]
[Sidenote: DON JOHN'S GENEROSITY.]
Another youth was in that fight, who, then humble and unknown, was
destined one day to win laurels of a purer and more enviable kind than
those which grow on the battle-field. This was Cervantes, who, at the
age of twenty-four, was serving on board the fleet as a common soldier.
He had been confined to his bed by a fever; but, notwithstanding the
remonstrances of his captain, he insisted, on the morning of the action,
not only on bearing arms, but on being stationed in the post of danger.
And well did he perform his duty there, as was shown by two wounds on
the breast, and by another in the hand, by which he lost the use of it.
Fortunately it was the left hand. The right yet remained to indite those
immortal productions which were to be known as household words, not only
in his own land, but in every quarter of the civilized world.[332]
A fierce storm of thunder and lightning raged for four-and-twenty hours
after the battle, during which time the fleet rode safely at anchor in
the harbour of Petala. It remained there three days longer. Don John
profited by the delay to visit the different galleys and ascertain their
condition. He informed himself of the conduct of the troops, and was
liberal of his praises to those who deserved them. With the sick and the
wounded he showed the greatest sympathy, endeavouring to alleviate their
sufferings, and furnishing them with whatever his galley contained that
could contribute to their comfort. With so generous and sympathetic a
nature, it is not wonderful that he should have established himself in
the hearts of his soldiers.[333]
But the proofs of this kindly temper were not confined to his own
followers. Among the prisoners were two sons of Ali, the Turkish
commander-in-chief. One was seventeen, the other only thirteen years of
age. Thus early had their father desired to initiate them in a
profession which, beyond all others, opened the way to eminence in
Turkey. They were not on board of his galley; and when they were
informed of his death, they were inconsolable. To this affliction was
now to be added the doom of slavery.
As they were led into the presence of Don John, the youths prostrated
themselves on the deck of his vessel. But raising them up, he
affectionately embraced them, and said all he could to console them
under their troubles. He caused them to be treated with the
consideration due to their rank. His secretary, Juan de Soto,
surrendered his quarters to them. They were provided with the richest
apparel that could be found among the spoil. Their table was served with
the same delicacies as that of the commander-in-chief; and his
chamberlains showed the same deference to them as to himself. His
kindness did not stop with these acts of chivalrous courtesy. He
received a letter from their sister Fatima, containing a touching appeal
to Don John's humanity, and soliciting the release of her orphan
brothers. He had sent a courier to give their friends in Constantinople
the assurance of their personal safety; "which," adds the lady, "is
held by all this court as an act of great courtesy,--_gran
gentileza_;--and there is no one here who does not admire the goodness
and magnanimity of your highness." She enforced her petition with a rich
present, for which she gracefully apologized, as intended to express her
own feelings, though far below his deserts.[334]
In the division of the spoil, the young princes had been assigned to the
pope. But Don John succeeded in obtaining their liberation.
Unfortunately, the elder died--of a broken heart, it is said--at Naples.
The younger was sent home, with three of his attendants, for whom he had
a particular regard. Don John declined keeping Fatima's present, which
he gave to her brother. In a letter to the Turkish princess, he remarked
that he had done this, not because he undervalued her beautiful gift,
but because it had ever been the habit of his royal ancestors freely to
grant their favours to those who stood in need of them, but not to
receive aught by way of recompense.[335]
The same noble nature he showed in his conduct towards Veniero. We have
seen the friendly demonstration he made to the testy Venetian on
entering into battle. He now desired his presence on board his galley.
As he drew near, Don John came forward frankly to greet him. He spoke of
his desire to bury the past in oblivion, and complimenting the veteran
on his prowess in the late engagement, saluted him with the endearing
name of "father." The old soldier, not prepared for so kind a welcome,
burst into tears; and there was no one, says the chronicler who tells
the anecdote, that could witness the scene with a dry eye.[336]
While at Petala, a council of war was called to decide on the next
operations of the fleet. Some were for following up the blow by an
immediate attack on Constantinople. Others considered that, from the
want of provisions and the damaged state of the vessels, they were in no
condition for such an enterprise. They recommended that the armada
should be disbanded, that the several squadrons of which it was composed
should return to their respective winter quarters, and meet again in the
spring to resume operations. Others, again, among whom was Don John,
thought that before disbanding, they should undertake some enterprise
commensurate with their strength. It was accordingly determined to lay
siege to Santa Maura, in the island of Leucadia, a strongly-fortified
place, which commanded the northern entrance into the Gulf of Lepanto.
[Sidenote: DON JUAN'S TRIUMPHANT RETURN]
The fleet, weighing anchor on the eleventh of October, arrived off Santa
Maura on the following day. On a careful reconnaissance of the ground,
it became evident that the siege would be a work of much greater
difficulty than had been anticipated. A council of war was again
summoned; and it was resolved, as the season was far advanced, to
suspend further operations for the present, to return to winter
quarters, and in the ensuing spring to open the campaign under more
favourable auspices.
The next step was to make a division of the spoil taken from the enemy,
which was done in a manner satisfactory to all parties. One half of the
galleys and inferior vessels, of the artillery and small arms, and also
of the captives, was set apart for the Catholic king. The other half was
divided between the pope and the republic, in the proportion settled by
the treaty of confederation.[337] Next proceeding to Corfu, Don John
passed three days at that island, making some necessary repairs of his
vessels; then, bidding adieu to the confederates, he directed his course
to Messina, which he reached, after a stormy passage, on the
thirty-first of the month.
We may imagine the joy with which he was welcomed by the inhabitants of
that city, which he had left but little more than six weeks before, and
to which he had now returned in triumph, after winning the most
memorable naval victory of modern times. The whole population, with the
magistrates at their head, hurried down to the shore to witness the
magnificent spectacle. As the gallant armament swept into port, it
showed the results of the late contest in many a scar. But the
consecrated standard was still proudly flying at the masthead of the
_Real_; and in the rear came the long line of conquered galleys, in much
worse plight than their conquerors, trailing their banners ignominiously
behind them in the water. On landing at the head of his troops, Don John
was greeted with flourishes of music, while salvoes of artillery
thundered from the fortresses which commanded the city. He was received
under a gorgeous canopy, and escorted by a numerous concourse of
citizens and soldiers. The clergy, mingling in the procession, broke
forth into the _Te Deum_; and thus entering the cathedral, they all
joined in thanksgivings to the Almighty, for granting them so glorious a
victory.[338]
Don John was sumptuously lodged in the castle. He was complimented with
a superb banquet,--a mode of expressing the public gratitude not
confined to our day,--and received a more substantial guerdon in a
present from the city of thirty thousand crowns. Finally, a colossal
statue in bronze was executed by a skilful artist, as a permanent
memorial of the conqueror of Lepanto. Don John accepted the money, but
it was only to devote it to the relief of the sick and wounded soldiers.
In the same generous spirit, he had ordered that all his own share of
the booty taken in the Turkish vessels, including the large amount of
gold and rich brocades found in the galley of Ali Pasha, should be
distributed among the captors.[339]
The news of the victory of Lepanto caused a profound sensation
throughout Christendom; for it had been a general opinion that the Turks
were invincible by sea. The confederates more particularly testified
their joy by such extraordinary demonstrations as showed the extent of
their previous fears. In Venice, which might be said to have gained a
new lease of existence from the result of the battle, the doge, the
senators, and the people met in the great square of St. Mark, and
congratulated one another on the triumph of their arms. By a public
decree, the seventh of October was set apart, to be observed for ever as
a national anniversary.
The joy was scarcely less in Naples, where the people had so often seen
their coasts desolated by the Ottoman cruisers; and when their admiral,
the marquis of Santa Cruz, returned to port with his squadron, he was
welcomed with acclamations such as greet the conqueror returning from
his campaign.
But even these honours were inferior to those which in Rome were paid to
Colonna, the Captain-general of the papal fleet. As he was borne in
stately procession, with the trophies won from the enemy carried before
him, and a throng of mourning captives in the rear, the spectacle
recalled the splendours of the ancient Roman triumph. Pius the Fifth
had, before this, announced that the victory of the Christians had been
revealed to him from Heaven. But when the tidings reached him of the
actual result, it so far transcended his expectations, that, overcome by
his emotions, the old pontiff burst into a flood of tears, exclaiming in
the words of the Evangelist, "There was a man sent from God; and his
name was John."[340]
We may readily believe that the joy with which the glad tidings were
welcomed in Spain fell nothing short of that with which they were
received in other parts of Christendom. While lying off Petala, Don John
sent Lope de Figueroa with despatches for the king, together with the
great Ottoman standard, as the most glorious trophy taken in the
battle.[341] He soon after sent a courier with further letters. It so
happened that neither the one nor the other arrived at the place of
their destination till some weeks after the intelligence had reached
Philip by another channel. This was the Venetian Minister, who on the
last of October received despatches from his own government, containing
a full account of the fight. Hastening with them to the palace, he found
the king in his private chapel, attending vespers on the eve of
All-Saints. The news, it cannot be doubted, filled his soul with joy;
though _it is said_ that, far from exhibiting this in his demeanour, he
continued to be occupied with his devotions, without the least change of
countenance, till the services were concluded. He then ordered _Te Deum_
to be sung.[342] All present joined with overflowing hearts in pouring
forth their gratitude to the Lord of Hosts for granting such a triumph
to the Cross.[343]
[Sidenote: ENTHUSIASM THROUGHOUT CHRISTENDOM.]
That night there was a grand illumination in Madrid. The following day
mass was said by the papal legate in presence of the king, who
afterwards took part in a solemn procession to the church of St. Mary,
where the people united with the court in a general thanksgiving.
In a letter from Philip to his brother, dated from the Escorial, the
twenty-ninth of November, he writes to him out of the fulness of his
heart, in the language of gratitude and brotherly love:--"I cannot
express to you the joy it has given me to learn the particulars of your
conduct in the battle, of the great valour you showed in your own
person, and your watchfulness in giving proper directions to others--all
which has doubtless been a principal cause of the victory. So to you,
after God, I am to make my acknowledgments for it, as I now do; and
happy am I that it has been reserved for one so near and so dear to me
to perform this great work, which has gained such glory for you in the
eyes of God and of the whole world."[344]
The feelings of the king were fully shared by his subjects. The
enthusiasm roused throughout the country by the great victory was
without bounds. "There is no man," writes one of the royal secretaries
to Don John, "who does not discern the hand of the Lord in it;--though
it seems rather like a dream than a reality, so far does it transcend
any naval encounter that the world ever heard of before."[345] The best
sculptors and painters were employed to perpetuate the memory of the
glorious event. Amongst the number was Titian, who in the time of
Charles the Fifth had passed two years in Spain, and who now, when more
than ninety years of age, executed the great picture of "The Victory of
the League," still hanging on the walls of the _Museo_ at Madrid.[346]
The lofty theme proved a fruitful source of inspiration to the Castilian
muse. Among hecatombs of epics and lyrics, the heroic poem of
Ercilla[347] and the sublime _cancion_ of Fernando de Herrera perpetuate
the memory of the victory of Lepanto in forms more durable than canvas
or marble--as imperishable as the language itself.
While all were thus ready to render homage to the talent and bravery
which had won the greatest battle of the time, men, as they grew cooler,
and could criticise events more carefully, were disposed to ask, where
were the fruits of this great victory. Had Don John's father, Charles
the Fifth, gained such a victory, it was said, he would not thus have
quitted the field, but, before the enemy could recover from the blow,
would have followed it up by another. Many expressed the conviction,
that the young generalissimo should at once have led his navy against
Constantinople.
There would indeed seem to be plausible ground for criticising his
course after the action. But we must remember, in explanation of the
conduct of Don John, that his situation was altogether different from
that of his imperial father. He possessed no such absolute authority as
the latter did over his army. The great leaders of the confederates were
so nearly equal in rank, that they each claimed a right to be consulted
on all measures of importance. The greatest jealousy existed among the
three commanders, as there did also among the troops whom they
commanded. They were all united, it is true, in their hatred to the
Turk. But they were all influenced, more or less, by the interest of
their own states, in determining the quarter where he was to be
assailed. Every rood of territory wrung from the enemy in the Levant
would only serve to enlarge the domain of Venice; while the conquests in
the western parts of the Mediterranean would strengthen the empire of
Castile. This feeling of jealousy between the Spaniards and the
Venetians was, as we have seen, so great in the early part of the
expedition, as nearly to bring ruin on it.
Those who censured Don John for not directing his arms against
Constantinople would seem to have had but a very inadequate notion of
the resources of the Porte--as shown in the course of that very year.
There is a remarkable letter from the duke of Alva, written the month
after the battle of Lepanto, in which he discusses the best course to be
taken in order to reap the full fruits of the victory. In it he
expresses the opinion, that an attempt against Constantinople, or indeed
any part of the Turkish dominions, unless supported by a general
coalition of the great powers of Christendom, must end only in
disappointment--so vast were the resources of that great empire.[348] If
this were so,--and no better judge than Alva could be found in military
affairs,--how incompetent were the means at Don John's disposal for
effecting this object--confederates held together, as the event proved,
by a rope of sand, and a fleet so much damaged in the recent combat that
many of the vessels were scarcely seaworthy!
In addition to this, it may be stated, that Don John knew it was his
brother's wish that the Spanish squadron should return to Sicily to pass
the winter.[349] If he persisted, therefore, in the campaign, he must do
so on his own responsibility. He had now accomplished the great object
for which he had put to sea. He had won a victory more complete than the
most sanguine of his countrymen had a right to anticipate. To prolong
the contest under the present circumstances, would he in a manner to
provoke his fate, to jeopard the glory he had already gained, and incur
the risk of closing the campaign with melancholy cypress, instead of the
laurel-wreath of victory. Was it surprising that even an adventurous
spirit like his should have shrunk from hazarding so vast a stake with
the odds against him?
[Sidenote: RESULTS OF THE BATTLE.]
It is a great error to speak of the victory of Lepanto as a barren
victory, which yielded no fruits to those who gained it. True, it did
not strip the Turks of an inch of territory. Even the heavy loss of
ships and soldiers which it cost them was repaired in the following
year. But the loss of reputation--that tower of strength to the
conqueror--was not to be estimated. The long and successful career of
the Ottoman princes, especially of the last one, Solyman the
Magnificent, had made the Turks to be thought invincible. There was not
a nation in Christendom that did not tremble at the idea of a war with
Turkey. The spell was now broken. Though her resources were still
boundless, she lost confidence in herself. Venice gained confidence in
proportion. When the hostile fleets met in the year following the battle
of Lepanto, the Turks, though greatly the superior in numbers, declined
the combat. For the seventy years which elapsed after the close of the
present war, the Turks abandoned their efforts to make themselves
masters of any of the rich possessions of the republic, which lay so
temptingly around them. When the two nations came next into collision,
Venice, instead of leaning on confederates, took the field
single-handed, and disputed it with an intrepidity which placed her on a
level with the gigantic power that assailed her. That power was already
on the wane; and those who have most carefully studied the history of
the Ottoman empire date the commencement of her decline from the battle
of Lepanto.[350]
The allies should have been ready with their several contingents early
in the spring of the following year, 1572. They were not ready till the
summer was well advanced. One cause of delay was the difficulty of
deciding on what quarter the Turkish empire was to be attacked. The
Venetians, from an obvious regard to their own interests, were for
continuing the war in the Levant. Philip, on the other hand, from
similar motives, would have transferred it to the western part of the
Mediterranean, and have undertaken an expedition against the Barbary
powers. Lastly, Pius the Fifth, urged by that fiery enthusiasm which
made him overlook or overleap every obstacle in his path, would have
marched on Constantinople, and then carried his conquering banners to
the Holy Land. These chimerical fancies of a crusader provoked a
smile--it may have been a sneer--from men better instructed in military
operations than the pontiff.[351]
Pius again laboured to infuse his own spirit into the monarchs of
Christendom. But it was in vain that he urged them to join the League.
All, for some reason or other, declined it. It is possible that they may
have had less fear of the Turk, than of augmenting the power of the king
of Spain. But the great plans of Pius the Fifth were terminated by his
death, which occurred on the first of May, 1572. He was the true author
of the League. It occupied his thoughts to the latest hour of his
existence; and his last act was to appropriate to its uses a
considerable sum of money lying in his coffers.[352] He may be truly
said to have been the only one of the confederates who acted solely for
what he conceived to be the interests of the Faith. This soon became
apparent.
[Sidenote: WAR WITH THE TURKS.]
The affairs of Philip the Second were at this time in a critical
situation. He much feared that one of the French faction would be
raised to the chair of St. Peter. He had great reason to distrust the
policy of France in respect to the Netherlands. Till he was more assured
on these points, he was not inclined to furnish the costly armament to
which he was pledged as his contingent. It was in vain that the allies
called on Don John to aid them with his Spanish fleet. He had orders
from his brother not to quit Messina; and it was in vain that he chafed
under these orders, which threatened thus prematurely to close the
glorious career on which he had entered, and which exposed him to the
most mortifying imputations. It was not till the sixth of July that the
king allowed him to send a part of his contingent, amounting only to
twenty-two galleys and five thousand troops, to the aid of the
confederates.
Some historians explain the conduct of Philip, not so much by the
embarrassments of his situation, as by his reluctance to afford his
brother the opportunity of adding fresh laurels to his brow, and
possibly of achieving for himself some independent sovereignty, like
that to which Pius the Fifth had encouraged him to aspire. It may be
thought some confirmation of this opinion--at least, it infers some
jealousy of his brother's pretensions--that, in his despatches to his
ministers in Italy, the king instructed them that, while they showed all
proper deference to Don John, they should be careful not to address him
in speech or in writing by the title of _Highness_, but to use that of
_Excellency_; adding, that they were not to speak of this suggestion as
coming from him.[353] He caused a similar notice to be given to the
ambassadors of France, Germany, and England. This was but a feeble
thread by which to check the flight of the young eagle as he was soaring
to the clouds. It served to show, however, that it was not the will of
his master that he should soar too high.
Happily Philip was relieved from his fears in regard to the new pope, by
the election of Cardinal Buoncampagno to the vacant throne. This
ecclesiastic, who took the name of Gregory the Thirteenth, was
personally known to the king, having in earlier life passed several
years at the court of Castile. He was well affected to that court, and
he possessed in full measure the zeal of his predecessor for carrying on
the war against the Moslems. He lost no time in sending his "briefs of
fire,"[354] as Don John called them, to rouse him to new exertions in
the cause. In France, too, Philip learned with satisfaction that the
Guises, the devoted partisans of Spain, had now the direction of public
affairs. Thus relieved from apprehensions on these two quarters, Philip
consented to his brother's departure with the remainder of his squadron.
It amounted to fifty-five galleys and thirty smaller vessels. But when
the prince reached Corfu, on the ninth of August, he found that the
confederates, tired of waiting, had already put to sea, under the
command of Colonna, in search of the Ottoman fleet.
The Porte had shown such extraordinary despatch, that in six months it
had built and equipped a hundred and twenty galleys, making, with those
already on hand, a formidable fleet.[355] It was a remarkable proof of
its resources, but suggests the idea of the wide difference between a
Turkish galley of the sixteenth century and a man-of-war in our day. The
command of the armament was given to the Algerine chieftain, Uluch Ali,
who had so adroitly managed to bring off the few vessels which effected
their escape at the battle of Lepanto. He stood deservedly high in the
confidence of the sultan, and had the supreme direction in maritime
affairs.
[Sidenote: OPERATIONS IN THE LEVANT.]
The two fleets came face to face with each other off the western coast
of the Morea. But though the Algerine commander was much superior to the
Christians in the number and strength of his vessels, he declined an
action, showing the same adroitness in eluding a battle that he had
before shown in escaping from one.
At the close of August the confederates returned to Corfu, where they
were reinforced by the rest of the Spanish squadron. The combined fleet,
with this addition, amounted to some two hundred and forty-seven
vessels, of which nearly two-thirds were galleys. It was a force
somewhat superior to that of the enemy. Thus strengthened, Don John,
unfurling the consecrated banner as generalissimo of the League, weighed
anchor, and steered with his whole fleet in a southerly direction. It
was not long before he appeared off the harbours of Modon and Navarino,
where the two divisions of the Turkish armada were lying at anchor. He
would have attacked them separately, but, notwithstanding his efforts,
failed to prevent their effecting a junction in the harbour of Modon. On
the seventh of October, Uluch Ali ventured out of port, and seemed
disposed to give battle. It was the anniversary of the fight of Lepanto;
and Don John flattered himself that he should again see his arms crowned
with victory, as on that memorable day. But if the Turkish commander was
unwilling to fight the confederates when he was superior to them in
numbers, it was not likely that he would fight them now that he was
inferior. After some manoeuvres which led to no result, he took refuge
under the castle of Modon, and again retreated into port. There Don John
would have followed him, with the design of forcing him to a battle. But
from this he was dissuaded by the other leaders of the confederates, who
considered that the chances of success in a place so strongly defended
by no means warranted the risk.
It was in vain that the allies prolonged their stay in the
neighbourhood, with the hope of enticing the enemy to an engagement. The
season wore away with no prospect of a better result. Meantime
provisions were failing, the stormy weather of autumn was drawing nigh,
and Don John, disgusted with what he regarded as the timid counsels of
his associates, and with the control which they were permitted to
exercise over him, decided, as it was now too late for any new
enterprise, to break up and postpone further action till the following
spring, when he hoped to enter on the campaign at an earlier day than he
had done this year. The allies, accordingly, on reaching the island of
Paxo, late in October, parted from each other, and withdrew to their
respective winter-quarters. Don John, with the Spanish armament,
returned to Sicily.[356]
The pope and the king of Spain, nowise discouraged by the results of the
campaign, resolved to resume operations early in the spring on a still
more formidable scale than before. But their intentions were defeated by
the startling intelligence, that Venice had entered into a separate
treaty with the Porte. The treaty, which was negotiated, it is said,
through the intervention of the French ambassador, was executed on the
seventh of March, 1573. The terms seemed somewhat extraordinary,
considering the relative positions of the parties. By the two principal
articles the republic agreed to pay the annual sum of one hundred
thousand ducats for three years to the sultan, and to cede the island of
Cyprus, the original cause of the war. One might suppose it was the
Turks, and not the Christians, who had won the battle of Lepanto.[357]
Venice was a commercial state, and doubtless had more to gain from peace
than from any war, however well conducted. In this point of view, even
such a treaty may have been politic with so formidable an enemy. But a
nation's interests, in the long run, cannot, any more than those of an
individual, be divorced from its honour. And what could be more
dishonourable than for a state secretly to make terms for herself with
the enemy, and desert the allies who had come into the war at her
solicitation and in her defence? Such conduct, indeed, was too much in
harmony with the past history of Venice, and justified the reputation
for bad faith which had made the European nations so reluctant to enter
into the League.[358]
The tidings were received by Philip with his usual composure. "If
Venice," he said, "thinks she consults her own interests by such a
proceeding, I can truly say that in what I have done I have endeavoured
to consult both her interests and those of Christendom." He, however,
spoke his mind more plainly afterwards to the Venetian ambassador. The
pope gave free vent to his feelings in the consistory, where he
denounced the conduct of Venice in the most bitter and contemptuous
terms. When the republic sent a special envoy to deprecate his anger,
and to excuse herself by the embarrassments of her situation, the
pontiff refused to see him. Don John would not believe in the defection
of Venice when the tidings were first announced to him. When he was
advised of it by a direct communication from her government, he replied
by indignantly commanding the great standard of the League to be torn
down from his galley, and in its place to be unfurled the banner of
Castile.[359]
Such was the end of the Holy League, on which Pius the Fifth had so
fully relied for the conquest of Constantinople and the recovery of
Palestine. Philip could now transfer the war to the quarter he had
preferred. He resolved, accordingly, to send an expedition to the
Barbary coast. Tunis was selected as the place of attack,--a thriving
city, and the home of many a corsair who preyed on the commerce of the
Mediterranean. It had been taken by Charles the Fifth, in the memorable
campaign of 1535, but had since been recovered by the Moslems. The
Spaniards, however, still retained possession of the strong fortress of
the Goletta, which overlooked the approaches to Tunis.
In the latter part of September, 1574, Don John left the shores of
Sicily at the head of a fleet consisting of about a hundred galleys, and
nearly as many smaller vessels. The number of his troops amounted to not
less than twenty thousand.[360] The story of the campaign is a short
one. Most of the inhabitants of Tunis fled from the city. The few who
remained did not care to bring the war on their heads by offering
resistance to the Spaniards. Don John, without so much as firing a shot,
marched in at the head of his battalions, through gates flung open to
receive him. He found an ample booty awaiting him,--nearly fifty pieces
of artillery, with ammunition and military stores, large quantities of
grain, cotton and woollen cloths, rich silks and brocades, with various
other kinds of costly merchandise. The troops spent more than a week in
sacking the place.[361] They gained, in short, everything--but glory;
for little glory was to be gained where there were no obstacles to be
overcome.
[Sidenote: DON JOHN AT TUNIS.]
Don John gave orders that no injury should be offered to the persons of
the inhabitants. He forbade that any should be made slaves. By a
proclamation, he invited all to return to their dwellings, under the
assurance of his protection. In one particular his conduct was
remarkable. Philip, disgusted with the expenses to which the maintenance
of the castle of the Goletta annually subjected him, had recommended, if
not positively directed, his brother to dismantle the place, and to
demolish in like manner the fortifications of Tunis.[362] Instead of
heeding these instructions, Don John no sooner saw himself in possession
of the capital, than he commanded the Goletta to be thoroughly repaired,
and at the same time provided for the erection of a strong fortress in
the city. This work he committed to an Italian engineer, named
Cerbelloni, a knight of Malta, with whom he left eight thousand
soldiers, to be employed in the construction of the fort, and to furnish
him with a garrison to defend it.
Don John, it is said, had been urged to take this course by his
secretary, Juan de Soto, a man of ability, but of an intriguing temper,
who fostered in his master those ambitious projects which had been
encouraged, as we have seen, by Pius the Fifth. No more eligible spot
seemed likely to present itself for the seat of his dominion than
Tunis,--a flourishing capital surrounded by a well-peopled and fruitful
territory. Philip had been warned of the unwholesome influence exerted
by De Soto; and he now sought to remove him from the person of his
brother by giving him a distinct position in the army, and by sending
another to replace him in his post of secretary. The person thus sent
was Juan de Escovedo. But it was soon found that the influence which
Escovedo acquired over the young prince was both greater and more
mischievous than that of his predecessor; and the troubles that grew out
of this new intimacy were destined, as we shall see hereafter, to form
some of the darkest pages in the history of the times.
Having provided for the security of his new acquisition, and received,
moreover, the voluntary submission of the neighbouring town of Biserta,
the Spanish commander returned with his fleet to Sicily. He landed at
Palermo, amidst the roaring of cannon, the shouts of the populace, and
the usual rejoicings that announce the return of the victorious
commander. He did not, however, prolong his stay in Sicily. After
dismissing his fleet, he proceeded to Naples, where he landed about the
middle of November. He proposed to pass the winter in this capital,
where the delicious climate and the beauty of the women, says a
contemporary chronicler, had the attractions for him that belonged
naturally to his age.[363] His partiality for Naples was amply requited
by the inhabitants, especially that lovelier portion of them whose
smiles were the well-prized guerdon of the soldier. If his brilliant
exterior and the charm of his society had excited their admiration when
he first appeared among them as an adventurer in the path of honour, how
much was this admiration likely to be increased when he returned with
the halo of glory beaming around his brow, as the successful champion of
Christendom?
The days of John of Austria glided merrily along in the gay capital of
Southern Italy. But we should wrong him did we suppose that all his
hours were passed in idle dalliance. A portion of each day, on the
contrary, was set apart for study. Another part was given to the
despatch of business. When he went abroad, he affected the society of
men distinguished for their science, or still more for their knowledge
of public affairs. In his intercourse with these persons he showed
dignity of demeanour tempered by courtesy; while his conversation
revealed those lofty aspirations which proved that his thoughts were
fixed on a higher eminence than any he had yet reached. It was clear to
every observer that ambition was the moving principle of his
actions,--the passion to which every other passion, even the love of
pleasure, was wholly subordinate.
In the midst of the gaieties of Naples his thoughts were intent on the
best means of securing his African empire. He despatched his secretary,
Escovedo, to the pope, to solicit his good offices with Philip. Gregory
entertained the same friendly feelings for Don John which his
predecessor had shown, and he good-naturedly acquiesced in his petition.
He directed his nuncio at the Castilian court to do all in his power to
promote the suit of the young chief, and to assure the king that nothing
could be more gratifying to the head of the Church than to see so worthy
a recompense bestowed on one who had rendered such signal services to
Christendom. Philip received the communication in the most gracious
manner. He was grateful, he said, for the interest which the pope
condescended to take in the fortunes of Don John; and nothing,
certainly, would be more agreeable to his own feelings than to have the
power to reward his brother according to his deserts. But to take any
steps at present in the matter would be premature. He had received
information that the sultan was making extensive preparations for the
recovery of Tunis. Before giving it away, therefore, it would be well to
see to whom it belonged.[364]
Philip's information was correct. No sooner had Selim learned the fate
of the Barbary capital, than he made prodigious efforts for driving the
Spaniards from their conquests. He assembled a powerful armament, which
he placed under the command of Uluch Ali. As lord of Algiers, that chief
had a particular interest in preventing any Christian power from
planting its foot in the neighbourhood of his own dominions. The command
of the land forces was given to Sinan Pasha, Selim's son-in-law.
Early in July, the Ottoman fleet arrived off the Barbary coast. Tunis
offered as little resistance to the arms of the Moslems as it had before
done to those of the Christians. That city had been so often transferred
from one master to another, that it seemed almost a matter of
indifference to the inhabitants to whom it belonged. But the Turks found
it a more difficult matter to reduce the castle of the Goletta and the
fort raised by the brave engineer Cerbelloni, now well advanced, though
not entirely completed. It was not till the middle of September, after
an incredible waste of life on the part of the assailants, and the
extermination of nearly the whole of the Spanish garrisons, that both
the fortresses surrendered.[365]
[Sidenote: DON JOHN ON A MISSION TO GENOA.]
No sooner was he in possession of them, than the Turkish commander did
that which Philip had in vain wished his brother to do. He razed to the
ground the fortress of the Goletta. Thus ended the campaign, in which
Spain, besides her recent conquests, saw herself stripped of the strong
castle which had defied every assault of the Moslems since the time of
Charles the Fifth.
One may naturally ask, Where was John of Austria all this time? He had
not been idle, nor had he remained an indifferent spectator of the loss
of the place he had so gallantly won for Spain. But when he first
received tidings of the presence of a Turkish fleet before Tunis, he was
absent on a mission to Genoa, or rather to its neighbourhood. That
republic was at this time torn by factions so fierce, that it was on the
brink of a civil war. The mischief threatened to extend even more
widely, as the neighbouring powers, especially France and Savoy,
prepared to take part in the quarrel, in hopes of establishing their own
authority in the state. At length Philip, who had inherited from his
father the somewhat ill-defined title of "Protector of Genoa," was
compelled to interpose in the dispute. It was on this mission that Don
John was sent, to watch more nearly the rival factions. It was not till
after this domestic broil had lasted for several months, that the
prudent policy of the Spanish monarch succeeded in reconciling the
hostile parties, and thus securing the republic from the horrors of a
civil war. He reaped the good fruits of his temperate conduct in the
maintenance of his own authority in the counsels of the republic; thus
binding to himself an ally whose navy, in time of war, served greatly to
strengthen his maritime resources.[366]
While detained on this delicate mission, Don John did what he could for
Tunis, by urging the viceroys of Sicily and Naples to send immediate aid
to the beleaguered garrisons.[367] But these functionaries seem to have
been more interested in the feuds of Genoa than in the fate of the
African colony. Granvelle, who presided over Naples, was even said to be
so jealous of the rising fame of John of Austria, as not to be unwilling
that his lofty pretensions should be somewhat humbled.[368] The supplies
sent were wholly unequal to the exigency.
Don John, impatient of the delay, as soon as he could extricate himself
from the troubles of Genoa, sailed for Naples, and thence speedily
crossed to Sicily. He there made every effort to assemble an armament,
of which he prepared, in spite of the remonstrances of his friends, to
take the command in person. But nature, no less than man, was against
him. A tempest scattered his fleet: and when he had reassembled it, and
fairly put to sea, he was baffled by contrary winds, and taking refuge
in the neighbouring port of Trapani, was detained there until tidings
reached him of the fall of Tunis. They fell heavily on his ear; for they
announced to him that all his bright visions of an African empire had
vanished, like the airy fabric of an Eastern tale. All that remained was
the consciousness that he had displeased his brother by his scheme of
independent sovereignty, and by his omission to raze the fortress of the
Goletta, the unavailing defence of which had cost the lives of so many
of his brave countrymen.
But Don John, however chagrined by the tidings, was of too elastic a
temper to yield to despondency. He was a knight-errant in the true sense
of the term. He still clung as fondly as ever to the hope of one day
carving out with his good sword an independent dominion for himself. His
first step, he considered, was to make his peace with his brother.
Though not summoned thither, he resolved to return at once to the
Castilian court,--for in that direction, he felt, lay the true road to
preferment.
BOOK VI.
CHAPTER I.
DOMESTIC AFFAIRS OF SPAIN.
Internal Administration of Spain--Absolute Power of the Crown--Royal
Councils--Alva and Ruy Gomez--Espinoza--Personal Habits of Philip--Court
and Nobles--The Cortes--The Guards of Castile.
Seventeen years had now elapsed since Philip the Second ascended the
throne of his ancestors,--a period long enough to disclose the policy of
his government; longer, indeed, than that of the entire reigns of some
of his predecessors. In the previous portion of this work, the reader
has been chiefly occupied with the foreign relations of Spain, and with
military details. It is now time to pause, and, before plunging anew
into the stormy scenes of the Netherlands, to consider the internal
administration of the country and the character and policy of the
monarch who presided over it.
The most important epoch in Castilian history since the great Saracen
invasion in the eighth century, is the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella,
when anarchy was succeeded by law, and from the elements of chaos arose
that beautiful fabric of order and constitutional liberty which promised
a new era for the nation. In the assertion of her rights, Isabella, to
whom this revolution is chiefly to be attributed, was obliged to rely on
the support of the people. It was natural that she should requite their
services by aiding them in the recovery of their own rights,--especially
of those which had been usurped by the rapacious nobles. Indeed, it was
the obvious policy of the crown to humble the pride of the aristocracy
and abate their arrogant pretensions. In this it was so well supported
by the commons, that the scheme perfectly succeeded. By the depression
of the privileged classes and the elevation of the people, the different
orders were brought more strictly within their constitutional limits;
and the state made a nearer approach to a well-balanced limited monarchy
than at any previous period of its history.
This auspicious revolution was soon, alas! to be followed by another, of
a most disastrous kind. Charles the Fifth, who succeeded his grandfather
Ferdinand, was born a foreigner,--and a foreigner he remained through
his whole life. He was a stranger to the feelings and habits of the
Spaniards, had little respect for their institutions, and as little love
for the nation. He continued to live mostly abroad; was occupied with
foreign enterprises; and the only people whom he really loved were those
of the Netherlands, his native land. The Spaniards requited these
feelings of indifference in full measure. They felt that the glory of
the imperial name shed no lustre upon them. Thus estranged at heart,
they were easily provoked to insurrection by his violation of their
rights. The insurrection was a failure; and the blow which crushed the
insurgents on the plains of Villalar, deprived them for ever of the few
liberties which they had been permitted to retain. They were excluded
from all share in the government, and were henceforth summoned to the
Cortes only to swear allegiance to the heir apparent, or to furnish
subsidies for their master. They were indeed allowed to lay their
grievances before the throne. But they had no means of enforcing
redress; for, with the cunning policy of a despot, Charles would not
receive their petitions until they had first voted the supplies.
The nobles, who had stood by their master in the struggle, fared no
better. They found too late how short-sighted was the policy which had
led them to put their faith in princes. Henceforth they could not be
said to form a necessary part of the legislature. For as they insisted
on their right to be excused from bearing any share in the burdens of
the state, they could take no part in voting the supplies; and as this
was almost the only purpose for which the Cortes was convened, their
presence was no longer required in it. Instead of the powers which were
left to them untouched by Ferdinand and Isabella, they were now amused
with high-sounding and empty titles, or with offices about the person of
the monarch. In this way they gradually sank into the unsubstantial
though glittering pageant of a court. Meanwhile the government of
Castile, assuming the powers of both making the laws and enforcing their
execution, became in its essential attributes nearly as absolute as that
of Turkey.
Such was the gigantic despotism which, on the death of Charles, passed
into the hands of Philip the Second. The son had many qualities in
common with his father. But among these was not that restless ambition
of foreign conquest which was ever goading the emperor. Nor was he, like
his father, urged by the love of glory to military achievement. He was
of too sluggish a nature to embark readily in great enterprises. He was
capable of much labour; but it was of that sedentary kind which belongs
to the cabinet rather than the camp. His tendencies were naturally
pacific: and up to the period at which we are now arrived, he had
engaged in no wars but those into which he had been drawn by the revolt
of his vassals, as in the Netherlands and Granada, or those forced on
him by circumstances beyond his control. Such was the war which he had
carried on with the pope and the French monarchy at the beginning of his
reign.
But while less ambitious than Charles of foreign acquisitions, Philip
was full as tenacious of the possessions and power which had come to him
by inheritance. Nor was it likely that the regal prerogative would
suffer any diminution in his reign, or that the nobles or commons would
be allowed to retrieve any of the immunities which they had lost under
his predecessors.
Philip understood the character of his countrymen better than his father
had done. A Spaniard by birth, he was, as I have more than once had
occasion to remark, a Spaniard in his whole nature. His tastes, his
habits, his prejudices, were all Spanish. His policy was directed solely
to the aggrandisement of Spain. The distant races whom he governed were
all strangers to him. With a few exceptions, Spaniards were the only
persons he placed in offices of trust. His Castilian countrymen saw with
pride and satisfaction that they had a native prince on the throne, who
identified his own interests with theirs. They contrasted this conduct
with that of his father, and requited it with a devotion such as they
had shown to few of his predecessors. They not only held him in
reverence, says the Venetian minister Contarini, but respected his laws,
as something sacred and inviolable.[369] It was the people of the
Netherlands who rose up against him. For similar reasons it fared just
the opposite with Charles. His Flemish countrymen remained loyal to the
last: it was his Castilian subjects who were driven to rebellion.
[Sidenote: ALVA AND RUY GOMEZ.]
Though tenacious of power, Philip had not the secret consciousness of
strength which enabled his father, unaided as it were, to bear up so
long under the burden of empire. The habitual caution of the son made
him averse to taking any step of importance without first ascertaining
the opinions of others. Yet he was not willing, like his ancestor, the
good Queen Isabella, to invoke the co-operation of the Cortes, and thus
awaken the consciousness of power in an arm of the government which had
been so long smitten with paralysis. Such an expedient was fraught with
too much danger. He found a substitute in the several councils, the
members of which, appointed by the crown and removable at its pleasure,
were pledged to the support of the prerogative.
Under Ferdinand and Isabella there had been a complete reorganization of
these councils. Their number was increased under Charles the Fifth, to
suit the increased extent of the empire. It was still further enlarged
by Philip.[370] Under him there were no less than eleven councils, among
which may be particularly noticed those of war, of finance, of justice,
and of state.[371] Of these various bodies the council of state, charged
with the most important concerns of the monarchy, was held in highest
consideration. The number of its members varied. At the time of which I
am writing, it amounted to sixteen.[372] But the weight of the business
devolved on less than half that number. It was composed of both
ecclesiastics and laymen. Among the latter were some eminent jurists. A
sprinkling of men of the robe, indeed, was to be found in most of the
councils. Philip imitated in this the policy of Ferdinand and Isabella,
who thus intended to humble the pride of the great lords, and to provide
themselves with a loyal militia, whose services would be of no little
advantage in maintaining the prerogative.
Among the members of the council of state, two may be particularly
noticed for their pre-eminence in that body. These were the duke of Alva
and Ruy Gomez de Silva, prince of Eboli. With the former the reader is
well acquainted. His great talents, his ample experience both in civil
and military life, his iron will, and the fearlessness with which he
asserted it, even his stern and overbearing manner, which seemed to
proclaim his own superiority, all marked him out as the leader of a
party.
The emperor appears to have feared the ascendancy which Alva might one
day acquire over Philip. "The duke," wrote Charles to his son in a
letter before cited, "is the ablest statesman and the best soldier I
have in my dominions. Consult him, above all, in military affairs. But
do not depend on him entirely in these or any other matters. Depend on
no one but yourself." The advice was good; and Philip did not fail to
profit by it. Though always seeking the opinions of others, it was the
better to form his own. He was too jealous of power to submit to the
control, even to the guidance, of another. With all his deference to
Alva, on whose services he set the greatest value, the king seems to
have shown him but little of that personal attachment which he evinced
for his rival, Ruy Gomez.
This nobleman was descended from an ancient house in Portugal, a branch
of which had been transplanted to Castile. He had been early received as
a page in the imperial household, where, though he was several years
older than Philip, his amiable temper, his engaging manners, and above
all, that tact which made his fortune in later life, soon rendered him
the prince's favourite. An anecdote is reported of him at this time,
which, however difficult to credit, rests on respectable authority.
While engaged in their sports, the page accidentally struck the prince.
The emperor, greatly incensed, and conceiving that such an indignity to
the heir-apparent was to be effaced only by the blood of the offender,
condemned the unhappy youth to lose his life. The tears and entreaties
of Philip at length so far softened the heart of his father, that he
consented to commute the punishment of death for exile. Indeed, it is
hard to believe that Charles had ever really intended to carry his cruel
sentence into execution. The exile was of no long duration. The society
of Gomez had become indispensable to the prince, who, pining under the
separation, at length prevailed on his father to recall the young noble,
and reinstate him in his former situation in the palace.[373]
The regard of Philip, who was not of a fickle disposition, seemed to
increase with years. We find Ruy Gomez one of the brilliant suite who
accompanied him to London on his visit there to wed the English queen.
After the emperor's abdication, Ruy Gomez continued to occupy a
distinguished place in Philip's household, as first gentleman of the
bedchamber. By virtue of this office he was required to attend his
master both at his rising and his going to rest. His situation gave him
ready access at all hours to the royal person. It was soon understood
that there was no one in the court who exercised a more important
influence over the monarch; and he naturally became the channel through
which applicants for favours sought to prefer their petitions.[374]
Meanwhile the most substantial honours were liberally bestowed on him.
He was created duke of Pastrana, with an income of twenty-five thousand
crowns--a large revenue, considering the value of money in that day. The
title of Pastrana was subsequently merged in that of Eboli, by which he
has continued to be known. It was derived from his marriage with the
princess of Eboli, Anna de Mendoza, a lady much younger than he, and,
though blind of one eye, celebrated for her beauty no less than her wit.
She was yet more celebrated for her gallantries, and for the tragic
results to which they led--a subject closely connected with the personal
history of Philip, to which I shall return hereafter.
Among his other dignities Ruy Gomez was made a member of the council of
state, in which body he exercised an influence not inferior, to say the
least of it, to that of any of his associates. His head was not turned
by his prosperity. He did not, like many a favourite before him, display
his full-blown fortunes in the eye of the world; nor, though he
maintained a state suited to his station, did he, like Wolsey, excite
the jealousy of his master by a magnificence in his way of living that
eclipsed the splendours of royalty. Far from showing arrogance to his
inferiors, he was affable to all, did what he could to serve their
interests with the king, and magnanimously spoke of his rivals in terms
of praise. By this way of proceeding he enjoyed the good fortune, rare
for a favourite, of being both caressed by his sovereign and beloved by
the people.[375]
[Sidenote: FIGUEROA AND ESPINOSA.]
There is no evidence that Ruy Gomez had the moral courage to resist the
evil tendency of Philip's policy, still less that he ventured to open
the monarch's eyes to his errors. He had too keen a regard to his own
interests to attempt this. He may have thought, probably with some
reason, that such a course would avail little with the king, and would
bring ruin on himself. His life was passed in the atmosphere of a court,
and he had imbibed its selfish spirit. He had profoundly studied the
character of his master, and he accommodated himself to all his humours
with an obsequiousness which does little honour to his memory. The duke
of Alva, who hated him with all the hatred of a rival, speaking of him
after his death, remarked: "Ruy Gomez, though not the greatest statesman
that ever lived, was such a master in the knowledge of the humours and
dispositions of kings, that we were all of us fools in comparison."[376]
Yet the influence of the favourite was, on the whole, good. He was
humane and liberal in his temper, and inclined to peace,--virtues which
were not too common in that iron age, and which in the council served
much to counteract the stern policy of Alva. Persons of a generous
nature ranged themselves under him as their leader. When John of Austria
came to court, his liberal spirit prompted him at once to lean on Ruy
Gomez as his friend and counsellor. The correspondence which passed
between them when the young soldier was on his campaigns, in which he
addressed the favourite by the epithet of "father," confessing his
errors to him and soliciting his advice, is honourable to both.
The historian Cabrera, who had often seen him, sums up the character of
Ruy Gomez by saying: "He was the first pilot who in these stormy seas
both lived and died secure, always contriving to gain a safe port."[377]
His death took place in July, 1573. "Living," adds the writer, in his
peculiar style, "he preserved the favour of his sovereign;--dead, he was
mourned by him,--and by the whole nation, which kept him in its
recollection as the pattern of loyal vassals and prudent
favourites."[378]
Besides the two leaders in the council, there were two others who
deserve to be noticed. One of these was Figueroa, count, afterwards
created by Philip duke, of Feria, a grandee of Spain. He was one of
those who accompanied the king on his first visit to England. He there
married a lady of rank, and, as the reader may remember, afterwards
represented his master at the court of Elizabeth. He was a man of
excellent parts, enriched by that kind of practical knowledge which he
had gained from foreign travel and a familiarity with courts. He lived
magnificently, somewhat encumbering his large estates indeed by his
profusion. His person was handsome; and his courteous and polished
manners made him one of the most brilliant ornaments of the royal
circle. He had a truly chivalrous sense of honour, and was greatly
esteemed by the king, who placed him near his person as captain of his
Spanish guard. Feria was a warm supporter of Ruy Gomez; and the long
friendship that subsisted between the two nobles seems never to have
been clouded by those feelings of envy and jealousy which so often arise
between rivals contending for the smiles of their sovereign.
The other member of the council of state was a person of still more
importance. This was the Cardinal Espinosa, who, though an ecclesiastic,
possessed such an acquaintance with affairs as belonged to few laymen.
Philip's eye readily discovered his uncommon qualities, and he heaped
upon him offices in rapid succession, any one of which might well have
engrossed his time. But Espinosa was as fond of labour as most men are
of ease; and in every situation he not only performed his own share of
the work, but very often that of his associates. He was made president
of the council of Castile, as well as that of the Indies, and finally a
member of the council of state. He was inquisitor-general, sat in the
royal chancery of Seville, and held the bishopric of Siguenca, one of
the richest sees in the kingdom. To crown the whole, in 1568, Pius the
Fifth, on the application of Philip, gave him a cardinal's hat. The king
seems to have taken the greater pleasure in this rapid elevation of
Espinosa, that he sprang from a comparatively humble condition; and thus
the height to which he raised him served the more keenly to mortify the
nobles.
But the cardinal, as is too often the case with those who have suddenly
risen to greatness, did not bear his honours meekly. His love of power
was insatiable; and when an office became vacant in any of his own
departments, he was prompt to secure it for one of his dependents. An
anecdote is told in relation to a place in the chancery of Granada,
which had become open by the death of the incumbent. As soon as the news
reached Madrid, Hernandez de Cordova, the royal equerry, made
application to the king for it. Philip answered that he was too late,
that the place had been already given away. "How am I to understand your
majesty?" said the petitioner; "the tidings were brought to me by a
courier the moment at which the post became vacant, and no one could
have brought them sooner unless he had wings." "That may be," said the
monarch; "but I have just given the place to another, whom the cardinal
recommended to me as I was leaving the council."[379]
Espinosa, says a contemporary, was a man of noble presence. He had the
air of one born to command. His haughty bearing, however, did little for
him with the more humble suitors, and disgusted the great lords, who
looked down with contempt on his lowly origin. They complained to the
king of his intolerable arrogance; and the king was not unwilling to
receive their charges against him. In fact, he had himself grown to be
displeased with his minister's presumption. He was weary of the
deference which, now that Espinosa had become a cardinal, he felt
obliged to pay him; of coming forward to receive him when he entered the
room; of taking off his cap to the churchman, and giving him a seat as
high as his own; finally, of allowing him to interfere in all
appointments to office. It seemed incredible, says the historian, that a
prince so jealous of his prerogatives should have submitted to all this
so long.[380] Philip was now determined to submit to it no longer; but
to tumble from its pride of place the idol which he had raised with his
own hands.
He was slow in betraying his intention, by word or act, to the
courtiers, still more to the unfortunate minister, who continued to show
the same security and confidence as if he were treading the solid
ground, instead of the crust of a volcano.
[Sidenote: THE COUNCIL OF STATE.]
At length an opportunity offered when Espinosa, in a discussion
respecting the affairs of Flanders, made a statement which the king
deemed not entirely conformable to truth. Philip at once broke in upon
the discourse with an appearance of great indignation, and charged the
minister with falsehood. The blow was the more effectual, coming from
one who had been scarcely ever known to give way to passion.[381] The
cardinal was stunned by it. He at once saw his ruin, and the vision of
glory vanished for ever. He withdrew, more dead than alive, to his
house. There he soon took to his bed; and in a short time, in September
1572, he breathed his last. His fate was that of more than one minister
whose head had been made giddy by the height to which he had
climbed.[382]
The council of state under its two great leaders, Alva and Ruy Gomez,
was sure to be divided on every question of importance. This was a
fruitful source of embarrassment, and to private suitors, especially,
occasioned infinite delay. Such was the hostility of the parties to each
other, that, if an applicant for favour secured the good-will of one of
the chiefs, he was very certain to encounter the ill-will of the
other.[383] He was a skilful pilot who in such cross seas could keep his
course.
Yet the existence of these divisions does not seem to have been
discouraged by Philip, who saw in them only the natural consequence of
rivalry for his favour. They gave him, moreover, the advantage of seeing
every question of moment well canvassed, and, by furnishing him with the
opposite opinions of his councillors, enabled him the more accurately to
form his own.
In the mean time, the value which he set on both the great chiefs made
him careful not to disgust either by any show of preference for his
rival. He held the balance adroitly between them; and if on any occasion
he bestowed a mark of his favour on the one, it was usually followed by
some equivalent to the other.[384] Thus, for the first twelve years of
his reign, their influence may be said to have been pretty equally
exerted. Then came the memorable discussion respecting the royal visit
to the Netherlands, Alva, as the reader may remember, was of the opinion
that Philip should send an army to punish the refractory and bring the
country to obedience, when the king might visit it with safety to his
own person. Ruy Gomez, on the other hand, recommended that Philip should
go at once, without an army, and by mild and conciliatory measures win
the malcontents back to their allegiance. Each advised the course most
congenial to his own temper, and the one, moreover, which would have
required the aid of his own services to carry into execution.
Unfortunately, the violent measures of Alva were more congenial to the
stern temper off the king, and the duke was sent at the head of his
battalions.
But if Alva thus gained the victory, it was Ruy Gomez who reaped the
fruits of it. Left without a rival in the council, his influence became
predominant over every other. It became still more firmly established,
as the result showed that his rival's mission was a failure. So it
continued, after Alva's return, till the favourite's death. Even then
his well-organized party was so deeply rooted, that for several years
longer it maintained an ascendancy in the cabinet, while the duke
languished in disgrace.
Philip, unlike most of his predecessors, rarely took his seat in the
council of state. It was his maxim that his ministers would more freely
discuss measures in the absence of their master than when he was there
to overawe them. The course he adopted was for a _consulta_, or a
committee of two or three members, to wait on him in his cabinet, and
report to him the proceedings of the council.[385] He more commonly,
especially in the later years of his reign, preferred to receive a full
report of the discussion, written so as to leave an ample margin for his
own commentaries. These were eminently characteristic of the man, and
were so minute as usually to cover several sheets of paper. Philip had a
reserved and unsocial temper. He preferred to work alone, in the
seclusion of his closet, rather than in the presence of others. This may
explain the reason, in part, why he seemed so much to prefer writing to
talking. Even with his private secretaries, who were always near at
hand, he chose to communicate by writing; and they had as large a mass
of his autograph notes in their possession, as if the correspondence had
been carried on from different parts of the kingdom.[386] His thoughts
too--at any rate his words--came slowly; and by writing he gained time
for the utterance of them.
Philip has been accused of indolence. As far as the body was concerned,
such an accusation was well founded. Even when young, he had no
fondness, as we have seen, for the robust and chivalrous sports of the
age. He never, like his father, conducted military expeditions in
person. He thought it wiser to follow the example of his
great-grandfather, Ferdinand the Catholic, who stayed at home and sent
his generals to command his armies. As little did he like to
travel,--forming too in this respect a great contrast to the emperor. He
had been years on the throne before he made a visit to his great
southern capital, Seville. It was a matter of complaint in Cortes that
he thus withdrew himself from the eyes of his subjects. The only sport
he cared for--not by any means to excess--was shooting with his gun or
his crossbow such game as he could find in his own grounds at the wood
of Segovia, or Aranjuez, or some other of his pleasant country seats,
none of them at a great distance from Madrid.
On a visit to such places he would take with him as large a heap of
papers as if he were a poor clerk, earning his bread; and after the
fatigues of the chase, he would retire to his cabinet and refresh
himself with his despatches.[387] It would, indeed, be a great mistake
to charge him with sluggishness of mind. He was content to toil for
hours, and long into the night, at his solitary labours.[388] No
expression of weariness or of impatience was known to escape him. A
characteristic anecdote is told of him in regard to this. Having written
a despatch, late at night, to be sent on the following morning, he
handed it to his secretary to throw some sand over it. This functionary,
who happened to be dozing, suddenly roused himself, and, snatching up
the ink-stand, emptied it on the paper. The king, coolly remarking that
"it would have been better to use the sand," set himself down, without
any complaint, to rewrite the whole of the letter.[389] A prince so much
addicted to the pen, we may well believe, must have left a large amount
of autograph materials behind him. Few monarchs, in point of fact, have
done so much in this way to illustrate the history of their reigns.
Fortunate would it have been for the historian who was to profit by it,
if the royal composition had been somewhat less diffuse and the
handwriting somewhat more legible.
[Sidenote: PERSONAL HABITS OF PHILIP.]
Philip was an economist of time, and regulated the distribution of it
with great precision. In the morning, he gave audience to foreign
ambassadors. He afterwards heard mass. After mass came dinner, in his
father's fashion. But dinner was not an affair with Philip of so much
moment as it was with Charles. He was exceedingly temperate both in
eating and drinking, and not unfrequently had his physician at his side,
to warn him against any provocative of the gout,--the hereditary disease
which at a very early period had begun to affect his health. After a
light repast, he gave audience to such of his subjects as desired to
present their memorials. He received the petitioners graciously, and
listened to all they had to say with patience,--for that was his virtue.
But his countenance was exceedingly grave,--which, in truth, was its
natural expression; and there was a reserve in his deportment which made
the boldest feel ill at ease in his presence. On such occasions he would
say, "Compose yourself,"--a recommendation that had not always the
tranquillizing effect intended.[390] Once when a papal nuncio forgot, in
his confusion, the address he had prepared, the king coolly remarked:
"If you will bring it in writing, I will read it myself, and expedite
your business."[391] It was natural that men of even the highest rank
should be overawed in the presence of a monarch who held the destinies
of so many millions in his hands, and who surrounded himself with a veil
of mystery which the most cunning politician could not penetrate.
The reserve so noticeable in his youth increased with age. He became
more difficult of access. His public audiences were much less frequent.
In the summer he would escape from them altogether, by taking refuge in
some one of his country places. His favourite retreat was his
palace-monastery of the Escorial, then slowly rising under his
patronage, and affording him an occupation congenial with his taste. He
seems, however, to have sought the country not so much from the love of
its beauties as for the retreat it afforded him from the town. When in
the latter, he rarely showed himself to the public eye, going abroad
chiefly in a close carriage, and driving late, so as to return to the
city after dark.[392]
Thus he lived in solitude even in the heart of his capital, knowing much
less of men from his own observation than from the reports that were
made to him. In availing himself of these sources of information he was
indefatigable. He caused a statistical survey of Spain to be prepared
for his own use. It was a work of immense labour, embracing a vast
amount of curious details, such as were rarely brought together in those
days.[393] He kept his spies at the principal European courts, who
furnished him with intelligence; and he was as well acquainted with what
was passing in England and in France, as if he had resided on the spot.
We have seen how well he knew the smallest details of the proceedings in
the Netherlands, sometimes even better than Margaret herself. He
employed similar means to procure information that might be of service
in making appointments to ecclesiastical and civil offices.
In his eagerness for information, his ear was ever open to accusations
against his ministers, which, as they were sure to be locked up in his
own bosom, were not slow in coming to him.[394] This filled his mind
with suspicions. He waited till time had proved their truth, treating
the object of them with particular favour till the hour of vengeance had
arrived. The reader will not have forgotten the terrible saying of
Philip's own historian, "His dagger followed close upon his smile."[395]
Even to the ministers in whom Philip appeared most to confide, he often
gave but half his confidence. Instead of frankly furnishing them with a
full statement of facts, he sometimes made so imperfect a disclosure,
that, when his measures came to be taken, his counsellors were surprised
to find of how much they had been kept in ignorance. When he
communicated to them any foreign despatches, he would not scruple to
alter the original, striking out some passages and inserting others, so
as best to serve his purpose. The copy, in this garbled form, was given
to the council. Such was the case with, a letter of Don John of Austria,
containing an account of the troubles of Genoa; the original of which,
with its numerous alterations in the royal handwriting, still exists in
the archives of Simancas.[396]
But though Philip's suspicious nature prevented him from entirely
trusting his ministers,--though with chilling reserve he kept at a
distance even those who approached him nearest,--he was kind, even
liberal, to his servants, was not capricious in his humours, and seldom,
if ever, gave way to those sallies of passion so common in princes
clothed with, absolute power. He was patient to the last degree, and
rarely changed his ministers without good cause. Ruy Gomez was not the
only courtier who continued in the royal service to the end of his days.
Philip was of a careful, or, to say truth, of a frugal disposition,
which he may well have inherited from his father; though this did not,
as with his father in later life, degenerate into parsimony. The
beginning of his reign, indeed, was distinguished by some acts of
uncommon liberality. One of these occurred at the close of Alva's
campaigns in Italy, when the king presented that commander with a
hundred and fifty thousand ducats, greatly to the discontent of the
emperor. This was contrary to his usual policy. As he grew older, and
the expenses of government pressed more heavily on him, he became more
economical. Yet those who served him had no reason, like the emperor's
servants, to complain of their master's meanness. It was observed,
however, that he was slow to recompense those who served him until they
had proved themselves worthy of it. Still it was a man's own fault, says
a contemporary, if he was not well paid for his services in the
end.[397]
[Sidenote: THE ROYAL ESTABLISHMENT.]
In one particular he indulged in a most lavish expenditure. This was his
household. It was formed on the Burgundian model,--the most stately and
magnificent in Europe. Its peculiarity consisted in the number and
quality of the members who composed it. The principal officers were
nobles of the highest rank, who frequently held posts of great
consideration in the state. Thus the duke of Alva was chief major-domo;
the prince of Eboli was first gentleman of the bedchamber; the duke of
Feria was captain of the Spanish guard. There was the grand equerry, the
grand huntsman, the chief muleteer, and a host of officers, some of whom
were designated by menial titles, though nobles and cavaliers of
family.[398] There were forty pages, sons of the most illustrious houses
in Castile. The whole household amounted to no less than fifteen hundred
persons.[399] The king's guard consisted of three hundred men, one-third
of whom were Spaniards, one-third Flemings, and the remainder
Germans.[400]
The queen had also her establishment on the same scale. She had
twenty-six ladies-in-waiting, and, among other functionaries, no less
than four physicians to watch over her health.[401]
The annual cost of the royal establishment amounted to full two hundred
thousand florins.[402] The Cortes earnestly remonstrated against this
useless prodigality, beseeching the king to place his household on the
modest scale to which the monarchs of Castile had been accustomed.[403]
And it seems singular that one usually so averse to extravagance and
pomp should have so recklessly indulged in them here. It was one of
those inconsistencies which we sometimes meet with in private life, when
a man, habitually careful of his expenses, indulges himself in some,
which taste, or, as in this case, early habits, have made him regard as
indispensable. The emperor had been careful to form the household of his
son, when very young, on the Burgundian model; and Philip, thus early
trained, probably regarded it as essential to the royal dignity.
The king did not affect an ostentation in his dress corresponding with
that of his household. This seemed to be suited to the sober-coloured
livery of his own feelings, and was almost always of black velvet or
satin, with shoes of the former material. He wore a cap garnished with
plumes after the Spanish fashion. He used few ornaments, scarce any but
the rich jewel of the Golden Fleece, which hung from his neck. But in
his attire he was scrupulously neat, says the Venetian diplomatist who
tells these particulars; and he changed his dress for a new one every
month, giving away his cast-off suits to his attendants.[404]
It was a capital defect in Philip's administration, that his love of
power and his distrust of others made him desire to do everything
himself; even those things which could be done much better by his
ministers. As he was slow in making up his own opinions, and seldom
acted without first ascertaining those of his council, we may well
understand the mischievous consequences of such delay. Loud were the
complaints of private suitors, who saw month after month pass away
without an answer to their petitions. The state suffered no less, as the
wheels of government seemed actually to stand still under the
accumulated pressure of the public business. Even when a decision did
come, it often came too late to be of service; for the circumstances
which led to it had wholly changed. Of this the reader has seen more
than one example in the Netherlands. The favourite saying of Philip,
that "time and he were a match for any other two," was a sad mistake.
The time he demanded was his ruin. It was in vain that Granvelle, who at
a later day came to Castile to assume the direction of affairs,
endeavoured, in his courtly language, to convince the king of his error,
telling him that no man could bear up under such a load of business,
which sooner or later must destroy his health, perhaps his life.[405]
A letter addressed to the king by his grand almoner, Don Luis Manrique,
told the truth in plainer terms, such as had not often reached the royal
ear. "Your majesty's subjects everywhere complain," he says, "of your
manner of doing business; sitting all day long over your papers, from
your desire, as they intimate, to seclude yourself from the world, and
from a want of confidence in your ministers.[406] Hence such
interminable delays as fill the soul of every suitor with despair. Your
subjects are discontented that you refuse to take your seat in the
council of state. The Almighty," he adds, "did not send kings into the
world to spend their days in reading or writing, or even in meditation
and prayer,"--in which Philip was understood to pass much of his
time,--"but to serve as public oracles, to which all may resort for
answers. If any sovereign have received this grace, it is your majesty;
and the greater the sin, therefore, if you do not give free access to
all."[407] One may be surprised to find that language such as this was
addressed to a prince like Philip the Second, and that he should have
borne it so patiently. But in this the king resembled his father.
Churchmen and jesters--of which latter he had usually one or two in
attendance--were privileged persons at his court. In point of fact, the
homilies of the one had as little effect as the jests of the other.
The pomp of the royal establishment was imitated on a smaller scale by
the great nobles living on their vast estates scattered over the
country. Their revenues were very large, though often heavily burdened.
Out of twenty-three dukes, in 1581, only three had an income so low as
forty thousand ducats a year.[408] That of most of the others ranged
from fifty to a hundred thousand; and that of one, the duke of Medina
Sidonia, was computed at a hundred and thirty-five thousand. Revenues
like these would not easily have been matched in that day by the
aristocracy of any other nation in Christendom.[409]
[Sidenote: POMP OF THE NOBLES.]
The Spanish grandees preferred to live on their estates in the country.
But in the winter they repaired to Madrid, and displayed their
magnificence at the court of their sovereign. Here they dazzled the eye
by the splendour of their equipages, the beauty of their horses, their
rich liveries, and the throng of their retainers. But with all this the
Castilian court was far from appearing in the eyes of foreigners a gay
one; forming in this respect a contrast to the Flemish court of Margaret
of Parma. It seemed to have imbibed much of the serious and indeed
sombre character of the monarch who presided over it. All was stately
and ceremonious, with old-fashioned manners and usages. "There is
nothing new to be seen there," write the Venetian envoys. "There is no
pleasant gossip about the events of the day. If a man is acquainted with
any news, he is too prudent to repeat it.[410] The courtiers talk
little, and for the most part are ignorant; in fact, without the least
tincture of learning. The arrogance of the great lords is beyond belief;
and when they meet a foreign ambassador, or even the nuncio of his
holiness, they rarely condescend to salute him by raising their
caps.[411] They all affect that imperturbable composure, or apathy,
which they term _sosiego_."[412]
They gave no splendid banquets, like the Flemish nobles. Their chief
amusement was gaming,--the hereditary vice of the Spaniard. They played
deep, often to the great detriment of their fortunes. This did not
displease the king. It may seem strange that a society so cold and
formal should be much addicted to intrigue.[413] In this they followed
the example of their master.
Thus passing their days in frivolous amusements and idle dalliance, the
Spanish nobles, with the lofty titles and pretensions of their
ancestors, were a degenerate race. With a few brilliant exceptions, they
filled no important posts in the state or in the army. The places of
most consideration to which they aspired were those connected with the
royal household; and their greatest honour was to possess the empty
privileges of the grandee, and to sit with their heads covered in the
presence of the king.[414]
From this life of splendid humiliation they were nothing loth to escape
into the country, where they passed their days in their ancestral
castles, surrounded by princely domains, which embraced towns and
villages within their circuit, and a population sometimes reaching to
thirty thousand families. Here the proud lords lived in truly regal
pomp. Their households were formed on that of the sovereign. They had
their major-domos, their gentlemen of the bedchamber, their grand
equerries, and other officers of rank. Their halls were filled with
hidalgos and cavaliers, and a throng of inferior retainers. They were
attended by body-guards of one or two hundred soldiers. Their dwellings
were sumptuously furnished, and their sideboards loaded with plate from
the silver quarries of the New World. Their chapels were magnificent.
Their wives affected a royal state: they had their ladies of honour; and
the page who served as cupbearer knelt while his mistress drank. Even
knights of ancient blood, whom she addressed from her seat, did not
refuse to bend the knee to her.[415]
Amidst all this splendour, the Spanish grandees had no real power to
correspond with it. They could no longer, as in the days of their
fathers, engage in fends with one another; nor could they enjoy the
privilege, so highly prized, of renouncing their allegiance and
declaring war upon their sovereign. Their numerous vassals, instead of
being gathered as of yore into a formidable military array, had sunk
into the more humble rank of retainers, who served only to swell the
idle pomp of their lord's establishment: they were no longer allowed to
bear arms, except in the service of the crown; and after the Moriscoes
had been reduced, the crown had no occasion for their services, unless
in foreign war.[416]
The measures by which Ferdinand and Isabella had broken the power of the
aristocracy had been enforced with still greater rigour by Charles the
Fifth, and were now carried out even more effectually by Philip the
Second; for Philip had the advantage of being always in Spain, while
Charles passed most of his time in other parts of his dominions. Thus
ever present, Philip was as prompt to enforce the law against the
highest noble as against the humblest of his subjects.
Men of rank commanded the armies abroad, and were sent as viceroys to
Naples, Sicily, Milan, and the provinces of the New World. But at home
they were rarely raised to civil or military office. They no longer
formed a necessary part of the national legislature, and were seldom
summoned to the meetings of the Cortes; for the Castilian noble claimed
exemption from the public burdens, and it was rarely that the Cortes
were assembled for any other purpose than to impose those burdens. Thus,
without political power of any kind, they resided like so many private
gentlemen on their estates in the country. Their princely style of
living gave no umbrage to the king, who was rather pleased to see them
dissipate their vast revenues in a way that was attended with no worse
evil than that of driving the proprietors to exactions which made them
odious to their vassals.[417] Such, we are assured by a Venetian
envoy--who, with great powers of observation, was placed in the best
situation for exerting them--was the policy of Philip. "Thus," he
concludes, "did the king make himself feared by those who, if they had
managed discreetly, might have made themselves feared by him."[418]
While the aristocracy was thus depressed, the strong arm of Charles the
Fifth had stripped the Castilian commons of their most precious rights.
Philip, happily for himself, was spared the odium of having reduced them
to this abject condition. But he was as careful as his father could have
been, that they should not rise from it. The legislative power of the
commons--that most important of all their privileges--was nearly
annihilated. The Castilian Cortes were, it is true, frequently convoked
under Philip--more frequently, on the whole, than in any preceding
reign; for in them still resided the power of voting supplies for the
crown. To have summoned them so often, therefore, was rather a proof of
the necessities of the government than of respect for the rights of the
commons.
[Sidenote: THE CORTES.]
The Cortes, it is true, still enjoyed the privilege of laying their
grievances before the king; but as they were compelled to vote the
supplies before they presented their grievances, they had lost the only
lever by which they could effectually operate on the royal will. Yet
when we review their petitions, and see the care with which they watched
over the interests of the nation, and the courage with which they
maintained them, we cannot refuse our admiration. We must acknowledge
that, under every circumstance of discouragement and oppression, the
old Castilian spirit still lingered in the hearts of the people. In
proof of this, it will not be amiss to cite a few of these petitions,
which, whether successful or not, may serve at least to show the state
of public opinion on the topics to which they relate.
One, of repeated recurrence, is a remonstrance to the king on the
enormous expense of his household--"as great," say the Cortes, "as would
be required for the conquest of a kingdom."[419] The Burgundian
establishment, independently of its costliness, found little favour with
the honest Castilian; and the Cortes prayed his majesty to abandon it,
and to return to the more simple and natural usage of his ancestors.
They represented "the pernicious effects which this manner of living
necessarily had on the great nobles and others of his subjects, prone to
follow the example of their master."[420] To one of these petitions
Philip replied, that "he would cause the matter to be inquired into, and
such measures to be taken as were most for his service." "No alteration
took place during his reign; and the Burgundian establishment, which in
1562 involved an annual charge of a hundred and fifty-six millions of
maravedis, was continued by his successor."[421]
Another remonstrance of constant recurrence--a proof of its
inefficacy--was that against the alienation of the crown lands, and the
sale of offices and the lesser titles of nobility. To this the king made
answer in much the same equivocal language as before. Another petition
besought him no longer to seek an increase of his revenue by imposing
taxes without the sanction of the Cortes, required by the ancient law
and usage of the realm. Philip's reply on this occasion was plain
enough. It was, in truth, one worthy of an eastern despot. "The
necessities," he said, "which have compelled me to resort to these
measures, far from having ceased, have increased, and are still
increasing, allowing me no alternative but to pursue the course I have
adopted."[422] Philip's embarrassments were indeed great,--far beyond
the reach of any financial skill of his ministers to remove. His various
expedients for relieving himself from the burden which, as he truly
said, was becoming heavier every day, form a curious chapter in the
history of finance. But we have not yet reached the period at which they
can be most effectively presented to the reader.
The commons strongly urged the king to complete the great work he had
early undertaken, of embodying in one code the municipal law of
Castile.[423] They gave careful attention to the administration of
justice, showed their desire for the reform of various abuses,
especially for quickening the despatch of business, proverbially slow in
Spain, and, in short, for relieving suitors, as far as possible, from
the manifold vexations to which they were daily exposed in the
tribunals. With a wise liberality they recommended that, in order to
secure the services of competent persons in judicial offices, their
salaries--in many cases wholly inadequate--should be greatly
increased.[424]
The Cortes watched with a truly parental care over the great interests
of the state--its commerce, its husbandry, and its manufactures. They
raised a loud, and as it would seem not an ineffectual, note of
remonstrance against the tyrannical practice of the crown in seizing for
its own use the bullion which, as elsewhere stated, had been imported
from the New World on their own account by the merchants of Seville.
Some of the petitions of the Cortes show what would be thought at the
present day a strange ignorance of the true principles of legislation in
respect to commerce. Thus, regarding gold and silver, independently of
their value as a medium of exchange, as constituting in a peculiar
manner the wealth of a country, they considered that the true policy was
to keep the precious metals at home, and prayed that their exportation
might be forbidden. Yet this was a common error in the sixteenth century
with other nations besides the Spaniards. It may seem singular, however,
that the experience of three-fourths of a century had not satisfied the
Castilian of the futility of such attempts to obstruct the natural
current of commercial circulation.
In the same spirit, they besought the king to prohibit the use of gold
and silver in plating copper and other substances, as well as for
wearing-apparel and articles of household luxury. It was a waste of the
precious metals, which were needed for other purposes. This petition of
the commons may be referred in part, no doubt, to their fondness for
sumptuary laws, which in Castile formed a more ample code than could be
easily found in any other country.[425] The love of costly and
ostentatious dress was a passion which they may have caught from their
neighbours, the Spanish Arabs, who delighted in this way of displaying
their opulence. It furnished accordingly, from an early period, a
fruitful theme of declamation to the clergy, in their invectives against
the pomp and vanities of the world.
Unfortunately Philip, who was so frequently deaf to the wiser
suggestions of the Cortes, gave his sanction to this petition; and in a
_pragmatic_ devoted to the object, he carried out the ideas of the
legislature as heartily as the most austere reformer could have desired.
As a state paper, it has certainly a novel aspect, going at great length
into such minute specifications of wearing-apparel, both male and
female, that it would seem to have been devised by a committee of
tailors and milliners, rather than of grave legislators.[426] The
tailors, indeed, the authors of these seductive abominations, did not
escape the direct animadversion of the Cortes. In another petition they
were denounced as unprofitable persons, occupied with needlework, like
women, instead of tilling the ground or serving his majesty in the wars,
like men.[427]
In the same spirit of impertinent legislation, the Cortes would have
regulated the expenses of the table, which, they said, of late years had
been excessive. They recommended that no one should be allowed to have
more than four dishes of meat and four of fruit served at the same meal.
They were further scandalized by the increasing use of coaches, a mode
of conveyance which had been introduced into Spain only a few years
before. They regarded them as tempting men to an effeminate indulgence,
which most of them could ill afford. They considered the practice,
moreover, as detrimental to the good horsemanship for which their
ancestors had been so renowned. They prayed, therefore, that,
considering "the nation had done well for so many years without the use
of coaches, it might henceforth be prohibited."[428] Philip so far
complied with their petition, as to forbid any one but the owner of four
horses to keep a coach. Thus he imagined that, while encouraging the
raising of horses, he should effectually discourage any but the more
wealthy from affecting this costly luxury.
[Sidenote: THE CORTES.]
There was another petition, somewhat remarkable, and worth citing, as it
shows the attachment of the Castilians to a national institution which
has often incurred the censure of foreigners. A petition of the Cortes
of 1573 prayed that some direct encouragement might be given to
bull-fights, which of late had shown symptoms of decline. They advised
that the principal towns should be required to erect additional
circuses, and to provide lances for the combatants, and music for the
entertainments, at the charge of the municipalities. They insisted on
this as important for mending the breed of horses, as well as for
furnishing a chivalrous exercise for the nobles and cavaliers. This may
excite some surprise in a spectator of our day, accustomed to see only
the most wretched hacks led to the slaughter, and men of humble
condition skirmishing in the arena. It was otherwise in those palmy days
of chivalry, when the horses employed were of a generous breed, and the
combatants were nobles, who entered the lists with as proud a feeling as
that with which they would have gone to a tourney. Even so late as the
sixteenth century it was the boast of Charles the Fifth, that, when a
young man, he had fought like a _matador_, and killed his bull. Philip
gave his assent to this petition, with a promptness which showed that he
understood the character of his countrymen.
It would be an error to regard the more exceptionable and frivolous
petitions of the Cortes, some of which have been above enumerated, as
affording a true type of the predominant character of Castilian
legislation. The laws, or, to speak correctly, the petitions of that
body, are strongly impressed with a wise and patriotic sentiment,
showing a keen perception of the wants of the community, and a tender
anxiety to relieve them. Thus we find the Cortes recommending that
guardians should be appointed to find employment for such young and
destitute persons as, without friends to aid them, had no means of
getting a livelihood for themselves.[429] They propose to have visitors
chosen, whose duty it should be to inspect the prisons every week, and
see that fitting arrangements were made for securing the health and
cleanliness of the inmates.[430] They desire that care should be taken
to have suitable accommodations provided at the inns for
travellers.[431] With their usual fondness for domestic inquisition,
they take notice of the behaviour of servants to their masters, and,
with a simplicity that may well excite a smile, they animadvert on the
conduct of maidens who, "in the absence of their mothers, spend their
idle hours in reading romances full of lies and vanities, which they
receive as truths for the government of their own conduct in their
intercourse with the world."[432] The books thus stigmatized were
doubtless the romances of chivalry, which at this period were at the
height of their popularity in Castile. Cervantes had not yet aimed at
this pestilent literature those shafts of ridicule which did more than
any legislation could have done towards driving it from the land.
The commons watched over the business of education as zealously as over
any of the material interests of the state. They inspected the condition
of the higher seminaries, and would have provision made for the
foundation of new chairs in the universities. In accordance with their
views, though not in conformity to any positive suggestion, Philip
published a pragmatic in respect to these institutions. He complained of
the practice, rapidly increasing among his subjects, of going abroad to
get their education, when the most ample provision was made for it at
home. The effect was eminently disastrous; for while the Castilian
universities languished for want of patronage, the student who went
abroad was pretty sure to return with ideas not the best suited to his
own country. The king, therefore, prohibited Spaniards from going to any
university out of his dominions, and required all now abroad to return.
This edict he accompanied with the severe penalty of forfeiture of their
secular possessions for ecclesiastics, and of banishment and
confiscation of property for laymen.[433]