By one of its articles the Holy League insists that every year in the
month of March, or in April at the latest, the squadrons of the three
Powers should set out to sea, with an army at least equal to the one of
1571. But when Pius V died on the 1st of May, 1572, the Powers had not
been able to agree about this second campaign, in spite of the
superhuman efforts of the saintly old man. At last, in July, his
successor, Gregory XIII, managed to get the matter settled, and in July,
on the 6th, D. John of Austria left the port of Messina with Marco
Antonio Colonna, to join the Venetian fleet which was cruising in the
Levant at Corfu. Jacobo Foscarini commanded instead of old Sebastian
Veniero, against whom D. John had made grave complaints before the
Venetian Senate. The Duque de Sesa was D. John's lieutenant in the place
of the Knight Commander D. Luis de Requesens who had been appointed
Governor of Milan by Philip II. These were the only changes in the
fleet.
"This expedition," says an historian, "was undertaken with inexcusable
delay, continued with slowness, and failed through quarrels. Nobody
could have believed in October, 1571, that the victors of Lepanto could
have returned thus in 1572." They did return, without having engaged in
any definite battle with the Turk, and without other loot than the
magnificent galley belonging to Barbarossa's grandson, taken by the
Marqués de Santa Cruz and brought back to Naples, to be rechristened "La
Presa." Then the expedition was considered ended, and the Venetians went
to winter in Corfu, the Pontifical fleet at Rome, and D. John of Austria
with his squadron to Messina and from there to Naples, where by
ill-fortune Philip II had ordered him to spend the winter.
It was an unfortunate circumstance, for what Doña Magdalena de Ulloa
with her maternal foresight had foretold, when she sent D. John to the
Granada war, came to pass: "Indolent wealth will be always prejudicial
to his youth, and it is only by the labours and responsibilities of war
that he will be able to balance the youthful ardour of his nature." D.
John found himself unoccupied, because, while the fleet wintered, the
duties of his command did not satisfy his longing for activity; he was
wounded in his pride, that his advice about the organisation and
commencement of this campaign had not been listened to, the scanty
results of which were now deplored by all, when it was too late, proving
the Generalissimo to have been right. Something, therefore, was
necessary to distract him and fill up his time, and this he found in
that delightful country, under that matchless sky, in that corrupt
Naples of the sixteenth century, as dangerous then in its treacherous
delights as it is to-day.
Naples was at that time one of the most beautiful cities in Italy or in
Europe; the famous Viceroy D. Pedro de Toledo had enlarged and
beautified it, throwing down the old walls, and constructing magnificent
palaces, monasteries and churches in the two miles which this
improvement added to the town. He also caused streets and squares to be
paved, and filled with trees and fountains, and made the celebrated road
more than half a league long, full of sumptuous palaces, which he named
the street of the Holy Spirit, and which to-day is called the street of
Toledo in his honour. Naples had then more than 300,000 inhabitants, and
was the centre to which all the aristocracy of the Kingdom flocked.
In D. John's day, 40 Princes lived there, 25 Dukes, 36 Marquises, 54
Counts, 488 Barons, and numberless gentlemen, not so rich in money as in
titles, and sometimes absolutely poor, but not the less proud of their
nobility on account of this, and as disdainful as the rest, with no
other occupations than riding, games with arms, and to "ruar," that is
to saunter about the streets, paying compliments to the ladies, and
lazily gossiping in the thousand comfortable seats which it was the
custom of the city to provide in the squares and streets.
So, what we call good society was very numerous at Naples, and in it
could be noted, in certain elevated circles, as to-day, that fatal
anxiety for enjoyment and amusement of every possible kind, as if life
had no other aim or object. That lazy nobility, strange medley of the
virtues and vices of the time, strongly tinged with paganism, a relic of
the Renaissance, flighty and chivalrous, cultured and wild, devout and
corrupt, welcomed the hero of Lepanto as a demi-god, whose human charms,
which were many and great, were enhanced by the divine rays of Genius
and Glory. The men, overcome with admiration, slavishly imitated him,
the women, in love with his winning presence, vied with each other for
his glances, and solicited his favours as supernatural honours, and the
people idle too, and captivated with so much grace and splendour,
exaggerated his deeds and triumphs, followed him, and enthusiastically
applauded his skill and undoubted bravery in the cane jousts, and games
of "pelota," in masquerades, tournaments and bull-fights.
In the diary of D. John's confessor, Fr. Miguel Servia, who had followed
him to Naples, we notice a circumstance which will make those smile
sadly who know the frailty of the human heart. The more D. John was
engulfed in the pleasures of Naples, the more the regularity and the
frequency with which the good Franciscan notes this simple phrase in his
diary diminishes, "To-day his Highness confessed."
Submerged in these pleasures and the continual amusements of Naples,
there happened to D. John what always happens to the unwary, passionate
youth, that he went further than he intended.
There was outside assistance for this first false step of D. John's in
Naples, which astonishes to-day more than it did then. This is what
happened. In the stable-yard of the Viceroy's palace, who was then the
Cardinal de Granvelle, there was a bull-fight every Sunday. The noble
families were invited in turns, as the place was too small for them all
to be bidden at one time; and the last Sunday in October, a radiant day
of a Neapolitan autumn, it fell to the lot of a certain gentleman of
Sorrento named Antonio Falangola, who lived in Naples with his wife
Lucrecia Brancia and his daughter Diana, said to be the handsomest woman
in Naples: "La piu bella donna di Napoli," says the Knight Viani.
Antonio Falangola was poor for his position, swaggering and not at all
scrupulous: Lucrecia sly and hypocritical, and both intending to profit
by the beauty of their daughter, who for her part was a great flirt.
They showed themselves everywhere therefore, displaying much luxury and
ostentation, leaving hidden at home the misery and want due to their
poverty. They arrived that Sunday at the bull-fight in a coach, the
ladies finely dressed, and accompanied by duennas and pages, and settled
themselves in the seats covered with damask and tapestry, opposite the
place reserved for D. John of Austria.
He was not there at the moment, as he was going to spear the bull in the
Spanish fashion, and waited in the little yard until it was his turn to
go into the arena. D. John speared his bull successfully, leaving the
neck covered with "banderillas" of all colours, which streamed on each
side of the bull's head; two gentlemen on horseback gave him the spear,
and they in their turn took them from servants wearing the Granvelle
livery. Then they gave him a big dart of ash with its wide iron sharp
and clean; at the first thrust he killed the wild animal, with a lunge
in the nape of the neck which made it fall to the ground, pierced with
the weapon, but the horse had no blinkers, so that the bull frightened
it, and it gave a false start, allowing the bull to wound it in one of
its shoulders, thus spoiling the brilliance of the feat.
D. John returned to his place on the seats, surrounded by a crowd of
gentlemen who with much adulation applauded his skill and intrepidity,
and Cardinal Granvelle also came to congratulate him: showing him Diana
Falangola from afar on the seats opposite, as something wonderful, and
D. John, who did not know her, was amazed.
It was then the custom for ladies to throw from the seats, at the bull,
what were called "garrochas," which were small darts with sharp points,
very like modern "banderillas." These "garrochas" were smartly adorned
with flowers, ribbons and feathers; the ladies threw them at the bull
with extraordinary skill, and it was very much admired gallantry for the
youth of that day to draw them out of the beast with brave daring and
return them to the ladies, without a stain or perceptible harm done to
the flowers and ribbons or feathers.
D. John took one of these little "garrochas," very smart with its white
and yellow ribbons, which were the colours of Diana Falangola, and sent
it to her by a little page with a polite message, begging her to throw
it, for love of him, at the first bull which appeared. Diana received
the "garrocha" with transports of gratitude, and it was worth seeing the
obeisance of the father, the bows of the mother, and the attitude of the
daughter, who seemed not to wish to throw the "garrocha" for fear of
losing or destroying it, but to prefer to keep it like a beautiful toy
as a remembrance of the Prince.
D. John sent a second message saying she must throw it: and that he gave
her his word to return it to her unhurt. On this, the bull, a very
fierce one, black as night, called Caifas, entered the ring; and as luck
would have it, after some turns came, snorting, to a standstill in front
of the seat of Diana Falangola, fierce and holding his head high,
casting wild eyes round the arena, as if seeking enemies to fight. D.
John made repeated signs to Diana from his place, until the maiden stood
up, threw and stuck with sure aim and great strength the "garrocha" in
the back of the bull. The ring broke into applause which stopped at
once: all saw D. John jump bravely alone into the arena, a naked sword
in one hand, a scarlet cloak in the other. All held their breath and the
silence was absolute; the bull was penned at one end bellowing and
scraping the ground as if anxious to attack; D. John went straight up to
him and at twenty steps called him, stamping on the ground. The bull
dashed forward with violence, and D. John, throwing the cloak to the
ground to the left, tore the "garrocha" out on the right, at the same
time giving such a strong cut on the muzzle, that the animal withdrew
from the man, and went and savagely laid hold of the red cloth with
roars of pain and in clouds of dust. Meanwhile D. John quietly and
slowly walked to Diana Falangola's seat, and cap in hand, on one knee,
smilingly presented the "garrocha" to her, without a speck of blood to
spoil it, or a stain to mar its feathers and ribbons.
Antonio Falangola, touched and beside himself with joy, craved
permission to wait with his wife and daughter on D. John the next day to
show his gratitude. The day after D. John returned the visit, making
rich gifts to Lucrecia and Diana, and soon afterwards Antonio Falangola
set out for Puzzoli, of which he had been appointed Governor by
Granvelle, leaving his wife and daughter at Naples: "To appear to know
nothing about his shame," writes the spiteful author of the manuscript,
"Fatti occorsi nella città di Napoli," in the national archives of that
famous city.