Four years before these events, in June, 1571, a little old, nervous and
active Italian arrived in Madrid. He called himself Giulio Benasai, a
merchant from Genoa; he stopped at an inn, near the gate of the Viper,
now the Puerta Cerrada, and very early the next day began his visits,
which were anything but commercial ones. He visited Monsignor Ormanetto,
the Pope's Nuncio; Dr. Milio, governor, in the Duke's absence, of the
Alba estates; the secretaries Zayas and Mateo Vázguez, and lastly, five
days after his arrival, on the 28th, he visited the King, Philip II, at
the Castle. This visit, however, was very different from the others, it
was paid secretly at night, and once inside the Castle he no longer
called himself Giulio Benasai, or a native of Genoa, or a merchant. His
name was Roberto Ridolfi, a banker in London, and secret agent of His
Holiness Pius V in that heretic country.
Ridolfi gave three letters, substantially alike, into Philip's own
hands. These begged him to give Ridolfi his entire confidence, and to
undertake what he would explain, granting all the resources he deemed
prudent in order to further the enterprise. They were from no less
personages than Pius V, the Queen of Scots, Mary Stuart, then a prisoner
in England, and the third one from the Duke of Norfolk.
The project was this; to capture the heretic Queen of England,
Elizabeth, and the lords of her Council, and shut them up in the Tower
of London; to marry the lawful Queen, Mary Stuart, to the Duke of
Norfolk, and in this way to re-establish Catholicism in England and
Scotland. Philip's aid was sought for the plan, and they had already
obtained the support of the most influential English lords and of Mary's
partisans in Scotland, who were then numerous and powerful. The Pope had
prepared the way by hurling his terrible Bull against Elizabeth,
declaring her to be an obstinate heretic and an abettor of heresy,
deposing her from the English throne and absolving her subjects from
their oaths of fealty and obedience. He promised, moreover, all the
funds that the Holy See had at its disposal.
For this enterprise the Duke of Norfolk asked the King of Spain for 6000
arquebusiers, 4000 arquebuses, 2000 cuirasses and 25 pieces of
artillery, with the necessary money and ammunition. He promised, for his
part, to raise in England 3000 horsemen and 2000 foot soldiers and to
undertake the dangerous task of capturing the Queen and her Councillors
and of setting Mary Stuart free. He also promised to remain on his
estates in Norfolk, facing the coast of Holland, to protect the landing
of the troops that the Duque de Alba was to send from Flanders. The
Duque had talked to Ridolfi in Brussels and approved of the plan, with
certain reservations, and even thought it an easy one, once Elizabeth
was either captured or dead; he waited, however, for the orders and
consent of his Sovereign.
Philip II listened to Ridolfi with his usual reserve and caution, and
sent him to the Escorial, where the Duque de Feria examined him at
length, and where an important council was held on the 7th of July, the
minutes of which are preserved in the archives at Simancas. They all
approved of the plan and agreed to order its prompt execution by the
Duque de Alba. But such was the slowness of Philip in settling the
details and such was his indecision about dictating the last orders,
that time was given for Norfolk to be denounced, tried, and publicly
beheaded in London.
It was this scheme, ruined by the death of Norfolk, which Gregory XIII
wished to resuscitate. He sent another Bull, similar to the one of Pius
V, giving the sovereignty of England to her legitimate Queen, Mary
Stuart, and marrying her to D. John of Austria, who was to command the
Spanish hosts which were to invade England. The Pope had already
consulted the English and Scotch lords and other magnates who were
willing to support Norfolk's movement, and they undertook to perform all
that they had previously promised to the unhappy Duke. To reinstate the
plan in the same advantageous position it had held in the days of Pius V
only the consent and help of Philip and D. John were lacking. At his
interview at Gaeta with Jacobo Boncompagni D. John enthusiastically gave
his consent, subject to his brother's will, which was for him an
unbreakable law. But Philip, on his part, received the proposal coldly
when it was unfolded to him in the name of Gregory XIII by the Nuncio
Ormanetto; he very courteously thanked the Pope for the favour shown to
his brother, but excused himself from helping the enterprise because of
the necessity there was of concentrating large armies in Italy for fear
of the Turk, who had been heartened by the triumph of Tunis, and in
Flanders where the rebels were also encouraged by the departure of the
Duque de Alba. And as the Nuncio argued, pointing out the truth so well
known to the politicians of the day, that the focus of the rebellion had
to be stamped out, not in Flanders, but in England, where the Queen was
always stirring it up and helping the rebels in every way, D. Philip
answered that this was true and that he knew it full well; but that all
the same he could not remove a single pike from Flanders until the new
policy of gentleness and reconciliation, which he had entrusted to the
Knight Commander Requesens, had taken effect. Then he would consider
whether or no the expedition to England would suit him.
Philip gave his brother the same answer when they treated of the
circumstance, adding other reasons, all tending to bind D. John tighter
to his service, without disappointing him or at once dissipating the
dreams he might have woven round such a romantic plan as conquering a
kingdom by setting a beautiful captive queen at liberty, which must have
appealed so strongly to D. John's chivalrous fancy. So D. Philip
promised, without any intention of fulfilling it, according to Antonio
Pérez, or as we think, meaning to do so if it suited the plans of his
policy to favour Gregory's scheme when the danger of a fresh war with
the Turk, which then threatened, was over.
And as if to bring D. John down from the sphere of heroic ideas, where
genius usually dwells, to the petty weaknesses among which most mortals
struggle, in the next line the King spoke of what in certain ways was
the only thing which could humiliate and shame D. John, and which
embittered his life—the conduct of his mother—which had reached such a
pitch that no one frequented her house but low persons, among whom was
an Englishman, supposed to be on too intimate terms with her. The Duque
de Alba, who, though severe, was not straitlaced, had upbraided her
without success several times, and, tired out, had decided to write the
following letter to the secretary Zayas:
"Very magt. Sir. An affair is taking place here which much
troubles me, because I have tried by every means to remedy it,
without success, and it has reached such lengths, that it would
be well if H.M. should quickly cure it. You will be doing me a
favour to tell H.M. that the mother of D. John lives with so
much liberty, in a manner so unlike that in which the mother of
such a son should live, that it is necessary to put a stop to
it, as the affair is so public and so free and open that they
tell me that no honourable woman will enter her doors. Things
have come to such a pass that they are changing the servants
every week, and in my absence she has gone so far, that most
days there are dances and banquets. She has turned out the two
honourable old spinsters I placed near her and has filled their
places with low women. She is dreadful and very obstinate. His
Majesty will order what he wills, I had resolved to take her by
night and put her in a convent, but I did not like to do so
without first consulting him."
D. Philip answered the Duque de Alba by the following letter written in
cipher.
"The King.
"Duke and Cousin. Cayas has shown me the letter you wrote about
my brother D. John's mother, which, for reasons you mention and
enter into, grieves me much, because she does not live with
seemly modesty and respectability; and it appears to me, as it
does to you, that the only thing to do is to bring her here, and
her son is also of the same opinion, to whom I have sent Juan de
Soto, to say I have done it for her welfare, these States being
in the condition they are, without saying more, as there was no
need to do so, and, as I understand the journey is to be by sea,
if they were to tell her beforehand, it is very likely that she
would do something foolish; it would be well to keep her in the
dark until a safe ship is found, and then, everything being
ready and the weather fine, to put her on board, whether she
likes it or not, with a suitable retinue, giving orders that
everything necessary for the journey should be provided, and
that during it she should be well treated. Let me know in time,
that she may be met at the port, and from there taken to the
nearest and most suitable convent, which I have not yet decided
on."
It was not the first time that the brothers had talked about this
painful subject; but now D. John knew all, without palliation or
reserve. D. Philip told him in wise and tactful words, like a kind
surgeon, who, without wishing to pain, probes a wound, and suggested the
remedy like a father who discusses a sad family matter. As there was no
other way, they determined to remove Barbara Blombergh from Flanders by
deceiving her, and to bring her to Spain, where, by D. John's proposal,
she should be given into the charge of Doña Magdalena de Ulloa, that
this noble lady should settle her in her own proximity, wherever, in her
prudence, discretion and charity, she deemed best. This idea appeared an
excellent one to D. Philip, and a few days later D. John set out for
Abrojo, where Doña Magdalena was expecting him.
Never had the mourning figure seemed so dignified to him, or had he
found such sweet and deep repose in her company, or thought that he saw
in her still beautiful eyes such intense love, such maternal solicitude,
or such tender grace as when she showed him the big coffers of linen
which she had ready for him, neckties of Flemish point which she herself
tried on, and the full starched ruffs, very full as she knew that he
liked them.
And it was his yearning for a mother, exasperated by the disillusion
about his own parent, that was comforted by the pure love and great
virtues of that other whom a merciful Heaven had sent to him. D. John
stayed four days at Abrojo, confiding everything that was on his mind to
Doña Magdalena, joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, triumphs and
disappointments, errors and repentances; and when she said good-bye at
the convent door, she thought, as she did the first time she saw him on
the staircase of Villagarcia, "It is a pity he is not really my son!"
And he said to himself with infinite bitterness, as he kissed her hand
for the last time, "It is a pity that she is not really my mother."
D. John left Abrojo with the profound regret and vague mistrust that a
wanderer feels who sets out on the desert sand after a day's rest in an
oasis. A friendly voice, however, encouraged him all that day, telling
him that a glorious future was his, if he fought with firmness and
waited with patience, which is the advice constancy gives that fiery
activity should achieve its purpose: that Gregory XIII's idea was
certain to be realised because it was great and just, and easy and
feasible, and in the end he would share the throne with the hitherto
unfortunate Queen of Scots; the England of D. John and the Spain of
Philip being the two strong pillars of the Holy Catholic Church.
He who spoke thus to D. John was Escovedo, whom Philip had commissioned
to moderate D. John's ambitious thoughts. And the most strange thing is
that Escovedo was clever and honest and was talking seriously.