French intrigue against Mary—England at war with France—Battle of St. Quintin—Philip’s tardiness—The English contingent—The loss of Calais—Feria goes to England—His negotiations—Condition of England—The English fleet used by Philip—Philip and Elizabeth—Negotiations for peace—Death of Mary—Plans for Elizabeth’s marriage—Peace of Cateau Cambresis—Philip’s policy in England.
French intrigue against Mary—England at war with France—Battle of St. Quintin—Philip’s tardiness—The English contingent—The loss of Calais—Feria goes to England—His negotiations—Condition of England—The English fleet used by Philip—Philip and Elizabeth—Negotiations for peace—Death of Mary—Plans for Elizabeth’s marriage—Peace of Cateau Cambresis—Philip’s policy in England.
PHILIParrived in England on March 20, 1557, and at once tried to influence his wife to the ends he had in view. She on her part had not forgiven the intrigues of the French and De Noailles against her, and was willing to be revenged; but the council and, above all, the nation, had always dreaded this probable result of a Spanish match. They had no special quarrel with the King of France, and had no wish to be drawn into a war with him to benefit Philip’s Italian supremacy.
In the meanwhile Henry II. tried to counteract Philip’s efforts in England. The abortive risings at the beginning of Mary’s reign had cast a great number of refugee Englishmen on to the coast of France—Carews, Staffords, Tremaynes, and the like,—and these men had always been held by the French king as a card in his hand to play against Mary in need, for the purpose ofraising a diversion in her own country. He once more adopted the same policy, making much of the exiles, ostentatiously helping them, and hinting at hostile designs against Calais, and even England itself. Henry meant it for a feint, but hare-brained Stafford, with vague hopes of a crown, started from Dieppe with two ships on Easter Sunday 1557. He seized Scarborough Castle, but was seized himself directly afterwards, and he and his friends incontinently lost their heads. But it was enough that they had been cherished by the French king, and had started from a French port. With such an argument as this, Mary was able to persuade her council, and Philip had his way. On June 7 war against France was declared, and on July 3 the king bade his wife what was destined to be an eternal farewell, and left for Brussels. Eight thousand English troops were at once made ready to join Philip’s army in Flanders, under his young cousin Emmanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy, which amounted in all to 50,000 men. Constable Montmorenci commanded the French force, which was much inferior both in numbers and quality (24,000 men). Savoy began the campaign by feigned attacks upon several frontier fortresses, his object being suddenly to turn aside and attack St. Quintin, a town of wealth and importance whose defences were known to be ruinous. Savoy’s rapid and unexpected movements completely puzzled the French, and Coligny, with a small force of about 1200 men, was ordered to watch him. Coligny made an attempt to surprise Douai, but was unsuccessful, and then seems to have learnt that Savoy’s real objective was St. Quintin. He hurried back over the frontier, just in time to cast himselfinto the town before it was invested, and then saw that he was in a trap. The place could not hold out for a week in its present condition, and he hastily begged Montmorenci to send him relief. Montmorenci’s idea of relief was to force a thousand men through Savoy’s lines into the town. In this he failed utterly. The way lay through a bog, in which the troops sank or were killed by Savoy’s men, and only a few stragglers reached the town. On the next day (August 10), Montmorenci brought up his main body, and tried to cast reinforcements into the town by boats across the Somme. This was found to be impracticable, and Montmorenci was urged by his men to retire. He had the river and a morass between himself and Savoy’s army, and thought he was safe, but by fords and causeways unknown to him, 6000 fine Burgundian cavalry and a body of the invincible Spanish infantry crossed to his side. Then when it was too late he gave the order to retire. The retreat soon became a rout. Six thousand French troops were killed, as many more captured, all the artillery taken, Montmorenci a prisoner, and there was no force between Savoy’s victorious army of 50,000 men and the gates of Paris.
Here was Philip’s chance—a chance never to occur again. During the short campaign he had remained at Valenciennes and Brussels, and on the day of St. Quintin he was in the city of Cambrai. His vocation was not war, and he knew it. Bells were rung, Te Deums were sung, and the day after the battle Philip visited his victorious army; but his professed regret at his absence from the fray was not so deep as that of his father when he heard the news. The Duke of Savoy begged to beallowed to follow up his victory by a march upon the capital, but over-caution was always Philip’s fault, and he would take no undue risk. He doubtless recollected his own remarks about his father’s invasion of France and the disaster of Metz. “The emperor,” he said, “had marched into France eating peacocks, and had marched out eating turnips.” When Charles at Yuste heard of the victory, he at once asked whether Philip had yet arrived before Paris. But the war was not ended yet, and brave Coligny in the town of St. Quintin held out against terrible odds until August 27, when it was taken by assault. The sacking and pillage of the devoted town and the heartrending cruelty wreaked upon the defenceless people, mainly by the German mercenaries, will ever remain one of the most horrible episodes of history. Philip had given orders that women and children should be spared, but his instructions were set at naught, and when, on the third day after the capture, he entered the city, he saw such sights as left upon him impressions of horror which he never forgot.
Philip’s army, of various nationalities, was then divided amongst the French towns he had captured. The rascally German mercenaries quarrelled and left him in large numbers, many to join the French. The English were sulky—the Spaniards complained of their conduct before St. Quintin. Wages were in arrears, their hearts were not in the fight, and they demanded leave to go home. Philip could not risk unpopularity in England by refusal, and let them go.
The French, on the other hand, by the end of the year had a fine army in north-eastern France, whichGuise had hastily brought back from Italy. The English fortress of Calais had been neglected, and was in a poor condition for defence. Guise suddenly appeared before it, to the surprise of the defenders. The outworks were stormed and captured on January 2 and 3, 1558, and on the 8th the citadel itself was captured. Lord Wentworth was in command, but the resources at his disposal were utterly inadequate, and it was impossible with them to hold the place. As a natural result, the other English fortress of Guisnes, under Lord Grey, fell a few days afterwards, and the last foothold of the English in France was gone. Before this disaster had happened Philip had begged the English council to send him a fresh reinforcement of English troops, with the ostensible object of ensuring the safety of Calais; but there were no troops and little money available in England. The war was extremely unpopular; all the country insisted that they had been dragged into it to please Philip, and the queen, desirous as she was of pleasing her husband, was weak and weary, utterly unable to dominate her council, with whom religious matters in England were the first consideration, and the predominance of Spain in Europe a matter of no concern. When Guise’s designs upon Calais were evident, Philip sent his favourite. Count de Feria, post-haste to England to insist upon the need of sending troops, at least to defend the fortress. Before he started on his journey news came of the fall of Calais, but as Guisnes still held out, he proceeded on his way. Before he embarked from Dunkirk he heard of the surrender of Guisnes, and delayed his arrival in England, in order not to be the bearer of the evil tidings. He saw the council inCardinal Pole’s chamber on January 28, and presented his master’s demands. Heath was the spokesman. He was apologetic and sorrowful, but the state of England was such, he said, that instead of sending men away, they needed troops to be sent for defence. The south coast and the Isle of Wight were at the mercy of the French, the Scottish frontier was unprotected and threatened, and much to the same effect. But if King Philip would send them 3000 German mercenaries, for which they would pay, they would place them in Newcastle, and they could then arm 100 ships in the Channel, and embark 16,000 men, some of whom might be used for Philip’s purposes. The country was in complete disorder, and Feria says that if 100 men were to land on the south coast, the country would probably join them against its friends, by which he doubtless meant the Catholic Government.
Before this interview the king had written to Feria that Calais and Guisnes having fallen, it would be better to abandon the idea of sending English troops to France, but that the whole efforts of the council should be directed towards the defence of the country itself. From Feria’s own observation when he first landed at Dover it was indeed clear, both to him and his master, that in no case would any effective aid in men reach him from England.
With much ado Parliament was induced to vote the supplies necessary for the defence of the country. Feria’s scorn at such cumbrous methods knew no bounds, and his picture of the complete disorganisation of the government is most vivid. It was evident now to all that the queen had not very long to live, and that her renewed dreams of progeny were to be as baseless as before.What was to come after her was the question, and each man was thinking of his own future. Philip was in dire want of money, and begged his wife not to depend upon Parliament alone for supplies. In vain Gresham tried to borrow large sums at Antwerp on the queen’s credit; only £10,000 could be got. Devices of all sorts were suggested, but to no purpose. But still the sums voted by Parliament, and what else could be collected or borrowed, were sent to Flanders to pay for the German levies, and spent in fitting out and manning the English fleet. The distracted English councillors were deluded into an idea that an attempt would be made to recover Calais; they were frightened with the false rumour that there was a large French fleet at Dieppe, that the Hanse towns and Denmark would attack them—anything to get them to provide a strong English fleet, not ostensibly for Philip’s purposes. But Philip took care that when the fleet was ready Clinton should use it as he desired, and the much-talked-of 3000 Germans never came to England, but when they were ready were utilised for Philip’s service. “I am writing nothing of this to the queen,” he informs Feria, “as I would rather that you should prudently work with the councillors to induce them to ask us to relieve them of these troops.”
When Feria had frightened the queen and council out of all that was possible, he left in July to join his master in Brussels, taking care to pay his visit to “Madam Elizabeth” at Hatfield, with all sorts of affectionate and significant messages from her loving brother-in-law. The plan had been, from the time of Mary’s own marriage, to fix Spanish influence in England, no matter what happened, by marrying Elizabeth to the Duke ofSavoy. But Mary would not restore her sister in blood—she could not indeed without bastardising herself—and without this the marriage would have been useless, from Philip’s point of view. But he temporised still, determined to keep Elizabeth in hand if possible, and lost no opportunity of showing his amiability to her.
When Feria left in July there remained in England a member of Philip’s Flemish council, named Dassonleville. On November 7 he wrote to the king informing him that Parliament had been called together to discuss the question of the succession, and pointing out the desirability of Philip himself being present to influence it in the way he desired, it being understood that the queen’s death was approaching.
But Philip had his hands full, and could not go, even on so important an errand as this. The success of Guise at Calais had emboldened the French, and at one time a march upon Brussels had appeared inevitable. Providentially, however, for Philip, the English naval squadron of twelve ships, already mentioned, was able at a critical moment to turn the tide of victory in an engagement near Gravelines (July 13, 1558). Marshal Termes was completely routed, and Guise thenceforward had to stand on the defensive. Philip’s treasury was quite empty, he was deeply in debt, his soldiers unpaid, and he hated war. The French king was in similar straits, and had, moreover, begun to look with apprehension on the increasing strength of the reform party in France. So a talk of arrangement began to prevail, and on October 15 the first meeting of commissioners for peace was held, De Granvelle, with Alba and the Prince of Orange, representing Philip, and Cardinal Lorraine, with ConstableMontmorenci and Marshal St. André, the French king; whilst English interests were safeguarded by the Earl of Arundel, Dr. Thirlby, and Dr. Wotton. Under these circumstances, Philip was obliged to send to England in his place his friend, the Count de Feria. He arrived on November 9, and found the queen almost unconscious, so he lost no time in trying to propitiate the coming queen. He summoned the council, and approved in Philip’s name of Elizabeth’s succession, and then took horse to salute the new sovereign. On the 17th, Mary Tudor died, and Philip had a new set of problems to face. England had slipped through his hands, but might still be regained if the new queen could be married to his nominee. Elizabeth showed in her very first interview with Feria that she would not allow herself to be patronised. She stopped him at once when he began to hint that she owed her new crown to his master’s support. “She would,” she said, “owe it only to her people.” The Duke of Savoy was the first idea of a husband for her in the Spanish interest, but he was warlike, and the French were still in possession of his territories, so the English dreaded that he might drag them into another war, and would not hear of him. Feria hinted to the queen that Philip himself might marry her, but she was diplomatically irresponsive. Philip’s conditions, indeed, as conveyed to his ambassador, were such that Elizabeth could not have accepted them. But it never came so near as the discussion of conditions. This is not the place to relate at length the endless intrigues by which it was sought to draw Elizabeth into a marriage which should render her amenable, or at least innocuous, to Spain, but it will suffice to say that she was fully amatch for the wily diplomatists who sought to entrap her, and never for a moment, through all her tergiversation, intended to allow Spanish interests to dominate English policy. The peace between Spain and France was easily settled at Cateau Cambresis, Henry being even more anxious for it than Philip, and he gave way upon nearly every point; but with regard to England the case was different, and for a long while the English envoys stood out persistently for the restoration of Calais. So long as there appeared any prospect of his being allowed to influence English government, Philip refused to make a separate peace, but at length he gave Elizabeth clearly to understand that if peace could not be made without the loss of Calais, then Calais must go. England was in a state of confused transition, the queen’s position was uncertain, the treasury was empty, and the war unpopular, so at last the bitter pill, slightly disguised, had to be swallowed, and the peace of Cateau Cambresis was signed on April 2, 1559.
The position was a critical one for Philip and his policy. This was the parting of the ways, and the course now adopted was to decide the fate of the Spanish domination. Feria, and after him the Bishop of Aquila, wrote incessantly during the first months of Elizabeth’s reign that Spain must dominate England, by force of arms, if need be. Most of the country was Catholic, many of the principal councillors were in Spanish pay or had Spanish sympathies, the queen was as yet an uncertain quantity, and there were several pretenders whose claim to the crown seemed better than hers. Philip was assured again and again that this was his chance. If England broke away from him, his own Low Countries were indanger. Let him, said his councillors, subsidise the Catholic party, if necessary backed up by force, patronise one of the rival claimants—Catharine Grey for choice—and remove the troublesome young queen before her position became consolidated. But Philip was slow. The merits and objections of every course had to be weighed and discussed infinitely. By his side was already the young Bishop of Arras, De Granvelle, fresh from his diplomatic triumph at Cateau Cambresis, whose methods were modelled upon those of his master, and from whom no decision could be expected without protracted delay. There was also Ruy Gomez, always on the side of peace and moderation. In vain haughty Feria sneered at the timid councils of churchmen, and chafed at his master’s inaction. Philip would not be hurried. His one wish was to get back to his dear Spain, and stay there; and from this design, favoured as it was by Ruy Gomez, Feria and the politicians of the Alba party were powerless to move him. So England slipped further and further from hands too tardy to grasp it whilst there was yet time, and those who held as an article of political faith that the owner of the Netherlands must be in close alliance with England or perish, looked on in unconcealed dismay.
Philip’s plan for a French alliance—His marriage with Elizabeth de Valois—Philip’s embarrassments in the Netherlands—De Granvelle—Philip’s departure from Flanders—Condition of affairs in Spain—The Spanish Church—Death of Paul IV.—The Inquisition—Bartolomé de Carranza—Philip’s arrival and routine in Spain—The auto de fé at Valladolid.
Philip’s plan for a French alliance—His marriage with Elizabeth de Valois—Philip’s embarrassments in the Netherlands—De Granvelle—Philip’s departure from Flanders—Condition of affairs in Spain—The Spanish Church—Death of Paul IV.—The Inquisition—Bartolomé de Carranza—Philip’s arrival and routine in Spain—The auto de fé at Valladolid.
PHILIPwas as fully alive as were his fiery advisers to the necessity of keeping friendly with England, but he would have no more war if he could help it. Moreover, an entirely new combination of a sort which exactly appealed to his character had suggested itself to him. One of the principal objects of Henry II., in his anxiety to make peace, was to unite with Philip in order to withstand the growing power of the reformers, especially in France. Philip was not actively responsive on this point, as at the time (early in 1559) it had not reached an acute stage in his Netherlands dominions, and for the moment it did not suit his English policy to appear as the champion of extreme Catholicism. It was settled, however, in the preliminary discussions of the peace envoys at Cateau Cambresis that Philip’s only son, Carlos, who was now fourteen years of age, should marry Henry’s eldest daughter, Elizabeth, who was threemonths younger than the prince. When it became evident that Elizabeth of England might hold her own, and even in time oppose him, it must have appeared to Philip that an entire change of his policy might isolate her, and that a close union between the old enemies, France and Spain, would reduce England to impotence for harm. So Philip’s own name was substituted for that of his son when the treaty was finally drafted, and the new policy was inaugurated. This policy was, so far as Philip was concerned, not an aggressive one against England or against Elizabeth. The next Catholic heir to the English throne was Mary Stuart, practically a Frenchwoman, and married to the Dauphin Francis, the future King of France. It was therefore, above all, necessary for Philip that the way should not be opened for the Queen of Scots to mount the English throne. Better far for him that Elizabeth, heretic though she was, should be there than that a French king should reign over England and Scotland. Then, indeed, would the Netherlands have been in jeopardy. The new combination seemed to avert danger from every side. The coalition was too strong for England to trouble alone, whilst any design to depose Elizabeth in the interest of Mary Stuart and France could now be counteracted from the inside by Philip. The Duke of Alba, with a splendid train of Spanish and Flemish nobles, entered Paris on June 22, 1559, and married by proxy for his master the young French princess, Elizabeth of the Peace, as the Spaniards afterwards called her. She was but a child as yet, but already her striking beauty and sweetness had endeared her beyond compare to the French populace. Brantome and other contemporary writers describe her personalappearance, but her own wise letters to her mother, her brother, and to her friend and sister, Mary Stuart, speak more eloquently still of her mental gifts, and explain the undoubted influence she gained over the spirit of her husband, who, notwithstanding the disparity of their years, loved her deeply, and mourned her sincerely when she died. The marriage rejoicings in Paris were brought to a sudden and untoward conclusion by the accidental killing of the King of France, Henry II., by a thrust in the eye at a tourney, at the hands of Montgomeri, captain of the Scots Guard.
Philip was still in Belgium, immersed in anxiety and trouble. Already the want of sympathy between himself and his Flemish subjects was bearing its natural fruit. Heresy was raising its head there as elsewhere. The Netherlands had on more than one occasion felt the heavy hand of the emperor both in matters of religion and in the autonomous privileges of the various states which constituted the dominions of the House of Burgundy. But Charles was one of themselves, and from him they would suffer much. With Philip, ostentatiously a foreigner, it was a very different matter, and all attempts from him, however innocent, towards the centralisation of power, which was the kernel of his system, were tacitly resented by them. The commercial and geographical position of the Netherlands, in constant touch with England and Germany—the highway between them indeed—especially exposed the country to the influence of the new religious ideas; and in Holland, at least, the Protestant doctrines had before Philip’s accession obtained firm root. The person of the new monarch was not popular with the Flemings. His dislikeof noisy enthusiasm, his coldness and reserve, his preference for Spaniards, had already widened the breach that his first appearance had occasioned, and his people were almost eager to place a bad interpretation upon all he did. His first step, if it had been taken by another sovereign, would have been a popular one, but with him it was the reverse. The three bishoprics of the Netherlands were unwieldy, and a considerable portion of the country was under the ecclesiastical control of German bishops. Philip desired to remedy this by the re-division of the various dioceses and the creation of fourteen new bishops and three archbishops, the lands of the monasteries being appropriated for the support of the new prelates. Philip had endeavoured to keep his plans secret, but they leaked out, and at Philip’s farewell visit to the States-General at Ghent, on the eve of his departure for Spain, the members of the assembly denounced in no uncertain terms the implied policy of Philip to rule them according to Spanish instead of Flemish ideas. The severe edicts of the emperor against heresy had been only partially enforced, and in most of the states had been controlled by the native civil tribunals; but it was concluded that Philip would inaugurate a new era of rigour, especially as he was retaining under arms in the Netherlands some 4000 Spanish infantry. Philip had to listen to some bold talk from the burghers. With him heresy had always been synonymous with resistance to authority—in his case, he thought, allied with divinity; and as he left the assembly of the States he must have made up his mind that here, in his own dominion, the hydra must be crushed at any cost. As was his wont, however, he dissembled, promised that the Spanish troopsshould be withdrawn, and took leave of the States with fair words. The country was to be governed in his absence by the Duchess of Parma, daughter of the emperor by a Flemish lady, and now married to that Ottavio Farnese whose dukedoms had been taken and subsequently restored to him by the Spaniards. Her principal adviser was to be the Bishop of Arras (De Granvelle). He was the third son of Charles’s favourite minister, Secretary Perrennot, a Franche-Comtois, and consequently a foreigner in Flanders. Upon him the principal brunt of his master’s unpopularity fell. His appointment as prime minister, he being a foreigner, was, said the Flemings, a violation of their rights. But Philip was immovable. He knew by the signatories of the petition for the removal of the Spanish troops that many of the principal men in the Netherlands were disaffected, and his suspicions had been aroused against those prime favourites of his father, the young Prince of Orange and Count Egmont. But he was, as usual, careful to dissemble his distrust, and left Egmont as governor of the counties of Flanders and Artois, and Orange of those of Holland, Zeeland, etc.
The atmosphere in Philip’s Netherlands dominions was thus full of gathering storm when he turned his back upon them for the last time to sail for Spain (August 1559). At the last moment, as he was about to embark, his indignation at the resistance to his authority seems to have overridden his reticence. He turned to Orange and told him that he knew that he was at the bottom of the opposition he had encountered in the States-General. Orange began by laying the responsibility upon the States themselves. “No,” said Philip, “not theStates, but you! you! you!” This was Orange’s first warning. In his heart he must have known now that in future it was to be war to the knife between his sovereign and himself. In any case he was prudent enough to stay on shore, and declined to accompany the other Flemish nobles on board the Spanish fleet.
If the sky was overcast in the Netherlands, it was almost as lowering in Spain itself; and this was a matter which lay nearer still to Philip’s heart. The country had been governed during the king’s absence by his sister, the widowed Princess Juana of Portugal, as regent. Civil affairs had shown no decided change. The money that flowed from the Indies had been mostly seized and squandered upon the foreign wars, and on one occasion the Seville merchants had ventured to remonstrate. But their leaders had been loaded with irons and cast into prison, and henceforward the people patiently bore their burden. Religious matters, however, were in a less satisfactory condition. It has already been observed that the policy of Charles and Philip had always been to bring the Church in Spain under subjection to the monarch, and to weaken the control of Rome over it. The ecclesiastical benefices were now practically all at the disposal of the sovereigns, and were distributed to a large extent with political objects, pensions and payment for national purposes frequently being charged upon episcopal, and other revenues, as a condition of presentation of a benefice. The royal council had assumed the power of reviewing the decisions of ecclesiastical tribunals, and the same civil power had now claimed the right of suspending the publication of papal bulls in Spain.
For some years a controversy had been in progress with the papacy as to the right of the crown to insist upon the execution of a decision of the Council of Trent with regard to the reformation of the Spanish cathedral chapters, which had become very corrupt. The pope had considered this an interference with his prerogative, and had summoned to Rome the Spanish bishops who championed the right of the monarch over the Church. The royal council suspended the papal bulls and forbade the bishops to obey the pope’s summons. Paul IV. was furious, and this was one of the reasons for his attempts to ruin the Spanish power. When he fulminated his famous excommunication of Philip already mentioned, the king retorted by ordering through the Regent Juana that all the pope’s messengers bearing the bulls into Spain should be captured and punished. The council next recommended that Philip should insist upon all papal nuncios to Spain being Spanish prelates, and that they should be paid by the pope and not by the king. It did not, however, suit Philip to proceed too violently against the Church, upon which he knew he must depend largely as an instrument of his policy. When in 1557 he consented to the undignified peace with Paul IV., who had been so bitter an enemy to him, proud Alba said that, if he had had his way, he would have made Caraffa go to Brussels to sue the king for peace instead of Philip’s general having to humble himself before the churchman.
Matters were still extremely strained between Philip and the pope, Paul IV., when, almost simultaneously with the king’s departure from Flanders, the pontiff died (August 15, 1559), and during most of the rule ofhis successor, Pius IV. (Angelo de Medici), Philip had a ready and pliant instrument in the chair of St. Peter.
The gradual slackening of the bonds which bound the Spanish Church to the papacy, and the laxity of the ecclesiastical control which was a consequence, had brought about scandalous corruption amongst the higher and cloistered clergy. The general tone of religion, indeed, at the time seems to have been one of extreme looseness and cynicism, accompanied by a slavish adherence to ritual and form. The terms in which the king and his ambassadors in their correspondence refer to the pontiffs and to the government of the Church in Rome, are often contemptuous in the last degree. They are always regarded as simple instruments for forwarding the interests of “God and your Majesty,” the invariable formula which well embodies Philip’s own conception of his place in the universe. Nothing is more curious than the free way in which religious matters were spoken of and discussed with impunity, so long as the speakers professed profound and abject submission to the Church, which in this case really meant the semi-political institution in Spain.
The Inquisition had from the first been jealously guarded from any real effective interference on the part of the pope, and by the time of Philip’s return to Spain had already begun to assume its subsequent character as a great political instrument in the hands of the monarch, working on ecclesiastical lines. So far as Philip’s personal experience extended, nearly all resistance to authority had begun with heresy, and, with his views as to the identity of his interests with those of the Almighty, it was evidently a duty to crush out ruthlesslyany manifestation of a spirit which tended to his prejudice.
There had gone with Philip to England as one of his confessors a learned and eloquent friar named Bartolomé de Carranza, of the Order of Preachers. He had been active in his efforts to bring England into the Catholic fold, and had especially devoted himself to refuting the arguments upon which the reformers depended. By his zeal and ability he had gained the good-will of Philip, who had, after his return to Brussels, raised him to the archbishopric of Toledo and the primacy of Spain. He shortly afterwards left for his diocese, with instructions to visit the emperor at Yuste on his way thither. He found Charles dying, and administered the last consolations to him, whilst another monk, a spy of the Inquisition, knelt close by, storing up in his mind for future use against him the words of hope and comfort he whispered to the dying man. It was afterwards alleged that he had dared to say that we might hope for salvation and justification by faith alone. Previous to this (1558) he had published in Antwerp a work calledCommentaries on the Christian Catechism, in the preface of which certain words of a somewhat imprudent tendency were employed. “He wished,” he said, “to resuscitate the antiquity of the primitive church because that was the most sound and pure”; and in the body of the book certain propositions were cautiously advanced, which, however, nothing but the keenest sophistry could twist into heresy.
Carranza was at Alcalá de Henares in August 1559, shortly before Philip left Flanders, when he was summoned by the Regent Juana to Valladolid. The archbishophad known for some time that the spies of the Inquisition were around him, and endeavoured diplomatically to delay his journey until the king should arrive; but Philip had deferred his departure for a fortnight, because a soothsayer had predicted heavy storms at sea, and before he could arrive the archbishop, who had then reached Torrelaguna, was taken from his bed at one o’clock in the morning and carried to the dungeons of the Inquisition at Valladolid. His arrest caused the greatest dismay throughout Spain. Contemporaries made no secret of their belief that he was not imprisoned for religion at all. His catechism was unanimously approved of by the pope, and by the Congregation of the Index in Rome. The Council of Trent solemnly and repeatedly protested against his arrest, and for many years it was a pitched battle between the Inquisition and the king on the one hand, and all the Catholic Church on the other. The documents in the case reached 25,000 folios of writing, some of the allegations against the archbishop being quite ludicrous in their triviality and looseness. In all probability the first cause of Carranza’s arrest was the jealousy of Valdes, Archbishop of Seville, the inquisitor-general. He was, like all the chief inquisitors, a Dominican, and during the many years he had been at the head of the Holy Office had become intolerably overbearing and ambitious. Carranza, on the other hand, was a much younger man (fifty-five), and had, after several years’ absence from Spain, been suddenly lifted from the position of a simple friar to that of Primate of Spain, the holder of the richest ecclesiastical benefice in the world. That Valdes should be jealous was only natural, and in theabsence of any adequate reason for his imprisonment in Carranza’s writings, it is almost certain that the cause for his first detention must be sought in this direction. Feria, who, of course, knew him well, writing from Brussels at the date of his first arrest to Bishop Quadra in England, says: “Things are going so badly in Spain, and they are coming to such a pass, that we shall soon not know who are the heretics and who the Christians. I will not believe evil of the archbishop, or of his companion, or of the Archbishop of Granada, who has also been summoned by the Inquisitors. What drives me crazy is to see the lives led by the criminals (i.e.the accused) and those led by their judges, and to compare their respective intelligence.” The bishop’s (Quadra’s) reply to this is almost as bold; and a priest sitting at table in Ruy Gomez’s house is reported to have said without rebuke, speaking of Carranza, “We shall see by and by whether he is a heretic, but we already see that he is being persecuted by envy.” When Philip arrived in Spain the archbishop was in the dark dungeon, where he stayed for two years, and churchmen everywhere were murmuring at the fate of the primate. Then the matter assumed a very different complexion. It was now a question of the vindication of Philip’s favourite tribunal against the demands of Rome, and for many years Philip held out, making use of every procrastination and subterfuge of which he was a master, until Pius V. in 1566 threatened to excommunicate Philip unless Carranza were sent to Rome. Then after some further delay Philip thought wise to cede the point, and the archbishop left in April 1567. But his troubles were not at an end. After a weary delay in Rome, hewas fully absolved and restored by the pope, and the decision sent to Spain for the king’s ratification. This was deferred until Pius V. died (1572), whereupon the new pope, Gregory XIII., commenced another interrogatory, which lasted three years. This ended in the absolution of the archbishop after a light penance, at the end of which, in a few days, Carranza died. Through all this the monarch seems to have had no personal feeling against the primate, but it was necessary at all costs to strengthen the Inquisition.
On the arrival of Philip in Spain in the autumn of 1559, his methods and character were well matured, and he began the regular routine of government which continued unbroken almost for the next forty years, endeavouring to rule his wide-spreading dominions from his desk, and trying to make puppets of all men for his own political ends. The government was divided into eleven departments, distributed between four secretaries of state. Letters and documents, after being deciphered, were sent to the king by the secretary of the department to which they belonged, often accompanied by a note explaining them or recommending a particular course. Every letter, to the most trivial detail, was read by Philip himself, who scrawled over the margins his acceptance or otherwise of the recommendations, or ordered them to be submitted to the inner council of state, Ruy Gomez, Alba, the confessor, and one or two other persons. The results of the conference were sent to the king in a memorandum from the secretary, and were once more considered. Every paper was therefore before the king several times. All letters or replies sent were submittedto him in draft, and frequently amended by him. At the same time his secretaries kept up a copious semi-private correspondence with all the Spanish ambassadors and governors, which was also perused by the king, and frequently contained matters of the highest importance in secret diplomacy, which it was unadvisable to send by the usual official channels. It will be seen that this cumbrous system, by which every individual point was brought before the king’s personal consideration, entailed an immensity of work, and made prompt action impossible, even if the king’s own character was capable of promptitude. Ruy Gomez, Duke of Pastrana and Prince of Eboli, was high-chamberlain and state councillor, the inseparable friend of the king, over whom his influence was great. He had taken care to place around the king secretaries of state attached to his party, the principal of whom were Eraso and the two Perezes successively—Gonzalo and Antonio. The Duke of Alba, unlike the other political advisers of the king, was a great noble, ambitious, harsh, and turbulent, but partaking of Philip’s own view of the sacredness of the power of the crown. We have seen that Philip in his youth had been warned by his father not to trust Alba, or any other great noble, with power in Spain, and he never did. But the duke was useful in council, because he always opposed Ruy Gomez, whose soft and peaceful methods he contemned. This exactly suited Philip, who invariably wished to hear both sides of every question, and followed his father’s advice to keep rivals and enemies near him, in order that he might hear the worst that was to be said of each, whilst he held the balance.
The king loved to surround himself with mystery, tobe unseen by the crowd except on occasions of great ceremony; and as he got older he became in public graver and more reserved than ever. He had by this time probably persuaded himself that he really was a sacred being, specially selected as the direct representative of the Almighty, to whom Popes and Churches were merely tools. Certain it is that he considered it unfitting in him to exhibit any of the usual emotions of humanity. On his marble mask anger, surprise, or joy left no sign.
Philip landed in Spain on September 8, 1559, in great danger, the ship and all her rich freight sinking immediately after he left her. He had previously instructed the Regent Juana that heresy must be pursued without mercy in Spain, and she and young Carlos had sat through the horrors of a great auto de fé in Valladolid at the beginning of June, where some of the principal ladies of her own court were cruelly sacrificed. But this did not suffice for Philip. If he was to dominate the world from Spain, that country, at least, must be free from stain or suspicion. So the first great public ceremony he attended in the country that welcomed him was another stately auto at Valladolid. On Sunday, October 18, he sat on a splendid platform in the open space opposite the church of St. Martin. The judges of the Holy Office surrounded the throne, and the multitude, frantic with joy to see their beloved Philip again, and to enjoy a brilliant holiday, had flocked in for many miles around, attracted by the festival, and the forty days’ indulgence promised to them by the Church as a reward for their presence. Before the assembled multitude Philip solemnly swore to maintainthe purity of the faith and to support the Holy Office. As the condemned criminals passed his platform, one of them, a gentleman of high birth, married to a descendant of the royal house of Castile, cried out to the king, “How is it that a gentleman like you can hand over another gentleman such as I am to these friars?” “If my son were as perverse as you are,” said Philip, “I myself would carry the faggots to burn him.” Twelve poor wretches were then handed over to the civil power for execution, with a canting request for mercy from the Inquisition, for the Holy Office itself never officially carried out the last sentence, and invariably begged hypocritically for mercy for the poor wracked bodies it had doomed to the fire.
It is probable that Philip’s object in thus celebrating his return to his country was intended to give additional prestige to the institution which he intended to use as a main instrument in keeping his country free from the dissensions, such as he saw spreading over the rest of the world. But it will be a mistake to conclude that his proceeding, or even the Inquisition itself, was unpopular with Spaniards. On the contrary, Philip seems in this, as in most other things, to have been a perfect embodiment of the feeling of his country at this time. The enormous majority of Spaniards exulted in the idea that their nation, and especially their monarch, had been selected to make common cause with the Almighty for the extirpation of His enemies.
Arrival of Elizabeth de Valois in Spain—Her influence over Philip—Position of affairs in France—War with England—Philip’s attitude towards France—Death of Francis II.—Spanish disaster at Los Gelves—Position of Spain in the Mediterranean.
Arrival of Elizabeth de Valois in Spain—Her influence over Philip—Position of affairs in France—War with England—Philip’s attitude towards France—Death of Francis II.—Spanish disaster at Los Gelves—Position of Spain in the Mediterranean.
BUTit was time now for Philip to think of the reception of his new child-wife, whom Alba had married as his proxy in Paris five months before. Endless questions of etiquette had to be settled, political arrangements had to be made in Paris that should ensure to Philip the full benefit of the marriage, the bribing of ministers and the like; and it was far into the winter before the bride started from Paris, which she was to see no more. She was the flower of a bad flock, the most dearly beloved of any of her house, and her slow journey through France was a triumphal march. The splendid court in which her life had been passed was very dear to her, and she expected but little happiness in the rich squalor and rigid grimness of her husband’s palace. She was going, she knew, to be handed over like a chattel to the enemy of her country, but she kept up a brave heart, and daily wrote cheerful letters to her mother. So great was the distrust between the two countries that the most elaborateprecautions were taken on both sides to prevent surprise or treachery, and Elizabeth was kept for three days in the snow at Roncesvalles whilst Anthony de Bourbon was bickering with the Spaniards as to which frontier should be crossed first. Philip was not a very eager bridegroom this time, for he advanced no farther than Guadalajara to meet his wife (January 30, 1560). The poor child was so nervous when she first approached him, that she could only stare dumbly at his grave face, and made no sign of obeisance. Philip looked older than his thirty-three years, and doubtless read her dismay aright. His first rough greeting was, “What are you looking at? Are you looking to see whether my hair is grey?” But his gentleness soon came back, and, unpromising as was the commencement, their married life was not unhappy. He proved to be a most affectionate and devoted husband, as she was a sweet and tactful wife.
He soon had an opportunity of showing his devotion. No sooner had the marriage ceremony been performed in the cathedral of Toledo than the queen fell ill of smallpox, and in this crisis her husband’s care and tenderness to her were unremitting. Regardless of the remonstrances of those who feared for his own health, he was frequently by her side for long periods, and all through her tardy and critical convalescence his attentions and kindness were such as to excite the admiration even of the queen’s French ladies, who were certainly not prejudiced in Philip’s favour.
Very much depended upon preserving the life, and even the beauty, of the young queen. After years of neglect Catharine de Medici might now, by the deathof her husband, Henry II., become practically the ruler of France. She found the country reft in twain by religious faction, and she knew that the only means by which she could retain her power was by establishing herself as the balancing influence between the two factions. For the moment, with the accession of Francis II. and his wife, Mary, Queen of Scots, to the French throne, the Guises were paramount, and almost before the inauguration of the new policy of friendship between France and Spain, Catharine had begun to cast her eyes towards Vendôme, the Montmorencis and the Protestants to counterbalance them. The idea of Henry II. in giving his daughter to Philip was to cement a league of Catholics against the Huguenots; his widow’s aim was to secure a hold over Philip through his wife which should enable her to establish and retain her supremacy in France, come what might. The Guises had soon shown their power on the accession of their nephew to the throne by assuming in Mary Stuart’s name so aggressive an attitude towards Elizabeth that the latter was forced to resent it. An English force of 8000 infantry, 2000 cavalry, and 32 armed ships was sent to Scotland and attacked Leith, aided by a considerable Scottish rebel force. Opposed to them the Queen-mother of Scotland, Mary of Lorraine, had 5000 Frenchmen and a number of Scotsmen. Guise clamoured for Philip’s help to beat the English in the interests of his niece. But this was no part of Philip’s bargain. The most untoward thing that could happen to him was the deposition of Elizabeth and the union of England and Scotland under a French sovereign, and the next most inconvenient thing was that Elizabeth should be victorious over his allies, theFrench. So he exerted every effort to frighten both sides into making a peace. Envoys were sent from Flanders and Spain to assure Elizabeth that if she did not withdraw her troops from Scotland he would send a great force to help the French, whilst the Guises were significantly told that they must be cautious, as their enemies in France were numerous. Philip’s envoys in England might threaten, but Elizabeth knew well that Spanish troops would never put a Frenchman in her place, and she made the most of her knowledge. The English troops in Scotland were victorious, and Elizabeth now could afford to hector about the terms of peace. She wanted Calais to be restored, a large indemnity, and much else, but she ended by accepting terms which humiliated the Guises, and ensured her against future French aggression from Scotland.
Materially the peace of Cateau Cambresis had been all in Philip’s favour, but he had hoped for advantages in other ways as well. The original idea had been to present a united front to advancing Protestantism both in France and Flanders, to which end he had hoped to make a tool of France. But the death of Henry II. and the appearance of Catharine de Medici in front of the stage had changed the problem. He now saw a clever intriguing woman, with no religious convictions at all, ready to rally to either party, and seeking to make a tool ofhim. This was arôlethat never suited Philip, and he soon made it clear that his marriage with a French princess had drawn him no closer to French interests than he was before. Frenchmen suspected of heresy in Spain were persecuted with greater barbarity than ever by the Inquisition. French commercial interestswere as ruthlessly disregarded as those of Protestant England itself, whilst the French expeditions to Florida and elsewhere aroused Philip to the utmost point of arrogance against his wife’s country. A bitter feud between the Spanish and French ambassadors in Rome on the point of precedence appears to have been directly fomented by Philip. The influence, therefore, of Philip’s young French wife had to be exerted to its utmost to prevent an open rupture between her brother and her husband.
Suddenly the whole prospect was again changed by the death of Francis II. There was no fear now of the French nation becoming dominant in Scotland and England through Mary Stuart, for Catharine de Medici hated her daughter-in-law and the Guises, and would not raise a finger to make them more powerful than they were. But the death of Francis made more difficult than ever a lasting and sincere alliance between Spain and France, for Catharine de Medici could not afford to adopt for long an extreme Catholic policy. Philip at this time was in the very depth of penury. Every ducat that could be extorted from the Seville merchants or borrowed from the Fuggers had been obtained. The revenues and remittances from the Indies had long been anticipated, the Spanish troops in Flanders were unpaid, and Philip was surrounded by claims that he could not meet. Under these circumstances he was fain to shut his eyes for a time to the favour Catharine was showing to the reformers in France, although he allowed his wife to threaten her with Spanish troops to help the Catholic party in France if necessary. Catharine knew that his hands were full, and practicallydefied him, and Elizabeth of England did the same. He was powerless to injure them now, for his system of jealous centralisation and his cumbrous methods were already producing their disastrous effects.
The first misfortune, one of the greatest of his life, which resulted from the confusion of his administration, was the complete destruction of his fleet in the Mediterranean. When in 1558 the pope and Henry II. had not hesitated to accept the aid of the infidel against Philip, a hundred Turkish galleys had sailed from Constantinople under Piali Pacha, an Italian renegade, and, with the aid of the famous Barbary corsair, Dragut Reis, had scourged the coasts of Sicily and Naples, overrun Minorca, and even attacked Nice, and then had captured the fortress of Tripoli, which belonged to the Knights of St. John of Malta. When peace was made between France and Spain at Cateau Cambresis in the following year, the Grand Master of St. John urged Philip to employ the large force he then had free in Italy and elsewhere to recover Tripoli for the Order. The enterprise, he said, would be easy now, if it were done swiftly and secretly, for Dragut, who governed the new conquest, was busy raiding the interior, and the Barbary Moors, groaning under the yoke of the Turk, would aid the Christians. Philip’s viceroy in Sicily, the Duke of Medina Celi, anxious for personal distinction, seconded the petition of the Grand Master, and Philip consented. Medina Celi was appointed to the command, and orders were given to Andrea Doria, commanding the Spanish galleys, and to the viceroys of Naples and Milan, to aid the expedition with all the forces in their power. The Turkish fleet was, however,still in the neighbourhood, and the viceroys did not think prudent to send any of their troops away until it had gone. Delay after delay took place whilst dispatches were slowly being exchanged and Philip continually being consulted on points of detail. The men-at-arms in large numbers broke up and went to their homes, and when at last the troops were got together and reached Genoa, they found that the Spanish ambassador there had dismissed the ships that had been freighted, in the belief that the expedition had been abandoned. Then when fresh ships had been obtained the soldiers refused to go on board until they received their over-due pay. With much persuasion and many promises they were at length embarked, and a shipload of them, 1500 in number, was wrecked at the mouth of the harbour, causing renewed delay. Then it was found that the aged Andrea Doria could not accompany the ships, and had delegated the command to his nephew, John Andrea, under whom some of the Spanish generals would not serve. But withal, by the beginning of October 1559, 12,000 good troops were mustered in Messina under Medina Celi. The Grand Master had originally, six months before, made promptness and secrecy conditions of success, but long ere this all the Mediterranean was ringing with the news, and Dragut was on the alert. Whilst Philip was tardily sending cautious dispatches to his viceroys, the Sultan had crowded men, ammunition, and stores into Tripoli, and when after two months’ further delay the Spanish force was ready to sail, it was found that the rascally contractors had provided rations which were mostly rotten—just as they did to the InvincibleArmada thirty years afterwards. When finally the fleet sailed (November 20, 1559) the men were sick and discontented, 3000 of them having already died or deserted. Many of the soldiers mutinied the first day. Head winds and want of food held them for weeks, and it was January 10, 1560, before the fleet was assembled at Malta. There fresh men had to be shipped to fill the places of those who had died, and sound rations procured, and finally, on February 10, 1560, the fleet, 100 sail and a contingent of galleys and men belonging to the Knights, left Malta. The small island of Gelves, in the Gulf of Khabes, was easily captured, but the next day there appeared a fleet of 74 great Turkish galleys full of janissaries, and 12 others under Dragut from Tripoli. Medina Celi lost his head, Doria lost his courage, and a hideous panic seized the Spaniards at the onslaught of the Turks. The commanders fled shamefully, and 65 ships and 5000 men fell to the tender mercies of the infidel. The Spaniards entrenched on the island of Gelves under the brave Alvaro de Sande, held out against terrible odds, 8000 men of them almost without provisions, quite without water, for six weeks, and then all that were left of them, about 1000, starved and naked, stood shoulder to shoulder in the breach to be killed by the victors or carried to Constantinople to a less worthy fate.
The Christian power in the Mediterranean was tottering; the fortresses held by Spain in North Africa especially seemed doomed to destruction, and Philip was forced to make a supreme effort, and was able in the next year, 1561, to send out a fresh fleet of 70 galleys, nearly all hired, to fight the Turk. The wholefleet was lost in a storm before it left the coast of Spain, and the Turk once more seemed destined to dominate the Mediterranean. The defence of the Spanish settlement of Mers el Kebir in the spring of 1563 will always remain one of the most heroic in history. There a little garrison of barely 200 men held out against a Turkish force of 20,000, and although they were almost within sight of the Spanish coast, so cumbrous was Philip’s administration that it took two months for relief to reach them.