Chapter 9
It was provided by the treaty, that the Spanish troops should be immediately withdrawn from the territory of the Church, that all the places taken from the Church should be at once restored, and that the French army should be allowed a free pa.s.sage to their own country.
Philip did not take so good care of his allies as Paul did of his.
Colonna, who had done the cause such good service, was not even reinstated in the possessions of which the pope had deprived him. But a secret article provided that his claims should be determined hereafter by the joint arbitration of the pontiff and the king of Spain.[178]
The treaty was, in truth, one which, as Alva bitterly remarked, "seemed to have been dictated by the vanquished rather than by the victor." It came hard to the duke to execute it, especially the clause relating to himself. "Were I the king," said he haughtily, "his holiness should send one of his nephews to Brussels, to sue for my pardon, instead of my general's suing for his."[179] But Alva had no power to consult his own will in the matter. The orders from Philip were peremptory, to come to some terms, if possible, with the pope. Philip had long since made up his own mind, that neither profit nor honor was to be derived from a war with the Church,--a war not only repugnant to his own feelings, but which placed him in a false position, and one most prejudicial to his political interests.
The news of peace filled the Romans with a joy great in proportion to their former consternation. Nor was this joy much diminished by a calamity which at any other time would have thrown the city into mourning. The Tiber, swollen by the autumnal rains, rose above its banks, sweeping away houses and trees in its fury, drowning men and cattle, and breaking down a large piece of the wall that surrounded the city. It was well that this accident had not occurred a few days earlier, when the enemy was at the gates.[180]
On the twenty-seventh of September, 1557, the duke of Alva made his public entrance into Rome. He was escorted by the papal guard, dressed in its gay uniform. It was joined by the other troops in the city, who, on this holiday service, did as well as better soldiers. On entering the gates, the concourse was swelled by thousands of citizens, who made the air ring with their acclamations, as they saluted the Spanish general with the t.i.tles of Defender and Liberator of the capital. The epithets might be thought an indifferent compliment to their own government. In this state the procession moved along, like the triumph of a conqueror returned from his victorious campaigns to receive the wreath of laurel in the capitol.
On reaching the Vatican, the Spanish commander fell on his knees before the pope, and asked his pardon for the offence of bearing arms against the Church. Paul, soothed by this show of concession, readily granted absolution. He paid the duke the distinguished honor of giving him a seat at his own table; while he complimented the d.u.c.h.ess by sending her the consecrated golden rose, reserved only for royal persons and ill.u.s.trious champions of the Church.[181]
[Sidenote: PAUL CONSENTS TO PEACE.]
Yet the haughty spirit of Alva saw in all this more of humiliation than of triumph. His conscience, like that of his master, was greatly relieved by being discharged from the responsibilities of such a war.
But he had also a military conscience, which seemed to be quite as much scandalized by the conditions of the peace. He longed to be once more at Naples, where the state of things imperatively required his presence.
When he returned there, he found abundant occupation in reforming the abuses which had grown out of the late confusion, and especially in restoring, as far as possible, the shattered condition of the finances,--a task hardly less difficult than that of driving out the French from Naples.[182]
Thus ended the war with Paul the Fourth,--a war into which that pontiff had plunged without preparation, which he had conducted without judgment, and terminated without honor. Indeed, it brought little honor to any of the parties concerned in it, but, on the other hand, a full measure of those calamities which always follow in the train of war.
The French met with the same fate which uniformly befell them, when, lured by the phantom of military glory, they crossed the Alps to lay waste the garden of Italy,--in the words of their own proverb, "the grave of the French." The duke of Guise, after a vexatious campaign, in which it was his greatest glory that he had sustained no actual defeat, thought himself fortunate in being allowed a free pa.s.sage, with the shattered remnant of his troops, back to his own country. Naples, besides the injuries she had sustained on her borders, was burdened with a debt which continued to press heavily for generations to come. Nor were her troubles ended by the peace. In the spring of the following year, 1558, a Turkish squadron appeared off Calabria; and, running down the coast, the Moslems made a landing on several points, sacked some of the princ.i.p.al towns, butchered the inhabitants, or swept them off into hopeless slavery.[183] Such were some of the blessed fruits of the alliance between the grand seignior and the head of the Catholic Church.
Solyman had come into the league at the invitation of the Christian princes. But it was not found so easy to lay the spirit of mischief as it had been to raise it.
The weight of the war, however, fell, as was just, most heavily on the author of it. Paul, from his palace of the Vatican, could trace the march of the enemy by the smoking ruins of the Campagna. He saw his towns sacked, his troops scattered, his very capital menaced, his subjects driven by ruinous taxes to the verge of rebellion. Even peace, when it did come, secured to him none of the objects for which he had contended, while he had the humiliating consciousness that he owed this peace, not to his own arms, but to the forbearance--or the superst.i.tion of his enemies. One lesson he might have learned,--that the thunders of the Vatican could no longer strike terror into the hearts of princes, as in the days of the Crusades.
In this war Paul had called in the French to aid him in driving out the Spaniards. The French, he said, might easily be dislodged hereafter; "but the Spaniards were like dog-gra.s.s, which is sure to strike root wherever it is cast."--This was the last great effort that was made to overturn the Spanish power in Naples; and the sceptre of that kingdom continued to be transmitted in the dynasty of Castile, with as little opposition as that of any other portion of its broad empire.
Being thus relieved of his military labors, Paul set about those great reforms, the expectation of which had been the chief inducement to his election. But first he gave a singular proof of self-command, in the reforms which he introduced into his own family. Previously to his election, no one, as we have seen, had declaimed more loudly than Paul against nepotism,--the besetting sin of his predecessors, who, most of them old men and without children, naturally sought a subst.i.tute for these in their nephews and those nearest of kin. Paul's partiality for his nephews was made the more conspicuous by the profligacy of their characters. Yet the real bond which held the parties together was hatred of the Spaniards. When peace came, and this bond of union was dissolved, Paul readily opened his ears to the accusations against his kinsmen.
Convinced at length of their unworthiness, and of the flagrant manner in which they had abused his confidence, he deprived the Caraffas of all their offices, and banished them to the farthest part of his dominions.
By the sterner sentence of his successor, two of the brothers, the duke and the cardinal, perished by the hand of the public executioner.[184]
After giving this proof of mastery over his own feelings, Paul addressed himself to those reforms which had engaged his attention in early life.
He tried to enforce a stricter discipline and greater regard for morals, both in the religious orders and the secular clergy. Above all, he directed his efforts against the Protestant heresy, which had begun to show itself in the head of Christendom, as it had long since done in the extremities. The course he adopted was perfectly characteristic.
Scorning the milder methods of argument and persuasion, he resorted wholly to persecution. The Inquisition, he declared, was the true battery with which to a.s.sail the defences of the heretic. He suited the action so well to the word, that in a short time the prisons of the Holy Office were filled with the accused. In the general distrust no one felt himself safe; and a panic was created, scarcely less than that felt by
Happily, their fears were dispelled by the death of Paul, which took place suddenly, from a fever, on the eighteenth of August, 1559, in the eighty-third year of his age, and fifth of his pontificate. Before the breath was out of his body, the populace rose _en ma.s.se_, broke open the prisons of the Inquisition, and liberated all who were confined there.
They next attacked the house of the grand-inquisitor, which they burned to the ground; and that functionary narrowly escaped with his life. They tore down the scutcheons, bearing the arms of the family of Caraffa, which were affixed to the public edifices. They wasted their rage on the senseless statue of the pope, which they overturned, and, breaking off the head, rolled it, amidst the groans and execrations of the by-standers, into the Tiber. Such was the fate of the reformer, who, in his reforms, showed no touch of humanity, no sympathy with the sufferings of his species.[185]
Yet, with all its defects, there is something in the character of Paul the Fourth that may challenge our admiration. His project--renewing that of Julius the Second--of driving out the _barbarians_ from Italy, was n.o.bly conceived, though impracticable. "Whatever others may feel, I at least will have some care for my country," he once said to the Venetian amba.s.sador.
[Sidenote: ENGLAND JOINS THE WAR WITH FRANCE.]
"If my voice is unheeded, it will at least be a consolation to me to reflect, that it has been raised in such a cause; and that it will one day be said that an old Italian, on the verge of the grave, who might be thought to have nothing better to do than to give himself up to repose, and weep over his sins, had his soul filled with this lofty design."[186]
CHAPTER VII.
WAR WITH FRANCE.
England joins in the War.--Philip's Preparations.--Siege of St.
Quentin.--French Army routed.--Storming of St. Quentin.--Successes of the Spaniards.
1557.
While the events related in the preceding chapter were pa.s.sing in Italy, the war was waged on a larger scale, and with more important results, in the northern provinces of France. As soon as Henry had broken the treaty, and sent his army across the Alps, Philip lost no time in a.s.sembling his troops, although in so quiet a manner as to attract as little attention as possible. His preparations were such as enabled him, not merely to defend the frontier of the Netherlands, but to carry the war into the enemy's country.
He despatched his confidential minister, Ruy Gomez, to Spain, for supplies both of men and money; instructing him to visit his father, Charles the Fifth, and, after acquainting him with the state of affairs, to solicit his aid in raising the necessary funds.[187]
Philip had it much at heart to bring England into the war. During his stay in the Low Countries, he was in constant communication with the English cabinet, and took a lively interest in the government of the kingdom. The minutes of the privy council were regularly sent to him, and as regularly returned with his remarks, in his own handwriting, on the margin. In this way he discussed and freely criticized every measure of importance; and, on one occasion, we find him requiring that nothing of moment should be brought before parliament until it had first been submitted to him.[188]
In March, 1557, Philip paid a second visit to England, where he was received by his fond queen in the most tender and affectionate manner.
In her letters she had constantly importuned him to return to her. On that barren eminence which placed her above the reach of friends.h.i.+p, Mary was dependent on her husband for sympathy and support. But if the channel of her affections was narrow, it was deep.
Philip found no difficulty in obtaining the queen's consent to his wishes with respect to the war with France. She was induced to this, not merely by her habitual deference to her husband, but by natural feelings of resentment at the policy of Henry the Second. She had put up with affronts, more than once, from the French amba.s.sador, in her own court; and her throne had been menaced by repeated conspiracies, which, if not organized, had been secretly encouraged by France. Still, it was not easy to bring the English nation to this way of thinking. It had been a particular proviso of the marriage treaty, that England should not be made a party to the war against France; and subsequent events had tended to sharpen the feeling of jealousy rather towards the Spaniards than towards the French.
The attempted insurrection of Stafford, who crossed over from the sh.o.r.es of France at this time, did for Philip what possibly neither his own arguments nor the authority of Mary could have done. It was the last of the long series of indignities which had been heaped on the country from the same quarter; and parliament now admitted that it was no longer consistent with its honor to keep terms with a power which persisted in fomenting conspiracies to overturn the government and plunge the nation into civil war. On the seventh of June, a herald was despatched, with the formality of ancient and somewhat obsolete usages, to proclaim war against the French king in the presence of his court and in his capital.
This was done in such a bold tone of defiance, that the hot old constable, Montmorency, whose mode of proceeding, as we have seen, was apt to be summary, strongly urged his master to hang up the envoy on the spot.[189]
The state of affairs imperatively demanded Philip's presence in the Netherlands, and, after a residence of less than four months in London, he bade a final adieu to his disconsolate queen, whose excessive fondness may have been as little to his taste as the coldness of her subjects.
Nothing could be more forlorn than the condition of Mary. Her health wasting under a disease that cheated her with illusory hopes, which made her ridiculous in the eyes of the world; her throne, her very life, continually menaced by conspiracies, to some of which even her own sister was supposed to be privy; her spirits affected by the consciousness of the decline of her popularity under the gloomy system of persecution into which she had been led by her ghostly advisers; without friends, without children, almost it might be said without a husband,--she was alone in the world, more to be commiserated than the meanest subject in her dominions. She has had little commiseration, however, from Protestant writers, who paint her in the odious colors of a fanatic. This has been compensated, it may be thought, by the Roman Catholic historians, who have invested the English queen with all the glories of the saint and the martyr. Experience may convince us that public acts do not always furnish a safe criterion of private character,--especially when these acts are connected with religion. In the Catholic Church the individual might seem to be relieved, in some measure, of his moral responsibility, by the system of discipline which intrusts his conscience to the keeping of his spiritual advisers. If the lights of the present day allow no man to plead so humiliating an apology, this was not the case in the first half of the sixteenth century,--the age of Mary,--when the Reformation had not yet diffused that spirit of independence in religious speculation, which, in some degree at least, has now found its way to the darkest corner of Christendom.
[Sidenote: PHILIP'S PREPARATIONS.]
A larger examination of contemporary doc.u.ments, especially of the queen's own correspondence, justifies the inference, that, with all the infirmities of a temper soured by disease, and by the difficulties of her position, she possessed many of the good qualities of her ill.u.s.trious progenitors, Katharine of Aragon and Isabella of Castile; the same conjugal tenderness and devotion, the same courage in times of danger, the same earnest desire, misguided as she was, to do her duty,--and, unfortunately, the same bigotry. It was, indeed, most unfortunate, in Mary's case, as in that of the Catholic queen, that this bigotry, from their position as independent sovereigns, should have been attended with such fatal consequences as have left an indelible blot on the history of their reigns.[190]
On his return to Brussels, Philip busied himself with preparations for the campaign. He employed the remittances from Spain to subsidize a large body of German mercenaries. Germany was the country which furnished, at this time, more soldiers of fortune than any other; men who served indifferently under the banner that would pay them best. They were not exclusively made up of infantry, like the Swiss, but, besides pikemen,--_lanzknechts_,--they maintained a stout array of cavalry, _reiters_, as they were called,--"riders,"--who, together with the cuira.s.s and other defensive armor, carried pistols, probably of rude workmans.h.i.+p, but which made them formidable from the weapon being little known in that day. They were, indeed, the most dreaded troops of their time. The men-at-arms, enc.u.mbered with their unwieldy lances, were drawn up in line, and required an open plain to manuvre to advantage, being easily discomposed by obstacles; and once broken, they could hardly rally. But the _reiters_, each with five or six pistols in his belt, were formed into columns of considerable depth, the size of their weapons allowing them to go through all the evolutions of light cavalry, in which they were perfectly drilled. Philip's cavalry was further strengthened by a fine corps of Burgundian lances, and by a great number of n.o.bles and cavaliers from Spain, who had come to gather laurels in the fields of France, under the eye of their young sovereign. The flower of his infantry, too, was drawn from Spain; men who, independently of the indifference to danger, and wonderful endurance, which made the Spanish soldier inferior to none of the time, were animated by that loyalty to the cause which foreign mercenaries could not feel. In addition to these, the king expected, and soon after received, a reinforcement of eight thousand English under the earl of Pembroke. They might well fight bravely on the soil where the arms of England had won two of the most memorable victories in her history.
The whole force, exclusive of the English, amounted to thirty-five thousand foot and twelve thousand horse, besides a good train of battering artillery.[191] The command of this army was given to Emanuel Philibert, prince of Piedmont, better known by his t.i.tle of duke of Savoy. No man had a larger stake in the contest, for he had been stripped of his dominions by the French, and his recovery of them depended on the issue of the war. He was at this time but twenty-nine years of age; but he had had large experience in military affairs, and had been intrusted by Charles the Fifth, who had early discerned his capacity, with important commands. His whole life may be said to have trained him for the profession of arms. He had no taste for effeminate pleasures, but amused himself, in seasons of leisure, with the hardy exercise of the chase. He strengthened his const.i.tution, naturally not very robust, by living as much as possible in the open air. Even when conversing, or dictating to his secretaries, he preferred to do so walking in his garden. He was indifferent to fatigue. After hunting all day he would seem to require no rest, and in a campaign had been known, like the knights-errant of old, to eat, drink, and sleep in his armor for thirty days together.
He was temperate in his habits, eating little, and drinking water. He was punctual in attention to business, was sparing of his words, and, as one may gather from the piquant style of his letters, had a keen insight into character, looking below the surface of men's actions into their motives.[192]
His education had not been neglected. He spoke several languages fluently, and, though not a great reader, was fond of histories. He was much devoted to mathematical science, which served him in his profession, and he was reputed an excellent engineer.[193] In person the duke was of the middle size; well-made, except that he was somewhat bow-legged. His complexion was fair, his hair light, and his deportment very agreeable.
Such is the portrait of Emanuel Philibert, to whom Philip now intrusted the command of his forces, and whose pretensions he warmly supported as the suitor of Elizabeth of England. There was none more worthy of the royal maiden. But the duke was a Catholic; and Elizabeth, moreover, had seen the odium which her sister had incurred by her marriage with a foreign sovereign. Philip, who would have used some constraint in the matter, pressed it with such earnestness on the queen as proved how much importance he attached to the connection. Mary's conduct on the occasion was greatly to her credit; and, while she deprecated the displeasure of her lord, she honestly told him that she could not in conscience do violence to the inclinations of her sister.[194]
The plan of the campaign, as determined by Philip's cabinet,[195] was that the duke should immediately besiege some one of the great towns on the northern borders of Picardy, which in a manner commanded the entrance into the Netherlands. Rocroy was the first selected. But the garrison, who were well provided with ammunition, kept within their defences, and maintained so lively a cannonade on the Spaniards, that the duke, finding the siege was likely to consume more time than it was worth, broke up his camp, and resolved to march against St. Quentin.
This was an old frontier town of Picardy, important in time of peace as an _entrepot_ for the trade that was carried on between France and the Low Countries. It formed a convenient place of deposit, at the present period, for such booty as marauding parties from time to time brought back from Flanders. It was well protected by its natural situation, and the fortifications had been originally strong; but, as in many of the frontier towns, they had been of late years much neglected.
[Sidenote: SIEGE OF ST. QUENTIN.]
Before beginning operations against St. Quentin, the duke of Savoy, in order to throw the enemy off his guard, and prevent his introducing supplies into the town, presented himself before Guise, and made a show of laying siege to that place. After this demonstration he resumed his march, and suddenly sat down before St. Quentin, investing it with his whole army.
Meanwhile the French had been anxiously watching the movements of their adversary. Their forces were a.s.sembled on several points in Picardy and Champagne. The princ.i.p.al corps was under the command of the duke of Nevers, governor of the latter province, a n.o.bleman of distinguished gallantry, and who had seen some active service. He now joined his forces to those under Montmorency, the constable of France, who occupied a central position in Picardy, and who now took the command, for which his rash and impetuous temper but indifferently qualified him. As soon as the object of the Spaniards was known, it was resolved to reinforce the garrison of St. Quentin, which otherwise, it was understood, could not hold out a week. This perilous duty was a.s.sumed by Gaspard de Coligni, admiral of France.[196] This personage, the head of an ancient and honored house, was one of the most remarkable men of his time. His name had gained a mournful celebrity in the page of history, as that of the chief martyr in the ma.s.sacre of St. Bartholomew. He embraced the doctrines of Calvin, and by his austere manners and the purity of his life well ill.u.s.trated the doctrines he embraced. The decent order of his household, and their scrupulous attention to the services of religion, formed a striking contrast to the licentious conduct of too many of the Catholics, who, however, were as prompt as Coligni to do battle in defence of their faith. In early life he was the gay companion of the duke of Guise.[197] But as the Calvinists, or Huguenots, were driven by persecution to an independent and even hostile position, the two friends, widely separated by opinion and by interest, were changed into mortal foes. That hour had not yet come. But the heresy that was soon to shake France to its centre was silently working under ground.
As the admiral was well instructed in military affairs, and was possessed of an intrepid spirit and great fertility of resource, he was precisely the person to undertake the difficult office of defending St.