The History of the Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic — Volume 2

by William Hickling Prescott

CHAPTER I.

ITALIAN WARS.—GENERAL VIEW OF EUROPE.—INVASION OF ITALY BY CHARLES VIII. OF FRANCE.

1493-1495.

Europe at the Close of the Fifteenth Century.—More Intimate Relations
between States.—Italy the School of Politics.—Pretensions of Charles
VIII. to Naples.—Treaty of Barcelona.—The French Invade Naples.—
Ferdinand's Dissatisfaction.—Tactics and Arms of the Different Nations.—
Preparations of Spain.—Mission to Charles VIII.—Bold Conduct of the
Envoys.—The French enter Naples.

We have now reached that memorable epoch, when the different nations of Europe, surmounting the barriers which had hitherto confined them within their respective limits, brought their forces, as if by a simultaneous impulse, against each other on a common theatre of action. In the preceding part of this work, we have seen in what manner Spain was prepared for the contest, by the concentration of her various states under one government, and by such internal reforms, as enabled the government to act with vigor. The genius of Ferdinand will appear as predominant in what concerns the foreign relations of the country, as did that of Isabella in its interior administration. So much so, indeed, that the accurate and well-informed historian, who has most copiously illustrated this portion of the national annals, does not even mention, in his introductory notice, the name of Isabella, but refers the agency in these events exclusively to her more ambitious consort. [1] In this he is abundantly justified, both by the prevailing character of the policy pursued, widely differing from that which distinguished the queen's measures, and by the circumstance that the foreign conquests, although achieved by the united efforts of both crowns, were undertaken on, behalf of Ferdinand's own dominions of Aragon, to which in the end they exclusively appertained.

The close of the fifteenth century presents, on the whole, the most striking point of view in modern history; one from which we may contemplate the consummation of an important revolution in the structure of political society, and the first application of several inventions destined to exercise the widest influence on human civilization. The feudal institutions, or rather the feudal principle, which operated even where the institutions, strictly speaking, did not exist, after having wrought its appointed uses, had gradually fallen into decay; for it had not the power of accommodating itself to the increased demands and improved condition of society. However well suited to a barbarous age, it was found that the distribution of power among the members of an independent aristocracy was unfavorable to that degree of personal security and tranquillity indispensable to great proficiency in the higher arts of civilization. It was equally repugnant to the principle of patriotism, so essential to national independence, but which must have operated feebly among a people whose sympathies, instead of being concentrated on the state, were claimed by a hundred masters, as was the case in every feudal community. The conviction of this reconciled the nation to the transfer of authority into other hands; not those of the people, indeed, who were too ignorant, and too long accustomed to a subordinate, dependent situation, to admit of it,—but into the hands of the sovereign. It was not until three centuries more had elapsed, that the condition of the great mass of the people was to be so far improved, as to qualify them for asserting and maintaining the political consideration which of right belongs to them.

In whatever degree public opinion and the progress of events might favor the transition of power from the aristocracy to the monarch, it is obvious that much would depend on his personal character; since the advantages of his station alone made him by no means a match for the combined forces of his great nobility. The remarkable adaptation of the characters of the principal sovereigns of Europe to this exigency, in the latter half of the fifteenth century, would seem to have something providential in it. Henry the Seventh of England, Louis the Eleventh of France, Ferdinand of Naples, John the Second of Aragon, and his son Ferdinand, and John the Second of Portugal, however differing in other respects, were all distinguished by a sagacity, which enabled them to devise the most subtile and comprehensive schemes of policy, and which was prolific in expedients for the circumvention of enemies too potent to be encountered by open force.

Their operations, all directed towards the same point, were attended with similar success, resulting in the exaltation of the royal prerogative at the expense of the aristocracy, with more or less deference to the rights of the people, as the case might be; in France, for example, with almost total indifference to them, while in Spain they were regarded, under the parental administration of Isabella, which tempered the less scrupulous policy of her husband, with tenderness and respect. In every country, however, the nation at large gained greatly by the revolution, which came on insensibly, at least without any violent shock to the fabric of society, and which, by securing internal tranquillity and the ascendency of law over brute force, gave ample scope for those intellectual pursuits, that withdraw mankind from sensual indulgence, and too exclusive devotion to the animal wants of our nature.

No sooner was the internal organization of the different nations of Europe placed on a secure basis, than they found leisure to direct their views, hitherto confined within their own limits, to a bolder and more distant sphere of action. Their international communication was greatly facilitated by several useful inventions coincident with this period, or then first extensively applied. Such was the art of printing, diffusing knowledge with the speed and universality of light; the establishment of posts, which, after its adoption by Louis the Eleventh, came into frequent use in the beginning of the sixteenth century; and lastly, the compass, which, guiding the mariner unerringly through the trackless wastes of the ocean, brought the remotest regions into contact. With these increased facilities for intercommunication, the different European states might be said to be brought into as intimate relation with one another, as the different provinces of the same kingdom were before. They now for the first time regarded each other as members of one great community, in whose action they were all mutually concerned. A greater anxiety was manifested to detect the springs of every political movement of their neighbors. Missions became frequent, and accredited agents were stationed, as a sort of honorable spies, at the different courts. The science of diplomacy, on narrower grounds, indeed, than it is now practised, began to be studied. [2] Schemes of aggression and resistance, leading to political combinations the most complex and extended, were gradually formed. We are not to imagine, however, the existence of any well-defined ideas of a balance of power at this early period. The object of these combinations was some positive act of aggression or resistance, for purposes of conquest or defence, not for the maintenance of any abstract theory of political equilibrium. This was the result of much deeper reflection, and of prolonged experience.

The management of the foreign relations of the nation, at the close of the fifteenth century, was resigned wholly to the sovereign. The people took no further part or interest in the matter, than if it had concerned only the disposition of his private property. His measures were, therefore, often characterized by a degree of temerity and precipitation, that could not have been permitted under the salutary checks afforded by popular interposition. A strange insensibility, indeed, was shown to the rights and interests of the nation. War was regarded as a game, in which the sovereign parties engaged, not on behalf of their subjects, but exclusively on their own. Like desperate gamblers, they contended for the spoils or the honors of victory, with so much the more recklessness as their own station was too elevated to be materially prejudiced by the results. They contended with all the animosity of personal feeling; every device, however paltry, was resorted to; and no advantage was deemed unwarrantable, which could tend to secure the victory. The most profligate maxims of state policy were openly avowed by men of reputed honor and integrity. In short, the diplomacy of that day is very generally characterized by a low cunning, subterfuge, and petty trickery, which would leave an indelible stain on the transactions of private individuals.

Italy was, doubtless, the great school where this political morality was taught. That country was broken up into a number of small states, too nearly equal to allow the absolute supremacy of any one; while, at the same time, it demanded the most restless vigilance on the part of each to maintain its independence against its neighbors. Hence such a complexity of intrigues and combinations as the world had never before witnessed. A subtile, refined policy was conformable to the genius of the Italians. It was partly the result, moreover, of their higher cultivation, which naturally led them to trust the settlement of their disputes to superior intellectual dexterity, rather than to brute force, like the barbarians beyond the Alps. [3] From these and other causes, maxims were gradually established, so monstrous in their nature as to give the work, which first embodied them in a regular system, the air of a satire rather than a serious performance, while the name of its author has been converted into a by-word of political knavery. [4]

At the period before us, the principal states of Italy were, the republics of Venice and Florence, the duchy of Milan, the papal see, and the kingdom of Naples. The others may be regarded merely as satellites, revolving round some one or other of these superior powers, by whom their respective movements were regulated and controlled. Venice may be considered as the most formidable of the great powers, taking into consideration her wealth, her powerful navy, her territory in the north, and princely colonial domain. There was no government in that age which attracted such general admiration, both from natives and foreigners; who seem to have looked upon it as affording the very best model of political wisdom. [5] Yet there was no country where the citizen enjoyed less positive freedom; none whose foreign relations were conducted with more absolute selfishness, and with a more narrow, bargaining spirit, savoring rather of a company of traders than of a great and powerful state. But all this was compensated, in the eyes of her contemporaries, by the stability of her institutions, which still remained unshaken, amidst revolutions which had convulsed or overturned every other social fabric in Italy. [6]

The government of Milan was at this time under the direction of Lodovico Sforza, or Lodovico the Moor, as he is commonly called; an epithet suggested by his complexion, but which he willingly retained, as indicating the superior craftiness on which he valued himself. [7] He held the reins in the name of his nephew, then a minor, until a convenient season should arrive for assuming them in his own. His cool, perfidious character was stained with the worst vices of the most profligate class of Italian statesmen of that period.

The central parts of Italy were occupied by the republic of Florence, which had ever been the rallying point of the friends of freedom, too often of faction; but which had now resigned itself to the dominion of the Medici, whose cultivated tastes and munificent patronage shed a splendid illusion over their administration, which has blinded the eyes of contemporaries, and even of posterity.

The papal chair was filled by Alexander the Sixth, a pontiff whose licentiousness, avarice, and unblushing effrontery have been the theme of unmingled reproach, with Catholic as well as Protestant writers. His preferment was effected by lavish bribery, and by his consummate address, as well as energy of character. Although a native Spaniard, his election was extremely unpalatable to Ferdinand and Isabella, who deprecated the scandal it must bring upon the church, and who had little to hope for themselves, in a political view, from the elevation of one of their own subjects even, whose mercenary spirit placed him at the control of the highest bidder. [8]

The Neapolitan sceptre was swayed by Ferdinand the First, whose father, Alfonso the Fifth, the uncle of Ferdinand of Aragon, had obtained the crown by the adoption of Joanna of Naples, or rather by his own good sword. Alfonso settled his conquest on his illegitimate son Ferdinand, to the prejudice of the rights of Aragon, by whose blood and treasure he had achieved it. Ferdinand's character, the very opposite of his noble father's, was dark, wily, and ferocious. His life was spent in conflict with his great feudal nobility, many of whom supported the pretensions of the Angevin family. But his superior craft enabled him to foil every attempt of his enemies. In effecting this, indeed, he shrunk from no deed of treachery or violence, however atrocious, and in the end had the satisfaction of establishing his authority, undisputed, on the fears of his subjects. He was about seventy years of age at the period of which we are treating, 1493. The heir apparent, Alfonso, was equally sanguinary in his temper, though possessing less talent for dissimulation than his father.

Such was the character of the principal Italian courts at the close of the fifteenth century. The politics of the country were necessarily regulated by the temper and views of the leading powers. They were essentially selfish and personal. The ancient republican forms had been gradually effaced during this century, and more arbitrary ones introduced. The name of freedom, indeed, was still inscribed on their banners, but the spirit had disappeared. In almost every state, great or small, some military adventurer, or crafty statesman, had succeeded in raising his own authority on the liberties of his country; and his sole aim seemed to be to enlarge it still further, and to secure it against the conspiracies and revolutions, which the reminiscence of ancient independence naturally called forth. Such was the case with Tuscany, Milan, Naples, and the numerous subordinate states. In Rome, the pontiff proposed no higher object than the concentration of wealth and public honors in the hands of his own family. In short, the administration of every state seemed to be managed with exclusive reference to the personal interests of its chief. Venice was the only power of sufficient strength and stability to engage in more extended schemes of policy, and even these were conducted, as has been already noticed, in the narrow and calculating spirit of a trading corporation.

But, while no spark of generous patriotism seemed to warm the bosoms of the Italians; while no sense of public good, or even menace of foreign invasion, could bring them to act in concert with one another, [9] the internal condition of the country was eminently prosperous. Italy had far outstripped the rest of Europe in the various arts of civilized life; and she everywhere afforded the evidence of faculties developed by unceasing intellectual action. The face of the country itself was like a garden; "cultivated through all its plains to the very tops of the mountains; teeming with population, with riches, and an unlimited commerce; illustrated by many munificent princes, by the splendor of many noble and beautiful cities, and by the majesty of religion; and adorned with all those rare and precious gifts, which render a name glorious among the nations." [10] Such are the glowing strains in which the Tuscan historian celebrates the prosperity of his country, ere yet the storm of war had descended on her beautiful valleys.

This scene of domestic tranquillity was destined to be changed by that terrible invasion which the ambition of Lodovico Sforza brought upon his country. He had already organized a coalition of the northern powers of Italy, to defeat the interference of the king of Naples in behalf of his grandson, the rightful duke of Milan, whom his uncle held in subjection during a protracted minority, while he exercised all the real functions of sovereignty in his name. Not feeling sufficiently secure from his Italian confederacy, Sforza invited the king of France to revive the hereditary claims of the house of Anjou to the crown of Naples, promising to aid him in the enterprise with all his resources. In this way, this wily politician proposed to divert the storm from his own head, by giving Ferdinand sufficient occupation at home.

The throne of France was at that time filled by Charles the Eighth, a monarch scarcely twenty-two years of age. His father, Louis the Eleventh, had given him an education unbecoming, not only a great prince, but even a private gentleman. He would allow him to learn no other Latin, says Brantôme, than his favorite maxim, "Qui nescit dissimulare, nescit regnare." [11] Charles made some amends for this, though with little judgment, in later life, when left to his own disposal. His favorite studies were the exploits of celebrated conquerors, of Caesar and Charlemagne particularly, which filled his young mind with vague and visionary ideas of glory. These dreams were still further nourished by the tourneys and other chivalrous spectacles of the age, in which he delighted, until he seems to have imagined himself some doughty paladin of romance, destined to the achievement of a grand and perilous enterprise. It affords some proof of this exalted state of his imagination, that he gave his only son the name of Orlando, after the celebrated hero of Roncesvalles. [12]

With a mind thus excited by chimerical visions of military glory, he lent a willing ear to the artful propositions of Sforza. In the extravagance of vanity, fed by the adulation of interested parasites, he affected to regard the enterprise against Naples as only opening the way to a career of more splendid conquests, which were to terminate in the capture of Constantinople, and the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre. He even went so far as to purchase of Andrew Paleologus, the nephew and heir of Constantine, the last of the Caesars, his title to the Greek empire. [13]

Nothing could be more unsound, according to the principles of the present day, than Charles's claims to the crown of Naples. Without discussing the original pretensions of the rival houses of Aragon and Anjou, it is sufficient to state, that, at the time of Charles the Eighth's invasion, the Neapolitan throne had been in the possession of the Aragonese family more than half a century, under three successive princes solemnly recognized by the people, sanctioned by repeated investitures of the papal suzerain, and admitted by all the states of Europe. If all this did not give validity to their title, when was the nation to expect repose? Charles's claim, on the other hand, was derived originally from a testamentary bequest of René, count of Provence, operating to the exclusion of the son of his own daughter, the rightful heir of the house of Anjou; Naples being too notoriously a female fief to afford any pretext for the action of the Salic law. The pretensions of Ferdinand, of Spain, as representative of the legitimate branch of Aragon, were far more plausible. [14]

Independently of the defects in Charles's title, his position was such as to make the projected expedition every way impolitic. A misunderstanding had for some time subsisted between him and the Spanish sovereigns, and he was at open war with Germany and England; so that it was only by large concessions that he could hope to secure their acquiescence in an enterprise most precarious in its character, and where even complete success could be of no permanent benefit to his kingdom. "He did not understand," says Voltaire, "that a dozen villages adjacent to one's territory, are of more value than a kingdom four hundred leagues distant." [15] By the treaties of Etaples and Senlis, he purchased a reconciliation with Henry the Seventh of England, and with Maximilian, the emperor elect; and finally, by that of Barcelona, effected an amicable adjustment of his difficulties with Spain. [16]

This treaty, which involved the restoration of Roussillon and Cerdagne, was of great importance to the crown of Aragon. These provinces, it will be remembered, had been originally mortgaged by Ferdinand's father, King John the Second, to Louis the Eleventh of France, for the sum of three hundred thousand crowns, in consideration of aid to be afforded by the latter monarch against the Catalan insurgents. Although the stipulated sum had never been paid by Aragon, yet a plausible pretext for requiring the restitution was afforded by Louis the Eleventh's incomplete performance of his engagements, as well as by the ample reimbursement, which the French government had already derived from the revenues of these countries. [17] This treaty had long been a principal object of Ferdinand's policy. He had not, indeed, confined himself to negotiation, but had made active demonstrations more than once of occupying the contested territory by force. Negotiation, however, was more consonant to his habitual policy; and, after the termination of the Moorish war, he pressed it with the utmost vigor, repairing with the queen to Barcelona, in order to watch over the deliberations of the envoys of the two nations at Figueras. [18]

The French historians accuse Ferdinand of bribing two ecclesiastics, in high influence at their court, to make such a representation of the affair, as should alarm the conscience of the young monarch. These holy men insisted on the restoration of Roussillon as an act of justice; since the sums for which it had been mortgaged, though not repaid, had been spent in the common cause of Christendom, the Moorish war. The soul, they said, could never hope to escape from purgatory, until restitution was made of all property unlawfully held during life. His royal father, Louis the Eleventh, was clearly in this predicament, as he himself would hereafter be, unless the Spanish territories should be relinquished; a measure, moreover, the more obligatory on him, since it was well known to be the dying request of his parent. These arguments made a suitable impression on the young monarch, and a still deeper on his sister, the duchess of Beaujeu, who exercised great influence over him, and who believed her own soul in peril of eternal damnation by deferring the act of restoration any longer. The effect of this cogent reasoning was no doubt greatly enhanced by the reckless impatience of Charles, who calculated no cost in the prosecution of his chimerical enterprise. With these amicable dispositions an arrangement was at length concluded, and received the signatures of the respective monarchs on the same day, being signed by Charles at Tours, and by Ferdinand and Isabella at Barcelona, January 19th, 1493. [19]

The principal articles of the treaty provided, that the contracting parties should mutually aid each other against all enemies; that they should reciprocally prefer this alliance to that with any other, the vicar of Christ excepted; that the Spanish sovereigns should enter into no understanding with any power, the vicar of Christ excepted, prejudicial to the interests of France; that their children should not be disposed of in marriage to the kings of England, or of the Romans, or to any enemy of France, without the French king's consent. It was finally stipulated that Roussillon and Cerdagne should be restored to Aragon; but that, as doubts might be entertained to which power the possession of these countries rightfully appertained, arbitrators named by Ferdinand and Isabella should be appointed, if requested by the French monarch, with full power to decide the question, by whose judgment the contracting parties mutually promised to abide. This last provision, obviously too well guarded to jeopard the interests of the Spanish sovereigns, was introduced to allay in some measure the discontents of the French, who loudly inveighed against their cabinet, as sacrificing the interests of the nation; accusing, indeed, the Cardinal D'Albi, the principal agent in the negotiation, of being in the pay of Ferdinand. [20]

The treaty excited equal surprise and satisfaction in Spain, where Roussillon was regarded as of the last importance, not merely from the extent of its resources, but from its local position, which made it the key of Catalonia. The nation, says Zurita, looked on its recovery as scarcely less important than the conquest of Granada; and they doubted some sinister motive, or deeper policy than appeared in the conduct of the French king. He was influenced, however, by no deeper policy than the cravings of a puerile ambition. [21]

The preparations of Charles, in the mean while, excited general alarm throughout Italy. Ferdinand, the old king of Naples, who in vain endeavored to arrest them by negotiation, had died in the beginning of 1494. He was succeeded by his son Alfonso, a prince of bolder but less politic character, and equally odious, from the cruelty of his disposition, with his father. He lost no time in putting his kingdom in a posture of defence; but he wanted the best of all defences, the attachment of his subjects. His interests were supported by the Florentine republic and the pope, whose family had intermarried with the royal house of Naples. Venice stood aloof, secure in her remoteness, unwilling to compromise her interests by too precipitate a declaration in favor of either party.

The European powers regarded the expedition of Charles the Eighth with somewhat different feelings; most of them were not unwilling to see so formidable a prince waste his resources in a remote and chimerical expedition; Ferdinand, however, contemplated with more anxiety an event, which might terminate in the subversion of the Neapolitan branch of his house, and bring a powerful and active neighbor in contact with his own dominions in Sicily. He lost no time in fortifying the faltering courage of the pope by assurances of support. His ambassador, then resident at the papal court, was Garcilasso de la Vega, father of the illustrious poet of that name, and familiar to the reader by his exploits in the Granadine war. This personage with rare political sagacity combined an energy of purpose, which could not fail to infuse courage into the hearts of others. He urged the pope to rely on his master, the king of Aragon, who, he assured him, would devote his whole resources, if necessary, to the protection of his person, honor, and estate. Alexander would gladly have had this promise under the hand of Ferdinand; but the latter did not think it expedient, considering his delicate relations with France, to put himself so far in the power of the wily pontiff. [22]

In the mean time, Charles's preparations went forward with the languor and vacillation resulting from divided councils and multiplied embarrassments. "Nothing essential to the conduct of a war was at hand," says Comines. The king was very young, weak in person, headstrong in will, surrounded by few discreet counsellors, and wholly destitute of the requisite funds. [23] His own impatience, however, was stimulated by that of the youthful chivalry of his court, who burned for an opportunity of distinction; as well as by the representations of the Neapolitan exiles, who hoped, under his protection, to re-establish themselves in their own country. Several of these, weary with the delay already experienced, made overtures to King Ferdinand to undertake the enterprise on his own behalf, and to assert his legitimate pretensions to the crown of Naples, which, they assured him, a large party in the country was ready to sustain. The sagacious monarch, however, knew how little reliance was to be placed on the reports of exiles, whose imaginations readily exaggerated the amount of disaffection in their own country. But, although the season had not yet arrived for asserting his own paramount claims, he was determined to tolerate those of no other potentate. [24]

Charles entertained so little suspicion of this, that, in the month of June, he despatched an envoy to the Spanish court, requiring Ferdinand's fulfilment of the treaty of Barcelona, by aiding him with men and money, and by throwing open his ports in Sicily for the French navy. "This gracious proposition," says the Aragonese historian, "he accompanied with information of his proposed expedition against the Turks; stating incidentally, as a thing of no consequence, his intention to take Naples by the way." [25]

Ferdinand saw the time was arrived for coming to an explicit declaration with the French court. He appointed a special mission, in order to do this in the least offensive manner possible. The person selected for this delicate task was Alonso de Silva, brother of the count of Cifuentes, and clavero of Calatrava, a cavalier possessed of the coolness and address requisite for diplomatic success. [26]

The ambassador, on arriving at the French court, found it at Vienne in all the bustle of preparation for immediate departure. After seeking in vain a private audience from King Charles, he explained to him the purport of his mission in the presence of his courtiers. He assured him of the satisfaction which the king of Aragon had experienced, at receiving intelligence of his projected expedition against the infidel. Nothing gave his master so great contentment, as to see his brother monarchs employing their arms, and expending their revenues, against the enemies of the Cross; where even failure was greater gain than success in other wars. He offered Ferdinand's assistance in the prosecution of such wars, even though they should be directed against the Mahometans of Africa, over whom the papal sanction had given Spain exclusive rights of conquest. He besought the king not to employ the forces destined to so glorious a purpose against any one of the princes of Europe, but to reflect how great a scandal this must necessarily bring on the Christian cause; above all, he cautioned him against forming any designs on Naples, since that kingdom was a fief of the church, in whose favor an exception was expressly made by the treaty of Barcelona, which recognized her alliance and protection as paramount to every other obligation. Silva's discourse was responded to by the president of the parliament of Paris in a formal Latin oration, asserting generally Charles's right to Naples, and his resolution to enforce it previously to his crusade against the infidel. As soon as it was concluded, the king rose and abruptly quitted the apartment. [27]

Some days after, he interrogated the Spanish ambassador, whether his master would not, in case of a war with Portugal, feel warranted by the terms of the late treaty in requiring the co-operation of France, and on what plea the latter power could pretend to withhold it. To the first of these propositions the ambassador answered in the affirmative, if it were a defensive war, but not, if an offensive one, of his own seeking; an explanation by no means satisfactory to the French monarch. Indeed, he seems not to have been at all prepared for this interpretation of the compact. He had relied on this, as securing without any doubt the non- interference of Ferdinand, if not his actual co-operation in his designs against Naples. The clause touching the rights of the church was too frequent in public treaties to excite any particular attention; and he was astounded at the broad ground, which it was now made to cover, and which defeated the sole object proposed by the cession of Roussillon. He could not disguise his chagrin and indignation at what he deemed the perfidy of the Spanish court. He refused all further intercourse with Silva, and even stationed a sentinel at his gate, to prevent his communication with his subjects; treating him as the envoy, not of an ally, but of an open enemy. [28]

The unexpected and menacing attitude, however, assumed by Ferdinand, failed to arrest the operations of the French monarch, who, having completed his preparations, left Vienne in the month of August, 1494, and crossed the Alps at the head of the most formidable host which had scaled that mountain barrier since the irruption of the northern barbarians. [29] It will be unnecessary to follow his movements in detail. It is sufficient to remark, that his conduct throughout was equally defective in principle and in sound policy. He alienated his allies by the most signal acts of perfidy, seizing their fortresses for himself, and entering their capitals with all the vaunt and insolent port of a conquerer. On his approach to Rome, the pope and the cardinals took refuge in the castle of St. Angelo, and on the 31st of December, Charles defiled into the city at the head of his victorious chivalry; if victorious they could be called, when, as an Italian historian remarks, they had scarcely broken a lance, or spread a tent, in the whole of their progress. [30]

The Italians were panic-struck at the aspect of troops so different from their own, and so superior to them in organization, science, and military equipment; and still more in a remorseless ferocity of temper, which had rarely been witnessed in their own feuds. Warfare was conducted on peculiar principles in Italy, adapted to the character and circumstances of the people. The business of fighting, in her thriving communities, instead of forming part of the regular profession of a gentleman, as in other countries at this period, was intrusted to the hands of a few soldiers of fortune, condottieri, as they were called, who hired themselves out, with the forces under their command, consisting exclusively of heavy-armed cavalry, to whatever state would pay them best. These forces constituted the capital, as it were, of the military chief, whose obvious interest it was to economize as far as possible all unnecessary expenditure of his resources. Hence, the science of defence was almost exclusively studied. The object seemed to be, not so much the annoyance of the enemy, as self-preservation. The common interests of the condottieri being paramount to every obligation towards the state which they served, they easily came to an understanding with one another to spare their troops as much as possible; until at length battles were fought with little more personal hazard than would be incurred in an ordinary tourney. The man-at-arms was riveted into plates of steel of sufficient thickness to turn a musket-ball. The ease of the soldier was so far consulted, that the artillery, in a siege, was not allowed to be fired on either side from sunset to sunrise, for fear of disturbing his repose. Prisoners were made for the sake of their ransom, and but little blood was spilled in an action. Machiavelli records two engagements, at Anghiari and Castracaro, among the most noted of the time for their important consequences. The one lasted four hours, and the other half a day. The reader is hurried along through all the bustle of a well-contested fight, in the course of which the field is won and lost several times; but, when he comes to the close, and looks for the list of killed and wounded, he finds to his surprise not a single man slain, in the first of these actions; and, in the second, only one, who, having tumbled from his horse, and being unable to rise, from the weight of his armor, was suffocated in the mud! Thus war became disarmed of its terrors. Courage was no longer essential in a soldier; and the Italian, made effeminate, if not timid, was incapable of encountering the adventurous daring and severe discipline of the northern warrior. [31]

The astonishing success of the French was still more imputable to the free use and admirable organization of their infantry, whose strength lay in the Swiss mercenaries. Machiavelli ascribes the misfortunes of his nation chiefly to its exclusive reliance on cavalry. [32] This service, during the whole of the Middle Ages, was considered among the European nations the most important; the horse being styled by way of eminence "the battle." The memorable conflict of Charles the Bold with the Swiss mountaineers, however, in which the latter broke in pieces the celebrated Burgundian ordonnance, constituting the finest body of chivalry of the age, demonstrated the capacity of infantry; and the Italian wars, in which we are now engaged, at length fully re-established its ancient superiority.

The Swiss were formed into battalions varying from three to eight thousand men each. They wore little defensive armor, and their principal weapon was the pike, eighteen feet long. Formed into these solid battalions, which, bristling with spears all around, received the technical appellation of the hedgehog, they presented an invulnerable front on every quarter. In the level field, with free scope allowed for action, they bore down all opposition, and received unshaken the most desperate charges of the steel- clad cavalry on their terrible array of pikes. They were too unwieldy, however, for rapid or complicated manoeuvres; they were easily disconcerted by any unforseen impediment, or irregularity of the ground; and the event proved, that the Spanish foot, armed with its short swords and bucklers, by breaking in under the long pikes of its enemy, could succeed in bringing him to close action, where his formidable weapon was of no avail. It was repeating the ancient lesson of the Roman legion and the Macedonian phalanx. [33]

In artillery, the French were at this time in advance of the Italians, perhaps of every nation in Europe. The Italians, indeed, were so exceedingly defective in this department, that their best field-pieces consisted of small copper tubes, covered with wood and hides. They were mounted on unwieldy carriages drawn by oxen, and followed by cars or wagons loaded with stone balls. These guns were worked so awkwardly, that the besieged, says Guicciardini, had time between the discharges to repair the mischief inflicted by them. From these circumstances, artillery was held in so little repute, that some of the most competent Italian writers thought it might be dispensed with altogether in field engagements. [34]

The French, on the other hand, were provided with a beautiful train of ordnance, consisting of bronze cannon about eight feet in length, and many smaller pieces. [35] They were lightly mounted, drawn by horses, and easily kept pace with the rapid movements of the army. They discharged iron balls, and were served with admirable skill, intimidating their enemies by the rapidity and accuracy of their fire, and easily demolishing their fortifications, which, before this invasion, were constructed with little strength or science. [36]

The rapid successes of the French spread consternation among the Italian states, who now for the first time seemed to feel the existence of a common interest, and the necessity of efficient concert. Ferdinand was active in promoting these dispositions, through his ministers, Garcilasso de la Vega and Alonso de Silva. The latter had quitted the French court on its entrance into Italy, and withdrawn to Genoa. From this point he opened a correspondence with Lodovico Sforza, who now began to understand, that he had brought a terrible engine into play, the movements of which, however mischievous to himself, were beyond his strength to control. Silva endeavored to inflame still further his jealousy of the French, who had already given him many serious causes of disgust; and, in order to detach him more effectually from Charles's interests, encouraged him with the hopes of forming a matrimonial alliance for his son with one of the infantas of Spain. At the same time, he used every effort to bring about a co-operation between the duke and the republic of Venice, thus opening the way to the celebrated league which was concluded in the following year. [37]

The Roman pontiff had lost no time, after the appearance of the French army in Italy, in pressing the Spanish court to fulfil its engagements. He endeavored to propitiate the good-will of the sovereigns by several important concessions. He granted to them and their successors the tercias, or two-ninths of the tithes, throughout the dominions of Castile; an impost still forming part of the regular revenue of the crown. [38] He caused bulls of crusade to be promulgated throughout Spain, granting at the same time a tenth of the ecclesiastical rents, with the understanding that the proceeds should be devoted to the protection of the Holy See. Towards the close of this year, 1494, or the beginning of the following, he conferred the title of Catholic on the Spanish sovereigns, in consideration, as is stated, of their eminent virtues, their zeal in defence of the true faith of the apostolic see, their reformation of conventual discipline, their subjugation of the Moors of Granada, and the purification of their dominions from the Jewish heresy. This orthodox title, which still continues to be the jewel most prized in the Spanish crown, has been appropriated in a peculiar manner to Ferdinand and Isabella, who are universally recognized in history as Los Reyes Católicos. [39]

Ferdinand was too sensible of the peril, to which the occupation of Naples by the French would expose his own interests, to require any stimulant to action from the Roman pontiff. Naval preparations had been going forward during the summer, in the ports of Galicia and Guipuscoa. A considerable armament was made ready for sea by the latter part of December, at Alicant, and placed under the command of Galceran de Requesens, count of Trevento. The land forces were intrusted to Gonsalvo de Cordova, better known in history as the Great Captain. Instructions were at the same time sent to the viceroy of Sicily, to provide for the security of that island, and to hold himself in readiness to act in concert with the Spanish fleet. [40]

Ferdinand, however, determined to send one more embassy to Charles the Eighth, before coming to an open rupture with him. He selected for this mission Juan de Albion and Antonio de Fonseca, brother of the bishop of that name, whom we have already noticed as superintendent of the Indian department. The two envoys reached Rome, January 28th, 1495, the same day on which Charles set out on his march for Naples. They followed the army, and on arriving at Veletri, about twenty miles from the capital, were admitted to an audience by the monarch, who received them in the presence of his officers. The ambassadors freely enumerated the various causes of complaint entertained by their master against the French king; the insult offered to him in the person of his minister Alonso de Silva; the contumelious treatment of the pope, and forcible occupation of the fortresses and estates of the church; and finally, the enterprise against Naples, the claims to which as a papal fief could of right be determined in no other way than by the arbitration of the pontiff himself. Should King Charles consent to accept this arbitration, they tendered the good offices of their master as mediator between the parties; should he decline it, however, the king of Spain stood absolved from all further obligations of amity with him, by the terms of the treaty of Barcelona, which expressly recognized his right to interfere in defence of the church. [41]

Charles, who could not dissemble his indignation during this discourse, retorted with great acrimony, when it was concluded, on the conduct of Ferdinand, which he stigmatized as perfidious, accusing him, at the same time, of a deliberate design to circumvent him, by introducing into their treaty the clause respecting the pope. As to the expedition against Naples, he had now gone too far to recede; and it would be soon enough to canvass the question of right, when he had got possession of it. His courtiers, at the same time, with the impetuosity of their nation, heightened by the insolence of success, told the envoys, that they knew well enough how to defend their rights with their arms, and that King Ferdinand would find the French chivalry enemies of quite another sort from the holiday tilters of Granada.

These taunts led to mutual recrimination, until at length Fonseca, though naturally a sedate person, was so far transported with anger, that he exclaimed, "The issue then must be left to God,—arms must decide it;" and, producing the original treaty, bearing the signatures of the two monarchs, he tore it in pieces before the eyes of Charles and his court. At the same time he commanded two Spanish knights who served in the French army to withdraw from it, under pain of incurring the penalties of treason. The French cavaliers were so much incensed by this audacious action, that they would have seized the envoys, and, in all probability, offered violence to their persons, but for Charles's interposition, who with more coolness caused them to be conducted from his presence, and sent back under a safe escort to Rome. Such are the circumstances reported by the French and Italian writers of this remarkable interview. They were not aware that the dramatic exhibition, as far as the ambassadors were concerned, was all previously concerted before their departure from Spain. [42]

Charles pressed forward on his march without further delay. Alfonso the Second, losing his confidence and martial courage, the only virtues that he possessed, at the crisis when they were most demanded, had precipitately abandoned his kingdom while the French were at Rome, and taken refuge in Sicily, where he formally abdicated the crown in favor of his son, Ferdinand the Second. This prince, then twenty-five years of age, whose amiable manners were rendered still more attractive by contrast with the ferocious temper of his father, was possessed of talent and energy competent to the present emergency, had he been sustained by his subjects. But the latter, besides being struck with the same panic which had paralyzed the other people of Italy, had too little interest in the government to be willing to hazard much in its defence. A change of dynasty was only a change of masters, by which they had little either to gain or to lose. Though favorably inclined to Ferdinand, they refused to stand by him in his perilous extremity. They gave way in every direction, as the French advanced, rendering hopeless every attempt of their spirited young monarch to rally them, till at length no alternative was left, but to abandon his dominions to the enemy, without striking a blow in their defence. He withdrew to the neighboring island of Ischia, whence he soon after passed into Sicily, and occupied himself there in collecting the fragments of his party, until the time should arrive for more decisive action. [43]

Charles the Eighth made his entrance into Naples at the head of his legions, February 22d, 1495, having traversed this whole extent of hostile territory in less time than would be occupied by a fashionable tourist of the present day. The object of his expedition was now achieved. He seemed to have reached the consummation of his wishes; and, although he assumed the titles of King of Sicily and of Jerusalem, and affected the state and authority of Emperor, he took no measures for prosecuting his chimerical enterprise further. He even neglected to provide for the security of his present conquest; and, without bestowing a thought on the government of his new dominions, resigned himself to the licentious and effeminate pleasures so congenial with the soft voluptuousness of the climate, and his own character. [44]

While Charles was thus wasting his time and resources in frivolous amusements, a dark storm was gathering in the north. There was not a state through which he had passed, however friendly to his cause, which had not complaints to make of his insolence, his breach of faith, his infringement of their rights, and his exorbitant exactions. His impolitic treatment of Sforza had long since alienated that wily and restless politician, and raised suspicions in his mind of Charles's designs against his own duchy of Milan. The emperor elect, Maximilian, whom the French king thought to have bound to his interests by the treaty of Senlis, took umbrage at his assumption of the imperial title and dignity. The Spanish ambassadors, Garcilasso de la Vega, and his brother Lorenzo Suarez, the latter of whom resided at Venice, were indefatigable in stimulating the spirit of discontent. Suarez, in particular, used every effort to secure the co- operation of Venice, representing to the government, in the most urgent terms, the necessity of general concert and instant action among the great powers of Italy, if they would preserve their own liberties. [45]

Venice, from its remote position, seemed to afford the best point for coolly contemplating the general interests of Italy. Envoys of the different European powers were assembled there, as if by common consent, with the view of concerting some scheme of operation for their mutual good. The conferences were conducted by night, and with such secrecy as to elude for some time the vigilant eye of Comines, the sagacious minister of Charles, then resident at the capital. The result was the celebrated league of Venice. It was signed the last day of March, 1495, on the part of Spain, Austria, Rome, Milan, and the Venetian republic. The ostensible object of the treaty, which was to last twenty-five years, was the preservation of the estates and rights of the confederates, especially of the Roman see. A large force, amounting in all to thirty-four thousand horse and twenty thousand foot, was to be assessed in stipulated proportions on each of the contracting parties. The secret articles of the treaty, however, went much further, providing a formidable plan of offensive operations. It was agreed in these, that King Ferdinand should employ the Spanish armament, now arrived in Sicily, in re-establishing his kinsman on the throne of Naples; that a Venetian fleet of forty galleys should attack the French positions on the Neapolitan coasts; that the duke of Milan should expel the French from Asti, and blockade the passes of the Alps, so as to intercept the passage of further reinforcements; and that the emperor and the king of Spain should invade the French frontiers, and their expenses be defrayed by subsidies from the allies. [46] Such were the terms of this treaty, which may be regarded as forming an era in modern political history, since it exhibits the first example of those extensive combinations among European princes, for mutual defence, which afterwards became so frequent. It shared the fate of many other coalitions, where the name and authority of the whole have been made subservient to the interests of some one of the parties, more powerful, or more cunning, than the rest.

The intelligence of the new treaty diffused general joy throughout Italy. In Venice, in particular, it was greeted with fêtes, illuminations, and the most emphatic public rejoicing, in the very eyes of the French minister, who was compelled to witness this unequivocal testimony of the detestation in which his countrymen were held. [47] The tidings fell heavily on the ears of the French in Naples. It dispelled the dream of idle dissipation in which they were dissolved. They felt little concern, indeed, on the score of their Italian enemies, whom their easy victories taught them to regard with the same insolent contempt, that the paladins of romance are made to feel for the unknightly rabble, myriads of whom they could overturn with a single lance. But they felt serious alarm as they beheld the storm of war gathering from other quarters,—from Spain and Germany, in defiance of the treaties by which they had hoped to secure them. Charles saw the necessity of instant action. Two courses presented themselves: either to strengthen himself in his new conquests, and prepare to maintain them until he could receive fresh reinforcements from home, or to abandon them altogether and retreat across the Alps, before the allies could muster in sufficient strength to oppose him. With the indiscretion characteristic of his whole enterprise, he embraced a middle course, and lost the advantages which would have resulted from the exclusive adoption of either.

* * * * *

The principal light, by which we are to be guided through the remainder of this history, is the Aragonese annalist, Zurita, whose great work, although less known abroad than those of some more recent Castilian writers, sustains a reputation at home, unsurpassed by any other, in the great, substantial qualities of an historian. The notice of his life and writings has been swelled into a bulky quarto by Dr. Diego Dormer, in a work entitled, "Progressos de la Historia en el Reyno de Aragon. Zaragoza, 1680;" from which I extract a few particulars.

Gerónimo Zurita, descended from an ancient and noble family, was born at Saragossa, December 4th, 1512. He was matriculated at an early age in the university of Alcalá. He there made extraordinary proficiency, under the immediate instruction of the learned Nuñez de Guzman, commonly called El Pinciano. He became familiar with the ancient, and a variety of modern tongues, and attracted particular attention by the purity and elegance of his Latinity. His personal merits, and his father's influence, recommended him, soon after quitting the university, to the notice of the emperor Charles V. He was consulted and employed in affairs of public importance, and subsequently raised to several posts of honor, attesting the entire confidence reposed in his integrity and abilities. His most honorable appointment, however, was that of national historiographer.

In 1547, an act passed the cortes general of Aragon, providing for the office of national chronicler, with a fixed salary, whose duty it should be to compile, from authentic sources, a faithful history of the monarchy. The talents and eminent qualifications of Zurita recommended him to this post, and he was raised to it by the unanimous consent of the legislature, in the following year, 1548. From this time he conscientiously devoted himself to the execution of his great task. He visited every part of his own country, as well as Sicily and Italy, for the purpose of collecting materials. The public archives, and every accessible source of information, were freely thrown open to his inspection, by order of the government; and he returned from his literary pilgrimage with a large accumulation of rare and original documents. The first portion of his annals was published at Saragossa, in two volumes folio, 1562. The work was not completed until nearly twenty years later, and the last two volumes were printed under his own eye at Saragossa, in 1580, a few months only before his death. This edition, being one of those used in the present history, is in large folio, fairly executed, with double columns on the page, in the fashion of most of the ancient Spanish historians. The whole work was again published, as before, at the expense of the state, in 1585, by his son, amended and somewhat enlarged, from the manuscripts left by his father. Bouterwek has fallen into the error of supposing, that no edition of Zurita's Annals appeared till after the reign of Philip II., who died in 1592. (Geschichte der Poesie und Beredsamkeit, band iii. p. 319.)

No incidents worthy of note seem to have broken the peaceful tenor of Zurita's life; which he terminated at Saragossa, in the sixty-eighth year of his age, in the monastery of Santa Engracia, to which he had retired during a temporary residence in the city, to superintend the publication of his Annals. His rich collection of books and manuscripts was left to the Carthusian monastery of Aula Dei; but from accident or neglect, the greater part have long since perished. His remains were interred in the convent where he died, and a monument, bearing a modest inscription, was erected over them by his son.

The best monument of Zurita, however, is his Annals. They take up the history of Aragon from its first rise after the Arabic conquest, and continue it to the death of Ferdinand the Catholic. The reign of this prince, as possessing the largest interest and importance, is expanded into two volumes folio; being one-third of the whole work.

The minuteness of Zurita's investigations has laid him open to the charge of prolixity, especially in the earlier and less important periods. It should be remembered, however, that his work was to be the great national repository of facts, interesting to his own countrymen, but which, from difficulty of access to authentic sources, could never before be fully exhibited to their inspection. But, whatever he thought of his redundancy, in this or the subsequent parts of his narrative, it must be admitted that he has uniformly and emphatically directed the attention of the reader to the topics most worthy of it; sparing no pains to illustrate the constitutional antiquities of the country, and to trace the gradual formation of her liberal polity, instead of wasting his strength on mere superficial gossip, like most of the chroniclers of the period.

There is no Spanish historian less swayed by party or religious prejudice, or by the feeling of nationality, which is so apt to overflow in the loyal effusions of the Castilian writers. This laudable temperance, indeed, has brought on him the rebuke of more than one of his patriotic countrymen. There is a sobriety and coolness in his estimate of historical evidence, equally removed from temerity on the one hand, and credulity on the other; in short, his whole manner is that of a man conversant with public business, and free from the closet pedantry which too often characterizes the monkish annalists. The greater part of his life was passed under the reign of Charles V., when the spirit of the nation was not yet broken by arbitrary power, nor debased by the melancholy superstition which settled on it under his successor; an age, in which the memory of ancient liberty had not wholly faded away, and when, if men did not dare express all they thought, they at least thought with a degree of independence which gave a masculine character to their expression. In this, as well as in the liberality of his religious sentiments, he may be compared favorably with his celebrated countryman Mariana, who, educated in the cloister, and at a period when the nation was schooled to maxims of despotism, exhibits few glimpses of the sound criticism and reflection, which are to be found in the writings of his Aragonese rival. The seductions of style, however, the more fastidious selection of incidents, in short, the superior graces of narration, have given a wider fame to the former, whose works have passed into most of the cultivated languages of Europe, while those of Zurita remain, as far as I am aware, still undisturbed in the vernacular.