Philip II. of Spain

by Martin A. S. Hume

The next year Pius V. died and the league was loosened. Don Juan, full of vast projects of conquest in Tunis, Constantinople, and elsewhere, with encouragement of Rome and the churchmen, kept his fleet together for two years, always clamouring for money for his great projects. But Philip had his hands full now with Alba’s second struggle in the Netherlands, and had no wish or means for acquiring a great Eastern empire which he could not hold, and he was already looking askance at his brother’s ambitious dreams. The mercantile Venetians too, had justified Philip’s distrustful forebodings and had made a submissive peace with the Turk, who kept Cyprus, and Philip could not fight the Turks alone. But Don Juan was not to be entirely gainsaid. In October 1573 he sailed for Tunis, which he captured, almost without resistance, and then returned to the splendour of Naples, still full of projects for a vast North African Christian empire, of which he hoped to obtain the investiture from the new pope, Gregory XIII. Such ambitious dreams as these had floated through Don Juan’s mind after he had suppressed the Morisco rising in Andalucia; and even then prudent Ruy Gomez, whose pupil he had been, took fright, and warned the prince’s secretary, Juan de Soto, one of his own creatures, that these plans must be nipped in the bud. The prince was over headstrong then, but he had got quite out of leading strings now.

When the king’s orders were sent to him to dismantle Tunis and make it powerless for future harm, he disobeyed the command. He wanted Tunis as strong as possible as his own fortress when he should be the Christian emperor of the East. All this did not please Philip, and he simply cut off the supply of money. Artful De Granvelle too, the Viceroy of Naples, saw which way the tide was setting, and took very good care not to strengthen Don Juan’s new conquest. Within a year Tunis and Goleta were recovered by the Turk, and the 8000 Spaniards left there by Don Juan were slaughtered. Neither Philip nor De Granvelle could or would send any help. Better that the two fortresses should be lost for ever, as they were, than that the king’s base brother should drag him into endless responsibilities with his high-flown schemes.

Don Juan, in fact, was evidently getting out of hand. Ruy Gomez had recently died; Cardinal Espinosa had also gone, and the most influential person with the king now was his famous secretary, Antonio Perez. He was the legitimised son of Charles V.’s old secretary of state, and had been brought up by Ruy Gomez in his household. Young as he was, he was already famous for his extravagance, luxury, and arrogance, which added to the hatred of the nobles of the Alba school against him. He was overpoweringly vain and ambitious, but was facile, clever, and ingratiating, and, above all, had the king’s confidence, which once gained was not lightly withdrawn. Philip, in pursuance of his father’s principle, liked to have about him as ministers men whom he himself had raised from the mire, and whom he could again cast down.

Perez aspired to succeed to Ruy Gomez, and was dismayed to lose so promising a member of his party as Don Juan. He therefore persuaded the king to recall Don Juan’s secretary, Soto, who was blamed for encouraging his young master’s visions; and, to be quite on the safe side, sent in his place as the prince’s prime adviser another pupil and page of Ruy Gomez, also a secretary to the king—Juan de Escobedo—with strict orders that he was to bring Don Juan down from the clouds and again instil into him the shibboleths of the party of diplomacy, chicanery, and peace. With such a mentor surely the young prince could not go wrong, they thought. But Don Juan was stronger than the secretary. Juan de Escobedo was quickly gained over to his ambitious views, more completely than Soto had been, and was soon perfectly crazy to make his master Emperor of the Catholic East.

CHAPTER XIII

The Spanish troops in Flanders—Don Juan sent to Flanders—His projects for invading England—Mutiny of the Spanish troops in Flanders—The Spanish fury—Evacuation of Flanders by the Spanish troops—Perez’s plot against Don Juan—The murder of Escobedo—Don Juan seizes Namur—Renewal of the war—The battle of Gemblours—Desperation of Don Juan—His death—Alexander Farnese.

REQUESENS, the Governor of the Netherlands, had died whilst his policy of conciliation was as yet incomplete. The Catholic Flemings had been to a great extent reconciled by promises of concessions and through their jealousy of the Protestant Dutchmen, but the new governor had been surrounded with insuperable difficulties from the first, legacies from the Duke of Alba. Most of the seamen were disloyal, and the Flemish clergy were disaffected, but withal Requesens had not been unsuccessful amongst the peoples of the Walloon and southern states. No blandishments, however, could win over the stubborn Dutchmen, now that they were fighting for the faith and were supported by English and French Protestants, as well as by the questionable German levies, who generally turned tail at the critical moment. The Spaniards were beaten out of their last foothold on Walcheren by the destruction of Julian Romero’s relieving fleet, and the indomitable determination of the citizens of Leyden overcame attack after a year of siege; but, worst of all, the clamour of the Catholic Flemings that they should be relieved of the presence of the mutinous, murderous, unpaid Spanish soldiery could not be complied with, although promised, for there was no money to pay the troops, and they would not budge without it. Philip, in despair, at one time decided either to drown or burn all the revolting cities of the Netherlands—burning he thought preferable, as it would seem less cruel—but Requesens told him that his army was a mutinous mob, who would not do either without pay. Attempts then were made to come to terms with Orange, but without success, for, said Requesens, they are not fighting for their heresy but for their independence. In despair at last, Requesens died on March 5, 1576. The Spanish troops were more mutinous than ever now, mere bandits most of them, and Philip was made to understand clearly by his most faithful adherents in Flanders that unless these ruffians were withdrawn, Brabant and Hainhault, Artois and Flanders would follow Holland and Zeeland, and slip out of his grasp.

Philip bent to the inevitable, and ordered Don Juan to go to Flanders as governor to carry out the policy of pacification at almost any cost. He was instructed to proceed direct to his new post, and doubtless Philip congratulated himself upon so good an opportunity of removing without offence his ambitious brother from the neighbourhood of the Mediterranean. Escobedo, his mentor, was warned strictly before he left Spain that there must be no nonsense. Peace must be made with the Flemings at all sacrifice and the Spanish troops withdrawn from the country. Don Juan’s ambition, however, was bounded by no frontiers, and the pope (Gregory XIII.) had sent instructions to his nuncio to urge a new plan upon Philip, namely, that he should allow Don Juan to invade England from Flanders, liberate and marry the captive Queen of Scots, and rule over a Catholic kingdom of Great Britain. Philip, as was his wont, was vaguely benevolent to a plan which did not originate with himself, but had no intention of allowing his policy to be dictated or forced by others. Suddenly, to his dismay, Don Juan himself, in disobedience to orders, came to Spain instead of going direct to Flanders, the idea being doubtless to add his influence to that of the pope and to prevail upon Philip to adopt his new plans. The king gently evaded his brother’s importunities and his claims to be treated as an imperial prince, and without losing temper dispatched Don Juan as soon as possible on his uncongenial mission. But in his secret way he was offended at the prince’s disobedience and the attempts to force his hand, and thenceforward kept a sharp eye and a tight rein on Don Juan and his adviser Escobedo. False Perez in the meanwhile wormed himself into the confidence of Don Juan, and learnt that, in despite of the king, he intended to swoop down upon the coast of England with the Spanish troops which were to be withdrawn from Flanders.

But the loss of time by Don Juan’s disobedience and stay in Madrid was fatal. Soon after Requesens’ death the Council of State, nominated by Philip as temporary governors of Flanders, found themselves face to face with a great crisis. The Spanish and Italian troops rebelled for want of pay and broke into open mutiny, plundering friends and foes without distinction. The council consisted mostly of Flemish and Walloon Catholics, and was profoundly divided in sight of the murderous excesses of the king’s soldiers. Brussels was held in the interests of the council by Walloon troops, but they were surrounded by Spanish mutineers outside. During the panic-stricken attempts of the council to bribe the mutineers into obedience, a plot was formed by Barlemont, one of the councillors, to admit the Spaniards into the city; but it was discovered, and Barlemont deprived of the keys. Massacres were reported at Alost and other towns; the excesses of the mutineers grew worse and worse. Flemings of all sorts, Catholic and Protestant, lost patience, and swore they would stand no more of it, but would fight for their lives and homes. The council was forced to side with the Flemings, except the Spanish member Rodas, who assumed alone the character of Philip’s representative, and henceforward the Spanish army of cut-throats, with their commanders, Sancho de Avila, Vargas, Mondragon, and Romero, harried, burnt, and killed right and left.

Philip was in deep distress at the news. Money should be sent; Don Juan would soon arrive; the offended Flemings should have justice done to them, and so forth. But the blood-lust of the mutineers could not be slaked now with fine promises. The council’s troops were defeated again and again, town after town was ravaged, and at last came the time when the bands of savage soldiers effected a junction and fell upon the richest prey of all—the city of Antwerp. On the fatal November 4, 1576, six thousand mutinous troops, panting for blood and plunder, swooped down from the citadel on to the town. The citizens had done their best. Barricades had been raised, the burgesses stood to their arms, and brave Champigny, the governor,—De Granvelle’s brother, and hitherto a staunch friend of the Spaniards,—worked heroically. But the Walloons fled, young Egmont was captured, the citizens, unused to arms, were no match for the veteran infantry of Sancho de Avila, and Antwerp soon lay a panting quarry under the claws of the spoiler. Neither age, sex, nor faith was considered, and when the fury had partly subsided it was found that 6000 unarmed people, at least, had been slaughtered, 6,000,000 ducats’ worth of property stolen, and as much again burnt. The States troops were all killed or had fled, and the only armed forces in the country were the unbridled Spanish mutineers and the troops of Orange. Flemings of each faith were welded together now against the wreckers of their homes, and even those nobles who through all the evil past had stood by Spain were at one with Orange and the Protestants of the north.