Thus the Treaty of Cateau-Cambrésis may be considered to have finally regulated the limit and the existence of these Italian principalities and provinces which, under despotic government, whether native or foreign, had embraced almost the whole surface of the peninsula; and it left only the shadow of republican freedom to Venice, Genoa, Lucca, and—if it be worth naming—to the petty community of San Marino in the ecclesiastical states. But this same pacification is yet more remarkable, as the era from which Italy ceased to be the theatre of contention between the monarchs of Spain and Germany and France, in their struggle for the mastery of continental Europe. Other regions were now to be scathed by their ambition, and other countries were to succeed to that inheritance of warfare and all its calamities, of which Italy had reaped, and was yet to reap, only the bitterest fruits.[c]
A new phase now began for Italy; she no longer resisted servitude but became resigned, nay hastened to it. That same brilliant genius that had strayed in the slippery paths of the Renaissance expiated its pagan scepticism in the rigours of penitence and sometimes in the weaknesses of superstition.
Pius IV set the example of resignation. Entirely occupied in embellishing Rome, he had built the Porta Pia, opened up the via Montecavallo; protected the coasts against barbaric pirates by the Borgo, Ancona, and Cività-Vecchia fortifications, and had no other object than peace in his relations with foreign powers. Solicited by the Savoy ambassador to help his master in recovering Geneva, now turned Protestant, “What are we coming to,” he said to him, “that such propositions should be made to me? I desire above all things peace.” He was convinced that the holy see could not long maintain itself without help from the princes, and above all made much of those who reigned over Italy. He thought once of conferring the title of king on Cosmo, or at least of making him archduke. He refused nothing to his vassal Philip II for the kingdom of Naples, and allowed him to oppose the formality of the exequatur to his own decrees. Still less did he combat the measures which the king took in Milan to restrain the privileges left by Charles V to the senate and the last communal liberties.
The Lion of St. Mark’s, Venice
[1563-1572 A.D.]
The holy see, it is true, gained spiritually what she lost temporally. In the last sessions of the Council of Trent, which she had the glory of reopening in 1563, Pope Pius IV, by politic concessions made to the prince, strengthened the religious reforms which it had seemed possible might be seized from him. By ceasing to invoke his right over crowned heads he obtained one thing—there was no more talk of reforming the church by reforming the head of it. The council, instead of putting itself above him, bowed before his authority. Not only was tradition maintained, and dogma in all its rigour, but the power of the holy see in all of its Catholicity was raised and extended. The pope remained sole judge of the changes to be worked in discipline, was infallible in matters of faith, supreme interpreter of canons, uncontested head of bishops, and Rome could console herself for the definite loss of a part of Europe by seeing her power doubled in the Catholic nations of the south who rallied religiously round her.
The lay sovereigns of Italy had not this compensation. Cosmo de’ Medici could freely restrain by terror his subjects of Florence and Siena, who still feared him. He could fortify Grossetto, Leghorn; found the order of the cavaliers of St. Stephen against pirates; construct galleys, hollow out canals, irrigate and try to repeople and make the Maremma healthy; but in seizing the little town of Foligliano from Niccolo Orsini he roused the discontent of the sovereigns, and did not appease them save by accepting the hand of the archduchess Johanna, an Austrian princess, for his son. The duke of Savoy, Emmanuel Philibert, who had given a victory to Philip II over the king of France at St. Quentin, recovered, through favour of the troubles in France, all his Piedmontese towns. But neither from the king of Spain nor the pope did he obtain the help he needed to reduce Geneva.
Under Pope Pius V (1566) the work of Catholic restoration and weakening of the peninsula was finished. This holy but inflexible old man, admired by the people for his always bare head, long white beard, and countenance beaming with piety, got the Roman Inquisition admitted into all the Italian states, and severely watched over faith and customs. Bishops were bound to keep in residence, monks and nuns forced to strict seclusion. The Collegium Germanicum, founded by the Jesuits, became a forcing house for priests for Italy and Germany. Abuses had partly disappeared; scandals diminished in Rome. Cardinals eminent for their piety gave tone to the Roman court—among these the politic Gallio di Como, the administrator Salviati, San Severino, the man of the Inquisition, and Madruzzi, surnamed the Cato of the sacred college. Tiepolo, the Venetian ambassador, a little later rendered the Holy City this witness: “Rome strives to conquer the disrepute into which she had fallen; she has now become more Christian in her customs and manner of living.” In Lombardy, the archbishop of Milan, Carlo Borromeo, a worthy emulator of Pius V, did not content himself with reforming the churches and clergy, the monks and nuns. He restrained public amusement, watched over the regularity of marriages and the general conduct of the laity: his zeal even led him beyond the limit of his powers. He aspired to lend his religious decrees the aid of military force, and the governor of Milan bowed to the ascendency of a zeal free from all political ambition.
This reform, quite ecclesiastical and for discipline, had not, unfortunately, anything practical or strong. Worship was re-established without reformation of men’s characters. The faith was strengthened without correction of manners. Minds were dominated without souls being uplifted. One great action stands out during this epoch. Pius V determined a league against the Turks and among the Italian and Spanish states. Under the leadership of Don John, the vassals of Venice, Genoa, Tuscany, Naples, and the church states carried a glorious victory at Lepanto (1571).[i] So great and so glorious was this victory, that we must give it more than passing notice. As one of the great decisive battles between the Orient and the Occident, it had really world-historical significance. We shall adopt the enthusiastic narrative of the Spanish historian Lafuente.[a]