Early in April, 1509, Louis the Twelfth crossed the Alps at the head of a force which bore down all opposition. City and castle fell before him, and his demeanor to the vanquished, over whom he had no rights beyond the ordinary ones of war, was that of an incensed master taking vengeance on his rebellious vassals. In revenge for his detention before Peschiera, he hung the Venetian governor and his son from the battlements. This was an outrage on the laws of chivalry, which, however hard they bore on the peasant, respected those of high degree. Louis's rank, and his heart it seems, unhappily, raised him equally above sympathy with either class. [10]
On the 14th of May was fought the bloody battle of Agnadel, which broke the power of Venice, and at once decided the fate of the war. [11] Ferdinand had contributed nothing to these operations, except by his diversion on the side of Naples, where he possessed himself without difficulty of the cities allotted to his share. They were the cheapest, and if not the most valuable, were the most permanent acquisitions of the war, being reincorporated in the monarchy of Naples.
Then followed the memorable decree, by which Venice released her continental provinces from their allegiance, authorizing them to provide in any way they could for their safety; a measure, which, whether originating in panic or policy, was perfectly consonant with the latter. [12] The confederates, who had remained united during the chase, soon quarrelled over the division of the spoil. Ancient jealousies revived. The republic, with cool and consummate diplomacy, availed herself of this state of feeling.
Pope Julius, who had gained all that he had proposed, and was satisfied with the humiliation of Venice, now felt all his former antipathies and distrust of the French return in full force. The rising flame was diligently fanned by the artful emissaries of the republic, who at length effected a reconciliation on her behalf with the haughty pontiff. The latter, having taken this direction, went forward in it with his usual impetuosity. He planned a new coalition for the expulsion of the French, calling on the other allies to take part in it. Louis retaliated by summoning a council to inquire into the pope's conduct, and by marching his troops into the territories of the church. [13]
The advance of the French, who had now got possession of Bologna, alarmed Ferdinand. He had secured the objects for which he had entered into the war, and was loath to be diverted from enterprises in which he was interested nearer home, "I know not," writes Peter Martyr, at this time, "on what the king will decide. He is intent on following up his African conquests. He feels natural reluctance at breaking with his French ally. But I do not well see how he can avoid supporting the pope and the church, not only as the cause of religion, but of freedom. For if the French get possession of Rome, the liberties of all Italy and of every state in Europe are in peril." [14]
The Catholic king viewed it in this light, and sent repeated and earnest remonstrances to Louis the Twelfth, against his aggressions on the church, beseeching him not to interrupt the peace of Christendom, and his own pious purpose, more particularly, of spreading the banners of the Cross over the infidel regions of Africa. The very sweet and fraternal tone of these communications filled the king of France, says Guicciardini, with much distrust of his royal brother; and he was heard to say, in allusion to the great preparations which the Spanish monarch was making by sea and land, "I am the Saracen against whom they are directed." [14]
To secure Ferdinand more to his interests, the pope granted him the investiture, so long withheld, of Naples, on the same easy terms on which it was formerly held by the Aragonese line. His Holiness further released him from the obligation of his marriage treaty, by which the moiety of Naples was to revert to the French crown, in case of Germaine's dying without issue. This dispensing power of the successors of St. Peter, so convenient for princes in their good graces, is undoubtedly the severest tax ever levied by superstition on human reason. [15]
On the 4th of October, 1511, a treaty was concluded between Julius the Second, Ferdinand, and Venice, with the avowed object of protecting the church,—in other words, driving the French out of Italy. [16] From the pious purpose to which it was devoted, it was called the Holy League. The quota to be furnished by the king of Aragon was twelve hundred heavy and one thousand light cavalry, ten thousand foot, and a squadron of eleven galleys, to act in concert with the Venetian fleet. The combined forces were to be placed under the command of Hugo de Cardona, viceroy of Naples, a person of polished and engaging address, but without the resolution or experience requisite to military success. The rough old pope sarcastically nicknamed him "Lady Cardona." It was an appointment, that would certainly have never been made by Queen Isabella. Indeed, the favor shown this nobleman on this and other occasions was so much beyond his deserts, as to raise a suspicion in many, that he was more nearly allied by blood to Ferdinand, than was usually imagined. [17]
Early in 1512, France, by great exertions, and without a single confederate out of Italy, save the false and fluctuating emperor, got an army into the field superior to that of the allies in point of numbers, and still more so in the character of its commander. This was Gaston de Foix, duke de Nemours, and brother of the queen of Aragon. Though a boy in years, for he was but twenty-two, he was ripe in understanding, and possessed consummate military talents. He introduced a severer discipline into his army, and an entirely new system of tactics. He looked forward to his results with stern indifference to the means by which they were to be effected. He disregarded the difficulties of the roads, and the inclemency of the season, which had hitherto put a check on military operations. Through the midst of frightful morasses, or in the depth of winter snows, he performed his marches with a celerity unknown in the warfare of that age. In less than a fortnight after leaving Milan, he relieved Bologna, then besieged by the allies, made a countermarch on Brescia, defeated a detachment by the way, and the whole Venetian army under its walls; and, on the same day with the last event, succeeded in carrying the place by storm. After a few weeks' dissipation of the carnival, he again put himself in motion, and, descending on Ravenna, succeeded in bringing the allied army to a decisive action under its walls. Ferdinand, well understanding the peculiar characters of the French and of the Spanish soldier, had cautioned his general to adopt the Fabian policy of Gonsalvo, and avoid a close encounter as long as possible. [18]
This battle, fought with the greatest numbers, was also the most murderous, which had stained the fair soil of Italy for a century. No less than eighteen or twenty thousand, according to authentic accounts, fell in it, comprehending the best blood of France and Italy. [19] The viceroy Cardona went off somewhat too early for his reputation. But the Spanish infantry, under the count Pedro Navarro, behaved in a style worthy of the school of Gonsalvo. During the early part of the day, they lay on the ground, in a position which sheltered them from the deadly artillery of Este, then the best mounted and best served of any in Europe. When at length, as the tide of battle was going against them, they were brought into the field, Navarro led them at once against a deep column of landsknechts, who, armed with the long German pike, were bearing down all before them. The Spaniards received the shock of this formidable weapon on the mailed panoply with which their bodies were covered, and, dexterously gliding into the hostile ranks, contrived with their short swords to do such execution on the enemy, unprotected except by corselets in front, and incapable of availing themselves of their long weapon, that they were thrown into confusion, and totally discomfited. It was repeating the experiment more than once made during these wars, but never on so great a scale, and it fully established the superiority of the Spanish arms. [20]