The History of the Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic — Volume 3

by William Hickling Prescott

On the 17th of September, 1517, Charles landed at Villaviciosa, in the Asturias. Ximenes at this time lay ill at the Franciscan monastery of Aguilera, near Aranda on the Douro. The good tidings of the royal landing operated like a cordial on his spirits, and he instantly despatched letters to the young monarch, filled with wholesome counsel as to the conduct he should pursue, in order to conciliate the affections of the people. He received at the same time messages from the king, couched in the most gracious terms, and expressing the liveliest interest in his restoration to health.

The Flemings in Charles's suite, however, looked with great apprehension to his meeting with the cardinal. They had been content that the latter should rule the state, when his arm was needed to curb the Castilian aristocracy; but they dreaded the ascendency of his powerful mind over their young sovereign, when brought into personal contact with him. They retarded this event, by keeping Charles in the north as long as possible. In the mean time, they endeavored to alienate his regards from the minister by exaggerated reports of his arbitrary conduct and temper, rendered more morose by the peevishness of age. Charles showed a facility to be directed by those around him in early years, which gave little augury of the greatness to which he afterwards rose. [20]

By the persuasions of his evil counsellors, he addressed that memorable letter to Ximenes, which is unmatched, even in court annals, for cool and base ingratitude. He thanked the regent for all his past services, named a place for a personal interview with him, where he might obtain the benefit of his counsels for his own conduct, and the government of the kingdom; after which he would be allowed to retire to his diocese, and seek from Heaven that reward, which Heaven alone could adequately bestow! [21]

Such was the tenor of this cold-blooded epistle, which, in the language of more than one writer, killed the cardinal. This, however, is stating the matter too strongly. The spirit of Ximenes was of too stern a stuff to be so easily extinguished by the breath of royal displeasure. [22] He was, indeed, deeply moved by the desertion of the sovereign whom he had served so faithfully, and the excitement which it occasioned brought on a return of his fever, according to Carbajal, in full force. But anxiety and disease had already done its work upon his once hardy constitution; and this ungrateful act could only serve to wean him more effectually from a world that he was soon to part with. [23]

In order to be near the king, he had previously transferred his residence to Roa. He now turned his thoughts to his approaching end. Death may be supposed to have but little terrors for the statesman, who in his last moments could aver, "that he had never intentionally wronged any man; but had rendered to every one his due, without being swayed, as far as he was conscious, by fear or affection." Yet Cardinal Richelieu on his death-bed declared the same! [24]

As a last attempt, he began a letter to the king. His fingers refused, however, to perform their office, and after tracing a few lines he gave it up. The purport of these seems to have been, to recommend his university at Alcalá to the royal protection. He now became wholly occupied with his devotions, and manifested such contrition for his errors, and such humble confidence in the divine mercy, as deeply affected all present. In this tranquil frame of mind, and in the perfect possession of his powers, he breathed his last, November 8th, 1517, in the eighty-first year of his age, and the twenty-second since his elevation to the primacy. The last words that he uttered were those of the Psalmist, which he used frequently to repeat in health, "In te, Domine, speravi,"—"In thee, Lord, have I trusted."

His body, arrayed in his pontifical robes, was seated in a chair of state, and multitudes of all degrees thronged into the apartment to kiss the hands and feet. It was afterwards transported to Alcalá, and laid in the chapel of the noble college of San Ildefonso, erected by himself. His obsequies were celebrated with great pomp, contrary to his own orders, by, all the religious and literary fraternities of the city; and his virtues commemorated in a funeral discourse by a doctor of the university, who, considering the death of the good a fitting occasion to lash the vices of the living, made the most caustic allusion to the Flemish favorites of Charles, and their pestilent influence on the country. [25]

Such was the end of this remarkable man; the most remarkable, in many respects, of his time. His character was of that stern and lofty cast, which seems to rise above the ordinary wants and weaknesses of humanity; his genius of the severest order, like Dante's and Michael Angelo's in the regions of fancy, impresses us with ideas of power, that excite admiration akin to terror. His enterprises, as we have seen, were of the boldest character. His execution of them equally bold. He disdained to woo fortune by any of those soft and pliant arts, which are often the most effectual. He pursued his ends by the most direct means. In this way he frequently multiplied difficulties; but difficulties seemed to have a charm for him, by the opportunity they afforded of displaying the energies of his soul.

With these qualities he combined a versatility of talent, usually found only in softer and more flexible characters. Though bred in the cloister, he distinguished himself both in the cabinet and the camp. For the latter, indeed, so repugnant to his regular profession, he had a natural genius, according to the testimony of his biographer; and he evinced his relish for it, by declaring, that "the smell of gunpowder was more grateful to him than the sweetest perfume of Arabia!" [26] In every situation, however, he exhibited the stamp of his peculiar calling; and the stern lineaments of the monk were never wholly concealed under the mask of the statesman, or the visor of the warrior. He had a full measure of the religious bigotry which belonged to the age; and he had melancholy scope for displaying it, as chief of that dread tribunal, over which he presided during the last ten years of his life. [27]

He carried the arbitrary ideas of his profession into political life. His regency was conducted on the principles of a military despotism. It was his maxim, that "a prince must rely mainly on his army for securing the respect and obedience of his subjects." [28] It is true he had to deal with a martial and factious nobility, and the end which he proposed was to curb their licentiousness, and enforce the equitable administration of justice; but, in accomplishing this, he showed little regard to the constitution, or to private rights. His first act, the proclaiming of Charles king, was in open contempt of the usages and rights of the nation. He evaded the urgent demands of the Castilians for a convocation of cortes; for it was his opinion, "that freedom of speech, especially in regard to their own grievances, made the people insolent and irreverent to their rulers." [29] The people, of course, had no voice in the measures which involved their most important interests. His whole policy, indeed, was to exalt the royal prerogative, at the expense of the inferior orders of the state. [30] And his regency, short as it was, and highly beneficial to the country in many respects, must be considered as opening the way to that career of despotism, which the Austrian family followed up with such hard-hearted constancy.