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

by William Hickling Prescott

He postponed an answer to Philip's application, willing probably to gain time for the Great Captain to strengthen himself firmly in his recent acquisitions. At length, after a considerable interval, he despatched an embassy to France, announcing his final determination never to ratify a treaty made in contempt of his orders, and so clearly detrimental to his interests. He endeavored, however, to gain further time by spinning out the negotiation, holding up for this purpose the prospect of an ultimate accommodation, and suggesting the re-establishment of his kinsman, the unfortunate Frederic, on the Neapolitan throne, as the best means of effecting it. The artifice, however, was too gross even for the credulous Louis; who peremptorily demanded of the ambassadors the instant and absolute ratification of the treaty, and, on their declaring it was beyond their powers, ordered them at once to leave his court. "I had rather," said he, "suffer the loss of a kingdom, which may perhaps be retrieved, than the loss of honor, which never can." A noble sentiment, but falling with no particular grace from the lips of Louis the Twelfth. [3]

The whole of this blind transaction is stated in so irreconcilable a manner by the historians of the different nations, that it is extremely difficult to draw anything like a probable narrative out of them. The Spanish writers assert that the public commission of the archduke was controlled by strict private instructions; [4] while the French, on the other hand, are either silent as to the latter, or represent them to have been as broad and unlimited as his credentials. [5] If this be true, the negotiations must be admitted to exhibit, on the part of Ferdinand, as gross an example of political jugglery and falsehood, as ever disgraced the annals of diplomacy. [6]

But it is altogether improbable, as I have before remarked, that a monarch so astute and habitually cautious should have intrusted unlimited authority, in so delicate a business, to a person whose discretion, independent of his known partiality for the French monarch, he held so lightly. It is much more likely that he limited, as is often done, the full powers committed to him in public, by private instructions of the most explicit character; and that the archduke was betrayed by his own vanity, and perhaps ambition (for the treaty threw the immediate power into his own hands), into arrangements unwarranted by the tenor of these instructions. [7]

If this were the case, the propriety of Ferdinand's conduct in refusing the ratification depends on the question how far a sovereign is bound by the acts of a plenipotentiary who departs from his private instructions. Formerly, the question would seem to have been unsettled. Indeed, some of the most respectable writers on public law in the beginning of the seventeenth century maintain, that such a departure would not justify the prince in withholding his ratification; deciding thus, no doubt, on principles of natural equity, which appear to require that a principal should be held responsible for the acts of an agent, coming within the scope of his powers, though at variance with his secret orders, with which the other contracting party can have no acquaintance or concern. [8]

The inconvenience, however, arising from adopting a principle in political negotiations, which must necessarily place the destinies of a whole nation in the hands of a single individual, rash or incompetent, it may be, without the power of interference or supervision on the part of the government, has led to a different conclusion in practice; and it is now generally admitted by European writers, not merely that the exchange of ratifications is essential to the validity of a treaty, but that a government is not bound to ratify the doings of a minister who has transcended his private instructions. [9]

But, whatever be thought of Ferdinand's good faith in the early stages of this business, there is no doubt that, at a later period, when his position was changed by the success of his arms in Italy, he sought only to amuse the French court with a show of negotiation, in order, as we have already intimated, to paralyze its operations and gain time for securing his conquests. The French writers inveigh loudly against this crafty and treacherous policy; and Louis the Twelfth gave vent to his own indignation in no very measured terms. But, however we may now regard it, it was in perfect accordance with the trickish spirit of the age; and the French king resigned all right of rebuking his antagonist on this score, when he condescended to become a party with him to the infamous partition treaty, and still more when he so grossly violated it. He had voluntarily engaged with his Spanish rival in the game, and it afforded no good ground of complaint, that he was the least adroit of the two.

While Ferdinand was thus triumphant in his schemes of foreign policy and conquest, his domestic life was clouded with the deepest anxiety, in consequence of the declining health of the queen, and the eccentric conduct of his daughter, the infanta Joanna. We have already seen the extravagant fondness with which that princess, notwithstanding her occasional sallies of jealousy, doated on her young and handsome husband. [10] From the hour of his departure she had been plunged in the deepest dejection, sitting day and night with her eyes fixed on the ground, in uninterrupted silence, or broken only by occasional expressions of petulant discontent. She refused all consolation, thinking only of rejoining her absent lord, and "equally regardless," says Martyr, who was then at the court, "of herself, her future subjects, and her afflicted parents." [11]

On the 10th of March, 1503, she was delivered of her second son, who received the baptismal name of Ferdinand, in compliment to his grandfather. [12] No change, however, took place in the mind of the unfortunate mother, who from this time was wholly occupied with the project of returning to Flanders. An invitation to that effect, which she received from her husband in the month of November, determined her to undertake the journey, at all hazards, notwithstanding the affectionate remonstrances of the queen, who represented the impracticability of traversing France, agitated, as it then was, with all the bustle of war-like preparation, or of venturing by sea at this inclement and stormy season.

One evening, while her mother was absent at Segovia, Joanna, whose residence was at Medina del Campo, left her apartment in the castle, and sallied out, though in dishabille, without announcing her purpose to any of her attendants. They followed, however, and used every argument and entreaty to prevail on her to return, at least for the night, but without effect; until the bishop of Burgos, who had charge of her household, finding every other means ineffectual, was compelled to close the castle gates, in order to prevent her departure.

The princess, thus thwarted in her purpose, gave way to the most violent indignation. She menaced the attendants with her utmost vengeance for their disobedience, and, taking her station on the barrier, she obstinately refused to re-enter the castle, or even to put on any additional clothing, but remained cold and shivering on the spot till the following morning. The good bishop, sorely embarrassed by the dilemma to which he found himself reduced, of offending the queen by complying with the mad humor of the princess, or the latter still more, by resisting it, despatched an express in all haste to Isabella, acquainting her with the affair, and begging instructions how to proceed.