HISTORY

OF

THE REIGN

OF

PHILIP THE SECOND,

KING OF SPAIN.

BY

WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT,

CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE OF FRANCE, OF THE ROYAL
ACADEMY OF HISTORY AT MADRID, ETC.

VOLUMES FIRST AND SECOND.

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME.

LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE
NEW YORK. 416, BROOME STREET.

[Contents]
[Footnotes]

PREFACE.

[{iii}]

The reign of Philip the Second has occupied the pen of the historian more frequently—if we except that of Charles the Fifth—than any other portion of the Spanish annals. It has become familiar to the English reader through the pages of Watson, who has deservedly found favor with the public for the perspicuity of his style,—a virtue, however, not uncommon in his day,—for the sobriety of his judgments, and for the skill he has shown in arranging his complicated story, so as to maintain the reader's interest unbroken to the end. But the public, in Watson's day, were not very fastidious in regard to the sources of the information on which a narrative was founded. Nor was it easy to obtain access to those unpublished documents which constitute the best sources of information. Neither can it be denied that Watson himself was not so solicitous as he should have been to profit by opportunities which a little pains might have put within his reach,—presenting, in this respect, a contrast to his more celebrated predecessor, Robertson; that he contented himself too easily with such cheap and commonplace materials as lay directly in his path; and that, consequently, the foundations of his history are much too slight for the superstructure. For these reasons, the reign of Philip the Second must still be regarded as open ground for English and American writers.

And at no time could the history of this reign have been undertaken with the same advantages as at present, when the more enlightened policy of the European governments has opened their [{iv}]national archives to the inspection of the scholar; when he is allowed access, in particular, to the Archives of Simancas, which have held the secrets of the Spanish monarchy hermetically sealed for ages.

The history of Philip the Second is the history of Europe during the latter half of the sixteenth century. It covers the period when the doctrines of the Reformation were agitating the minds of men in so fearful a manner as to shake the very foundations of the Romish hierarchy in the fierce contest which divided Christendom. Philip, both from his personal character, and from his position as sovereign of the most potent monarchy in Europe, was placed at the head of the party which strove to uphold the fortunes of the ancient Church; and thus his policy led him perpetually to interfere in the internal affairs of the other European states,—making it necessary to look for the materials for his history quite as much without the Peninsula as within it. In this respect the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella presents a strong contrast to that of Philip the Second; and it was the consideration of this, when I had completed my history of the former, and proposed at some future day to enter upon that of the latter, that led me to set about a collection of authentic materials from the public archives in the great European capitals. It was a work of difficulty; and, although I had made some progress in it, I did not feel assured of success until I had the good fortune to obtain the coöperation of my friend, Don Pascual de Gayangos, Professor of Arabic in the University of Madrid. This eminent scholar was admirably qualified for the task which he so kindly undertook; since, with a remarkable facility—such as long practice only can give—in deciphering the mysterious handwriting of the sixteenth century, he combined such a thorough acquaintance with the history of his country as enabled him to detect, amidst the ocean of manuscripts which he inspected, such portions as were essential to my purpose.

With unwearied assiduity he devoted himself to the examination of many of the principal collections, both in England and on the Continent. Among these may be mentioned the British Museum and the State-Paper Office, in London; the Library of the Dukes of Burgundy, in Brussels; that of the University of Leyden; the [{v}]Royal Library, at the Hague; the Royal Library of Paris, and the Archives of the Kingdom, in the Hôtel Soubise; the Library of the Academy of History, the National Library at Madrid, and, more important than either, the ancient Archives of Simancas, within whose hallowed precincts Señor Gayangos was one of the first scholars permitted to enter.

Besides these public repositories, there are several private collections to the owners of which I am largely indebted for the liberal manner in which they have opened them for my benefit. I may mention, in particular, the late Lady Holland, who kindly permitted copies to be made by Señor Gayangos from the manuscripts preserved in Holland House; Sir Thomas Phillips, Bart., who freely extended the same courtesy in respect to the present work which he had shown to me on a former occasion; and Patrick Fraser Tytler, Esq., the late excellent historian of Scotland, who generously placed at my disposal sundry documents copied by him in the public offices with his own hand, for the illustration of the reign of Mary Tudor.

In Spain the collection made by Señor Gayangos was enriched by materials drawn from the family archives of the marquis of Santa Cruz, whose illustrious ancestor first had charge of the Spanish armada; from the archives of Medina Sidonia, containing papers of the duke who succeeded to the command of that ill-starred expedition; and from the archives of the house of Alva,—a name associated with the most memorable acts of the government of Philip.

The manuscripts, thus drawn from various quarters, were fortified by such printed works as, having made their appearance in the time of Philip the Second, could throw any light on his government. Where such works were not to be purchased, Señor Gayangos caused copies to be made of them, or of those portions which were important to my purpose. The result of his kind, untiring labors has been to put me in possession of such a collection of authentic materials for the illustration of the reign of Philip as no one before had probably attempted to make. Nor until now had the time come for making the attempt with success.

There still remained, however, some places to be examined where I might expect to find documents that would be of use to [{vi}]me. Indeed, it is in the nature of such a collection, covering so wide an extent of ground, that it can never be complete. The historian may be satisfied, if he has such authentic materials at his command, as, while they solve much that has hitherto been enigmatical in the accounts of the time, will enable him to present, in their true light, the character of Philip and the policy of his government. I must acknowledge my obligations to more than one person, who has given me important aid in prosecuting my further researches.

One of the first of them is my friend, Mr. Edward Everett, who, in his long and brilliant career as a statesman, has lost nothing of that love of letters which formed his first claim to distinction. The year before his appointment to the English mission he passed on the Continent, where, with the kindness that belongs to his nature, he spent much time in examining for me the great libraries, first in Paris, and afterwards more effectually in Florence. From the Archivio Mediceo, in which he was permitted by the grand duke to conduct his researches, he obtained copies of sundry valuable documents, and among them the letters of the Tuscan ministers, which have helped to guide me in some of the most intricate parts of my narrative. A still larger amount of materials he derived from the private library of Count Guicciardini, the descendant of the illustrious historian of that name. I am happy to express my lively sense of the courtesy shown by this nobleman; also my gratitude for kind offices rendered me by Prince Corsini; and no less by the Marquis Gino Capponi, whose name will be always held in honor for the enlightened patronage which he has extended to learning, while suffering, himself, under the severest privation that can befall the scholar.

There was still an important deficiency in my collection,—that of the Relazioni Venete, as the reports are called which were made by ambassadors of Venice on their return from their foreign missions. The value of these reports, for the information they give of the countries visited by the envoys, is well known to historians. The deficiency was amply supplied by the unwearied kindness of my friend, Mr. Fay, who now so ably fills the post of minister from the United States to Switzerland. When connected with the American legation at Berlin, he, in the most obliging manner, [{vii}]assisted me in making arrangements for obtaining the documents I desired, which, with other papers of importance, were copied for me from the manuscripts in the Royal Library of Berlin, and the Ducal Library of Gotha. I have also, in connection with this, to express my obligations to the distinguished librarian of the former institution, Mr. Pertz, for the good-will which he showed in promoting my views.

Through Mr. Fay, I also obtained the authority of Prince Metternich to inspect the Archives of the Empire in Vienna, which I inferred, from the intimate relations subsisting between the courts of Madrid and Vienna in that day, must contain much valuable matter relevant to my subject. The result did not correspond to my expectations. I am happy, however, to have the opportunity of publicly offering my acknowledgments to that eminent scholar, Dr. Ferdinand Wolf, for the obliging manner in which he conducted the investigation for me, as well in the archives above mentioned, as, with better results, in the Imperial Library, with which he is officially connected.

In concluding the list of those to whose good offices I have been indebted, I must not omit the names of M. de Salvandy, minister of public instruction in France at the time I was engaged in making my collection; Mr. Rush, then the minister of the United States at the French court; Mr. Rives, of Virginia, his successor in that office; and last, not least, my friend, Count de Circourt, a scholar whose noble contributions to the periodical literature of his country, on the greatest variety of topics, have given him a prominent place among the writers of our time.

I am happy, also, to tender my acknowledgments for the favors I have received from Mr. Van de Weyer, minister from Belgium to the court of St. James; from Mr. B. Homer Dixon, consul for the Netherlands at Boston; and from my friend and kinsman, Mr. Thomas Hickling, consul for the United States at St. Michael's, who kindly furnished me with sundry manuscripts exhibiting the condition of the Azores at the period when those islands passed, with Portugal, under the sceptre of Philip the Second.

Having thus acquainted the reader with the sources whence I have derived my materials, I must now say a few words in regard [{viii}] to the conduct of my narrative. An obvious difficulty in the path of the historian of this period arises from the nature of the subject, embracing, as it does, such a variety of independent, not to say incongruous topics, that it is no easy matter to preserve anything like unity of interest in the story. Thus the Revolution of the Netherlands, although, strictly speaking, only an episode to the main body of the narrative, from its importance, well deserves to be treated in a separate and independent narrative by itself.[1] Running along through the whole extent of Philip's reign, it is continually distracting the attention of the historian, creating an embarrassment something like that which arises from what is termed a double plot in the drama. The best way of obviating this is to keep in view the dominant principle which controlled all the movements of the complicated machinery, so to speak, and impressed on them a unity of action. This principle is to be found in the policy of Philip, the great aim of which was to uphold the supremacy of the Church, and, as a consequence, that of the crown. "Peace and public order," he writes on one occasion, "are to be maintained in my dominions only by maintaining the authority of the Holy See." It was this policy, almost as sure and steady in its operation as the laws of Nature herself, that may be said to have directed the march of events through the whole of his long reign; and it is only by keeping this constantly in view that the student will be enabled to obtain a clew to guide him through the intricate passages in the history of Philip, and the best means of solving what would otherwise remain enigmatical in his conduct.

In the composition of the work, I have, for the most part, conformed to the plan which I had before adopted. Far from confining myself to a record of political events, I have endeavored to present a picture of the intellectual culture and the manners of the people. I have not even refused such aid as could be obtained [{ix}] from the display of pageants, and court ceremonies, which, although exhibiting little more than the costume of the time, may serve to bring the outward form of a picturesque age more vividly before the eye of the reader. In the arrangement of the narrative, I have not confined myself altogether to the chronological order of events, but have thrown them into masses, according to the subjects to which they relate, so as to produce, as far as possible, a distinct impression on the reader. And in this way I have postponed more than one matter of importance to a later portion of the work, which a strict regard to time would assign more properly to an earlier division of the subject. Finally, I have been careful to fortify the text with citations from the original authorities on which it depends, especially where these are rare and difficult of access.

In the part relating to the Netherlands I have pursued a course somewhat different from what I have done in other parts of the work. The scholars of that country, in a truly patriotic spirit, have devoted themselves of late years to exploring their own archives, as well as those of Simancas, for the purpose of illustrating their national annals. The results they have given to the world in a series of publications, which are still in progress. The historian has reason to be deeply grateful to those pioneers, whose labors have put him in possession of materials which afford the most substantial basis for his narrative. For what basis can compare with that afforded by the written correspondence of the parties themselves? It is on this sure ground that I have mainly relied in this part of my story; and I have adopted the practice of incorporating extracts from the letters in the body of the text, which, if it may sometimes give an air of prolixity to the narrative, will have the advantage of bringing the reader into a sort of personal acquaintance with the actors, as he listens to the words spoken by themselves.

In the earlier part of this Preface, I have made the acknowledgments due for assistance I have received in the collection of my materials; and I must not now conclude without recording my obligations, of another kind, to two of my personal friends,—Mr. Charles Folsom, the learned librarian of the Boston Athenæum, who has repeated the good offices he had before rendered me in [{x}] revising my manuscript for the press; and Mr. John Foster Kirk, whose familiarity with the history and languages of Modern Europe has greatly aided me in the prosecution of my researches, while his sagacious criticism has done me no less service in the preparation of these volumes.

Notwithstanding the advantages I have enjoyed for the composition of this work, and especially those derived from the possession of new and original materials, I am fully sensible that I am far from having done justice to a subject so vast in its extent and so complicated in its relations. It is not necessary to urge in my defence any physical embarrassments under which I labor; since that will hardly be an excuse for not doing well what it was not necessary to do at all. But I may be permitted to say, that what I have done has been the result of careful preparation; that I have endeavored to write in a spirit of candor and good faith; and that, whatever may be the deficiencies of my work, it can hardly fail—considering the advantages I have enjoyed over my predecessors—to present the reader with such new and authentic statements of facts as may afford him a better point of view than that which he has hitherto possessed for surveying the history of Philip the Second.

Boston, July, 1855

CONTENTS.

[{xi}]

[{Page 1}]

HISTORY OF PHILIP THE SECOND.

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I.

ABDICATION OF CHARLES THE FIFTH.

Introductory Remarks.—Spain under Charles the Fifth.—He prepares to resign the Crown.—His Abdication.—His Return to Spain.—His Journey to Yuste.

1555.

In a former work, I have endeavored to portray the period when the different provinces of Spain were consolidated into one empire under the rule of Ferdinand and Isabella; when, by their wise and beneficent policy, the nation emerged from the obscurity in which it had so long remained behind the Pyrenees, and took its place as one of the great members of the European commonwealth. I now propose to examine a later period in the history of the same nation,—the reign of Philip the Second; when, with resources greatly enlarged, and territory extended by a brilliant career of discovery and conquest, it had risen to the zenith of its power; but when, under the mischievous policy of the administration, it had excited the jealousy of its neighbors, and already disclosed those germs of domestic corruption which gradually led to its dismemberment and decay.

By the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella, most of the states of the Peninsula became united under one common rule; and in 1516, the sceptre of Spain, with its dependencies both in the Old and the New World, passed into the hands of their grandson, Charles the Fifth, who, though he shared the throne nominally with his mother, Joanna, became, in consequence of her incapacity, the real sovereign of this vast empire. He had before inherited, through his father, Philip the Handsome, that fair portion of the ducal realm of Burgundy which comprehended Franche Comté and the Netherlands. In 1519, he was elected to the imperial crown of Germany. Not many years elapsed before his domain was still further enlarged by the barbaric empires of Mexico and Peru; and Spain then first realized the magnificent vaunt, since so often repeated, that the sun never set within the borders of her dominions.

Yet the importance of Spain did not rise with the importance of her acquisitions. She was, in a manner, lost in the magnitude of these acquisitions. Some of the rival nations which owned the sway of Charles, in Europe, were of much greater importance than Spain, and attracted much more attention from their contemporaries. In the earlier period of that monarch's reign, there was a moment when a contest was going forward in Castile, of the deepest interest to mankind. Unfortunately, the "War of the Comunidades,"[{2}] as it was termed, was soon closed by the ruin of the patriots; and, on the memorable field of Villalar, the liberties of Spain received a blow from which they were destined not to recover for centuries. From that fatal hour,—the bitter fruit of the jealousy of castes and the passions of the populace,—an unbroken tranquillity reigned throughout the country; such a tranquillity as naturally flows not from a free and well-conducted government, but from a despotic one. In this political tranquillity, however, the intellect of Spain did not slumber. Sheltered from invasion by the barrier of the Pyrenees, her people were allowed to cultivate the arts of peace, so long as they did not meddle with politics or religion,—in other words, with the great interests of humanity; while the more adventurous found a scope for their prowess in European wars, or in exploring the boundless regions of the Western world.

While there was so little passing in Spain to attract the eye of the historian, Germany became the theatre of one of those momentous struggles which have had a permanent influence on the destinies of mankind. It was in this reign that the great battle of religious liberty was begun; and the attention and personal presence of Charles were necessarily demanded most in the country where that battle was to be fought. But a small part of his life was passed in Spain, in comparison with what he spent in other parts of his dominions. His early attachments, his lasting sympathies, were with the people of the Netherlands; for Flanders was the place of his birth. He spoke the language of that country more fluently than the Castilian; although he knew the various languages of his dominions so well, that he could address his subjects from every quarter in their native dialect. In the same manner, he could accommodate himself to their peculiar national manners and tastes. But this flexibility was foreign to the genius of the Spaniard. Charles brought nothing from Spain but a religious zeal, amounting to bigotry, which took deep root in a melancholy temperament inherited from his mother. His tastes were all Flemish. He introduced the gorgeous ceremonial of the Burgundian court into his own palace, and into the household of his son. He drew his most trusted and familiar counsellors from Flanders; and this was one great cause of the troubles which, at the beginning of his reign, distracted Castile. There was little to gratify the pride of the Spaniard in the position which he occupied at the imperial court. Charles regarded Spain chiefly for the resources she afforded for carrying on his ambitious enterprises. When he visited her, it was usually to draw supplies from the cortes. The Spaniards understood this, and bore less affection to his person than to many of their monarchs far inferior to him in the qualities for exciting it. They hardly regarded him as one of the nation. There was, indeed, nothing national in the reign of Charles. His most intimate relations were with Germany; and as the Emperor Charles the Fifth of Germany, not as King Charles the First of Spain, he was known in his own time, and stands recorded on the pages of history.

SPAIN UNDER CHARLES THE FIFTH.

When Charles ascended the throne, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, Europe may be said to have been much in the same condition, in one respect, as she was at the beginning of the eighth. The Turk menaced her on the east, in the same manner as the Arab had before menaced her on the west. The hour seemed to be fast approaching which was to decide whether Christianity or Mahometanism should hold the ascendant. The Ottoman tide of conquest rolled up to the very walls of Vienna; and Charles, who, as head of the empire, was placed on the frontier of Christendom, was called on to repel it. When thirty-two years of age, he marched against the formidable Solyman, drove him to an ignominious retreat, and, at less cost of life than is often expended in a skirmish, saved Europe from invasion. He afterwards[{3}] crossed the sea to Tunis, then occupied by a horde of pirates, the scourge of the Mediterranean. He beat them in a bloody battle, slew their chief, and liberated ten thousand captives from their dungeons. All Europe rang with the praises of the young hero, who thus consecrated his arms to the service of the Cross, and stood forward as the true champion of Christendom.

But from this high position Charles was repeatedly summoned to other contests, of a more personal and far less honorable character. Such was his long and bloody quarrel with Francis the First. It was hardly possible that two princes, so well matched in years, power, pretensions, and, above all, love of military glory, with dominions touching on one another through their whole extent, could long remain without cause of rivalry and collision. Such rivalry did exist from the moment that the great prize of the empire was adjudged to Charles; and through the whole of their long struggle, with the exception of a few reverses, the superior genius of the emperor triumphed over his bold, but less politic adversary.

There was still a third contest, on which the strength of the Spanish monarch was freely expended through the greater part of his reign,—his contest with the Lutheran princes of Germany. Here, too, for a long time, fortune favored him. But it is easier to contend against man than against a great moral principle. The principle of reform had struck too deep into the mind of Germany to be eradicated by force or by fraud. Charles, for a long time, by a course of crafty policy, succeeded in baffling the Protestant league; and, by the decisive victory at Muhlberg, seemed, at last, to have broken it altogether. But his success only ministered to his ruin. The very man on whom he bestowed the spoils of victory turned them against his benefactor. Charles, ill in body and mind, and glad to escape from his enemies under cover of the night and a driving tempest, was at length compelled to sign the treaty of Passau, which secured to the Protestants those religious immunities against which he had contended through his whole reign.

Not long after, he experienced another humiliating reverse from France, then ruled by a younger rival, Henry the Second, the son of Francis. The good star of Charles—the star of Austria—seemed to have set; and as he reluctantly raised the siege of Metz, he was heard bitterly to exclaim, "Fortune is a strumpet, who reserves her favors for the young!"

With spirits greatly depressed by his reverses, and still more by the state of his health, which precluded him from taking part in the manly and martial exercises to which he had been accustomed, he felt that he had no longer the same strength as formerly to bear up under the toils of empire. When but little more than thirty years of age, he had been attacked by the gout, and of late had been so sorely afflicted with that disorder, that he had nearly lost the use of his limbs. The man who, cased in steel, had passed whole days and nights in the saddle, indifferent to the weather and the season, could now hardly drag himself along with the aid of his staff. For days he was confined to his bed; and he did not leave his room for weeks together. His mind became oppressed with melancholy, which was, to some extent, a constitutional infirmity. His chief pleasure was in listening to books, especially of a religious character. He denied himself to all except his most intimate and trusted counsellors. He lost his interest in affairs; and for whole months, according to one of his biographers, who had access to his person, he refused to receive any public communication, or to subscribe any document, or even letter.[2] One cannot understand how the business of the nation[{4}] could have been conducted in such a state of things. After the death of his mother, Joanna, his mind became more deeply tinctured with those gloomy fancies which in her amounted to downright insanity. He imagined he heard her voice calling on him to follow her. His thoughts were now turned from secular concerns to those of his own soul; and he resolved to put in execution a plan for resigning his crown and withdrawing to some religious retreat, where he might prepare for his latter end. This plan he had conceived many years before, in the full tide of successful ambition. So opposite were the elements at work in the character of this extraordinary man!

Although he had chosen the place of his retreat, he had been deterred from immediately executing his purpose by the forlorn condition of his mother, and the tender age of his son. The first obstacle was now removed by the death of Joanna, after a reign—a nominal reign—of half a century, in which the cloud that had settled on her intellect at her husband's death was never dispelled.

The age of Philip, his son and heir, was also no longer an objection. From early boyhood he had been trained to the duties of his station, and, when very young, had been intrusted with the government of Castile. His father had surrounded him with able and experienced counsellors, and their pupil, who showed a discretion far beyond his years, had largely profited by their lessons. He had now entered his twenty-ninth year, an age when the character is formed, and when, if ever, he might be supposed qualified to assume the duties of government. His father had already ceded to him the sovereignty of Naples and Milan, on occasion of the prince's marriage with Mary of England. He was on a visit to that country, when Charles, having decided on the act of abdication, sent to require his son's attendance at Brussels, where the ceremony was to be performed. The different provinces of the Netherlands were also summoned to send their deputies, with authority to receive the emperor's resignation, and to transfer their allegiance to his successor. As a preliminary step, on the twenty-second of October, 1555, he conferred on Philip the grand-mastership—which, as Lord of Flanders, was vested in himself—of the toison d'or, the order of the Golden Fleece, of Burgundy; the proudest and most coveted, at that day, of all the military orders of knighthood.

Preparations were then made for conducting the ceremony of abdication with all the pomp and solemnity suited to so august an occasion. The great hall of the royal palace of Brussels was selected for the scene of it. The walls of the spacious apartment were hung with tapestry, and the floor was covered with rich carpeting. A scaffold was erected, at one end of the room, to the height of six or seven steps. On it was placed a throne, or chair of state, for the emperor, with other seats for Philip, and for the great Flemish lords who were to attend the person of their sovereign. Above the throne was suspended a gorgeous canopy, on which were emblazoned the arms of the ducal house of Burgundy. In front of the scaffolding, accommodations were provided for the deputies of the provinces, who were to be seated on benches arranged according to their respective rights of precedence.[3] [{5}]

CEREMONY OF ABDICATION.

On the twenty-fifth of October, the day fixed for the ceremony, Charles the Fifth executed an instrument by which he ceded to his son the sovereignty of Flanders.[4] Mass was then performed; and the emperor, accompanied by Philip and a numerous retinue, proceeded in state to the great hall, where the deputies were already assembled.[5]

Charles was, at this time, in the fifty-sixth year of his age. His form was slightly bent,—but it was by disease more than by time,—and on his countenance might be traced the marks of anxiety and rough exposure. Yet it still wore that majesty of expression so conspicuous in his portraits by the inimitable pencil of Titian. His hair, once of a light color, approaching to yellow, had begun to turn before he was forty, and, as well as his beard, was now gray. His forehead was broad and expansive; his nose aquiline. His blue eyes and fair complexion intimated his Teutonic descent. The only feature in his countenance decidedly bad was his lower jaw, protruding with its thick, heavy lip, so characteristic of the physiognomies of the Austrian dynasty.[6]

In stature he was about the middle height. His limbs were strongly knit, and once well formed, though now the extremities were sadly distorted by disease. The emperor leaned for support on a staff with one hand, while with the other he rested on the arm of William of Orange, who, then young, was destined at a later day to become the most formidable enemy of his house. The grave demeanor of Charles was rendered still more impressive by his dress; for he was in mourning for his mother; and the sable hue of his attire was relieved only by a single ornament, the superb collar of the Golden Fleece, which hung from his neck.

Behind the emperor came Philip, the heir of his vast dominions. He was of a middle height, of much the same proportions as his father, whom he resembled also in his lineaments,—except that those of the son wore a more sombre, and perhaps a sinister expression; while there was a reserve in his manner, in spite of his efforts to the contrary, as if he would shroud his thoughts from observation. The magnificence of his dress corresponded with his royal station, and formed a contrast to that of his father, who was quitting the pomp and grandeur of the world, on which the son was about to enter.[{6}]

Next to Philip came Mary, the emperor's sister, formerly queen of Hungary. She had filled the post of regent of the Low Countries for nearly twenty years, and now welcomed the hour when she was to resign the burden of sovereignty to her nephew, and withdraw, like her imperial brother, into private life. Another sister of Charles, Eleanor, widow of the French king, Francis the First, also took part in these ceremonies, previous to her departure for Spain, whither she was to accompany the emperor.

After these members of the imperial family came the nobility of the Netherlands, the knights of the Golden Fleece, the royal counsellors, and the great officers of the household, all splendidly attired in their robes of state, and proudly displaying the insignia of their orders. When the emperor had mounted his throne, with Philip on his right hand, the Regent Mary on his left, and the rest of his retinue disposed along the seats prepared for them on the platform, the president of the council of Flanders addressed the assembly. He briefly explained the object for which they had been summoned, and the motives which had induced their master to abdicate the throne; and he concluded by requiring them, in their sovereign's name, to transfer their allegiance from himself to Philip, his son and rightful heir.

After a pause, Charles rose to address a few parting words to his subjects. He stood with apparent difficulty, and rested his right hand on the shoulder of the Prince of Orange, intimating, by this preference on so distinguished an occasion, the high favour in which he held the young nobleman. In the other hand he held a paper, containing some hints for his discourse, and occasionally cast his eyes on it, to refresh his memory. He spoke in the French language.

He was unwilling, he said, to part from his people without a few words from his own lips. It was now forty years since he had been intrusted with the sceptre of the Netherlands. He was soon after called to take charge of a still more extensive empire, both in Spain and in Germany, involving a heavy responsibility for one so young. He had, however, endeavored earnestly to do his duty to the best of his abilities. He had been ever mindful of the interests of the dear land of his birth, but, above all, of the great interests of Christianity. His first object had been to maintain these inviolate against the infidel. In this he had been thwarted, partly by the jealousy of neighboring powers, and partly by the factions of the heretical princes of Germany.

In the performance of his great work, he had never consulted his ease. His expeditions, in war and in peace, to France, England, Germany, Italy, Spain, and Flanders, had amounted to no less than forty. Four times he had crossed the Spanish seas, and eight times the Mediterranean. He had shrunk from no toil, while he had the strength to endure it. But a cruel malady had deprived him of that strength. Conscious of his inability to discharge the duties of his station, he had long since come to the resolution to relinquish it. From this he had been diverted only by the situation of his unfortunate parent, and by the inexperience of his son. These objections no longer existed; and he should not stand excused, in the eye of Heaven or of the world, if he should insist on still holding the reins of government when he was incapable of managing them,—when every year his incapacity must become more obvious.

CEREMONY OF ABDICATION

He begged them to believe that this, and no other motive, induced him to resign the sceptre which he had so long swayed. They had been to him dutiful and loving subjects; and such, he doubted not, they would prove to his successor. Above all things, he besought them to maintain the purity of the faith. If any one, in these licentious times, had admitted doubts into his bosom, let such doubts be extirpated at once. "I know well," he concluded,[{7}] "that, in my long administration, I have fallen into many errors, and committed some wrongs, but it was from ignorance; and, if there be any here whom I have wronged, they will believe that it was not intended, and grant me their forgiveness."[7]

While the emperor was speaking, a breathless silence pervaded the whole audience. Charles had ever been dear to the people of the Netherlands,—the land of his birth. They took a national pride in his achievements, and felt that his glory reflected a peculiar lustre on themselves. As they now gazed for the last time on that revered form, and listened to the parting admonitions from his lips, they were deeply affected, and not a dry eye was to be seen in the assembly.

After a short interval, Charles, turning to Philip, who, in an attitude of deep respect, stood awaiting his commands, he thus addressed him:—"If the vast possessions which are now bestowed on you had come by inheritance, there would be abundant cause for gratitude. How much more, when they come as a free gift in the lifetime of your father! But, however large the debt, I shall consider it all repaid, if you only discharge your duty to your subjects. So rule over them, that men shall commend, and not censure me for the part I am now acting. Go on as you have begun. Fear God; live justly; respect the laws; above all, cherish the interests of religion; and may the Almighty bless you with a son, to whom, when old and stricken with disease, you may be able to resign your kingdom with the same good-will with which I now resign mine to you."

As he ceased, Philip, much affected, would have thrown himself at his father's feet, assuring him of his intention to do all in his power to merit such goodness; but Charles, raising his son, tenderly embraced him, while the tears flowed fast down his cheeks. Every one, even the most stoical, was touched by this affecting scene; "and nothing," says one who was present, "was to be heard, throughout the hall, but sobs and ill-suppressed moans." Charles, exhausted by his efforts, and deadly pale, sank back upon his seat; while, with feeble accents, he exclaimed, as he gazed on his people, "God bless you! God bless you!"[8]

After these emotions had somewhat subsided, Philip arose, and, delivering himself in French, briefly told the deputies of the regret which he felt at not[{8}] being able to address them in their native language, and to assure them of the favor and high regard in which he held them. This would be done for him by the bishop of Arras.

This was Antony Perennot, better known as Cardinal Granvelle, son of the famous minister of Charles the Fifth, and destined himself to a still higher celebrity as the minister of Philip the Second. In clear and fluent language, he gave the deputies the promise of their new sovereign to respect the laws and liberties of the nation; invoking them, on his behalf, to aid him with their counsels, and, like royal vassals, to maintain the authority of the law in his dominions. After a suitable response from the deputies, filled with sentiments of regret for the loss of their late monarch, and with those of loyalty to their new one, the Regent Mary formally abdicated her authority, and the session closed. So ended a ceremony, which, considering the importance of its consequences, the character of the actors, and the solemnity of the proceedings, is one of the most remarkable in history. That the crown of the monarch is lined with thorns, is a trite maxim; and it requires no philosophy to teach us that happiness does not depend on station. Yet, numerous as are the instances of those who have waded to a throne through seas of blood, there are but few who, when they have once tasted the sweets of sovereignty, have been content to resign them; still fewer who, when they have done so, have had the philosophy to conform to their change of condition, and not to repent it. Charles, as the event proved, was one of these few.

On the sixteenth day of January, 1556, in the presence of such of the Spanish nobility as were at the court, he executed the deeds by which he ceded the sovereignty of Castile and Aragon, with their dependencies, to Philip.[9]

The last act that remained for him to perform was to resign the crown of Germany in favor of his brother Ferdinand. But this he consented to defer some time longer, at the request of Ferdinand himself, who wished to prepare the minds of the electoral college for this unexpected transfer of the imperial sceptre. But, while Charles consented to retain for the present the title of Emperor, the real power and the burden of sovereignty would remain with Ferdinand.[10]

At the time of abdicating the throne of the Netherlands, Charles was still at war with France. He had endeavored to negotiate a permanent peace with that country; and, although he failed in this, he had the satisfaction, on the fifth of February, 1556, to arrange a truce for five years, which left both powers in the possession of their respective conquests. In the existing state of these conquests, the truce was by no means favorable to Spain. But Charles would have made even larger concessions, rather than leave the legacy of a war to his less experienced successor.

HIS RETURN TO SPAIN

Having thus completed all his arrangements, by which the most powerful prince of Europe descended to the rank of a private gentleman, Charles had[{9}] no longer reason to defer his departure, and he proceeded to the place of embarkation. He was accompanied by a train of Flemish courtiers, and by the foreign ambassadors, to the latter of whom he warmly commended the interests of his son. A fleet of fifty-six sail was riding at anchor in the port of Flushing, ready to transport him and his retinue to Spain. From the imperial household, consisting of seven hundred and sixty-two persons, he selected a hundred and fifty as his escort; and accompanied by his sisters, after taking an affectionate farewell of Philip, whose affairs detained him in Flanders, on the thirteenth of September he sailed from the harbor of Flushing.

The passage was a boisterous one; and Charles, who suffered greatly from his old enemy, the gout, landed, in a feeble state, at Laredo, in Biscay, on the twenty-eighth of the month. Scarcely had he left the vessel, when a storm fell with fury on the fleet, and did some mischief to the shipping in the harbor. The pious Spaniard saw in this the finger of Providence, which had allowed no harm to the squadron till its royal freight had been brought safely to the shore.[11]

On landing, Charles complained, and with some reason, of the scanty preparations that had been made for him. Philip had written several times to his sister, the regent, ordering her to have everything ready for the emperor on his arrival.[12] Joanna had accordingly issued her orders to that effect. But promptness and punctuality are not virtues of the Spaniard. Some apology may be found for their deficiency in the present instance; as Charles himself had so often postponed his departure from the Low Countries, that, when he did come, the people were, in a manner, taken by surprise. That the neglect was not intentional is evident from their subsequent conduct.[13]

Charles, whose infirmities compelled him to be borne in a litter, was greeted, everywhere on the road, like a sovereign returning to his dominions. It was evening when he reached the ancient city of Burgos; and, as he passed through its illuminated streets the bells rang merrily, to give him welcome. He remained there three days, experiencing the hospitalities of the great constable, and receiving the homage of the northern lords, as well as of the people, who thronged the route by which he was to pass. At Torquemada, among those who came to pay their respects to their former master was Gasca, the good president of Peru. He had been sent to America to suppress the insurrection of Gonzalo Pizarro, and restore tranquillity to the country. In the execution of this delicate mission, he succeeded so well, that the emperor, on his return, had raised him to the see of Plasencia; and the excellent man now lived in his diocese, where, in the peaceful discharge of his episcopal functions,[{10}] he probably enjoyed far greater contentment than he could have derived from the dazzling, but difficult post of an American viceroy.

From Torquemada, Charles slowly proceeded to Valladolid, where his daughter, the Regent Joanna, was then holding her court. Preparations were made for receiving him in a manner suited to his former rank. But Charles positively declined these honours, reserving them for his two sisters, the dowager queens of France and Hungary, who accordingly made their entrance into the capital in great state, on the day following that on which their royal brother had entered it with the simplicity of a private citizen.

He remained here some time, in order to recover from the fatigue of his journey; and, although he took little part in the festivities of the court, he gave audience to his ancient ministers, and to such of the Castilian grandees as were eager to render him their obeisance. At the court he had also the opportunity of seeing his grandson Carlos, the heir of the monarchy; and his quick eye, it is said, in this short time, saw enough in the prince's deportment to fill him with ominous forebodings.

Charles prolonged his stay fourteen days in Valladolid, during which time his health was much benefited by the purity and the dryness of the atmosphere. On his departure, his royal sisters would have borne him company, and even have fixed their permanent residence near his own. But to this he would not consent; and, taking a tender farewell of every member of his family,—as one who was never to behold them again,—he resumed his journey.

The place he had chosen for his retreat was the monastery of Yuste, in the province of Estremadura, not many miles from Plasencia. On his way thither he halted near three months at Jarandilla, the residence of the count of Oropesa, waiting there for the completion of some repairs that were going on in the monastery, as well as for the remittance of a considerable sum of money, which he was daily expecting. This he required chiefly to discharge the arrears due to some of his old retainers; and the failure of the remittance has brought some obloquy on Philip, who could so soon show himself unmindful of his obligations to his father. But the blame should rather be charged on Philip's ministers than on Philip, absent as he was at that time from the country, and incapable of taking personal cognizance of the matter. Punctuality in his pecuniary engagements was a virtue to which neither Charles nor Philip—the masters of the Indies—could at any time lay claim. But the imputation of parsimony, or even indifference, on the part of the latter, in his relations with his father, is fully disproved by the subsequent history of that monarch at the convent of Yuste.[14][{11}]

BIRTH OF PHILIP.

This place, it is said, had attracted his eye many years before, when on a visit to that part of the country, and he marked it for his future residence. The convent was tenanted by monks of the strictest order of Saint Jerome. But, however strict in their monastic rule, the good fathers showed much taste in the selection of their ground, as well as in the embellishment of it. It lay in a wild, romantic country, embosomed among hills that stretch along the northern confines of Estremadura. The building, which was of great antiquity, had been surrounded by its inmates with cultivated gardens, and with groves of orange, lemon, and myrtle, whose fragrance was tempered by the refreshing coolness of the waters that gushed forth in abundance from the rocky sides of the hills. It was a delicious retreat, and, by its calm seclusion and the character of its scenery, was well suited to withdraw the mind from the turmoil of the world, and dispose it to serious meditation. Here the monarch, after a life of restless ambition, proposed to spend the brief remainder of his days, and dedicate it to the salvation of his soul. He could not, however, as the event proved, close his heart against all sympathy with mankind, nor refuse to take some part in the great questions which then agitated the world. Charles was not master of that ignoble philosophy which enabled Diocletian to turn with contentment from the cares of an empire to those of a cabbage-garden.—In this retirement we must now leave the royal recluse, while we follow the opening career of the prince whose reign is the subject of the present history.

CHAPTER II.

EARLY DAYS OF PHILIP.

Birth of Philip the Second.—His Education.—Intrusted with the Regency.—Marries Mary of Portugal.—Visit to Flanders.—Public Festivities.—Ambitious Schemes.—Returns to Spain.

1527-1551.

Philip the Second was born at Valladolid, on the twenty-first of May, 1527. His mother was the Empress Isabella, daughter of Emanuel the Great of Portugal. By his father he was descended from the ducal houses of Burgundy and Austria. By both father and mother he claimed a descent from Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic of Spain. As by blood he was half a Spaniard, so by temperament and character he proved to be wholly so.

The ceremony of his baptism was performed with all due solemnity, by Tavera, archbishop of Toledo, on the twenty-fifth of June, when the royal infant received the name of Philip, after his paternal grandfather, Philip the Handsome, whose brief reign—for which he was indebted to his union with Joanna, queen-proprietor of Castile—has hardly secured him a place in the line of Castilian sovereigns.

The birth of a son—the heir of so magnificent an empire—was hailed with delight both by Charles and by the whole nation, who prepared to celebrate it in a style worthy of the event, when tidings reached them of the capture of Pope Clement the Seventh and the sack of Rome by the Spanish troops under[{12}] the constable de Bourbon. The news of this event, and the cruelties inflicted by the conquerors, filled all Europe with consternation. Even the Protestants, who had no superfluous sympathy to spare for the sufferings of the pope, were shocked by the perpetration of atrocities compared with which the conduct of Attila and Alaric might almost be deemed merciful. Whatever responsibility may attach to Charles on the score of the expedition, it would be injustice to him to suppose that he did not share in the general indignation at the manner in which it was conducted. At all events, he could hardly venture to outrage the feelings of Christendom so far as to take the present moment for one of public rejoicing. Orders were instantly issued to abandon the intended festivities, greatly to the discontent of the people, whose sympathy for the pope did not by any means incline them to put this restraint on the expression of their loyalty; and they drew from the disappointment an uncomfortable augury that the reign of the young prince boded no good to the Catholic religion.[15]

It was not long, however, before the people of Castile had an opportunity for the full display of their enthusiasm, on the occasion of Philip's recognition as rightful heir to the crown. The ceremony was conducted with great pomp and splendor in the cortes at Madrid, on the nineteenth of April, 1528, when he was but eleven months old. The prince was borne in the arms of his mother, who, with the emperor, was present on the occasion; while the nobles, the clergy, and the commons took the oath of allegiance to the royal infant, as successor to the crown of Castile. The act of homage was no sooner published, than the nation, as if by way of compensation for the past, abandoned itself to a general jubilee. Illuminations and bonfires were lighted up in all the towns and villages; while everywhere were to be seen dancing, bull-fights, tilts of reeds, and the other national games of that chivalrous and romantic land.

Soon after this, Charles was called by his affairs to other parts of his far-extended empire, and he left his infant son to the care of a Portuguese lady, Doña Leonor Mascareñas, or rather to that of the Empress Isabella, in whose prudence and maternal watchfulness he could safely confide. On the emperor's return to Spain, when his son was hardly seven years old, he formed for him a separate establishment, and selected two persons for the responsible office of superintending his education.[16]

One of these personages was Juan Martinez Siliceo, at that time professor in the College of Salamanca. He was a man of piety and learning, of an accommodating temper,—too accommodating, it appears from some of Charles's letters, for the good of his pupil, though not, as it would seem, for his own good, since he found such favor with the prince, that, from an humble ecclesiastic, he was subsequently preferred to the highest dignities of the Church.[{13}]

HIS EDUCATION.

Under him Philip was instructed in the ancient classics, and made such progress in Latin, that he could write it, and did write it frequently in after life, with ease and correctness. He studied, also, Italian and French. He seems to have had little knowledge of the former, but French he could speak indifferently well, though he was rarely inclined to venture beyond his own tongue. He showed a more decided taste for science, especially the mathematics. He made a careful study of the principles of architecture; and the fruits of this study are to be seen in some of the noblest monuments erected in that flourishing period of the arts. In sculpture and painting he also made some proficiency, and became, in later life, no contemptible critic,—at least for a sovereign.

The other functionary charged with Philip's education was Don Juan de Zuñiga, commendador mayor of Castile. He taught his pupil to fence, to ride, to take his part at the tilts and tourneys, and, in short, to excel in the chivalrous exercises familiar to cavaliers of his time. He encouraged Philip to invigorate his constitution by the hardy pleasures of the chase, to which, however, he was but little addicted as he advanced in years.

But, besides these personal accomplishments, no one was better qualified than Zuñiga to instruct his people in the duties belonging to his royal station. He was a man of ancient family, and had passed much of his life in courts. But he had none of the duplicity or of the suppleness which often marks the character of the courtier. He possessed too high a sentiment of honor to allow him to trifle with truth. He spoke his mind plainly, too plainly sometimes for the taste of his pupil. Charles, who understood the character of Zuñiga, wrote to his son to honor and to cherish him. "If he deals plainly with you," he said, "it is for the love he bears you. If he were to flatter you, and be only solicitous of ministering to your wishes, he would be like all the rest of the world, and you would have no one near to tell you the truth;—and a worse thing cannot happen to any man, old or young; but most of all to the young, from their want of experience to discern truth from error." The wise emperor, who knew how rarely it is that truth is permitted to find its way to royal ears, set a just value on the man who had the courage to speak it.[17]

Under the influence of these teachers, and, still more, of the circumstances in which he was placed,—the most potent teachers of all,—Philip grew in years, and slowly unfolded the peculiar qualities of his disposition. He seemed cautious and reserved in his demeanor, and slow of speech; yet what he said had a character of thought beyond his age. At no time did he discover that buoyancy of spirit, or was he betrayed into those sallies of temper, which belong to a bold and adventurous, and often to a generous nature. His deportment was marked by a seriousness that to some might seem to savor of melancholy. He was self-possessed, so that even as a boy he was rarely off his guard.[18]

The emperor, whose affairs called him away from Spain much the greater part of his time, had not the power of personally superintending the education of his son. Unfortunately for the latter, his excellent mother died when[{14}] he was but twelve years old. Charles, who loved his wife as much as a man is capable of loving whose soul is filled with schemes of boundless ambition, was at Madrid when he received tidings of her illness. He posted in all haste to Toledo, where the queen then was, but arrived there only in time to embrace her cold remains before they were consigned to the sepulchre. The desolate monarch abandoned himself to an agony of grief, and was with difficulty withdrawn from the apartment by his attendants, to indulge his solitary regrets in the neighboring monastery of La Sisla.

Isabella well deserved to be mourned by her husband. She was a woman from all accounts, possessed of many high and generous qualities. Such was her fortitude, that, at the time of her confinement, she was never heard to utter a groan. She seemed to think any demonstration of suffering a weakness, and had the chamber darkened that her attendants might not see the distress painted on her countenance.[19] With this constancy of spirit, she united many feminine virtues. The palace, under her rule, became a school of industry. Instead of wasting her leisure hours in frivolous pleasures, she might be seen busily occupied, with her maidens, in the elegant labors of the loom; and, like her ancestor, the good Queen Isabella the Catholic, she sent more than one piece of tapestry, worked by her own hands, to adorn the altars of Jerusalem. These excellent qualities were enhanced by manners so attractive, that her effigy was struck on a medal, with a device of the three Graces on the reverse side, bearing the motto, Has Habet et superat.[20]

Isabella was but thirty-six years old at the time of her death. Charles was not forty. He never married again. Yet the bereavement seems to have had little power to soften his nature, or incline him to charity for the misconduct, or compassion for the misfortunes of others. It was but a few months after the death of his wife, that, on occasion of the insurrection of Ghent, he sought a passage through the territory of his ancient enemy of France, descended on the offending city, and took such vengeance on its wretched inhabitants as made all Europe ring with his cruelty.[21]

Philip was too young at this time to take part in the administration of the kingdom during his father's absence. But he was surrounded by able statesmen, who familiarized him with ideas of government, by admitting him to see the workings of the machinery which he was one day to direct. Charles was desirous that the attention of his son, even in boyhood, should be turned to those affairs which were to form the great business of his future life. It seems even thus early—at this period of mental depression—the emperor cherished the plan of anticipating the natural consequence of his decease, by resigning his dominions into the hands of Philip so soon as he should be qualified to rule them.

No event occurred to disturb the tranquillity of Spain during the emperor's absence from that country, to which he returned in the winter of 1541. It was after his disastrous expedition against Algiers,—the most disastrous of any that he had yet undertaken. He there saw his navy sunk or scattered by the tempest, and was fortunate in finding a shelter, with its shattered remnants, in the port of Carthagena. Soon after landing, he received a letter from Philip, condoling with him on his losses, and striving to cheer him with the reflection, that they had been caused by the elements, not by his enemies. With this tone of philosophy were mingled expressions of sympathy; and Charles may have been gratified with the epistle,—if he could believe it the composition[{15}] of his son.[22] Philip soon after this made a journey to the south; and, in the society of one who was now the chief object of his affections, the emperor may have found the best consolation in his misfortunes.

INTRUSTED WITH THE REGENCY.

The French had availed themselves of the troubled state of Charles's affairs to make a descent upon Roussillon; and the Dauphin now lay in some strength before the gates of Perpignan. The emperor considered this a favorable moment for Philip to take his first lesson in war. The prince accordingly posted to Valladolid. A considerable force was quickly mustered; and Philip, taking the command, and supported by some of the most experienced of his father's generals, descended rapidly towards the coast. But the Dauphin did not care to wait for his approach; and, breaking up his camp, he retreated, without striking a blow, in all haste, across the mountains. Philip entered the town in triumph, and soon after returned, with the unstained laurels of victory, to receive his father's congratulations. The promptness of his movements on this occasion gained him credit with the Spaniards; and the fortunate result seemed to furnish a favorable augury for the future.

On his return, the prince was called to preside over the cortes at Monzon,—a central town, where the deputies of Aragon, Catalonia, and Valencia continued to assemble separately, long after those provinces had been united to Castile. Philip, with all the forms prescribed by the constitution, received the homage of the representatives assembled, as successor to the crown of Aragon.

The war with France, which, after a temporary suspension, had broken out with greater violence than ever, did not permit the emperor long to protract his stay in the Peninsula. Indeed, it seemed to his Spanish subjects that he rarely visited them, except when his exchequer required to be replenished for carrying on his restless enterprises, and that he stayed no longer than was necessary to effect this object. On leaving the country, he intrusted the regency to Philip, under the general direction of a council consisting of the duke of Alva, Cardinal Tavera, and the Commendador Cobos. Some time after this, while still lingering in Catalonia, previous to his embarkation, Charles addressed a letter to his son, advising him as to his political course, and freely criticising the characters of the great lords associated with him in the government. The letter, which is altogether a remarkable document, contains, also, some wholesome admonitions on Philip's private conduct. "The duke of Alva," the emperor emphatically wrote, "is the ablest statesman and the best soldier I have in my dominions. Consult him, above all, in military affairs; but do not depend upon him entirely in these or in any other matters. Depend on no one but yourself. The grandees will be too happy to secure your favor, and through you to govern the land. But, if you are thus governed, it will be your ruin. The mere suspicion of it will do you infinite prejudice. Make use of all; but lean exclusively on none. In your perplexities, ever trust in your Maker. Have no care but for him." The emperor then passes some strictures on the Commendador Cobos, as too much inclined to pleasure, at the same time admonishing Philip of the consequences of a libertine career, fatal alike, he tells him, to both soul and body. There seems to have been some ground for this admonition, as the young prince had shown a disposition to gallantry, which did not desert him in later life. "Yet, on the whole," says the monarch, "I will admit I have much reason to be satisfied with your behavior. But I would have you perfect; and, to speak frankly, whatever other persons may tell you, you have some things to mend yet. Your confessor," he continues, "is now your old preceptor, the bishop[{16}] of Carthagena,"—to which see the worthy professor had been recently raised. "He is a good man, as all the world knows; but I hope he will take better care of your conscience than he did of your studies, and that he will not show quite so accommodating a temper in regard to the former as he did with the latter."[23]

On the cover of this curious epistle the emperor indorsed a direction to his son, to show it to no living person; but if he found himself ill at any time, to destroy the letter, or seal it up under cover to him. It would, indeed, have edified those courtiers, who fancied they stood highest in the royal favor, to see how, to their very depths, their characters were sounded, and how clearly their schemes of ambition were revealed to the eye of their master. It was this admirable perception of character which enabled Charles, so generally, to select the right agent for the execution of his plans, and thus to insure their success.

The letter from Palamos is one among many similar proofs of the care with which, even from a distance, Charles watched over his son's course, and endeavored to form his character. The experienced navigator would furnish a chart to the youthful pilot, by which, without other aid, he might securely steer through seas strange and unknown to him. Yet there was little danger in the navigation, at this period; for Spain lay in a profound tranquillity, unruffled by a breath from the rude tempest, that, in other parts of Europe, was unsettling princes on their thrones.

A change was now to take place in Philip's domestic relations. His magnificent expectations made him, in the opinion of the world, the best match in Europe. His father had long contemplated the event of his son's marrying. He had first meditated an alliance for him with Margaret, daughter of Francis the First, by which means the feud with his ancient rival might be permanently healed. But Philip's inclination was turned to an alliance with Portugal. This latter was finally adopted by Charles; and, in December, 1542, Philip was betrothed to the Infanta Mary, daughter of John the Third and of Catharine, the emperor's sister. She was, consequently, cousin-german to Philip. At the same time, Joanna, Charles's youngest daughter, was affianced to the eldest son of John the Third, and heir to his crown. The intermarriages of the royal houses of Castile and Portugal were so frequent, that the several members stood in multiplied and most perplexing degrees of affinity with one another.

Joanna was eight years younger than her brother. Charles had one other child, Mary, born the year after Philip. She was destined to a more splendid fortune than her sister, as bride of the future emperor of Germany. Since Philip and the Portuguese princess were now both more than sixteen years old, being nearly of the same age, it was resolved that their marriage should no longer be deferred. The place appointed for the ceremony was the ancient city of Salamanca.

MARRIES MARY OF PORTUGAL.

In October, 1543, the Portuguese infanta quitted her father's palace in Lisbon, and set out for Castile. She was attended by a numerous train of nobles, with the archbishop of Lisbon at their head. A splendid embassy was sent to meet her on the borders, and conduct her to Salamanca. At its head was the duke of Medina Sidonia, chief of the Guzmans, the wealthiest and most powerful lord in Andalusia. He had fitted up his palace at Badajoz in the most costly and sumptuous style, for the accommodation of the princess. The hangings were of cloth of gold; the couches, the sideboards, and some of [{17}]the other furniture, of burnished silver. The duke himself rode in a superb litter, and the mules which carried it were shod with gold. The members of his household and his retainers swelled to the number of three thousand, well mounted, wearing the liveries and cognizance of their master. Among them was the duke's private band, including several natives of the Indies,—then not a familiar sight in Spain,—displaying on their breasts broad silver escutcheons, on which were emblazoned the arms of the Guzmans. The chronicler is diffuse in his account of the infanta's reception, from which a few particulars may be selected for such as take an interest in the Spanish costume and manners of the sixteenth century.

The infanta was five months younger than Philip. She was of the middle size, with a good figure, though somewhat inclined to embonpoint, and was distinguished by a graceful carriage and a pleasing expression of countenance. Her dress was of cloth of silver, embroidered with flowers of gold. She wore a capa, or Castilian mantle, of violet-colored velvet, figured with gold, and a hat of the same materials, surmounted by a white and azure plume. The housings of the mule were of rich brocade, and Mary rode on a silver saddle.

As she approached Salamanca, she was met by the rector and professors of the university, in their academic gowns. Next followed the judges and regidores of the city, in their robes of office, of crimson velvet, with hose and shoes of spotless white. After these came the military,—horse and foot,—in their several companies, making a brilliant show with their gay uniforms; and, after going through their various evolutions, they formed into an escort for the princess. In this way, amidst the sound of music and the shouts of the multitude, the glittering pageant entered the gates of the capital.

The infanta was there received under a superb canopy, supported by the magistrates of the city. The late ambassador to Portugal, Don Luis Sarmiento, who had negotiated the marriage treaty, held the bridle of her mule; and in this state she arrived at the palace of the duke of Alva, destined for her reception in Salamanca. Here she was received with all honour by the duchess, in the presence of a brilliant company of cavaliers and noble ladies. Each of the ladies was graciously permitted by the infanta to kiss her hand; but the duchess, the chronicler is careful to inform us, she distinguished by the honor of an embrace.

All the while, Philip had been in the presence of the infanta, unknown to herself. Impatient to see his destined bride, the young prince had sallied out, with a few attendants, to the distance of five or six miles from the city, all in the disguise of huntsmen. He wore a slouched velvet hat on his head, and his face was effectually concealed under a gauze mask, so that he could mingle in the crowd by the side of the infanta, and make his own scrutiny, unmarked by any one. In this way he accompanied the procession during the five hours which it lasted, until the darkness had set in; "if darkness could be spoken of," says the chronicler, "where the blaze of ten thousand torches shed a light stronger than day."

The following evening, November the twelfth, was appointed for the marriage. The duke and duchess of Alva stood as sponsors, and the nuptial ceremony was performed by Tavera, archbishop of Toledo. The festivities were prolonged through another week. The saloons were filled with the beauty of Castile. The proudest aristocracy in Europe vied with each other in the display of magnificence at the banquet and the tourney: and sounds of merriment succeeded to the tranquillity which had so long reigned in the cloistered shades of Salamanca.

On the nineteenth of the month the new-married pair transferred their residence to Valladolid,—a city at once fortunate and fatal to the princess. Well might the chronicler call it "fatal;" for, in less than two years, July 8th,[{18}] 1545, she there gave birth to a son, the celebrated Don Carlos, whose mysterious fate has furnished so fruitful a theme for speculation. Mary survived the birth of her child but a few days. Had her life been spared, a mother's care might perhaps have given a different direction to his character, and, through this, to his fortunes. The remains of the infanta, first deposited in the cathedral of Granada, were afterwards removed to the Escorial, that magnificent mausoleum prepared by her husband for the royalty of Spain.[24]

In the following year died Tavera, archbishop of Toledo. He was an excellent man, and greatly valued by the emperor; who may be thought to have passed a sufficient encomium on his worth when he declared, that "by his death Philip had suffered a greater loss than by that of Mary; for he could get another wife, but not another Tavera." His place was filled by Siliceo, Philip's early preceptor, who, after having been raised to the archiepiscopal see of Toledo, received a cardinal's hat from Rome. The accommodating spirit of the good ecclesiastic had doubtless some influence in his rapid advancement from the condition of a poor teacher in Salamanca to the highest post,—as the see of Toledo, with its immense revenues and authority, might be considered,—next to the papacy, in the Christian Church.

For some years, no event of importance occurred to disturb the repose of the Peninsula. But the emperor was engaged in a stormy career abroad, in which his arms were at length crowned with success by the decisive battle of Muhlberg.

This victory, which secured him the person of his greatest enemy, placed him in a position for dictating terms to the Protestant princes of Germany. He had subsequently withdrawn to Brussels, where he received an embassy from Philip, congratulating him on the success of his arms. Charles was desirous to see his son, from whom he had now been separated nearly six years. He wished, moreover, to introduce him to the Netherlands, and make him personally acquainted with the people over whom he was one day to rule. He sent instructions, accordingly, to Philip, to repair to Flanders, so soon as the person appointed to relieve him in the government should arrive in Castile.

The individual selected by the emperor for this office was Maximilian, the son of his brother Ferdinand. He was a young man of good parts, correct judgment, and popular manners,—well qualified, notwithstanding his youth, for the post assigned to him. He was betrothed, as already mentioned, to the emperor's eldest daughter, his cousin Mary; and the regency was to be delivered into his hands on the marriage of the parties.

Philip received his father's commands while presiding at the cortes of Monzon. He found the Aragonese legislature by no means so tractable as the Castilian. The deputies from the mountains of Aragon and from the sea-coast of Catalonia were alike sturdy in their refusal to furnish further supplies for those ambitious enterprises, which, whatever glory they might bring to their sovereign, were of little benefit to them. The independent people of these provinces urged their own claims with a pertinacity, and criticized the conduct of their rulers with a bluntness, that was little grateful to the ear of majesty. The convocation of the Aragonese cortes was, in the view of the[{19}] king of Spain, what the convocation of a general council was in that of the pope,—a measure not to be resorted to but from absolute necessity.

On the arrival of Maximilian in Castile, his marriage with the Infanta Mary was immediately celebrated. The ceremony took place, with all the customary pomp, in the courtly city of Valladolid. Among the festivities that followed may be noticed the performance of a comedy of Ariosto,—a proof that the beautiful Italian literature, which had exercised a visible influence on the compositions of the great Castilian poets of the time, had now commended itself, in some degree, to the popular taste.

Before leaving the country, Philip, by his father's orders, made a change in his domestic establishment, which he formed on the Burgundian model. This was more ceremonious, and far more costly, than the primitive usage of Castile. A multitude of new offices was created, and the most important were filled by grandees of the highest class. The duke of Alva was made mayor-domo mayor; Antonio de Toledo, his kinsman, master of the horse; Figueroa, count of Feria, captain of the body-guard. Among the chamberlains was Ruy Gomez de Silva, prince of Eboli, one of the most important members of the cabinet under Philip. Even the menial offices connected with the person and table of the prince were held by men of rank. A guard was lodged in the palace. Philip dined in public in great state, attended by his kings-at-arms, and by a host of minstrels and musicians. One is reminded of the pompous etiquette of the court of Louis the Fourteenth. All this, however, was distasteful to the Spaniards, who did not comprehend why the prince should relinquish the simple usages of his own land for the fashions of Burgundy. Neither was it to the taste of Philip himself; but it suited that of his father, who was desirous that his son should flatter the Flemings by the assumption of a state to which they had been accustomed in their Burgundian princes.[25]

Philip, having now completed his arrangements, and surrendered the regency into the hands of his brother-in-law, had no reason longer to postpone his journey. He was accompanied by the duke of Alva, Enriquez, high-admiral of Castile, Ruy Gomez, prince of Eboli, and a long train of persons of the highest rank. There was, besides, a multitude of younger cavaliers of family. The proudest nobles of the land contended for the honor of having their sons take part in the expedition. The number was still further augmented by a body of artists and men of science. The emperor was desirous that Philip should make an appearance that would dazzle the imaginations of the people among whom he passed.

With this brilliant company, Philip began his journey in the autumn of 1548. He took the road to Saragossa, made an excursion to inspect the fortifications of Perpignan, offered up his prayers at the shrine of Our Lady of Montserrat, passed a day or two at Barcelona, enjoying the fête prepared for him in the pleasant citron-gardens of the cardinal of Trent, and thence proceeded to the port of Rosas, where a Genoese fleet, over which proudly waved the imperial banner, was riding at anchor, and awaiting his arrival. It consisted of fifty-eight vessels, furnished by Genoa, Sicily, and Naples, and commanded by the veteran of a hundred battles, the famous Andrew Doria.

Philip encountered some rough weather on his passage to Genoa. The doge and the principal senators came out of port in a magnificent galley to receive him. The prince landed, amidst the roar of cannon from the walls and the adjacent fortifications, and was forthwith conducted to the mansion[{20}] of the Dorias, preëminent, even in this city of palaces, for its architectural splendor.

During his stay in Genoa, Philip received all the attentions which an elegant hospitality could devise. But his hours were not wholly resigned to pleasure. He received, every day, embassies from the different Italian states, one of which came from the pope, Paul the Third, with his nephew, Ottavio Farnese, at its head. Its especial object was to solicit the prince's interest with his father, for the restitution of Parma and Placentia to the Holy See. Philip answered in terms complimentary, indeed, says the historian, "but sufficiently ambiguous as to the essential."[26] He had already learned his first lesson in kingcraft. Not long after, the pope sent him a consecrated sword, and the hat worn by his holiness on Christmas eve, accompanied by an autograph letter, in which, after expatiating on the mystic import of his gift, he expressed his confidence that in Philip he was one day to find the true champion of the Church.

At the end of a fortnight, the royal traveller resumed his journey. He crossed the famous battle-field of Pavia, and was shown the place where Francis the First surrendered himself a prisoner, and where the Spanish ambuscade sallied out and decided the fortune of the day. His bosom swelled with exultation, as he rode over the ground made memorable by the most brilliant victory achieved by his father,—a victory which opened the way to the implacable hatred of his vanquished rival, and to oceans of blood.

From Pavia he passed on to Milan, the flourishing capital of Lombardy,—the fairest portion of the Spanish dominions in Italy. Milan was, at that time, second only to Naples in population. It was second to no city in the elegance of its buildings, the splendor of its aristocracy, the opulence and mechanical ingenuity of its burghers. It was renowned, at the same time, for its delicate fabrics of silk, and its armor, curiously wrought and inlaid with gold and silver. In all the arts of luxury and material civilization, it was unsurpassed by any of the capitals of Christendom.

As the prince approached the suburbs, a countless throng of people came forth to greet him. For fifteen miles before he entered the city, the road was spanned by triumphal arches, garlanded with flowers and fruits, and bearing inscriptions, both in Latin and Italian, filled with praises of the father and prognostics of the future glory of the son. Amidst the concourse were to be seen the noble ladies of Milan, in gay, fantastic cars, shining in silk brocade, and with sumptuous caparisons for their horses. As he drew near the town, two hundred mounted gentlemen came out to escort him into the place. They were clothed in complete mail of the fine Milanese workmanship, and were succeeded by fifty pages in gaudy livery, devoted to especial attendance on the prince's person, during his residence in Milan.

Philip entered the gates under a canopy of state, with the cardinal of Trent on his right hand, and Philibert, prince of Piedmont, on his left. He was received, at the entrance, by the governor of the place, attended by the members of the senate, in their robes of office. The houses which lined the long street through which the procession passed were hung with tapestries, and with paintings of the great Italian masters. The balconies and verandahs were crowded with spectators, eager to behold their future sovereign, and rending the air with their acclamations. The ceremony of reception was closed, in the evening, by a brilliant display of fireworks,—in which the Milanese excelled,—and by a general illumination of the city.

VISIT TO FLANDERS

Philip's time glided away, during his residence at Milan, in a succession of[{21}] banquets, fêtes, and spectacles of every description which the taste and ingenuity of the people could devise for the amusement of their illustrious guest. With none was he more pleased than with the theatrical entertainments, conducted with greater elegance and refinement in Italy than in any of the countries beyond the Alps. Nor was he always a passive spectator at these festivities. He was especially fond of dancing, in which his light and agile figure fitted him to excel. In the society of ladies he lost much of his habitual reserve; and the dignified courtesy of his manners seems to have made a favorable impression on the fair dames of Italy, who were probably not less pleased by the display of his munificence. To the governor's wife, who had entertained him at a splendid ball, he presented a diamond ring worth five thousand ducats; and to her daughter he gave a necklace of rubies worth three thousand. Similar presents, of less value, he bestowed on others of the court, extending his liberality even to the musicians and inferior persons who had contributed to his entertainment. To the churches he gave still more substantial proofs of his generosity. In short, he showed, on all occasions, a munificent spirit worthy of his royal station.

He took some pains, moreover, to reciprocate the civilities he had received, by entertaining his hosts in return. He was particularly fortunate in exhibiting to them a curious spectacle, which, even with this pleasure-loving people, had the rare merit of novelty. This was the graceful tourney introduced into Castile from the Spanish Arabs. The highest nobles in his suite took the lead in it. The cavaliers were arranged in six quadrilles, or factions, each wearing its distinctive livery and badges, with their heads protected by shawls, or turbans, wreathed around them in the Moorish fashion. They were mounted à la gineta, that is, on the light jennet of Andalusia,—a cross of the Arabian. In their hands they brandished their slender lances, with long streamers attached to them, of some gay color, that denoted the particular faction of the cavalier. Thus lightly equipped and mounted, the Spanish knights went through the delicate manœuvres of the Moorish tilt of reeds, showing an easy horsemanship, and performing feats of agility and grace, which delighted the Italians, keenly alive to the beautiful, but hitherto accustomed only to the more ponderous and clumsy exercises of the European tourney.[27]

After some weeks, Prince Philip quitted the hospitable walls of Milan, and set out for the north. Before leaving the place, he was joined by a body of two hundred mounted arquebusiers, wearing his own yellow uniform, and commanded by the duke of Arschot. They had been sent to him as an escort by his father. He crossed the Tyrol, then took the road by the way of Munich, Trent, and Heidelberg, and so on towards Flanders. On all the route, the royal party was beset by multitudes of both sexes, pressing to catch a glimpse of the young prince who was one day to sway the mightiest sceptre in Europe. The magistrates of the cities through which he passed welcomed him with complimentary addresses, and with presents, frequently in the form of silver urns, or goblets, filled with golden ducats. Philip received the donatives with a gracious condescension; and, in truth, they did not come amiss in this season of lavish expenditure. To the addresses, the duke of Alva, who rode by the prince's side, usually responded. The whole of the long journey was performed on horseback,—the only sure mode of conveyance in a country where the roads were seldom practicable for carriages.

At length, after a journey of four months, the royal cavalcade drew near[{22}] the city of Brussels. Their approach to a great town was intimated by the crowds who came to welcome them; and Philip was greeted with a tumultuous enthusiasm, which made him feel that he was now indeed in the midst of his own people. The throng was soon swelled by bodies of the military; and with this loyal escort, amidst the roar of artillery and the ringing of bells, which sent forth a merry peal from every tower and steeple, Philip made his first entrance into the capital of Belgium.

The Regent Mary held her court there, and her brother, the emperor, was occupying the palace with her. It was not long before the father had again the satisfaction of embracing his son, from whom he had been separated so many years. He must have been pleased with the alteration which time had wrought in Philip's appearance. He was now twenty-one years of age, and was distinguished by a comeliness of person, remarked upon by more than one who had access to his presence. Their report is confirmed by the portraits of him from the pencil of Titian,—taken before the freshness of youth had faded into the sallow hue of disease, and when care and anxiety had not yet given a sombre, perhaps sullen, expression, to his features.

He had a fair, and even delicate complexion. His hair and beard were of a light yellow. His eyes were blue, with the eyebrows somewhat too closely knit together. His nose was thin and aquiline. The principal blemish in his countenance was his thick Austrian lip. His lower jaw protruded even more than that of his father. To his father, indeed, he bore a great resemblance in his lineaments, though those of Philip were of a less intellectual cast. In stature he was somewhat below the middle height, with a slight, symmetrical figure and well-made limbs. He was attentive to his dress, which was rich and elegant, but without any affectation of ornament. His demeanor was grave with that ceremonious observance which marked the old Castilian, and which may be thought the natural expression of Philip's slow and phlegmatic temperament.[28]

During his long residence in Brussels, Charles had the opportunity of superintending his son's education in one department in which it was deficient,—the science of government. And, surely, no instructor could have been found with larger experience than the man who had been at the head of all the great political movements in Europe for the last quarter of a century. Philip passed some time, every day, in his father's cabinet, conversing with him on public affairs, or attending the sessions of the council of state. It can hardly be doubted that Charles, in his private instruction, inculcated on his son two principles so prominent throughout Philip's administration,—to maintain the royal authority in its full extent, and to enforce a strict conformity to the Roman Catholic Communion. It is probable that he found his son an apt and docile scholar. Philip acquired, at least, such habits of patient application, and of watching over the execution of his own plans, as have been possessed by few princes.[29][{23}]

PUBLIC FESTIVITIES.

The great object of Philip's visit to the Low Countries had been, to present himself to the people of the different provinces, to study their peculiar characters on their own soil, and obtain their recognition as their future sovereign. After a long residence at Brussels, he set out on a tour through the provinces. He was accompanied by the queen-regent, and by the same splendid retinue as on his entrance into the country, with the addition of a large number of the nobles.

The Netherlands had ever been treated by Charles with particular favor, and, under his royal patronage, although the country did not develop its resources as under its own free institutions of a later period, it had greatly prospered. It was more thickly studded with trading towns than any country of similar extent in Europe; and its flourishing communities held the first rank in wealth, industry, and commercial enterprise, as well as in the splendid way of living maintained by the aristocracy. On the present occasion, these communities vied with one another in their loyal demonstrations towards the prince, and in the splendor of the reception which they gave him. A work was compiled by one of the royal suite, setting forth the manifold honors paid to Philip through the whole of the tour, which, even more than his former journey, had the aspect of a triumphal progress. The book grew, under the hands of its patriotic author, to the size of a bulky folio, which, however interesting to his contemporaries, would have but slender attraction for the present generation.[30] The mere inscriptions emblazoned on the triumphal arches, and on the public buildings, spread over a multitude of pages. They were both in Latin and in the language of the country, and they augured the happy days in store for the nation, when, under the benignant sceptre of Philip, it should enjoy the sweets of tranquillity and freedom. Happy auguries! which showed that the prophet was not gifted with the spirit of prophecy.[31]

In these solemnities, Antwerp alone expended fifty thousand pistoles. But no place compared with Brussels in the costliness and splendor of its festivities, the most remarkable of which was a tournament. Under their Burgundian princes the Flemings had been familiar with these chivalrous pageants. The age of chivalry was, indeed, fast fading away before the use of gunpowder and other improvements in military science. But it was admitted that no tourney had been maintained with so much magnificence and knightly prowess since the days of Charles the Bold. The old chronicler's narrative of the event, like the pages of Froissart, seems instinct with the spirit of a feudal age. I will give a few details, at the hazard of appearing trivial to those who may think we have dwelt long enough on the pageants of the courts of Castile and Burgundy. But such pageants form part of the natural accompaniment of a picturesque age, and the illustrations they afford of the manners of the time may have an interest for the student of history.[{24}]

The tourney was held in a spacious square, inclosed for the purpose, in front of the great palace of Brussels. Four knights were prepared to maintain the field against all comers, and jewels of price were to be awarded as the prize of the victors. The four challengers were Count Mansfeldt, Count Hoorne, Count Aremberg, and the Sieur de Hubermont; among the judges was the duke of Alva; and in the list of the successful antagonists we find the names of Prince Philip of Spain, Emanuel Philibert, duke of Savoy, and Count Egmont. These are names famous in history. It is curious to observe how the men who were soon to be at a deadly feud with one another were thus sportively met to celebrate the pastimes of chivalry.

The day was an auspicious one, and the lists were crowded with the burghers of Brussels, and the people of the surrounding country. The galleries which encompassed the area were graced with the rank and beauty of the capital. A canopy, embroidered with the imperial arms in crimson and gold, indicated the place occupied by Charles the Fifth and his sisters, the regent of the Netherlands, and the dowager queen of France.

For several hours the field was gallantly maintained by the four challengers against every knight who was ambitious to prove his prowess in the presence of so illustrious an assembly. At length the trumpets sounded, and announced the entrance of four cavaliers, whose brilliant train of followers intimated them to be persons of high degree. The four knights were Prince Philip, the duke of Savoy, Count Egmont, and Juan Manriquez de Lara, major-domo of the emperor. They were clothed in complete mail, over which they wore surcoats of violet-colored velvet, while the caparisons of their horses were of cloth of gold.

Philip ran the first course. His antagonist was the Count Mansfeldt, a Flemish captain of great renown. At the appointed signal, the two knights spurred against each other, and met in the centre of the lists with a shock that shivered their lances to the very grasp. Both knights reeled in their saddles, but neither lost his seat. The arena resounded with the plaudits of the spectators, not the less hearty that one of the combatants was the heir apparent.

The other cavaliers then tilted, with various success. A general tournament followed, in which every knight eager to break a lance on this fair occasion took part; and many a feat of arms was performed, doubtless long remembered by the citizens of Brussels. At the end of the seventh hour a flourish of trumpets announced the conclusion of the contest, and the assembly broke up in admirable order, the knights retiring to change their heavy panoplies for the lighter vestments of the ball-room. A banquet was prepared by the municipality, in a style of magnificence worthy of their royal guests. The emperor and his sisters honored it with their presence, and witnessed the distribution of the prizes. Among these, a brilliant ruby, the prize awarded for the lança de las damas,—the "ladies' lance," in the language of chivalry,—was assigned by the loyal judges to Prince Philip of Spain.

Dancing succeeded to the banquet; and the high-bred courtesy of the prince was as much commended in the ball-room as his prowess had been in the lists. Maskers mingled with the dancers in Oriental costume, some in the Turkish, others in the Albanian fashion. The merry revels were not prolonged beyond the hour of midnight, when the company broke up, loudly commending, as they withdrew, the good cheer afforded them by the hospitable burghers of Brussels.[32][{25}]

PUBLIC FESTIVITIES.

Philip won the prize on another occasion, when he tilted against a valiant knight, named Quiñones. He was not so fortunate in an encounter with the son of his old preceptor, Zuñiga, in which he was struck with such force on the head, that, after being carried some distance by his horse, he fell senseless from the saddle. The alarm was great, but the accident passed away without serious consequences.[33]

There were those who denied him skill in the management of his lance. Marillac, the French ambassador at the imperial court, speaking of a tourney given by Philip in honor of the princess of Lorraine, at Augsburg, says he never saw worse lance-playing in his life. At another time he remarks, that the Spanish prince could not even hit his antagonist.[34] It must have been a very palpable hit to be noticed by a Frenchman. The French regarded the Spaniards of that day in much the same manner as they regarded the English at an earlier period, or as they have continued to regard them at a later. The long rivalry of the French and Spanish monarchs had infused into the breasts of their subjects such feelings of mutual aversion, that the opinions of either nation in reference to the other, in the sixteenth century, must be received with the greatest distrust.

But, whatever may have been Philip's success in these chivalrous displays, it is quite certain they were not to his taste. He took part in them only to conform to his father's wishes, and to the humor of the age. Though in his youth he sometimes hunted, he was neither fond of field-sports nor of the athletic exercises of chivalry. His constitution was far from robust. He sought to invigorate it less by exercise than by diet. He confined himself almost wholly to meat, as the most nutritious food, abstaining even from fish; as well as from fruit.[35] Besides his indisposition to active exercises, he had no relish for the gaudy spectacles so fashionable in that romantic age. The part he had played in the pageants, during his long tour, had not been of his own seeking. Though ceremonious, and exacting deference from all who approached him, he was not fond of the pomp and parade of a court life. He preferred to pass his hours in the privacy of his own apartment, where he took pleasure in the conversation of a few whom he honored with his regard. It was with difficulty that the emperor could induce him to leave his retirement and present himself in the audience-chamber, or accompany him on visits of ceremony.[36][{26}]

These reserved and quiet tastes of Philip by no means recommended him to the Flemings, accustomed as they were to the pomp and profuse magnificence of the Burgundian court. Their free and social tempers were chilled by his austere demeanor. They contrasted it with the affable deportment of his father, who could so well conform to the customs of the different nations under his sceptre, and who seemed perfectly to comprehend their characters,—the astute policy of the Italian, the home-bred simplicity of the German, and the Castilian propriety and point of honor.[37] With the latter only of these had Philip anything in common. He was in everything a Spaniard. He talked of nothing, seemed to think of nothing, but Spain.[38] The Netherlands were to him a foreign land, with which he had little sympathy. His counsellors and companions were wholly Spanish. The people of Flanders felt, that, under his sway, little favor was to be shown to them; and they looked forward to the time when all the offices of trust in their own country would be given to Castilians, in the same manner as those of Castile, in the early days of Charles the Fifth, had been given to Flemings.[39]

Yet the emperor seemed so little aware of his son's unpopularity, that he was at this very time making arrangements for securing to him the imperial crown. He had summoned a meeting of the electors and great lords of the empire, to be held at Augsburg, in August, 1550. There he proposed to secure Philip's election as king of the Romans, so soon as he had obtained his brother Ferdinand's surrender of that dignity. But Charles did not show, in all this, his usual knowledge of human nature. The lust of power on his son's account—ineffectual for happiness as he had found the possession of it in his own case—seems to have entirely blinded him.

He repaired with Philip to Augsburg, where they were met by Ferdinand and the members of the German diet. But it was in vain that Charles solicited his brother to waive his claim to the imperial succession in favor of his nephew. Neither solicitations nor arguments, backed by the entreaties, even the tears, it is said, of their common sister, the Regent Mary, could move Ferdinand to forego the splendid inheritance. Charles was not more successful when he changed his ground, and urged his brother to acquiesce in Philip's election as his successor in the dignity of king of the Romans; or, at least, in his being associated in that dignity—a thing unprecedented—with his cousin Maximilian, Ferdinand's son, who, it was understood, was destined by the electors to succeed his father.

This young prince, who meanwhile had been summoned to Augsburg, was as little disposed as Ferdinand had been to accede to the proposals of his too grasping father-in-law; though he courteously alleged, as the ground of his refusal, that he had no right to interfere with the decision of the electors. He might safely rest his cause on their decision. They had no desire to perpetuate the imperial sceptre in the line of Castilian monarchs. They had suffered enough from the despotic temper of Charles the Fifth; and this temper they had no reason to think would be mitigated in the person of Philip.

[{27}]

AMBITIOUS SCHEMES.

They desired a German to rule over them,—one who would understand the German character, and enter heartily into the feelings of the people. Maximilian's directness of purpose and kindly nature had won largely on the affections of his countrymen, and proved him, in their judgment, worthy of the throne.[40]

Philip, on the other hand, was even more distasteful to the Germans than he was to the Flemings. It was in vain that, at their banquets, he drank twice or thrice as much as he was accustomed to do, until the cardinal of Trent assured him that he was fast gaining in the good graces of the people.[41] The natural haughtiness of his temper showed itself on too many occasions to be mistaken. When Charles returned to his palace, escorted, as he usually was, by a train of nobles and princes of the empire, he would courteously take them by the hand, and raise his hat, as he parted from them. But Philip, it was observed, on like occasions, walked directly into the palace, without so much as turning round, or condescending in any way to notice the courtiers who had accompanied him. This was taking higher ground even than his father had done. In fact, it was said of him, that he considered himself greater than his father, inasmuch as the son of an emperor was greater than the son of a king![42]—a foolish vaunt, not the less indicative of his character, that it was made for him, probably, by the Germans. In short, Philip's manners, which, in the language of a contemporary, had been little pleasing to the Italians, and positively displeasing to the Flemings, were altogether odious to the Germans.[43]

Nor was the idea of Philip's election at all more acceptable to the Spaniards themselves. That nation had been long enough regarded as an appendage to the empire. Their pride had been wounded by the light in which they were held by Charles, who seemed to look on Spain as a royal domain, valuable chiefly for the means it afforded him for playing his part on the great theatre of Europe. The haughty Castilian of the sixteenth century, conscious of his superior pretensions, could ill brook this abasement. He sighed for a prince born and bred in Spain, who would be content to pass his life in Spain, and would have no ambition unconnected with her prosperity and glory. The Spaniards were even more tenacious on this head than the Germans. Their remote situation made them more exclusive, mere strictly national, and less tolerant of foreign influence. They required a Spaniard to rule over them. Such was Philip; and they anticipated the hour when Spain should be divorced from the empire, and, under the sway of a patriotic prince, rise to her just preëminence among the nations.

Yet Charles, far from yielding, continued to press the point with such pertinacity, that it seemed likely to lead to an open rupture between the different branches of his family. For a time Ferdinand kept his apartment, and had no intercourse with Charles or his sister.[44] Yet in the end the genius or the[{28}] obstinacy of Charles so far prevailed over his brother, that he acquiesced in a private compact, by which, while he was to retain possession of the imperial crown, it was agreed that Philip should succeed him as king of the Romans, and that Maximilian should succeed Philip.[45] Ferdinand hazarded little by concessions which could never be sanctioned by the electoral college. The reverses which befell the emperor's arms in the course of the following year destroyed whatever influence he might have possessed in that body; and he seems never to have revived his schemes for aggrandizing his son by securing to him the succession to the empire.

Philip had now accomplished the great object of his visit. He had presented himself to the people of the Netherlands, and had received their homage as heir to the realm. His tour had been, in some respects, a profitable one. It was scarcely possible that a young man, whose days had hitherto been passed within the narrow limits of his own country, for ever under the same local influences, should not have his ideas greatly enlarged by going abroad and mingling with different nations. It was especially important to Philip to make himself familiar, as none but a resident can be, with the character and institutions of those nations over whom he was one day to preside. Yet his visit to the Netherlands had not been attended with the happiest results. He evidently did not make a favorable impression on the people. The more they saw of him, the less they appeared to like him. Such impressions are usually reciprocal; and Philip seems to have parted from the country with little regret. Thus, in the first interview between the future sovereign and his subjects, the symptoms might already be discerned of that alienation which was afterwards to widen into a permanent and irreparable breach.

Philip, anxious to reach Castile, pushed forward his journey, without halting to receive the civilities that were everywhere tendered to him on his route. He made one exception at Trent, where the ecclesiastical council was holding the memorable session that occupies so large a share in Church annals. On his approach to the city, the cardinal legate, attended by the mitred prelates and other dignitaries of the council, came out in a body to receive him. During his stay there, he was entertained with masks, dancing, theatrical exhibitions, and jousts, contrived to represent scenes in Ariosto.[46] These diversions of the reverend fathers formed a whimsical contrast, perhaps a welcome relief, to their solemn occupation of digesting a creed for the Christian world.

CONDITION OF SPAIN.

From Trent Philip pursued his way, with all expedition, to Genoa, where he embarked, under the flag of the veteran Doria, who had brought him from Spain. He landed at Barcelona, on the twelfth day of July, 1551, and proceeded at once to Valladolid, where he resumed the government of the kingdom. He was fortified by a letter from his father, dated at Augsburg, which contained ample instructions as to the policy he was to pursue, and freely discussed both the foreign and domestic relations of the country. The letter, which is very long, shows that the capacious mind of Charles, however[{29}] little time he could personally give to the affairs of the monarchy, fully comprehended its internal condition and the extent of its resources.[47]

The following years were years of humiliation to Charles; years marked by the flight from Innsbruck, and the disastrous siege of Metz,—when, beaten by the Protestants, foiled by the French, the reverses of the emperor pressed heavily on his proud heart, and did more, probably, than all the homilies of his ghostly teachers, to disgust him with the world and its vanities.

Yet these reverses made little impression on Spain. The sounds of war died away before they reached the foot of the Pyrenees. Spain, it is true, sent forth her sons, from time to time, to serve under the banners of Charles; and it was in that school that was perfected the admirable system of discipline and tactics which, begun by the Great Captain, made the Spanish infantry the most redoubtable in Europe. But the great body of the people felt little interest in the success of these distant enterprises, where success brought them no good. Not that the mind of Spain was inactive, or oppressed with the lethargy which stole over it in a later age. There was, on the contrary, great intellectual activity. She was excluded, by an arbitrary government, from pushing her speculations in the regions of theological or political science. But this, to a considerable extent, was the case with most of the neighboring nations; and she indemnified herself for this exclusion by a more diligent cultivation of elegant literature. The constellation of genius had already begun to show itself above the horizon, which was to shed a glory over the meridian and the close of Philip's reign. The courtly poets in the reign of his father had confessed the influence of Italian models, derived through the recent territorial acquisitions in Italy. But the national taste was again asserting its supremacy; and the fashionable tone of composition was becoming more and more accommodated to the old Castilian standard.

It would be impossible that any departure from a national standard should be long tolerated in Spain, where the language, the manners, the dress, the usages of the country, were much the same as they had been for generations,—as they continued to be for generations, long after Cervantes held up the mirror of fiction, to reflect the traits of the national existence more vividly than is permitted to the page of the chronicler. In the rude romances of the fourteenth and the fifteenth century, the Castilian of the sixteenth might see his way of life depicted with tolerable accuracy. The amorous cavalier still thrummed his guitar, by moonlight, under the balcony of his mistress, or wore her favors at the Moorish tilt of reeds. The common people still sung their lively seguidillas, or crowded to the fiestas de toros,—the cruel bull-fights,—or to the more cruel autos da fé. This last spectacle, of comparatively recent origin,—in the time of Ferdinand and Isabella,—was the legitimate consequence of the long wars with the Moslems, which made the Spaniard intolerant of religious infidelity. Atrocious as it seems in a more humane and enlightened age, it was regarded by the ancient Spaniard as a sacrifice grateful to Heaven, at which he was to rekindle the dormant embers of his own religious sensibilities.

The cessation of the long Moorish wars by the fall of Granada, made the most important change in the condition of the Spaniards. They, however, found a vent for their chivalrous fanaticism, in a crusade against the heathen of the New World. Those who returned from their wanderings brought back to Spain little of foreign usages and manners; for the Spaniard was the only civilized man whom they found in the wilds of America.[{30}]

Thus passed the domestic life of the Spaniard, in the same unvaried circle of habits, opinions, and prejudices, to the exclusion, and probably contempt of everything foreign. Not that these habits did not differ in the different provinces, where their distinctive peculiarities were handed down, with traditional precision, from father to son. But, beneath these, there was one common basis of the national character. Never was there a people, probably, with the exception of the Jews, distinguished by so intense a nationality. It was among such a people, and under such influences, that Philip was born and educated. His temperament and his constitution of mind peculiarly fitted him for the reception of these influences; and the Spaniards, as he grew in years, beheld, with pride and satisfaction, in their future sovereign, the most perfect type of the national character.

CHAPTER III.

ENGLISH ALLIANCE.

Condition of England.—Character of Mary.—Philip's Proposals of Marriage.—Marriage Articles.—Insurrection in England.

1553, 1554.

In the summer of 1553, three years after Philip's return to Spain, occurred an event which was to exercise a considerable influence on his fortunes. This was the death of Edward the Sixth of England,—after a brief but important reign. He was succeeded by his sister Mary, that unfortunate princess, whose sobriquet of "Bloody" gives her a melancholy distinction among the sovereigns of the house of Tudor.

The reign of her father, Henry the Eighth, had opened the way to the great revolution in religion, the effects of which were destined to be permanent. Yet Henry himself showed his strength rather in unsettling ancient institutions than in establishing new ones. By the abolition of the monasteries, he broke up that spiritual militia which was a most efficacious instrument for maintaining the authority of Rome; and he completed the work of independence by seating himself boldly in the chair of St. Peter, and assuming the authority of head of the Church. Thus, while the supremacy of the pope was rejected, the Roman Catholic religion was maintained in its essential principles unimpaired. In other words, the nation remained Catholics, but not Papists.

CONDITION OF ENGLAND.

The impulse thus given under Henry was followed up to more important consequences under his son, Edward the Sixth. The opinions of the German Reformers, considerably modified, especially in regard to the exterior forms and discipline of worship, met with a cordial welcome from the ministers of the young monarch. Protestantism became the religion of the land; and the Church of England received, to a great extent, the peculiar organization which it has preserved to the present day. But Edward's reign was too brief to allow the new opinions to take deep root in the hearts of the people. The greater part of the aristocracy soon showed that, whatever religious zeal they had affected, they were not prepared to make any sacrifice of their temporal interests. On the accession of a Catholic queen to the throne, a reaction soon became visible. Some embarrassment to a return to the former faith was found in the restitution which it might naturally involve of the confiscated[{31}] property of the monastic orders. But the politic concessions of Rome dispensed with this severe trial of the sincerity of its new proselytes; and England, after repudiating her heresies, was received into the fold of the Roman Catholic Church, and placed once more under the jurisdiction of its pontiff.

After the specimens given of the ready ductility with which the English of that day accommodated their religious creeds to the creed of their sovereign, we shall hardly wonder at the caustic criticism of the Venetian ambassador, resident at the court of London, in Queen Mary's time. "The example and authority of the sovereign," he says, "are everything with the people of this country in matters of faith. As he believes, they believe; Judaism or Mahometanism,—it is all one to them. They conform themselves easily to his will, at least so far as the outward show is concerned; and most easily of all where it concurs with their own pleasure and profit."[48]

The ambassador, Giovanni Micheli, was one of that order of merchant-princes employed by Venice in her foreign missions; men whose acquaintance with affairs enabled them to comprehend the resources of the country to which they were sent, as well as the intrigues of its court. Their observations were digested into elaborate reports, which, on their return to Venice, were publicly read before the doge and the senate. The documents thus prepared form some of the most valuable and authentic materials for the history of Europe in the sixteenth century. Micheli's report is diffuse on the condition of England under the reign of Queen Mary; and some of his remarks will have interest for the reader of the present day, as affording a standard of comparison with the past.[49]

London he eulogizes, as one of the noblest capitals in Europe, containing, with its suburbs, about a hundred and eighty thousand souls.[50] The great lords, as in France and Germany, passed most of their time on their estates in the country.

The kingdom was strong enough, if united, to defy any invasion from abroad. Yet its navy was small, having dwindled, from neglect and an ill-judged economy, to not more than forty vessels of war. But the mercantile[{32}] marine could furnish two thousand more, which, at a short notice, could be well equipped and got ready for sea. The army was particularly strong in artillery, and provided with all the munitions of war. The weapon chiefly in repute was the bow, to which the English people were trained from early youth. In their cavalry they were most defective. Horses were abundant, but wanted bottom. They were, for the most part, light, weak, and grass-fed.[51] The nation was, above all, to be envied for the lightness of the public burdens. There were no taxes on wine, beer, salt, cloth, nor, indeed, on any of the articles that in other countries furnished the greatest sources of revenue.[52] The whole revenue did not usually exceed two hundred thousand pounds. Parliaments were rarely summoned, except to save the king trouble or to afford a cloak to his designs. No one ventured to resist the royal will; servile the members came there, and servile they remained.[53]—An Englishman of the nineteenth century may smile at the contrast presented by some of these remarks to the condition of the nation at the present day; though in the item of taxation the contrast may be rather fitted to provoke a sigh.

The portrait of Queen Mary is given by the Venetian minister, with a coloring somewhat different from that in which she is commonly depicted by English historians. She was about thirty-six years of age at the time of her accession. In stature, she was of rather less than the middle size,—not large, as was the case with both her father and mother,—and exceedingly well made. "The portraits of her," says Micheli, "show that in her youth she must have been not only good-looking, but even handsome;—though her countenance, when he saw her, exhibited traces of early trouble and disease."[54] But whatever she had lost in personal attractions was fully made up by those of the mind. She was quick of apprehension, and, like her younger sister, Elizabeth, was mistress of several languages, three of which, the French, Spanish, and Latin, she could speak; the last with fluency.[55] But in these accomplishments she was surpassed by her sister, who knew the Greek well, [{33}]and could speak Italian with ease and elegance. Mary, however, both spoke and wrote her own language in a plain, straightforward manner, that forms a contrast to the ambiguous phrase and cold conceits in which Elizabeth usually conveyed, or rather concealed, her sentiments.

CHARACTER OF MARY.

Mary had the misfortune to labour under a chronic infirmity, which confined her for weeks, and indeed months, of every year to her chamber, and which, with her domestic troubles, gave her an air of melancholy, that in later years settled into a repulsive austerity. The tones of her voice were masculine, says the Venetian, and her eyes inspired a feeling, not merely of reverence, but of fear, wherever she turned them. Her spirit he adds, was lofty and magnanimous, never discomposed by danger, showing in all things a blood truly royal.[56]

Her piety, he continues, and her patience under affliction, cannot be too greatly admired. Sustained, as she was, by a lively faith and conscious innocence, he compares her to a light which the fierce winds have no power to extinguish, but which still shines on with increasing lustre.[57] She waited her time, and was plainly reserved by Providence for a great destiny.—We are reading the language of the loyal Catholic, grateful for the services which Mary had rendered to the faith.

Yet it would be uncharitable not to believe that Mary was devout, and most earnest in her devotion. The daughter of Katharine of Aragon, the granddaughter of Isabella of Castile, could hardly have been otherwise. The women of that royal line were uniformly conspicuous for their piety, though this was too often tinctured with bigotry. In Mary, bigotry degenerated into fanaticism, and fanaticism into the spirit of persecution. The worst evils are probably those that have flowed from fanaticism. Yet the amount of the mischief does not necessarily furnish us with the measure of guilt in the author of it. The introduction of the Inquisition into Spain must be mainly charged on Isabella. Yet the student of her reign will not refuse to this great queen the praise of tenderness of conscience and a sincere desire to do the right. Unhappily, the faith in which she, as well as her royal granddaughter, was nurtured, taught her to place her conscience in the keeping of ministers less scrupulous than herself; and on those ministers may fairly rest much of the responsibility of measures on which they only were deemed competent to determine.

Mary's sincerity in her religious professions was placed beyond a doubt by the readiness with which she submitted to the sacrifice of her personal interests whenever the interests of religion seemed to demand it. She burned her translation of a portion of Erasmus, prepared with great labor, at the suggestion of her confessor. An author will readily estimate the value of such a sacrifice. One more important, and intelligible to all, was the resolute manner in which she persisted in restoring the Church property which had been confiscated[{34}] to the use of the crown. "The crown is too much impoverished to admit of it," remonstrated her ministers. "I would rather lose ten crowns," replied the high-minded queen, "than place my soul in peril."[58]

Yet it cannot be denied, that Mary had inherited, in full measure, some of the sterner qualities of her father, and that she was wanting in that sympathy for human suffering which is so graceful in a woman. After a rebellion, the reprisals were terrible. London was converted into a charnel-house; and the squares and principal streets were garnished with the unsightly trophies of the heads and limbs of numerous victims who had fallen by the hand of the executioner.[59] This was in accordance with the spirit of the age. But the execution of the unfortunate Lady Jane Grey—the young, the beautiful, and the good—leaves a blot on the fame of Mary, which finds no parallel but in the treatment of the ill-fated queen of Scots by Elizabeth.

Mary's treatment of Elizabeth has formed another subject of reproach, though the grounds of it are not sufficiently made out; and, at all events, many circumstances may be alleged in extenuation of her conduct. She had seen her mother, the noble-minded Katharine, exposed to the most cruel indignities, and compelled to surrender her bed and her throne to an artful rival, the mother of Elizabeth. She had heard herself declared illegitimate, and her right to the succession set aside in favor of her younger sister. Even after her intrepid conduct had secured to her the crown, she was still haunted by the same gloomy apparition. Elizabeth's pretensions were constantly brought before the public; and Mary might well be alarmed by the disclosure of conspiracy after conspiracy, the object of which, it was rumored, was to seat her sister on the throne. As she advanced in years, Mary had the further mortification of seeing her rival gain on those affections of the people which had grown cool to her. Was it wonderful that she should regard her sister, under these circumstances, with feelings of distrust and aversion? That she did so regard her is asserted by the Venetian minister; and it is plain that, during the first years of Mary's reign, Elizabeth's life hung upon a thread. Yet Mary had strength of principle sufficient to resist the importunities of Charles the Fifth and his ambassador, to take the life of Elizabeth, as a thing indispensable to her own safety and that of Philip. Although her sister was shown to be privy, though not openly accessory, to the grand rebellion under Wyatt, Mary would not constrain the law from its course to do her violence. This was something, under the existing circumstances, in an age so unscrupulous. After this storm had passed over, Mary, whatever restraint she imposed on her real feelings, treated Elizabeth, for the most part, with a show of kindness, though her name still continued to be mingled, whether with or without cause, with more than one treasonable plot.[60] Mary's last act—perhaps the only one in which she openly resisted the will of her husband—was to refuse to compel her sister to accept the hand of Philibert of Savoy. Yet this act would have relieved her of the presence of her rival; and by it Elizabeth would have forfeited her independent possession of the crown,—perhaps the possession of it altogether. It may be doubted whether Elizabeth, under similar circumstances, would have shown the like tenderness to the interests of her successor.[{35}]

PHILIP'S PROPOSALS OF MARRIAGE.

But, however we may be disposed to extenuate the conduct of Mary, and in spiritual matters, more especially, to transfer the responsibility of her acts from herself to her advisers, it is not possible to dwell on this reign of religious persecution without feelings of profound sadness. Not that the number of victims compares with what is recorded of many similar periods of persecution. The whole amount, falling probably short of three hundred who perished at the stake, was less than the number who fell by the hand of the executioner, or by violence, during the same length of time under Henry the Eighth. It was not much greater than might sometimes be found at a single Spanish auto da fé. But Spain was the land in which this might be regarded as the national spectacle,—as much so as the fiesta de toros, or any other of the popular exhibitions of the country. In England, a few examples had not sufficed to steel the hearts of men against these horrors. The heroic company of martyrs, condemned to the most agonizing of deaths for asserting the rights of conscience, was a sight strange and shocking to Englishmen. The feelings of that day have been perpetuated to the present. The reign of religious persecution stands out by itself, as something distinct from the natural course of events; and the fires of Smithfield shed a melancholy radiance over this page of the national history, from which the eye of humanity turns away in pity and disgust.—But it is time to take up the narrative of events which connected for a brief space the political interests of Spain with those of England.

Charles the Fifth had always taken a lively interest in the fortunes of his royal kinswoman. When a young man he had paid a visit to England, and while there had been induced by his aunt, Queen Katharine, to contract a marriage with the Princess Mary,—then only six years old,—to be solemnized on her arriving at the suitable age. But the term was too remote for the constancy of Charles, or, as it is said, for the patience of his subjects, who earnestly wished to see their sovereign wedded to a princess who might present him with an heir to the monarchy. The English match was, accordingly, broken off, and the young emperor gave his hand to Isabella of Portugal.[61]

Mary, who, since her betrothal, had been taught to consider herself as the future bride of the emperor, was at the time but eleven years old. She was old enough, however, to feel something like jealousy, it is said, and to show some pique at this desertion by her imperial lover. Yet this circumstance did not prevent the most friendly relations from subsisting between the parties in after years; and Charles continued to watch over the interests of his kinswoman, and interposed, with good effect, in her behalf, on more than one occasion, both during the reign of Henry the Eighth and of his son, Edward the Sixth. On the death of the latter monarch, he declared himself ready to assist Mary in maintaining her right to the succession;[62] and, when[{36}] this was finally established, the wary emperor took the necessary measures for turning it to his own account.[63]

He formed a scheme for uniting Philip with Mary, and thus securing to his son the possession of the English crown, in the same manner as that of Scotland had been secured by marriage to the son of his rival, Henry the Second of France. It was, doubtless, a great error to attempt to bring under one rule nations so dissimilar in every particular, and having interests so incompatible as the Spaniards and the English. Historians have regarded it as passing strange, that a prince, who had had such large experience of the difficulties attending the government of kingdoms remote from each other, should seek so to multiply these difficulties on the head of his inexperienced son. But the love of acquisition is a universal principle; nor is it often found that the appetite for more is abated by the consideration that the party is already possessed of more then he can manage.

It was a common opinion, that Mary intended to bestow her hand on her young and handsome kinsman, Courtenay, earl of Devonshire, whom she had withdrawn from the prison in which he had languished for many years, and afterwards treated with distinguished favor. Charles, aware of this, instructed Renard, his minister at the court of London, a crafty, intriguing politician,[64] to sound the queen's inclinations on the subject, but so as not to alarm her. He was to dwell, particularly, on the advantages Mary would derive from a connection with some powerful foreign prince, and to offer his master's counsel, in this or any other matter in which she might desire it. The minister was to approach the subject of the earl of Devonshire with the greatest caution; remembering that, if the queen had a fancy for her cousin, and was like other women, she would not be turned from it by anything that he might say, nor would she readily forgive any reflection upon it.[65] Charles seems to have been as well read in the characters of women as of men; and, as a natural consequence, it may be added, had formed a high estimate of the capacity of the sex. In proof of which, he not only repeatedly committed[{37}] the government of his states to women, but intrusted them with some of his most delicate political negotiations.

PHILIP'S PROPOSALS OF MARRIAGE.

Mary, if she had ever entertained the views imputed to her in respect to Courtenay, must have soon been convinced that his frivolous disposition would ill suit the seriousness of hers. However this may be, she was greatly pleased when Renard hinted at her marriage,—"laughing," says the envoy, "not once, but several times, and giving me a significant look, which showed that the idea was very agreeable to her, plainly intimating at the same time that she had no desire to marry an Englishman."[66] In a subsequent conversation, when Renard ventured to suggest that the prince of Spain was a suitable match, Mary broke in upon him, saying that "she had never felt the smart of what people called love, nor had ever so much as thought of being married, until Providence had raised her to the throne; and that, if she now consented to it, it would be in opposition to her own feelings, from a regard to the public good;" but she begged the envoy to assure the emperor of her wish to obey and to please him in everything, as she would her own father; intimating, however, that she could not broach the subject of her marriage to her council; the question could only be opened by a communication from him.[67]

Charles, who readily saw through Mary's coquetry, no longer hesitated to prefer the suit of Philip. After commending the queen's course in regard to Courtenay, he presented to her the advantages that must arise from such a foreign alliance as would strengthen her on the throne. He declared, in a tone of gallantry rather amusing, that, if it were not for his age and increasing infirmities, he should not hesitate to propose himself as her suitor.[68] The next best thing was to offer her the person dearest to his heart,—his son, the prince of Asturias. He concluded by deprecating the idea that any recommendation of his should interfere, in the least degree, with the exercise of her better judgment.[69][{38}]

Renard was further to intimate to the queen the importance of secrecy in regard to this negotiation. If she were disinclined to the proposed match, it would be obviously of no advantage to give it publicity. If, on the other hand, as the emperor had little doubt, she looked on it favorably, but desired to advise with her council before deciding, Renard was to dissuade her from the latter step, and advise her to confide in him.[70] The wary emperor had a twofold motive for these instructions. There was a negotiation on foot at this very time for a marriage of Philip to the infanta of Portugal, and Charles wished to be entirely assured of Mary's acquiescence, before giving such publicity to the affair as might defeat the Portuguese match, which would still remain for Philip, should he not succeed with the English queen.[71] In case Mary proved favorable to his son's suit, Charles, who knew the abhorrence in which foreigners were held by the English beyond all other nations,[72] wished to gain time before communicating with Mary's council. With some delay, he had no doubt that he had the means of winning over a sufficient number of that body to support Philip's pretensions.[73]

PHILIP'S PROPOSALS OF MARRIAGE.

These communications could not be carried on so secretly but that some rumor of them reached the ears of Mary's ministers, and of Noailles, the French ambassador at the court of London.[74] This person was a busy and[{39}] unscrupulous politician, who saw with alarm the prospect of Spain strengthening herself by this alliance with England, and determined, accordingly, in obedience to instructions from home, to use every effort to defeat it. The queen's ministers, with the chancellor, Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, at their head, felt a similar repugnance to the Spanish match. The name of the Spaniards had become terrible from the remorseless manner in which their wars had been conducted during the present reign, especially in the New World. The ambition and the widely-extended dominions of Charles the Fifth made him the most formidable sovereign in Europe. The English looked with apprehension on so close an alliance with a prince who had shown too little regard for the liberties of his own land to make it probable that he or his son would respect those of another. Above all, they dreaded the fanaticism of the Spaniards; and the gloomy spectre of the Inquisition moving in their train made even the good Catholic shudder at the thought of the miseries that might ensue from this ill-omened union.

It was not difficult for Noailles and the chancellor to communicate their own distrust to the members of the parliament, then in session. A petition to the queen was voted in the lower house, in which the commons preferred an humble request that she would marry for the good of the realm, but besought her, at the same time, not to go abroad for her husband, but to select him among her own subjects.[75]

Mary's ministers did not understand her character so well as Charles the Fifth did, when he cautioned his agent not openly to thwart her. Opposition only fixed her more strongly in her original purpose. In a private interview with Renard, she told him that she was apprised of Gardiner's intrigues, and that Noailles, too, was doing the impossible to prevent her union with Philip. "But I will be a match for them," she added. Soon after, taking the ambassador, at midnight, into her oratory, she knelt before the host, and, having repeated the hymn Veni Creator, solemnly pledged herself to take no other man for her husband than the prince of Spain.[76]

This proceeding took place on the thirtieth of October. On the seventeenth of the month following, the commons waited on the queen at her palace of Whitehall, to which she was confined by indisposition, and presented their address. Mary, instead of replying by her chancellor, as was usual, answered them in person. She told them, that from God she held her crown, and that to him alone should she turn for counsel in a matter so important;[77] she had not yet made up her mind to marry; but since they considered[{40}] it so necessary for the weal of the kingdom, she would take it into consideration. It was a matter in which no one was so much interested as herself. But they might be assured that, in her choice, she would have regard to the happiness of her people, full as much as to her own. The commons, who had rarely the courage to withstand the frown of their Tudor princes, professed themselves contented with this assurance; and, from this moment, opposition ceased from that quarter.

Mary's arguments were reinforced by more conciliatory, but not less efficacious persuasives, in the form of gold crowns, gold chains, and other compliments of the like nature, which were distributed pretty liberally by the Spanish ambassador among the members of her council.[78]

In the following December, a solemn embassy left Brussels, to wait on Mary and tender her the hand of Philip. It was headed by Lamoral, Count Egmont, the Flemish noble so distinguished in later years by his military achievements, and still more by his misfortunes. He was attended by a number of Flemish lords and a splendid body of retainers. He landed in Kent, where the rumor went abroad that it was Philip himself; and so general was the detestation of the Spanish match among the people, that it might have gone hard with the envoy, had the mistake not been discovered. Egmont sailed up the Thames, and went ashore at Tower Wharf, on the second of January, 1554. He was received with all honor by Lord William Howard and several of the great English nobles, and escorted in much state to Westminster, where his table was supplied at the charge of the city. Gardiner entertained the embassy at a sumptuous banquet; and the next day Egmont and his retinue proceeded to Hampton Court, "where they had great cheer," says an old chronicler, "and hunted the deer, and were so greedy of their destruction, that they gave them not fair play for their lives; for," as he peevishly complains, "they killed rag and tag, with hands and swords."[79]

On the twelfth, the Flemish count was presented to the queen, and tendered her proposals of marriage in behalf of Prince Philip. Mary, who probably thought she had made advances enough, now assumed a more reserved air. "It was not for a maiden queen," she said, "thus publicly to enter on so delicate a subject as her own marriage. This would be better done by her ministers, to whom she would refer him. But this she would have him understand," she added, as she cast her eyes on the ring on her finger, "her realm was her first husband, and none other should induce her to violate the oath which she had pledged at her coronation."

MARRIAGE ARTICLES.

Notwithstanding this prudery of Mary, she had already manifested such a prepossession for her intended lord as to attract the notice of her courtiers, one of whom refers it to the influence of a portrait of Philip, of which she had become "greatly enamored."[80] That such a picture was sent to her appears from a letter of Philip's aunt, the regent of the Netherlands, in which she tells the English queen that she has sent her a portrait of the prince,[{41}] from the pencil of Titian, which she was to return so soon as she was in possession of the living original. It had been taken some three years before, she said, and was esteemed a good likeness, though it would be necessary, as in the case of other portraits by this master, to look at it from a distance in order to see the resemblance.[81]

The marriage treaty was drawn up with great circumspection, under the chancellor's direction. It will be necessary to notice only the most important provisions. It was stipulated that Philip should respect the laws of England, and leave every man in the full enjoyment of his rights and immunities. The power of conferring titles, honors, emoluments, and offices of every description, was to be reserved to the queen. Foreigners were to be excluded from office. The issue of the marriage, if a son, was to succeed to the English crown and to the Spanish possessions in Burgundy and the Low Countries. But in case of the death of Don Carlos, Philip's son, the issue of the present marriage was to receive, in addition to the former inheritance, Spain and her dependencies. The queen was never to leave her own kingdom without her express desire. Her children were not to be taken out of it without the consent of the nobles. In case of Mary's death, Philip was not to claim the right of taking part in the government of the country. Further it was provided that Philip should not entangle the nation in his wars with France, but should strive to maintain the same amicable relations that now subsisted between the two countries.[82]

Such were the cautious stipulations of this treaty, which had more the aspect of a treaty for defence against an enemy than a marriage contract. The instrument was worded with a care that reflected credit on the sagacity of its framers. All was done that parchment could do to secure the independence of the crown, as well as the liberties of the people. "But if the bond be violated," asked one of the parliamentary speakers on the occasion, "who is there to sue the bond?" Every reflecting Englishman must have felt the inefficacy of any guaranty that could be extorted from Philip, who, once united to Mary, would find little difficulty in persuading a fond and obedient wife to sanction his own policy, prejudicial though it might be to the true interests of the kingdom.

No sooner was the marriage treaty made public, than the popular discontent, before partially disclosed, showed itself openly throughout the country. Placards were put up, lampoons were written, reviling the queen's ministers and ridiculing the Spaniards; ominous voices were heard from old, dilapidated buildings, boding the ruin of the monarchy. Even the children became infected with the passions of their fathers. Games were played in which the English were represented contending with the Spaniards; and in one of these an unlucky urchin, who played the part of Philip, narrowly escaped with his life from the hands of his exasperated comrades.[83]

But something more serious than child's play showed itself, in three several insurrections which broke out in different quarters of the kingdom. The most[{42}] formidable of them was the one led by Sir Thomas Wyatt, son of the celebrated poet of that name. It soon gathered head, and the number of the insurgents was greatly augmented by the accession of a considerable body of the royal forces, who deserted their colours, and joined the very men against whom they had been sent. Thus strengthened, Wyatt marched on London. All there were filled with consternation,—all but their intrepid queen, who showed as much self-possession and indifference to danger as if it were only an ordinary riot.

Proceeding at once into the city, she met the people at Guildhall, and made them a spirited address, which has been preserved in the pages of Holinshed. It concludes in the following bold strain, containing an allusion to the cause of the difficulties:—"And certainly, if I did either know or think that this marriage should either turn to the danger or loss of any of you, my loving subjects, or to the detriment or impairing of any part or parcel of the royal estate of this realm of England, I would never consent thereunto, neither would I ever marry while I lived. And on the word of a queen, I promise and assure you, that, if it shall not probably appear before the nobility and commons, in the high court of parliament, that this marriage shall be for the singular benefit and commodity of all the whole realm, that then I will abstain, not only from this marriage, but also from any other whereof peril may ensue to this most noble realm. Wherefore now as good and faithful subjects pluck up your hearts, and like true men stand fast with your lawful prince against these rebels, both our enemies and yours, and fear them not; for I assure you that I fear them nothing at all!"[84] The courageous spirit of their queen communicated itself to her audience, and in a few hours twenty thousand citizens enrolled themselves under the royal banner.

Meanwhile, the rebel force continued its march, and reports soon came that Wyatt was on the opposite bank of the Thames; then, that he had crossed the river. Soon his presence was announced by the flight of a good number of the royalists, among whom was Courtenay, who rode off before the enemy at a speed that did little credit to his valor. All was now confusion again. The lords and ladies in attendance gathered round the queen in Whitehall, as if to seek support from her more masculine nature. Her ministers went down on their knees, to implore her to seek refuge in the Tower, as the only place of safety. Mary smiled with contempt at the pusillanimous proposal, and resolved to remain where she was, and abide the issue.

It was not long in coming. Wyatt penetrated as far as Ludgate, with desperate courage, but was not well seconded by his followers. The few who proved faithful were surrounded and overwhelmed by numbers. Wyatt was made prisoner, and the whole rebel rout discomfited and dispersed. By this triumph over her enemies, Mary was seated more strongly than ever on the throne. Henceforward the Spanish match did not meet with opposition from the people, any more than from the parliament.

Still the emperor, after this serious demonstration of hostility to his son, felt a natural disquietude in regard to his personal safety, which made him desirous of obtaining some positive guaranty before trusting him among the turbulent islanders. He wrote to his ambassador to require such security from the government. But no better could be given than the royal promise that everything should be done to insure the prince's safety. Renard was much perplexed. He felt the responsibility of his own position. He declined to pledge himself for the quiet deportment of the English; but he thought matters had already gone too far to leave it in the power of Spain to recede.

[{43}]

MARY'S BETROTHAL.

He wrote, moreover, both to Charles and to Philip, recommending that the prince should not bring over with him a larger retinue of Spaniards than was necessary, and that the wives of his nobles—for he seems to have regarded the sex as the source of evil—should not accompany them.[85] Above all, he urged Philip and his followers to lay aside the Castilian hauteur, and to substitute the conciliatory manners which might disarm the jealousy of the English.[86]

CHAPTER IV.

ENGLISH ALLIANCE.

Mary's Betrothal.—Joanna Regent of Castile.—Philip embarks for England.—His splendid Reception.—Marriage of Philip and Mary.—Royal Entertainments.—Philip's Influence.—The Catholic Church restored.—Philip's Departure.

1554, 1555.

In the month of March, 1554, Count Egmont arrived in England, on a second embassy, for the purpose of exchanging the ratifications of the marriage treaty. He came in the same state as before, and was received by the queen in the presence of her council. The ceremony was conducted with great solemnity. Mary, kneeling down, called God to witness, that, in contracting this marriage, she had been influenced by no motive of a carnal or worldly nature, but by the desire of securing the welfare and tranquillity of the kingdom. To her kingdom her faith had first been plighted; and she hoped that Heaven would give her strength to maintain inviolate the oath she had taken at her coronation.

This she said with so much grace, that the bystanders, says Renard,—who was one of them,—were all moved to tears. The ratifications were then exchanged, and the oaths taken, in presence of the host, by the representatives of Spain and England; when Mary, again kneeling, called on those present to unite with her in prayer to the Almighty, that he would enable her faithfully to keep the articles of the treaty, and would make her marriage a happy one.

Count Egmont then presented to the queen a diamond ring which the emperor had sent her. Mary, putting it on her finger, showed it to the company; "and assuredly," exclaims the Spanish minister, "the jewel was a precious one, and well worthy of admiration." Egmont, before departing for Spain, inquired of Mary whether she would intrust him with any message to Prince Philip. The queen replied, that "he might tender to the prince her most affectionate regards, and assure him that she should be always ready to vie with him in such offices of kindness as became a loving and obedient wife." When asked if she would write to him, she answered, "Not till he had begun the correspondence."[87][{44}]

This lets us into the knowledge of a little fact, very significant. Up to this time Philip had neither written, nor so much as sent a single token of regard to his mistress. All this had been left to his father. Charles had arranged the marriage, had wooed the bride, had won over her principal advisers,—in short, had done all the courtship. Indeed, the inclinations of Philip, it is said, had taken another direction, and he would have preferred the hand of his royal kinswoman, Mary of Portugal.[88] However this may be, it is not probable that he felt any great satisfaction in the prospect of being united to a woman who was eleven years older than himself, and whose personal charms, whatever they might once have been, had long since faded, under the effects of disease and a constitutional melancholy. But he loved power; and whatever scruples he might have entertained on his own account were silenced before the wishes of his father.[89] "Like another Isaac," exclaims Sandoval, in admiration of his conduct, "he sacrificed himself on the altar of filial duty."[90] The same implicit deference which Philip showed his father in this delicate matter, he afterwards, under similar circumstances, received from his own son.

MARY'S BETROTHAL.

After the marriage articles had been ratified, Philip sent a present of a magnificent jewel to the English queen, by a Spanish noble of high rank, the Marquis de las Nayas.[91] The marquis, who crossed from Biscay with a squadron of four ships, landed at Plymouth, and, as he journeyed towards London, was met by the young Lord Herbert, son of the earl of Pembroke, who conducted him, with an escort of four hundred mounted gentlemen, to his family seat in Wiltshire. "And as they rode together to Wilton," says Lord Edmund Dudley, one of the party, "there were certain courses at the hare, which was so pleasant that the marquis much delighted in finding the course so readily appointed. As for the marquis's great cheer, as well that night at supper as otherwise at his breakfast the next day, surely it was so abundant, that it was not a little marvel to consider that so great a preparation could be made in so small a warning.... Surely it was not a little[{45}] comfort to my heart to see all things so honorably used for the honor and service of the queen's majesty."[92]

Meanwhile, Philip was making his arrangements for leaving Spain, and providing a government for the country during his absence. It was decided by the emperor to intrust the regency to his daughter, the Princess Joanna. She was eight years younger than Philip. About eighteen months before, she had gone to Portugal as the bride of the heir of that kingdom. But the fair promise afforded by this union was blasted by the untimely death of her consort, which took place on the second of January, 1554. Three weeks afterwards, the unhappy widow gave birth to a son, the famous Don Sebastian, whose Quixotic adventures have given him a wider celebrity than is enjoyed by many a wiser sovereign. After the cruel calamity which had befallen her, it was not without an effort that Joanna resigned herself to her father's wishes, and consented to enter on the duties of public life. In July, she quitted Lisbon,—the scene of early joys, and of hopes for ever blighted,—and, amidst the regrets of the whole court, returned, under a princely escort, to Castile. She was received on the borders by the king, her brother, who conducted her to Valladolid. Here she was installed, with due solemnity, in her office of regent. A council of state was associated with her in the government. It consisted of persons of the highest consideration, with the archbishop of Seville at their head. By this body Joanna was to be advised, and indeed to be guided in all matters of moment. Philip, on his departure, left his sister an ample letter of instructions as to the policy to be pursued by the administration, especially in affairs of religion.[93]

Joanna seems to have been a woman of discretion and virtue,—qualities which belonged to the females of her line. She was liberal in her benefactions to convents and colleges; and their cloistered inmates showed their gratitude by the most lavish testimony to her deserts. She had one rather singular practice. She was in the habit of dropping her veil, when giving audience to foreign ambassadors. To prevent all doubts as to her personal identity, she began the audience by raising her veil, saying, "Am I not the princess?" She then again covered her face, and the conference was continued without her further exposing her features. "It was not necessary," says her biographer, in an accommodating spirit, "to have the face uncovered in order to hear."[94] Perhaps Joanna considered this reserve as suited to the season of her mourning, intending it as a mark of respect to the memory of her deceased lord. In any other view, we might suspect that there entered into her constitution a[{46}] vein of the same madness which darkened so large a part of the life of her grandmother and namesake, Joanna of Castile.

Before leaving Valladolid, Philip formed a separate establishment for his son, Don Carlos, and placed his education under the care of a preceptor, Luis de Vives, a scholar not to be confounded with his namesake, the learned tutor of Mary of England. Having completed his arrangements, Philip set out for the place of his embarkation in the north. At Compostella he passed some days, offering up his devotions to the tutelar saint of Spain, whose shrine, throughout the Middle Ages, had been the most popular resort of pilgrims from the western parts of Christendom.

While at Compostella, Philip subscribed the marriage treaty, which had been brought over from England by the earl of Bedford. He then proceeded to Corunna, where a fleet of more than a hundred sail was riding at anchor, in readiness to receive him. It was commanded by the admiral of Castile, and had on board, besides its complement of seamen, four thousand of the best troops of Spain. On the eleventh of July, Philip embarked, with his numerous retinue, in which, together with the Flemish Counts Egmont and Hoorne, were to be seen the dukes of Alva and Medina Cœli, the prince of Eboli,—in short, the flower of the Castilian nobility. They came attended by their wives and vassals, minstrels and mummers, and a host of idle followers, to add to the splendor of the pageant and do honor to their royal master. Yet the Spanish ambassador at London had expressly recommended to Philip that his courtiers should leave their ladies at home, and should come in as simple guise as possible, so as not to arouse the jealousy of the English.[95]

After a pleasant run of a few days, the Spanish squadron came in sight of the combined fleets of England and Flanders, under the command of the Lord Admiral Howard, who was cruising in the channel in order to meet the prince and convoy him to the English shore. The admiral seems to have been a blunt sort of man, who spoke his mind with more candor than courtesy. He greatly offended the Flemings by comparing their ships to muscle-shells.[96] He is even said to have fired a gun as he approached Philip's squadron, in order to compel it to lower its topsails in acknowledgment of the supremacy of the English in the "narrow seas." But this is probably the patriotic vaunt of an English writer, since it is scarcely possible that the haughty Spaniard of that day would have made such a concession, and still less so that the British commander would have been so discourteous as to exact it on this occasion.

On the nineteenth of July, the fleets came to anchor in the port of Southampton. A number of barges were soon seen pushing off from the shore; one of which, protected by a rich awning and superbly lined with cloth of gold, was manned by sailors, whose dress of white and green intimated the royal livery. It was the queen's barge, intended for Philip; while the other boats, all gaily ornamented, received his nobles and their retinues.

PHILIP'S SPLENDID RECEPTION.

The Spanish prince was welcomed, on landing, by a goodly company of English lords, assembled to pay him their obeisance. The earl of Arundel presented him, in the queen's name, with the splendid insignia of the order of the Garter.[97] Philip's dress, as usual, was of plain black velvet, with a[{47}] berret cap, ornamented, after the fashion of the time, with gold chains. By Mary's orders, a spirited Andalusian jennet had been provided for him, which the prince instantly mounted. He was a good rider, and pleased the people by his courteous bearing, and the graceful manner in which he managed his horse.

The royal procession then moved forward to the ancient church of the Holy Rood, where mass was said, and thanks were offered up for their prosperous voyage. Philip, after this, repaired to the quarters assigned to him during his stay in the town. They were sumptuously fitted up, and the walls of the principal apartment hung with arras, commemorating the doings of that royal polemic, Henry the Eighth. Among other inscriptions in honor of him might be seen one proclaiming him "Head of the Church," and "Defender of the Faith;"—words which, as they were probably in Latin, could not have been lost on the Spaniards.[98]

The news of Philip's landing was received in London with every demonstration of joy. Guns were fired, bells were rung, processions were made to the churches, bonfires were lighted in all the principal streets, tables were spread in the squares laden with good cheer, and wine and ale flowed freely as water for all comers.[99] In short, the city gave itself up to a general jubilee, as if it were celebrating some victorious monarch returned to his dominions, and not the man whose name had lately been the object of such general execration. Mary gave instant orders that the nobles of her court should hold themselves in readiness to accompany her to Winchester, where she was to receive the prince; and on the twenty-first of July she made her entry, in great state, into that capital, and established her residence in the episcopal palace.

During the few days that Philip stayed at Southampton, he rode constantly abroad, and showed himself frequently to the people. The information he had received, before his voyage, of the state of public feeling, had suggested to him some natural apprehensions for his safety. He seems to have resolved, from the first, therefore, to adopt such a condescending, and indeed affable demeanor, as would disarm the jealousy of the English, and if possible conciliate their good-will. In this he appears to have been very successful, although some of the more haughty of the aristocracy did take exception at his neglecting to raise his cap to them. That he should have imposed the degree of restraint which he seems to have done on the indulgence of his natural disposition, is good proof of the strength of his apprehensions.[100]

The favor which Philip showed the English gave umbrage to his own nobles. They were still more disgusted by the rigid interpretation of one of the marriage articles, by which some hundreds of their attendants were prohibited, as foreigners, from landing, or, after landing, were compelled to reembark, and return to Spain.[101] Whenever Philip went abroad he was accompanied[{48}] by Englishmen. He was served by Englishmen at his meals. He breakfasted and dined in public, a thing but little to his taste. He drank healths, after the manner of the English, and encouraged his Spanish followers to imitate his example, as he quaffed the strong ale of the country.[102]

On the twenty-third of the month, the earl of Pembroke arrived, with a brilliant company of two hundred mounted gentlemen, to escort the prince to Winchester. He was attended, moreover, by a body of English archers, whose tunics of yellow cloth, striped with bars of red velvet, displayed the gaudy-colored livery of the house of Aragon. The day was unpropitious. The rain fell heavily, in such torrents as might have cooled the enthusiasm of a more ardent lover than Philip. But he was too gallant a cavalier to be daunted by the elements. The distance, not great in itself, was to be travelled on horseback,—the usual mode of conveyance at a time when roads were scarcely practicable for carriages.

Philip and his retinue had not proceeded far, when they were encountered by a cavalier, riding at full speed, and bringing with him a ring which Mary had sent her lover, with the request that he would not expose himself to the weather, but postpone his departure to the following day. The prince, not understanding the messenger, who spoke in English, and suspecting that it was intended by Mary to warn him of some danger in his path, instantly drew up by the road-side, and took counsel with Alva and Egmont as to what was to be done. One of the courtiers, who perceived his embarrassment, rode up and acquainted the prince with the real purport of the message. Relieved of his alarm, Philip no longer hesitated, but, with his red felt cloak wrapped closely about him and a broad beaver slouched over his eyes, manfully pushed forward, in spite of the tempest.

As he advanced, his retinue received continual accessions from the neighboring gentry and yeomanry, until it amounted to some thousands before he reached Winchester. It was late in the afternoon when the cavalcade, soiled with travel and thoroughly drenched with rain, arrived before the gates of the city. The mayor and aldermen, dressed in their robes of scarlet, came to welcome the prince, and, presenting the keys of the city, conducted him to his quarters.

That evening Philip had his first interview with Mary. It was private, and he was taken to her residence by the chancellor, Gardiner, bishop of Winchester. The royal pair passed an hour or more together; and, as Mary spoke the Castilian fluently, the interview must have been spared much of the embarrassment that would otherwise have attended it.[103][{49}]

MARRIAGE OF PHILIP AND MARY.

On the following day the parties met in public. Philip was attended by the principal persons of his suite, of both sexes; and as the procession, making a goodly show, passed through the streets on foot, the minstrelsy played before them till they reached the royal residence. The reception-room was the great hall of the palace. Mary, stepping forward to receive her betrothed, saluted him with a loving kiss before all the company. She then conducted him to a sort of throne, where she took her seat by his side, under a stately canopy. They remained there for an hour or more, conversing together, while their courtiers had leisure to become acquainted with one another, and to find ample food, doubtless, for future criticism, in the peculiarities of national costume and manners. Notwithstanding the Spanish blood in Mary's veins, the higher circles of Spain and England had personally almost as little intercourse with one another at that period, as England and Japan have at the present.

The ensuing day, the festival of St. James, the patron saint of Spain, was the one appointed for the marriage. Philip exchanged his usual simple dress for the bridal vestments provided for him by his mistress. They were of spotless white, as the reporter is careful to inform us, satin and cloth of gold, thickly powdered with pearls and precious stones. Round his neck he wore the superb collar of the Golden Fleece, the famous Burgundian order; while the brilliant riband below his knee served as the badge of the no less illustrious order of the Garter. He went on foot to the cathedral, attended by all his nobles, vying with one another in the ostentatious splendor of their retinues.

Half an hour elapsed before Philip was joined by the queen at the entrance of the cathedral. Mary was surrounded by the lords and ladies of her court. Her dress, of white satin and cloth of gold, like his own, was studded and fringed with diamonds of inestimable price, some of them, doubtless, the gift of Philip, which he had sent to her by the hands of the prince of Eboli, soon after his landing. Her bright-red slippers, and her mantle of black velvet, formed a contrast to the rest of her apparel, and, for a bridal costume, would hardly suit the taste of the present day. The royal party then moved up the nave of the cathedral, and were received in the choir by the bishop of Winchester, supported by the great prelates of the English Church. The greatest of all, Cranmer, the primate of all England, who should have performed the ceremony, was absent,—in disgrace and a prisoner.

Philip and Mary took their seats under a royal canopy, with an altar between them. The queen was surrounded by the ladies of her court; whose beauty, says an Italian writer, acquired additional lustre by contrast with the shadowy complexions of the south.[104] The aisles and spacious galleries were crowded with spectators of every degree, drawn together from the most distant quarters to witness the ceremony.

The silence was broken by Figueroa, one of the imperial council, who read aloud an instrument of the emperor, Charles the Fifth. It stated that this marriage had been of his own seeking; and he was desirous that his beloved son should enter into it in a manner suitable to his own expectations and the[{50}] dignity of his illustrious consort. He therefore resigned to him his entire right and sovereignty over the kingdom of Naples and the duchy of Milan. The rank of the parties would thus be equal, and Mary, instead of giving her hand to a subject, would wed a sovereign like herself.

Some embarrassment occurred as to the person who should give the queen away,—a part of the ceremony not provided for. After a brief conference, it was removed by the marquis of Winchester and the earls of Pembroke and Derby, who took it on themselves to give her away in the name of the whole realm; at which the multitude raised a shout that made the old walls of the cathedral ring again. The marriage service was then concluded by the bishop of Winchester. Philip and Mary resumed their seats, and mass was performed, when the bridegroom, rising, gave his consort the "kiss of peace," according to the custom of the time. The whole ceremony occupied nearly four hours. At the close of it Philip, taking Mary by the hand, led her from the church. The royal couple were followed by the long train of prelates and nobles, and were preceded by the earls of Pembroke and Derby, each bearing aloft a naked sword, the symbol of sovereignty. The effect of the spectacle was heightened by the various costumes of the two nations,—the richly-tinted and picturesque dresses of the Spaniards, and the solid magnificence of the English and Flemings, mingling together in gay confusion. The glittering procession moved slowly on, to the blithe sounds of festal music, while the air was rent with the loyal acclamations of the populace, delighted, as usual, with the splendor of the pageant.

In the great hall of the episcopal palace, a sumptuous banquet was prepared for the whole company. At one end of the apartment was a dais, on which, under a superb canopy, a table was set for the king and queen; and a third seat was added for Bishop Gardiner, the only one of the great lords who was admitted to the distinction of dining with royalty.

Below the dais, the tables were set on either side through the whole length of the hall, for the English and Spanish nobles, all arranged—a perilous point of etiquette—with due regard to their relative rank. The royal table was covered with dishes of gold. A spacious beaufet, rising to the height of eight stages, or shelves, and filled with a profusion of gold and silver vessels, somewhat ostentatiously displayed the magnificence of the prelate, or of his sovereign. Yet this ostentation was rather Spanish than English; and was one of the forms in which the Castilian grandee loved to display his opulence.[105]

At the bottom of the hall was an orchestra, occupied by a band of excellent performers, who enlivened the repast by their music. But the most interesting part of the show was that of the Winchester boys, some of whom were permitted to enter the presence, and recite in Latin their epithalamiums in honor of the royal nuptials, for which they received a handsome guerdon from the queen.

ROYAL ENTERTAINMENTS.

After the banquet came the ball, at which, if we are to take an old English authority, "the Spaniards were greatly out of countenance when they saw the English so far excel them."[106] This seems somewhat strange, considering that dancing is, and always has been, the national pastime of Spain. Dancing is to the Spaniard what music is to the Italian,—the very condition of his[{51}] social existence.[107] It did not continue late on the present occasion, and, at the temperate hour of nine, the bridal festivities closed for the evening.[108]

Philip and Mary passed a few days in this merry way of life, at Winchester, whence they removed, with their court, to Windsor. Here a chapter of the order of the Garter was held, for the purpose of installing King Philip. The herald, on this occasion, ventured to take down the arms of England, and substitute those of Spain, in honor of the new sovereign,—an act of deference which roused the indignation of the English lords, who straightway compelled the functionary to restore the national escutcheon to its proper place.[109]

On the twenty-eighth of August, Philip and Mary made their public entry into London. They rode in on horseback, passing through the borough of Southwark, across London Bridge. Every preparation was made by the loyal citizens to give them a suitable reception. The columns of the buildings were festooned with flowers, triumphal arches spanned the streets, the walls were hung with pictures or emblazoned with legends in commemoration of the illustrious pair, and a genealogy was traced for Philip, setting forth his descent from John of Gaunt,—making him out, in short, as much of an Englishman as possible.

Among the paintings was one in which Henry the Eighth was seen holding in his hand a Bible. This device gave great scandal to the chancellor, Gardiner, who called the painter sundry hard names, rating him roundly for putting into King Harry's hand the sacred volume, which should rather have been given to his daughter, Queen Mary, for her zeal to restore the primitive worship of the Church. The unlucky artist lost no time in repairing his error by brushing out the offending volume, and did it so effectually, that he brushed out the royal fingers with it, leaving the old monarch's mutilated stump held up, like some poor mendicant's, to excite the compassion of the spectators.[110]

But the sight which, more than all these pageants, gave joy to the hearts of the Londoners, was an immense quantity of bullion, which Philip caused to be paraded through the city on its way to the Tower, where it was deposited[{52}] in the royal treasury. The quantity was said to be so great, that, on one occasion, the chests containing it filled twenty carts. On another, two wagons were so heavily laden with the precious metal as to require to be drawn by nearly a hundred horses.[111] The good people, who had looked to the coming of the Spaniards as that of a swarm of locusts which was to consume their substance, were greatly pleased to see their exhausted coffers so well replenished from the American mines.

From London the royal pair proceeded to the shady solitudes of Hampton Court, and Philip, weary of the mummeries in which he had been compelled to take part, availed himself of the indisposition of his wife to indulge in that retirement and repose which were more congenial to his taste. This way of life in his pleasant retreat, however, does not appear to have been so well suited to the taste of his English subjects. At least, an old chronicler peevishly complains that "the hall-door within the court was continually shut, so that no man might enter unless his errand were first known; which seemed strange to Englishmen that had not been used thereto."[112]

Yet Philip, although his apprehensions for his safety had doubtless subsided, was wise enough to affect the same conciliatory manners as on his first landing,—and not altogether in vain. "He discovered," says the Venetian ambassador, in his report to the senate, "none of that sosiego—the haughty indifference of the Spaniards—which distinguished him when he first left home for Italy and Flanders.[113] He was, indeed, as accessible as any one could desire, and gave patient audience to all who asked it. He was solicitous," continues Micheli, "to instruct himself in affairs, and showed a taste for application to business,"—which, it may be added, grew stronger with years. "He spoke little. But his remarks, though brief, were pertinent. In short," he concludes, "he is a prince of an excellent genius, a lively apprehension, and a judgment ripe beyond his age."

Philip's love of business, however, was not such as to lead him to take part prematurely in the management of affairs. He discreetly left this to the queen and her ministers, to whose judgment he affected to pay the greatest deference. He particularly avoided all appearance of an attempt to interfere with the administration of justice, unless it were to obtain some act of grace. Such interference only served to gain him the more credit with the people.[114][{53}]

PHILIP'S INFLUENCE.

That he gained largely on their good-will may be inferred from the casual remarks of more than one contemporary writer. They bear emphatic testimony to the affability of his manners, so little to have been expected from the popular reports of his character. "Among other things," writes Wotton, the English minister at the French court, "one I have been right glad to hear of is, that the king's highness useth himself so gently and lovingly to all men. For, to tell you the truth, I have heard some say, that, when he came out of Spain into Italy, it was by some men wished that he had showed a somewhat more benign countenance to the people than it was said he then did."[115] Another contemporary, in a private letter, written soon after the king's entrance into London, after describing his person as "so well proportioned that Nature cannot work a more perfect pattern," concludes with commending him for his "pregnant wit and most gentle nature."[116]

Philip, from the hour of his landing, had been constant in all his religious observances. "He was as punctual," says Micheli, "in his attendance at mass, and his observance of all the forms of devotion, as any monk;—more so, as some people thought, than became his age and station. The ecclesiastics," he adds, "with whom Philip had constant intercourse, talked loudly of his piety."[117]

Yet there was no hypocrisy in this. However willing Philip may have been that his concern for the interests of religion might be seen of men, it is no less true that, as far as he understood these interests, his concern was perfectly sincere. The actual state of England may have even operated as an inducement with him to overcome his scruples as to the connection with Mary. "Better not reign at all," he often remarked, "than reign over heretics." But what triumph more glorious than that of converting these heretics, and bringing them back again into the bosom of the Church? He was most anxious to prepare the minds of his new subjects for an honorable reception of the papal legate, Cardinal Pole, who was armed with full authority to receive the submission of England to the Holy See. He employed his personal influence with the great nobles, and enforced it occasionally by liberal drafts on those Peruvian ingots which he had sent to the Tower. At least, it is asserted that he gave away yearly pensions, to the large amount of between fifty and sixty thousand gold crowns, to sundry of the queen's ministers. It was done on the general plea of recompensing their loyalty to their mistress.[118]

Early in November, tidings arrived of the landing of Pole. He had been detained some weeks in Germany, by the emperor, who felt some distrust—not ill-founded, as it seems—of the cardinal's disposition in regard to the[{54}] Spanish match. Now that this difficulty was obviated, he was allowed to resume his journey. He came up the Thames in a magnificent barge, with a large silver cross, the emblem of his legatine authority, displayed on the prow. The legate, on landing, was received by the king, the queen, and the whole court, with a reverential deference which argued well for the success of his mission.

He was the man, of all others, best qualified to execute it. To a natural kindness of temper he united an urbanity and a refinement of manners, derived from familiar intercourse with the most polished society of Europe, his royal descent entitled him to mix on terms of equality with persons of the highest rank, and made him feel as much at ease in the court as in the cloister. His long exile had opened to him an acquaintance with man as he is found in various climes, while, as a native-born Englishman, he perfectly understood the prejudices and peculiar temper of his own countrymen. "Cardinal Pole," says the Venetian minister, "is a man of unblemished nobility, and so strict in his integrity, that he grants nothing to the importunity of friends. He is so much beloved, both by prince and people, that he may well be styled the king where all is done by his authority."[119] An English cardinal was not of too frequent occurrence in the sacred college. That one should have been found at the present juncture, with personal qualities, moreover, so well suited to the delicate mission to England, was a coincidence so remarkable, that Philip and Mary might well be excused for discerning in it the finger of Providence.

On the seventeenth of the month, parliament, owing to the queen's indisposition, met at Whitehall; and Pole made that celebrated speech in which he recapitulated some of the leading events of his own life, and the persecutions he had endured for conscience' sake. He reviewed the changes in religion which had taken place in England, and implored his audience to abjure their spiritual errors, and to seek a reconciliation with the Catholic Church. He assured them of his plenary power to grant absolution for the past; and—what was no less important—to authorize the present proprietors to retain possession of the abbey lands which had been confiscated under King Henry. This last concession, which had been extorted with difficulty from the pope, reconciling, as it did, temporal with spiritual interests, seems to have dispelled whatever scruples yet lingered in the breasts of the legislature. There were few, probably, in that goodly company, whose zeal would have aspired to the crown of martyrdom.

The ensuing day, parliament, in obedience to the royal summons, again assembled at Whitehall. Philip took his seat on the left of Mary, under the same canopy, while Cardinal Pole sat at a greater distance on her right.[120]

[{55}]

THE CATHOLIC CHURCH RESTORED.

The chancellor, Gardiner, then presented a petition in the name of the lords and commons, praying for reconciliation with the papal see. Absolution was solemnly pronounced by the legate, and the whole assembly received his benediction on their bended knees. England, purified from her heresy, was once more restored to the communion of the Roman Catholic Church.

Philip instantly despatched couriers, with the glad tidings, to Rome, Brussels, and other capitals of Christendom. Everywhere the event was celebrated with public rejoicings, as if it had been some great victory over the Saracens. As Philip's zeal for the faith was well known, and as the great change had taken place soon after his arrival in England, much of the credit of it was ascribed to him.[121] Thus, before ascending the throne of Spain, he had vindicated his claim to the title of Catholic, so much prized by the Spanish monarchs. He had won a triumph greater than that which his father had been able to win after years of war, over the Protestants of Germany; greater than any which had been won by the arms of Cortés or Pizarro in the New World. Their contest had been with the barbarian; the field of Philip's labors was one of the most potent and civilized countries of Europe.

The work of conversion was speedily followed by that of persecution. To what extent Philip's influence was exerted in this is not manifest. Indeed, from anything that appears, it would not be easy to decide whether his influence was employed to promote or to prevent it. One fact is certain, that, immediately after the first martyrs suffered at Smithfield, Alfonso de Castro, a Spanish friar, preached a sermon in which he bitterly inveighed against these proceedings. He denounced them as repugnant to the true spirit of Christianity, which was that of charity and forgiveness, and which enjoined its ministers not to take vengeance on the sinner, but to enlighten him as to his errors, and bring him to repentance.[122] This bold appeal had its effect, even in that season of excitement. For a few weeks the arm of persecution seemed to be palsied. But it was only for a few weeks. Toleration was not the virtue of the sixteenth century. The charitable doctrines of the good friar fell on hearts withered by fanaticism; and the spirit of intolerance soon rekindled the fires of Smithfield into a fiercer glow than before.