V. WAR WITH THE POPE…

V. WAR WITH THE POPE

Empire of Philip.--Paul the Fourth.--Court of France.--League against Spain.--The Duke of Alva.--Preparations for War.--Victorious Campaign.

1555, 1556.

Soon after Philip's arrival in Brussels took place that memorable scene of the abdication of Charles the Fifth, which occupies the introductory pages of our narrative. By this event, Philip saw himself master of the most widely extended and powerful monarchy in Europe. He was king of Spain, comprehending under that name Castile, Aragon, and Granada, which, after surviving as independent states for centuries, had been first brought under one sceptre in the reign of his father, Charles the Fifth. He was king of Naples and Sicily, and duke of Milan, which important possessions enabled him to control, to a great extent, the nicely balanced scales of Italian politics. He was lord of Franche Comté, and of the Low Countries, comprehending the most flourishing and populous provinces in Christendom, whose people had made the greatest progress in commerce, husbandry, and the various mechanic arts. As titular king of England, he eventually obtained an influence, which, as we shall see, enabled him to direct the counsels of that country to his own purposes. In Africa he possessed the Cape de Verd Islands and the Canaries, as well as Tunis, Oran, and some other important places on the Barbary coast. He owned the Philippines and the Spice Islands in Asia. In America, besides his possessions in the West Indies, he was master of the rich empires of Mexico and Peru, and claimed a right to a boundless extent of country, that offered an inexhaustible field to the cupidity and enterprise of the Spanish adventurer. Thus the dominions of Philip stretched over every quarter of the globe. The flag of Castile was seen in the remotest latitudes,--on the Atlantic, the Pacific, and the far-off Indian seas,--passing from port to port, and uniting by commercial intercourse the widely scattered members of her vast colonial empire.

The Spanish army consisted of the most formidable infantry in Europe; veterans who had been formed under the eye of Charles the Fifth and of his generals, who had fought on the fields of Pavia and of Muhlberg, or who, in the New World, had climbed the Andes with Almagro and Pizarro, and helped these bold chiefs to overthrow the dynasty of the Incas. The navy of Spain and Flanders combined far exceeded that of any other power in the number and size of its vessels; and if its supremacy might be contested by England on the "narrow seas," it rode the undisputed mistress of the ocean. To supply the means for maintaining this costly establishment, as well as the general machinery of government, Philip had at his command the treasures of the New World; and if the incessant enterprises of his father had drained the exchequer, it was soon replenished by the silver streams that flowed in from the inexhaustible mines of Zacatecas and Potosí.

All this vast empire, with its magnificent resources, was placed at the disposal of a single man. Philip ruled over it with an authority more absolute than that possessed by any European prince since the days of the Cæsars. The Netherlands, indeed, maintained a show of independence under the shadow of their ancient institutions. But they consented to supply the necessities of the crown by a tax larger than the revenues of America. Naples and Milan were ruled by Spanish viceroys. Viceroys, with delegated powers scarcely less than those of their sovereign, presided over the American colonies, which received their laws from the parent country. In Spain itself, the authority of the nobles was gone. First assailed under Ferdinand and Isabella, it was completely broken down under Charles the Fifth. The liberties of the commons were crushed at the fatal battle of Villalar, in the beginning of that monarch's reign. Without nobles, without commons, the ancient cortes had faded into a mere legislative pageant, with hardly any other right than that of presenting petitions, and of occasionally raising an ineffectual note of remonstrance against abuses. It had lost the power to redress them. Thus all authority vested in the sovereign. His will was the law of the land. From his palace at Madrid he sent forth the edicts which became the law of Spain and of her remotest colonies. It may well be believed that foreign nations watched with interest the first movements of a prince who seemed to hold in his hands the destinies of Europe; and that they regarded with no little apprehension the growth of that colossal power which had already risen to a height that cast a shadow over every other monarchy.

From his position, Philip stood at the head of the Roman Catholic princes. He was in temporal matters what the pope was in spiritual. In the existing state of Christendom, he had the same interest as the pope in putting down that spirit of religious reform which had begun to show itself, in public or in private, in every corner of Europe. He was the natural ally of the pope. He understood this well, and would have acted on it. Yet, strange to say, his very first war, after his accession, was with the pope himself. It was a war not of Philip's seeking.

[Sidenote: PAUL THE FOURTH.]

The papal throne was at that time filled by Paul the Fourth, one of those remarkable men, who, amidst the shadowy personages that have reigned in the Vatican, and been forgotten, have vindicated to themselves a permanent place in history. He was a Neapolitan by birth, of the noble family of the Caraffas. He was bred to the religious profession, and early attracted notice by his diligent application and the fruits he gathered from it. His memory was prodigious. He was not only deeply read in theological science, but skilled in various languages, ancient and modern, several of which he spoke with fluency. His rank, sustained by his scholarship, raised him speedily to high preferment in the Church. In 1513, when thirty-six years of age, he went as nuncio to England. In 1525, he resigned his benefices, and, with a small number of his noble friends, he instituted a new religious order, called the Theatins.[131] The object of the society was, to combine, to some extent, the contemplative habits of the monk with the more active duties of the secular clergy. The members visited the sick, buried the dead, and preached frequently in public, thus performing the most important functions of the priesthood. For this last vocation, of public speaking, Caraffa was peculiarly qualified by a flow of natural eloquence, which, if it did not always convince, was sure to carry away the audience by its irresistible fervor.[132] The new order showed itself particularly zealous in enforcing reform in the Catholic clergy, and in stemming the tide of heresy which now threatened to inundate the Church. Caraffa and his associates were earnest to introduce the Inquisition. A life of asceticism and penance too often extinguishes sympathy with human suffering, and leads its votaries to regard the sharpest remedies as the most effectual for the cure of spiritual error.

From this austere way of life Caraffa was called, in 1536, to a situation which engaged him more directly in worldly concerns. He was made cardinal by Paul the Third. He had, as far back as the time of Ferdinand the Catholic, been one of the royal council of Naples. The family of Caraffa, however, was of the Angevine party, and regarded the house of Aragon in the light of usurpers. The cardinal had been educated in this political creed, and, even after his elevation to his new dignity, he strongly urged Paul the Third to assert the claims of the holy see to the sovereignty of Naples. This conduct, which came to the ears of Charles the Fifth, so displeased that monarch that he dismissed Caraffa from the council. Afterwards, when the cardinal was named by the pope, his unfailing patron, to the archbishopric of Naples, Charles resisted the nomination, and opposed all the obstacles in his power to the collection of the episcopal revenues. These indignities sank deep into the cardinal's mind, naturally tenacious of affronts; and what, at first, had been only a political animosity, was now sharpened into personal hatred of the most implacable character.[133]

Such was the state of feeling when, on the death of Marcellus the Second, in 1555, Cardinal Caraffa was raised to the papal throne. His election, as was natural, greatly disgusted the emperor, and caused astonishment throughout Europe; for he had not the conciliatory manners which win the favor and the suffrages of mankind. But the Catholic Church stood itself in need of a reformer, to enable it to resist the encroaching spirit of Protestantism. This was well understood not only by the highest, but by the humblest ecclesiastics; and in Caraffa they saw the man whose qualities precisely fitted him to effect such a reform. He was, moreover, at the time of his election, in his eightieth year; and age and infirmity have always proved powerful arguments with the sacred college, as affording the numerous competitors the best guaranties for a speedy vacancy. Yet it has more than once happened that the fortunate candidate, who has owed his election mainly to his infirmities, has been miraculously restored by the touch of the tiara.

Paul the Fourth--for such was the name assumed by the new pope, in gratitude to the memory of his patron--adopted a way of life, on his accession, for which his brethren of the college were not at all prepared. The austerity and self-denial of earlier days formed a strong contrast to the pomp of his present establishment and the profuse luxury of his table. When asked how he would be served, "How but as a great prince?" he answered. He usually passed three hours at his dinner, which consisted of numerous courses of the most refined and epicurean dishes. No one dined with him, though one or more of the cardinals were usually present, with whom he freely conversed; and as he accompanied his meals with large draughts of the thick, black wine of Naples, it no doubt gave additional animation to his discourse.[134] At such times, his favorite theme was the Spaniards, whom he denounced as the scum of the earth, a race accursed of God, heretics and schismatics, the spawn of Jews and of Moors. He bewailed the humiliation of Italy, galled by the yoke of a nation so abject. But the day had come, he would thunder out, when Charles and Philip were to be called to a reckoning for their ill-gotten possessions, and be driven from the land![135]

Yet Paul did not waste all his hours in this idle vaporing, nor in the pleasures of the table. He showed the same activity as ever in the labors of the closet, and in attention to business. He was irregular in his hours, sometimes prolonging his studies through the greater part of the night, and at others rising long before the dawn. When thus engaged, it would not have been well for any one of his household to venture into his presence, without a summons.

Paul seemed to be always in a state of nervous tension. "He is all nerve," the Venetian minister, Navagero, writes of him; "and when he walks, it is with a free, elastic step, as if he hardly touched the ground."[136] His natural arrogance, was greatly increased by his elevation to the first dignity in Christendom. He had always entertained the highest ideas of the authority of the sacerdotal office; and now that he was in the chair of St. Peter, he seemed to have entire confidence in his own infallibility. He looked on the princes of Europe, not so much as his sons--the language of the Church--as his servants, bound to do his bidding. Paul's way of thinking would have better suited the twelfth century than the sixteenth. He came into the world at least three centuries too late. In all his acts he relied solely on himself. He was impatient of counsel from any one, and woe to the man who ventured to oppose any remonstrance, still more any impediment to the execution of his plans. He had no misgivings as to the wisdom of these plans. An idea that had once taken possession of his mind lay there, to borrow a cant phrase of the day, like "a fixed fact,"--not to be disturbed by argument or persuasion. We occasionally meet with such characters, in which strength of will and unconquerable energy in action pass for genius with the world. They, in fact, serve as the best substitute for genius, by the ascendancy which such qualities secure their possessors over ordinary minds. Yet there were ways of approaching the pontiff, for those who understood his character, and who, by condescending to flatter his humors, could turn them to their own account. Such was the policy pursued by some of Paul's kindred, who, cheered by his patronage, now came forth from their obscurity to glitter in the rays of the meridian sun.

[Sidenote: COURT OF FRANCE.]

Paul had all his life declaimed against nepotism as an opprobrious sin in the head of the Church. Yet no sooner did he put on the tiara than he gave a glaring example of the sin he had denounced, in the favors which he lavished on three of his own nephews. This was the more remarkable, as they were men whose way of life had given scandal even to the Italians, not used to be too scrupulous in their judgments.

The eldest, who represented the family, he raised to the rank of duke, providing him with an ample fortune from the confiscated property of the Colonnas,--which illustrious house was bitterly persecuted by Paul, for its attachment to the Spanish interests.

Another of his nephews he made a cardinal,--a dignity for which he was indifferently qualified by his former profession, which was that of a soldier, and still less fitted by his life, which was that of a libertine. He was a person of a busy, intriguing disposition, and stimulated his uncle's vindictive feelings against the Spaniards, whom he himself hated, for some affront which he conceived had been put upon him while in the emperor's service.[137]

But Paul needed no prompter in this matter. He very soon showed that, instead of ecclesiastical reform, he was bent on a project much nearer to his heart,--the subversion of the Spanish power in Naples. Like Julius the Second, of warlike memory, he swore to drive out the barbarians from Italy. He seemed to think that the thunders of the Vatican were more than a match for all the strength of the empire and of Spain. But he was not weak enough to rely wholly on his spiritual artillery in such a contest. Through the French ambassador at his court, he opened negotiations with France, and entered into a secret treaty with that power, by which each of the parties agreed to furnish a certain contingent of men and money to carry on the war for the recovery of Naples. The treaty was executed on the sixteenth of December, 1555.[138]

In less than two months after this event, on the fifth of February, 1556, the fickle monarch of France, seduced by the advantageous offers of Charles, backed, moreover, by the ruinous state of his own finances, deserted his new ally, and signed the treaty of Vaucelles, which secured a truce for five years between his dominions and those of Philip.

Paul received the news of this treaty while surrounded by his courtiers. He treated the whole with scepticism, but expressed the pious hope, that such a peace might be in store for the nations of Christendom. In private he was not so temperate. But without expending his wrath in empty menaces, he took effectual means to bring things back to their former state,--to induce the French king to renew the treaty with himself, and at once to begin hostilities. He knew the vacillating temper of the monarch he had to deal with. Cardinal Caraffa was accordingly despatched on a mission to Paris, fortified with ample powers for the arrangement of a new treaty, and with such tempting promises on the part of his holiness as might insure its acceptance by the monarch and his ministers.

The French monarchy was, at that time, under the sceptre of Henry the Second, the son of Francis the First, to whose character his own bore no resemblance; or rather the resemblance consisted in those showy qualities which lie too near the surface to enter into what may be called character. He affected a chivalrous vein, excelled in the exercises of the tourney, and indulged in vague aspirations after military renown. In short, he fancied himself a hero, and seems to have imposed on some of his own courtiers so far as to persuade them that he was designed for one. But he had few of the qualities which enter into the character of a hero. He was as far from being a hero as he was from being a good Christian, though he thought to prove his orthodoxy by persecuting the Protestants, who were now rising into a formidable sect in the southern parts of his kingdom. He had little reliance on his own resources, leading a life of easy indulgence, and trusting the direction of his affairs to his favorites and his mistresses.

The most celebrated of these was Diana of Poictiers, created by Henry duchess of Valentinois, who preserved her personal charms and her influence over her royal lover to a much later period than usually happens. The persons of his court in whom the king most confided were the Constable Montmorency and the duke of Guise.

Anne de Montmorency, constable of France, was one of the proudest of the French nobility,--proud alike of his great name, his rank, and his authority with his sovereign. He had grown gray in the service of the court, and Henry, accustomed to his society from boyhood, had learned to lean on him for the execution of his measures. Yet his judgments, though confidently given, were not always sound. His views were far from being enlarged; and though full of courage, he showed little capacity for military affairs. A consciousness of this, perhaps, may have led him to recommend a pacific policy, suited to his own genius. He was a stanch Catholic, extremely punctilious in all the ceremonies of devotion, and, if we may credit Brantôme, would strangely mingle together the military and the religious. He repeated his Pater-Noster at certain fixed hours, whatever might be his occupation at the time. He would occasionally break off to give his orders, calling out, "Cut me down such a man!" "Hang up another!" "Run those fellows through with your lances!" "Set fire to that village!"--and so on; when, having thus relieved the military part of his conscience, he would go on with his Pater-Nosters as before.[139]

A very different character was that of his younger rival, Francis, duke of Guise, uncle to Mary, queen of Scots, and brother to the regent. Of a bold, aspiring temper, filled with the love of glory, brilliant and popular in his address, he charmed the people by his manners and the splendor of his equipage and dress. He came to court, attended usually by three or four hundred cavaliers, who formed themselves on Guise as their model. His fine person was set off by the showy costume of the time,--a crimson doublet and cloak of spotless ermine, and a cap ornamented with a scarlet plume. In this dress he might often be seen, mounted on his splendid charger and followed by a gay retinue of gentlemen, riding at full gallop through the streets of Paris, and attracting the admiration of the people.

[Sidenote: LEAGUE AGAINST SPAIN.]

But his character was not altogether made up of such vanities. He was sagacious in counsel, and had proved himself the best captain of France. It was he who commanded at the memorable siege of Metz, and foiled the efforts of the imperial forces under Charles and the duke of Alva. Caraffa found little difficulty in winning him over to his cause, as he opened to the ambitious chief the brilliant perspective of the conquest of Naples. The arguments of the wily Italian were supported by the duchess of Valentinois. It was in vain that the veteran Montmorency reminded the king of the ruinous state of the finances, which had driven him to the shameful expedient of putting up public offices to sale. The other party represented that the condition of Spain, after her long struggle, was little better; that the reins of government had now been transferred from the wise Charles to the hands of his inexperienced son; and that the coöperation of Rome afforded a favorable conjunction of circumstances, not to be neglected. Henry was further allured by Caraffa's assurance that his uncle would grant to the French monarch the investiture of Naples for one of his younger sons, and bestow Milan on another. The offer was too tempting to be resisted.

One objection occurred, in certain conscientious scruples as to the violation of the recent treaty of Vaucelles. But for this the pope, who had anticipated the objection, readily promised absolution. As the king also intimated some distrust lest the successor of Paul, whose advanced age made his life precarious, might not be inclined to carry out the treaty, Caraffa was authorized to assure him that this danger should be obviated by the creation of a batch of French cardinals, or of cardinals in the French interest.

All the difficulties being thus happily disposed of, the treaty was executed in the month of July, 1556. The parties agreed each to furnish about twelve thousand infantry, five hundred men-at-arms, and the same number of light horse. France was to contribute three hundred and fifty thousand ducats to the expenses of the war, and Rome one hundred and fifty thousand. The French troops were to be supplied with provisions by the pope, for which they were to reimburse his holiness. It was moreover agreed, that the crown of Naples should be settled on a younger son of Henry, that a considerable tract on the northern frontier should be transferred to the papal territory, and that ample estates should be provided from the new conquests for the three nephews of his holiness. In short, the system of partition was as nicely adjusted as if the quarry were actually in their possession, ready to be cut up and divided among the parties.[140]

Finally, it was arranged that Henry should invite the Sultan Solyman to renew his former alliance with France, and make a descent with his galleys on the coast of Calabria. Thus did his most Christian majesty, with the pope for one of his allies and the Grand Turk for the other, prepare to make war on the most Catholic prince in Christendom![141]

Meanwhile, Paul the Fourth, elated by the prospect of a successful negotiation, threw off the little decency he had hitherto preserved in his deportment. He launched out into invectives more bitter than ever against Philip, and in a tone of defiance told such of the Spanish cardinals as were present that they might repeat his sayings to their master. He talked of instituting a legal process against the king for the recovery of Naples, which he had forfeited by omitting to pay the yearly tribute to the holy see. The pretext was ill-founded, as the pope well knew. But the process went on with suitable gravity, and a sentence of forfeiture was ultimately pronounced against the Spanish monarch.

With these impotent insults, Paul employed more effectual means of annoyance. He persecuted all who showed any leaning to the Spanish interest. He set about repairing the walls of Rome, and strengthening the garrisons on the frontier. His movements raised great alarm among the Romans, who had too vivid a recollection of their last war with Spain, under Clement the Seventh, to wish for another. Garcilasso de la Vega, who had represented Philip, during his father's reign, at the papal court, wrote a full account of these doings to the viceroy of Naples. Garcilasso was instantly thrown into prison. Taxis, the Spanish director of the posts, was both thrown into prison and put to the torture. Saria, the imperial ambassador, after in vain remonstrating against these outrages, waited on the pope to demand his passport, and was kept standing a full hour at the gate of the Vatican, before he was admitted.[142]

Philip had full intelligence of all these proceedings. He had long since descried the dark storm that was mustering beyond the Alps. He had provided for it at the close of the preceding year, by committing the government of Naples to the man most competent to such a crisis. This was the duke of Alva, at that time governor of Milan, and commander-in-chief of the army in Italy. As this remarkable person is to occupy a large space in the subsequent pages of this narrative, it may be well to give some account of his earlier life.

Fernando Alvarez de Toledo was descended from an illustrious house in Castile, whose name is associated with some of the most memorable events in the national history. He was born in 1508, and while a child had the misfortune to lose his father, who perished in Africa, at the siege of Gelves. The care of the orphan devolved on his grandfather, the celebrated conqueror of Navarre. Under this veteran teacher the young Fernando received his first lessons in war, being present at more than one skirmish when quite a boy. This seems to have sharpened his appetite for a soldier's life, for we find him at the age of sixteen, secretly leaving his home and taking service under the banner of the Constable Velasco, at the siege of Fontarabia. He was subsequently made governor of that place. In 1527, when not twenty years of age, he came, by his grandfather's death, into possession of the titles and large patrimonial estates of the house of Toledo.

The capacity which he displayed, as well as his high rank, soon made him an object of attention; and as Philip grew in years, the duke of Alva was placed near his person, formed one of his council, and took part in the regency of Castile. He accompanied Philip on his journeys from Spain, and, as we have seen, made one of his retinue both in Flanders and in England. The duke was of too haughty and imperious a temper to condescend to those arts which are thought to open the most ready avenues to the favor of the sovereign. He met with rivals of a finer policy and more accommodating disposition. Yet Philip perfectly comprehended his character. He knew the strength of his understanding, and did full justice to his loyalty; and he showed his confidence in his integrity by placing him in offices of the highest responsibility.

[Sidenote: PREPARATIONS FOR WAR.]

The emperor, with his usual insight into character, had early discerned the military talents of the young nobleman. He took Alva along with him on his campaigns in Germany, where from a subordinate station he rapidly rose to the first command in the army. Such was his position at the unfortunate siege of Metz, where the Spanish infantry had nearly been sacrificed to the obstinacy of Charles.

In his military career the duke displayed some of the qualities most characteristic of his countrymen. But they were those qualities which belong to a riper period of life. He showed little of that romantic and adventurous spirit of the Spanish cavalier, which seemed to court peril for its own sake, and would hazard all on a single cast. Caution was his prominent trait, in which he was a match for any graybeard in the army;--a caution carried to such a length as sometimes to put a curb on the enterprising spirit of the emperor. Men were amazed to see so old a head on so young shoulders.

Yet this caution was attended by a courage which dangers could not daunt, and by a constancy which toil, however severe, could not tire. He preferred the surest, even though the slowest, means to attain his object. He was not ambitious of effect; he never sought to startle by a brilliant coup-de-main. He would not have compromised a single chance in his own favor by appealing to the issue of a battle. He looked steadily to the end, and he moved surely towards it by a system of operations planned with the nicest forecast. The result of these operations was almost always success. Few great commanders have been more uniformly successful in their campaigns. Yet it was rare that these campaigns were marked by what is so dazzling to the imagination of the young aspirant for glory,--a great and decisive victory.--Such were some of the more obvious traits in the military character of the chief to whom Philip, at this crisis, confided the post of viceroy of Naples.[143]

Before commencing hostilities against the Church, the Spanish monarch determined to ease his conscience, by obtaining, if possible, a warrant for his proceedings from the Church itself. He assembled a body composed of theologians from Salamanca, Alcalá, Valladolid, and some other places, and of jurists from his several councils, to resolve certain queries which he propounded. Among the rest, he inquired whether, in case of a defensive war with the pope, it would not be lawful to sequestrate the revenues of those persons, natives or foreigners, who had benefices in Spain, but who refused obedience to the orders of its sovereign;--whether he might not lay an embargo on all revenues of the Church, and prohibit any remittance of moneys to Rome;--whether a council might not be convoked to determine the validity of Paul's election, which, in some particulars, was supposed to have been irregular;--whether inquiry might not be made into the gross abuses of ecclesiastical patronage by the Roman see, and effectual measures taken to redress them. The suggestion of an ecclesiastical council was a menace that grated unpleasantly on the pontifical ear, and was used by European princes as a sort of counterblast to the threat of excommunication. The particular objects for which this council was to be summoned were not of a kind to soothe the irritable nerves of his holiness. The conclave of theologians and jurists made as favorable responses as the king had anticipated to his several interrogatories; and Philip, under so respectable a sanction, sent orders to his viceroy to take effectual measures for the protection of Naples.[144]

Alva had not waited for these orders, but had busily employed himself in mustering his resources, and in collecting troops from the Abruzzi and other parts of his territory. As hostilities were inevitable, he determined to strike the first blow, and carry the war into the enemy's country, before he had time to cross the Neapolitan frontier. Like his master, however, the duke was willing to release himself, as far as possible, from personal responsibility before taking up arms against the head of the Church. He accordingly addressed a manifesto to the pope and the cardinals, setting forth in glowing terms the manifold grievances of his sovereign; the opprobrious and insulting language of Paul; the indignities offered to Philip's agents, and to the imperial ambassador; the process instituted for depriving his master of Naples; and, lastly, the warlike demonstrations of the pope along the frontier, which left no doubt as to his designs. He conjured his holiness to pause before he plunged his country into war. As the head of the Church, it was his duty to preserve peace, not to bring war into Christendom. He painted the inevitable evils of war, and the ruin and devastation which it must bring on the fair fields of Italy. If this were done, it would be the pope's doing, and his would be the responsibility. On the part of Naples, the war would be a war of defence. For himself, he had no alternative. He was placed there to maintain the possessions of his sovereign; and, by the blessing of God, he would maintain them to the last drop of his blood.[145]

Alva, while making this appeal to the pope, invoked the good offices of the Venetian government in bringing about a reconciliation between Philip and the Vatican. His spirited manifesto to the pope was intrusted to a special messenger, a person of some consideration in Naples. The only reply which the hot-headed pontiff made to it was to throw the envoy into prison, and, as some state, to put him to the torture.

Meanwhile, Alva, who had not placed much reliance on the success of his appeal, had mustered a force, amounting in all to twelve thousand infantry, fifteen hundred horse, and a train of twelve pieces of artillery. His infantry was chiefly made up of Neapolitans, some of whom had seen but little service. The strength of his army lay in his Spanish veterans, forming one third of his force. The place of rendezvous was San Germano, a town on the northern frontier of the kingdom. On the first of September, 1556, Alva, attended by a gallant band of cavaliers, left the capital, and on the fourth arrived at the place appointed. The following day he crossed the borders at the head of his troops, and marched on Pontecorvo. He met with no resistance from the inhabitants, who at once threw open their gates to him. Several other places followed the example of Pontecorvo; and Alva, taking possession of them, caused a scutcheon displaying the arms of the sacred college to be hung up in the principal church of each town, with a placard announcing that he held it only for the college, until the election of a new pontiff. By this act he proclaimed to the Christian world that the object of the war, as far as Spain was concerned, was not conquest, but defence. Some historians find in it a deeper policy,--that of exciting feelings of distrust between the pope and the cardinals.[146]

Anagni, a place of some strength, refused the duke's summons to surrender. He was detained three days before his guns had opened a practicable breach in the walls. He then ordered an assault. The town was stormed and delivered up to sack,--by which phrase is to be understood the perpetration of all those outrages which the ruthless code of war allowed, in that age, on the persons and property of the defenceless inhabitants, without regard to sex or age.[147]

One or two other places which made resistance shared the fate of Anagni; and the duke of Alva, having garrisoned his new conquests with such forces as he could spare, led his victorious legions against Tivoli,--a town strongly situated on elevated ground, commanding the eastern approaches to the capital. The place surrendered without attempting a defence; and Alva, willing to give his men some repose, made Tivoli his head-quarters; while his army spread over the suburbs and adjacent country, which afforded good forage for his cavalry.

The rapid succession of these events, the fall of town after town, and, above all, the dismal fate of Anagni, filled the people of Rome with terror. The women began to hurry out of the city; many of the men would have followed but for the interference of Cardinal Caraffa. The panic was as great as if the enemy had been already at the gates of the capital. Amidst this general consternation, Paul seemed to be almost the only person who retained his self-possession. Navagero, the Venetian minister, was present when he received tidings of the storming of Anagni, and bears witness to the composure with which he went through the official business of the morning, as if nothing had happened.[148] This was in public; but the shock was sufficiently strong to strike out some sparkles of his fiery temper, as those found who met him that day in private. To the Venetian agent who had come to Rome to mediate a peace, and who had pressed him to enter into some terms of accommodation with the Spaniards, he haughtily replied, that Alva must first recross the frontier, and then, if he had aught to solicit, prefer his petition like a dutiful son of the Church. This course was not one very likely to be adopted by the victorious general[149]

In an interview with two French gentlemen, who, as he had reason to suppose, were interesting themselves in the affair of a peace, he exclaimed: "Whoever would bring me into a peace with heretics is a servant of the Devil. Heaven will take vengeance on him. I will pray that God's curse may fall on him. If I find that you intermeddle in any such matter, I will cut your heads off your shoulders. Do not think this an empty threat. I have an eye in my back on you,"--quoting an Italian proverb,--"and if I find you playing me false, or attempting to entangle me a second time in an accursed truce, I swear to you by the eternal God, I will make your heads fly from your shoulders, come what may come of it!" "In this way," concludes the narrator, one of the parties, "his holiness continued for nearly an hour, walking up and down the apartment, and talking all the while of his own grievances and of cutting off our heads, until he had talked himself quite out of breath."[150]

But the valor of the pope did not expend itself in words. He instantly set about putting the capital in the best state of defence. He taxed the people to raise funds for his troops, drew in the garrisons from the neighboring places, formed a body-guard of six or seven hundred horse, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing his Roman levies, amounting to six thousand infantry, well equipped for the war. They made a brave show, with their handsome uniforms and their banners richly emblazoned with the pontifical arms. As they passed in review before his holiness, who stood at one of the windows of his palace, he gave them his benediction. But the edge of the Roman sword, according to an old proverb, was apt to be blunt; and these holiday troops were soon found to be no match for the hardy veterans of Spain.

Among the soldiers at the pope's disposal was a body of German mercenaries, who followed war as a trade, and let themselves out to the highest bidder. They were Lutherans, with little knowledge of the Roman Catholic religion, and less respect for it. They stared at its rites as mummeries, and made a jest of its most solemn ceremonies, directly under the eyes of the pope. But Paul, who at other times would have punished offences like these with the gibbet and the stake, could not quarrel with his defenders, and was obliged to digest his mortification as he best might. It was remarked that the times were sadly out of joint, when the head of the Church had heretics for his allies and Catholics for his enemies.[151]

Meanwhile the duke of Alva was lying at Tivoli. If he had taken advantage of the panic caused by his successes, he might, it was thought, without much difficulty, have made himself master of the capital. But this did not suit his policy, which was rather to bring the pope to terms than to ruin him. He was desirous to reduce the city by cutting off its supplies. The possession of Tivoli, as already noticed, enabled him to command the eastern approaches to Rome, and he now proposed to make himself master of Ostia and thus destroy the communications with the coast.

[Sidenote: VICTORIOUS CAMPAIGN.]

Accordingly, drawing together his forces, he quitted Tivoli, and directed his march across the Campagna, south of the Roman capital. On his way he made himself master of some places belonging to the holy see, and in the early part of November arrived before Ostia, and took up a position on the banks of the Tiber, where it spread into two branches, the northern one of which was called the Fiumicino, or little river. The town, or rather village, consisted of only a few straggling houses, very different from the proud Ostia, whose capacious harbor was once filled with the commerce of the world. It was protected by a citadel of some strength, garrisoned by a small but picked body of troops, so indifferently provided with military stores, that it was clear the government had not anticipated an attack in this quarter.

The duke ordered a number of boats to be sent round from Nettuno, a place on the coast, of which he had got possession. By means of these he formed a bridge, over which he passed a small detachment of his army, together with his battering train of artillery. The hamlet was easily taken, but, as the citadel refused to surrender, Alva laid regular siege to it. He constructed two batteries, on which he planted his heavy guns, commanding opposite quarters of the fortress. He then opened a lively cannonade on the outworks, which was returned with great spirit by the garrison.

Meanwhile he detached a considerable body of horse, under Colonna, who swept the country to the very walls of Rome. A squadron of cavalry, whose gallant bearing had filled the heart of the old pope with exultation, sallied out against the marauders. An encounter took place not far from the city. The Romans bore themselves up bravely to the shock; but, after splintering their lances, they wheeled about, and, without striking another blow, abandoned the field to the enemy, who followed them up to the gates of the capital. They were so roughly handled in their flight, that the valiant troopers could not be induced again to leave their walls, although Cardinal Caraffa--who had a narrow escape from the enemy--sallied out with a handful of his followers, to give them confidence.[152]

During this time Alva was vigorously pressing the siege of Ostia; but though more than a week had elapsed, the besieged showed no disposition to surrender. At length, the Spanish commander, on the seventeenth of November, finding his ammunition nearly expended and his army short of provisions, determined on a general assault. Early on the following morning, after hearing mass as usual, the duke mounted his horse, and, riding among the ranks to animate the spirits of his soldiers, gave orders for the attack. A corps of Italians was first detached, to scale the works; but they were repulsed with considerable loss. It was found impossible for their officers to rally them, and bring them back to the assault. A picked body of Spanish infantry was then despatched on this dangerous service. With incredible difficulty they succeeded in scaling the ramparts, under a storm of combustibles and other missiles hurled down by the garrison, and effected an entrance into the place. But here they were met with a courage as dauntless as their own. The struggle was long and desperate. There had been no such fighting in the course of the campaign. At length, the duke, made aware of the severe loss sustained by his men, and of the impracticability of the attempt, as darkness was setting in, gave the signal for retreat. The assailants had doubtless the worst of it in the conflict; but the besieged, worn out with fatigue, with their ammunition nearly exhausted, and almost without food, did not feel themselves in condition to sustain another assault on the following day. On the nineteenth of November, therefore, the morning after the conflict, the brave garrison capitulated, and were treated with honor as prisoners of war.[153]

The fate of the campaign seemed now to be decided. The pope, with, his principal towns in the hands of the enemy, his communications cut off both with the country and the coast, may well have felt his inability to contend thus single-handed against the power of Spain. At all events, his subjects felt it, and they were not deterred by his arrogant bearing from clamoring loudly against the continuance of this ruinous war. But Paul would not hear of a peace. However crippled by his late reverses, he felt confident of repairing them all on the arrival of the French, who, as he now learned with joy, were in full march across the territory of Milan. He was not so disinclined to a truce, which might give time for their coming.

Cardinal Caraffa, accordingly, had a conference with the duke of Alva, and entered into negotiations with him for a suspension of arms. The proposal was not unwelcome to the duke, who, weakened by losses of every kind, was by no means in condition at the end of an active campaign to contend with a fresh army under the command of so practised a leader as the duke of Guise. He did not care to expose himself a second time to an encounter with the French general, under disadvantages nearly as great as those which had foiled him at Metz.

With these amiable dispositions, a truce was soon arranged between the parties, to continue forty days. The terms were honorable to Alva, since they left him in possession of all his conquests. Having completed these arrangements, the Spanish commander broke up his camp on the southern bank of the Tiber, recrossed the frontier, and in a few days made his triumphant entry, at the head of his battalions, into the city of Naples.[154]

So ended the first campaign of the war with Rome. It had given a severe lesson, that might have shaken the confidence and humbled the pride of a pontiff less arrogant than Paul the Fourth. But it served only to deepen his hatred of the Spaniards, and to stimulate his desire for vengeance.

[Sidenote: GUISE ENTERS ITALY]

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VI. WAR WITH THE POPE

Guise enters Italy.--Operations in the Abruzzi.--Siege of Civitella.--Alva drives out the French.--Rome menaced by the Spaniards.--Paul consents to Peace.--Paul's subsequent Career.

1557.

While the events recorded in the preceding pages were passing in Italy, the French army, under the duke of Guise, had arrived on the borders of Piedmont. That commander, on leaving Paris, found himself at the head of a force consisting of twelve thousand infantry, of which five thousand were Swiss, and the rest French, including a considerable number of Gascons. His cavalry amounted to two thousand, and he was provided with twelve pieces of artillery. In addition to this, Guise was attended by a gallant body of French gentlemen, young for the most part, and eager to win laurels under the renowned defender of Metz.

The French army met with no opposition in its passage through Piedmont. The king of Spain had ordered the government of Milan to strengthen the garrisons of the fortresses, but to oppose no resistance to the French, unless the latter began hostilities.[155] Some of the duke's counsellors would have persuaded him to do so. His father-in-law, the duke of Ferrara, in particular, who had brought him a reinforcement of six thousand troops, strongly pressed the French general to make sure of the Milanese before penetrating to the south; otherwise he would leave a dangerous enemy in his rear. The Italian urged, moreover, the importance of such a step in giving confidence to the Angevine faction in Naples, and in drawing over to France those states which hesitated as to their policy, or which had but lately consented to an alliance with Spain.

France, at this time, exercised but little influence in the counsels of the Italian powers. Genoa, after an ineffectual attempt at revolution, was devoted to Spain. The coöperation of Cosmo de'Medici, then lord of Tuscany, had been secured by the cession of Sienna. The duke of Parma, who had coquetted for some time with the French monarch, was won over to Spain by the restoration of Placentia, of which he had been despoiled by Charles the Fifth. His young son, Alexander Farnese, was sent as a hostage, to be educated under Philip's eye, at the court of Madrid,--the fruits of which training were to be gathered in the war of the Netherlands, where he proved himself the most consummate captain of his time. Venice, from her lonely watch-tower on the Adriatic, regarded at a distance the political changes of Italy, prepared to profit by any chances in her own favor. Her conservative policy, however, prompted her to maintain things as far as possible in their present position. She was most desirous that the existing equilibrium should not be disturbed by the introduction of any new power on the theatre of Italy; and she had readily acquiesced in the invitation of the duke of Alva, to mediate an accommodation between the contending parties. This pacific temper found little encouragement from the belligerent pontiff who had brought the war upon Italy.

The advice of the duke of Ferrara, however judicious in itself, was not relished by his son-in-law, the duke of Guise, who was anxious to press forward to Naples as the proper scene of his conquests. The pope, too, called on him, in the most peremptory terms, to hasten his march, as Naples was the object of the expedition. The French commander had the address to obtain instructions to the same effect from his own court, by which he affected to be decided. His Italian father-in-law was so much disgusted by this determination, that he instantly quitted the camp, and drew off his six thousand soldiers, declaring that he needed all he could muster to protect his own states against the troops of Milan.[156]

Thus shorn of his Italian reinforcement, the duke of Guise resumed his march, and, entering the States of the Church, followed down the shores of the Adriatic, passing through Ravenna and Rimini; then, striking into the interior, he halted at Gesi, where he found good accommodations for his men and abundant forage for the horses.

Leaving his army in their pleasant quarters, he soon after repaired to Rome, in order to arrange with the pope the plan of the campaign. He was graciously received by Paul, who treated him with distinguished honor as the loyal champion of the Church. Emboldened by the presence of the French army in his dominions, the pope no longer hesitated to proclaim the renewal of the war against Spain. The Roman levies, scattered over the Campagna, assaulted the places but feebly garrisoned by the Spaniards. Most of them, including Tivoli and Ostia, were retaken; and the haughty bosom of the pontiff swelled with exultation as he anticipated the speedy extinction of the Spanish rule in Italy.

After some days consumed in the Vatican, Guise rejoined his army at Gesi. He was fortified by abundant assurances of aid from his holiness, and he was soon joined by one of Paul's nephews, the duke of Montebello, with a slender reinforcement. It was determined to cross the Neapolitan frontier at once, and to begin operations by the siege of Campli.

This was a considerable place, situated in the midst of a fruitful territory. The native population had been greatly increased by the influx of people from the surrounding country, who had taken refuge in Campli as a place of security. But they did little for its defence. It did not long resist the impetuosity of the French, who carried the town by storm. The men--all who made resistance--were put to the sword. The women were abandoned to the licentious soldiery. The houses, first pillaged, were then fired; and the once flourishing place was soon converted into a heap of smouldering ruins. The booty was great, for the people of the neighborhood had brought their effects thither for safety, and a large amount of gold and silver was found in the dwellings. The cellars, too, were filled with delicate wines; and the victors abandoned themselves to feasting and wassail, while the wretched citizens wandered like spectres amidst the ruins of their ancient habitations.[157]

[Sidenote: SIEGE OF CIVITELLA.]

The fate of Italy, in the sixteenth century, was hard indeed. She had advanced far beyond the age in most of the arts which belong to a civilized community. Her cities, even her smaller towns, throughout the country, displayed the evidences of architectural taste. They were filled with stately temples and elegant mansions; the squares were ornamented with fountains of elaborate workmanship; the rivers were spanned by arches of solid masonry. The private as well as public edifices were furnished with costly works of art, of which the value was less in the material than in the execution. A generation had scarcely passed since Michael Angelo and Raphael had produced their miracles of sculpture and of painting; and now Correggio, Paul Veronese, and Titian were filling their country with those immortal productions which have been the delight and the despair of succeeding ages. Letters kept pace with art. The magical strains of Ariosto had scarcely died away when a greater bard had arisen in Tasso, to take up the tale of Christian chivalry. This extraordinary combination of elegant art and literary culture was the more remarkable, from the contrast presented by the condition of the rest of Europe, then first rising into the light of a higher civilization. But, with all this intellectual progress, Italy was sadly deficient in some qualities found among the hardier sons of the north, and which seem indispensable to a national existence. She could boast of her artists, her poets, her politicians; but of few real patriots, few who rested their own hopes on the independence of their country. The freedom of the old Italian republics had passed away. There was scarcely one that had not surrendered its liberties to a master. The principle of union for defence against foreign aggression was as little understood as the principle of political liberty at home. The states were jealous of one another. The cities were jealous of one another, and were often torn by factions within themselves. Thus their individual strength was alike ineffectual, whether for self-government or self-defence. The gift of beauty which Italy possessed in so extraordinary a degree only made her a more tempting prize to the spoiler, whom she had not the strength or the courage to resist. The Turkish corsair fell upon her coasts, plundered her maritime towns, and swept off their inhabitants into slavery. The Europeans, scarcely less barbarous, crossed the Alps, and, striking into the interior, fell upon the towns and hamlets that lay sheltered among the hills and in the quiet valleys, and converted them into heaps of ruins. Ill fares it with the land which, in an age of violence, has given itself up to the study of the graceful and the beautiful, to the neglect of those hardy virtues which can alone secure a nation's independence.

From the smoking ruins of Campli, Guise led his troops against Civitella, a town but a few miles distant. It was built round a conical hill, the top of which was crowned by a fortress well lined with artillery. It was an important place for the command of the frontier, and the duke of Alva had thrown into it a garrison of twelve hundred men under the direction of an experienced officer, the marquis of Santa Fiore. The French general considered that the capture of this post, so soon following the sack of Campli, would spread terror among the Neapolitans, and encourage those of the Angevine faction to declare openly in his favor.

As the place refused to surrender, he prepared to besiege it in form, throwing up intrenchments, and only waiting for his heavy guns to begin active hostilities. He impatiently expected their arrival for some days, when he caused four batteries to be erected, to operate simultaneously against four quarters of the town. After a brisk cannonade, which was returned by the besieged with equal spirit, and with still greater loss to the enemy, from his exposed position, the duke, who had opened a breach in the works, prepared for a general assault. It was conducted with the usual impetuosity of the French, but was repulsed with courage by the Italians. More than once the assailants were brought up to the breach, and as often driven back with slaughter. The duke, convinced that he had been too precipitate, was obliged to sound a retreat, and again renewed the cannonade from his batteries, keeping it up night and day, though, from the vertical direction of the fire, with comparatively little effect. The French camp offered a surer mark to the guns of Civitella.

The women of the place displayed an intrepidity equal to that of the men. Armed with buckler and cuirass, they might be seen by the side of their husbands and brothers, in the most exposed situations on the ramparts; and, as one was shot down, another stepped forward to take the place of her fallen comrade.[158] The fate of Campli had taught them to expect no mercy from the victor, and they preferred death to dishonor.

As day after day passed on in the same monotonous manner, Guise's troops became weary of their inactive life. The mercurial spirits of the French soldier, which overleaped every obstacle in his path, were often found to evaporate in the tedium of protracted operations, where there was neither incident nor excitement. Such a state of things was better suited to the patient and persevering Spaniard. The men began openly to murmur against the pope, whom they regarded as the cause of their troubles. They were led by priests, they said, "who knew much more of praying than of fighting."[159]

Guise himself had causes of disgust with the pontiff which he did not care to conceal. For all the splendid promises of his holiness, he had received few supplies either of men, ammunition, or money; and of the Angevine lords not one had ventured to declare in his favor or to take service under his banner. He urged all this with much warmth on the pope's nephew, the duke of Montebello. The Italian, recriminated as warmly, till the dialogue was abruptly ended, it is said, by the duke of Guise throwing a napkin, or, according to some accounts, a dish, at the head of his ally.[160] However this may be, Montebello left the camp in disgust and returned to Rome. But the defender of the Church was too important a person to quarrel with, and Paul deemed it prudent, for the present, at least, to stifle his resentment.

Meanwhile heavy rains set in, causing great annoyance to the French troops in their quarters, spoiling their provisions, and doing great damage to their powder. The same rain did good service to the besieged, by filling their cisterns. "God," exclaimed the profane Guise, "must have turned Spaniard."[161]

While these events were taking place in the north of Naples, the duke of Alva, in the south, was making active preparations for the defence of the kingdom. He had seen with satisfaction the time consumed by his antagonist, first at Gesi, and afterwards at the siege of Civitella; and he had fully profited by the delay. On reaching the city of Naples, he had summoned a parliament of the great barons, had clearly exposed the necessities of the state, and demanded an extraordinary loan of two millions of ducats. The loyal nobles readily responded to the call; but as not more than one third of the whole amount could be instantly raised, an order was obtained from the council, requiring the governors of the several provinces to invite the great ecclesiastics in their districts to advance the remaining two thirds of the loan. In case they did not consent with a good grace, they were to be forced to comply by the seizure of their revenues.[162]

By another decree of the council, the gold and silver plate belonging to the monasteries and churches, throughout the kingdom, after being valued, was to be taken for the use of the government. A quantity of it, belonging to a city in the Abruzzi, was in fact put up to be sent to Naples; but it caused such a tumult among the people, that it was found expedient to suspend proceedings in the matter for the present.

[Sidenote: SIEGE OF CIVITELLA.]

The viceroy still further enlarged his resources by the sequestration of the revenues belonging to such ecclesiastics as resided in Rome. By these various expedients the duke of Alva found himself in possession of sufficient funds, for carrying on the war as he desired. He mustered a force of twenty-two, or, as some accounts state, twenty-five thousand men. Of these three thousand only were Spanish veterans, five thousand were Germans, and the remainder Italians, chiefly from the Abruzzi,--for the most part raw recruits, on whom little reliance was to be placed. He had besides seven hundred men-at-arms and fifteen hundred light horse. His army, therefore, though, as far as the Italians were concerned, inferior in discipline to that of his antagonist, was greatly superior in numbers.[163]

In a council of war that was called, some were of opinion that the viceroy should act on the defensive, and await the approach of the enemy in the neighborhood of the capital. But Alva looked on this as a timid course, arguing distrust in himself, and likely to infuse distrust into his followers. He determined to march at once against the enemy, and prevent his gaining a permanent foothold in the kingdom.

Pescara, on the Adriatic, was appointed as the place of rendezvous for the army, and Alva quitted the city of Naples for that place on the eleventh of April, 1557. Here he concentrated his whole strength, and received his artillery and military stores, which were brought to him by water. Having reviewed his troops, he began his march to the north. On reaching Rio Umano, he detached a strong body of troops to get possession of Giulia Nuova, a town of some importance lately seized by the enemy. Alva supposed, and it seems correctly, that the French commander had secured this as a good place of retreat in case of his failure before Civitella, since its position was such as would enable him readily to keep up his communications with the sea. The French garrison sallied out against the Spaniards, but were driven back with loss; and, as Alva's troops followed in their rear, the enemy fled in confusion through the streets of the city, and left it in the hands of the victors. In this commodious position, the viceroy for the present took up his quarters.

On the approach of the Spanish army, the duke of Guise saw the necessity of bringing his operations against Civitella to a decisive issue. He accordingly, as a last effort, prepared for a general assault. But, although it was conducted with great spirit, it was repulsed with still greater by the garrison; and the French commander, deeply mortified at his repeated failures, saw the necessity of abandoning the siege. He could not effect even this without sustaining some loss from the brave defenders of Civitella, who sallied out on his rear, as he drew off his discomfited troops to the neighboring valley of Nireto. Thus ended the siege of Civitella, which, by the confidence it gave to the loyal Neapolitans throughout the country as well as by the leisure it afforded to Alva for mustering his resources, may be said to have decided the fate of the war. The siege lasted twenty-two days, during fourteen of which the guns from the four batteries of the French had played incessantly on the beleaguered city. The viceroy was filled with admiration at the heroic conduct of the inhabitants; and, in token of respect for it, granted some important immunities, to be enjoyed for ever by the citizens of Civitella. The women, too, came in for their share of the honors, as whoever married a maiden of Civitella was to be allowed the same immunities, from whatever part of the country he might come.[164]

The two armies were now quartered within a few miles of each other. Yet no demonstration was made, on either side, of bringing matters to the issue of a battle. This was foreign to Alva's policy, and was not to be expected from Guise, so inferior in strength to his antagonist. On the viceroy's quitting Giulia Nuova, however, to occupy a position somewhat nearer the French quarters, Guise did not deem it prudent to remain there any longer, but, breaking up his camp, retreated, with his whole army, across the Tronto, and, without further delay, evacuated the kingdom of Naples.

The Spanish general made no attempt to pursue, or even to molest his adversary in his retreat. For this he has been severely criticized, more particularly as the passage of a river offers many points of advantage to an assailant. But, in truth, Alva never resorted to fighting when he could gain his end without it. In an appeal to arms, however favorable may be the odds, there must always be some doubt as to the result. But the odds here were not so decisively on the side of the Spaniards as they appeared. The duke of Guise carried off his battalions in admirable order, protecting his rear with the flower of his infantry and with his cavalry, in which last he was much superior to his enemy. Thus the parts of the hostile armies likely to have been brought into immediate conflict would have afforded no certain assurance of success to the Spaniards. Alva's object had been, not so much to defeat the French as to defend Naples. This he had now achieved, with but little loss; and rather than incur the risk of greater, he was willing, in the words of an old proverb, to make a bridge of silver for the flying foe.[165] In the words of Alva himself, "he had no idea of staking the kingdom of Naples against the embroidered coat of the duke of Guise."[166]

On the retreat of the French, Alva laid siege at once to two or three places, of no great note, in the capture of which he and his lieutenants were guilty of the most deliberate cruelty; though, in the judgment of the chronicler, it was not cruelty, but a wholesome severity, designed as a warning to such petty places not to defy the royal authority.[167] Soon after this, Alva himself crossed the Tronto, and took up a position not far removed from the French, who lay in the neighborhood of Ascoli. Although the two armies were but a few miles asunder, there was no attempt at hostilities, with the exception of a skirmish in which but a small number on either side were engaged, and which terminated in favor of the Spaniards. This state of things was at length ended by a summons from the pope to the French commander to draw nearer to Rome, as he needed his presence for the protection of the capital. The duke, glad, no doubt, of so honorable an apology for his retreat, and satisfied with having so long held his ground against a force superior to his own, fell back, in good order, upon Tivoli, which, as it commanded the great avenues to Rome on the east, and afforded good accommodations for his troops, he made his head quarters for the present. The manner in which the duke of Alva adhered to the plan of defensive operations settled at the beginning of the campaign, and that, too, under circumstances which would have tempted most men to depart from such a plan, is a remarkable proof of his perseverance and inflexible spirit. It proves, moreover, the empire which he held over the minds of his followers, that, under such circumstances, he could maintain implicit obedience to his orders.

[Sidenote: ROME MENACED BY THE SPANIARDS.]

The cause of the pope's alarm was the rapid successes of Alva's confederate, Mark Antony Colonna, who had defeated the papal levies, and taken one place after another in the Campagna, till the Romans began to tremble for their capital. Colonna was now occupied with the siege of Segni, a place of considerable importance; and the duke of Alva, relieved of the presence of the French, resolved to march to his support. He accordingly recrossed the Tronto, and, passing through the Neapolitan territory, halted for some days at Sora. He then traversed the frontier, but had not penetrated far into the Campagna when he received tidings of the fall of Segni. That strong place, after a gallant defence, had been taken by storm. All the usual atrocities were perpetrated by the brutal soldiery. Even the sanctity of the convents did not save them from pollution. It was in vain that Colonna interfered to prevent these excesses. The voice of authority was little heeded in the tempest of passion.--It mattered little, in that age, into whose hands a captured city fell; Germans, French, Italians, it was all the same. The wretched town, so lately flourishing, it might be, in all the pride of luxury and wealth, was claimed as the fair spoil of the victors. It was their prize-money, which served in default of payment of their long arrears,--usually long in those days; and it was a mode of payment as convenient for the general as for his soldiers.[168]

The fall of Segni caused the greatest consternation in the capital. The next thing, it was said, would be to assault the capital itself. Paul the Fourth, incapable of fear, was filled with impotent fury. "They have taken Segni," he said in a conclave of the cardinals; "they have murdered the people, destroyed their property, fired their dwellings. Worse than this, they will next pillage Palliano. Even this will not fill up the measure of their cruelty. They will sack the city of Rome itself; nor will they respect even my person. But, for myself, I long to be with Christ, and await without fear the crown of martyrdom."[169] Paul the Fourth, after having brought this tempest upon Italy, began to consider himself a martyr!

Yet even in this extremity, though urged on all sides to make concessions, he would abate nothing of his haughty tone. He insisted, as a sine qua non, that Alva should forthwith leave the Roman territory and restore his conquests. When these conditions were reported to the duke, he coolly remarked, that "his holiness seemed to be under the mistake of supposing that his own army was before Naples, instead of the Spanish army being at the gates of Rome."[170]

After the surrender of Segni, Alva effected a junction with the Italian forces, and marched to the town of Colona, in the Campagna, where for the present he quartered his army. Here he formed the plan of an enterprise, the adventurous character of which it seems difficult to reconcile with his habitual caution. This was a night assault on Rome. He did not communicate his whole purpose to his officers, but simply ordered them to prepare to march on the following night, the twenty-sixth of August, against a neighboring city, the name of which he did not disclose. It was a wealthy place, he said, but he was most anxious that no violence should be offered to the inhabitants, in either their persons or property. The soldiers should be forbidden even to enter the dwellings; but he promised that the loss of booty should be compensated by increase of pay. The men were to go lightly armed, without baggage, and with their shirts over their mail, affording the best means of recognizing one another in the dark.

The night was obscure, but unfortunately a driving storm of rain set in, which did such damage to the roads as greatly to impede the march, and the dawn was nigh at hand when the troops reached the place of destination. To their great surprise, they then understood that the object of attack was Rome itself.

Alva halted at a short distance from the city, in a meadow, and sent forward a small party to reconnoitre the capital, which seemed to slumber in quiet. But, on a nearer approach, the Spaniards saw a great light, as if occasioned by a multitude of torches, that seemed glancing to and fro within the walls, inferring some great stir among the inhabitants of that quarter. Soon after this, a few horsemen were seen to issue from one of the gates, and ride off in the direction of the French camp at Tivoli. The duke, on receiving the report, was satisfied that the Romans had, in some way or other, got notice of his design; that the horsemen had gone to give the alarm to the French in Tivoli; and that he should soon find himself between two enemies. Not relishing this critical position, he at once abandoned his design, and made a rapid countermarch on the place he had left the preceding evening.

In his conjectures the duke was partly in the right and partly in the wrong. The lights which were seen glancing within the town were owing to the watchfulness of Caraffa, who, from some apprehensions of an attack, in consequence of information he had received of preparations in the Spanish camp, was patrolling this quarter before daybreak to see that all was safe; but the horsemen who left the gates at that early hour in the direction of the French camp were far from thinking that hostile battalions lay within gunshot of their walls.[171]

Such is the account we have of this strange affair. Some historians assert that it was not the duke's design to attack Rome, but only to make a feint, and, by the panic which he would create, to afford the pope a good pretext for terminating the war. In support of this, it is said that he told his son Ferdinand, just before his departure, that he feared it would be impossible to prevent the troops from sacking the city, if they once set foot in it.[172] Other accounts state that it was no feint, but a surprise meditated in good earnest, and defeated only by the apparition of the lights and the seeming state of preparation in which the place was found. Indeed, one writer asserts that he saw the scaling-ladders, brought by a corps of two hundred arquebusiers, who were appointed to the service of mounting the walls.[173]

The Venetian minister, Navagero, assures us that Alva's avowed purpose was to secure the person of his holiness, which, he thought, must bring the war at once to a close. The duke's uncle, the cardinal of Sangiacomo, had warned his nephew, according to the same authority, not to incur the fate of their countrymen who had served under the Constable de Bourbon, at the sack of Rome, all of whom, sooner or later, had come to a miserable end.[174]

[Sidenote: ROME MENACED BY THE SPANIARDS.]

This warning may have made some impression on the mind of Alva, who, however inflexible by nature, had conscientious scruples of his own, and was, no doubt, accessible, as others of his time, to arguments founded on superstition.

We cannot but admit that the whole affair,--the preparations for the assault, the counsel to the officers, and the sudden retreat on suspicion of a discovery,--all look very much like earnest. It is quite possible that the duke, as the Venetian asserts, may have intended nothing beyond the seizure of the pope. But that the matter would have stopped there, no one will believe. Once fairly within the walls, even the authority of Alva would have been impotent to restrain the licence of the soldiery; and the same scenes might have been acted over again as at the taking of Rome under the Constable de Bourbon, or on the capture of the ancient capital by the Goths.

When the Romans, on the following morning, learned the peril they had been in during the night, and that the enemy had been prowling round, like wolves about a sheepfold, ready to rush in upon their sleeping victims, the whole city was seized with a panic. All the horrors of the sack by the Constable de Bourbon rose up to their imaginations,--or rather memories, for many there were who were old enough to remember that terrible day. They loudly clamored for peace before it was too late; and they pressed the demand in a manner which showed that the mood of the people was a dangerous one. Strozzi, the most distinguished of the Italian captains, plainly told the pope that he had no choice but to come to terms with the enemy at once.[175]

Paul was made more sensible of this by finding now, in his greatest need, the very arm withdrawn from him on which he most leaned for support. Tidings had reached the French camp of the decisive victory gained by the Spaniards at St. Quentin, and they were followed by a summons from the king to the duke of Guise, to return with his army, as speedily as possible, for the protection of Paris. The duke, who was probably not unwilling to close a campaign which had been so barren of laurels to the French, declared that "no chains were strong enough to keep him in Italy." He at once repaired to the Vatican, and there laid before his holiness the commands of his master. The case was so pressing, that Paul could not in reason oppose the duke's departure. But he seldom took counsel of reason, and in a burst of passion exclaimed to Guise, "Go, then; and take with you the consciousness of having done little for your king, still less for the Church, and nothing for your own honor."[176]

Negotiations were now opened for an accommodation between the belligerents, at the town of Cavi. Cardinal Caraffa appeared in behalf of his uncle, the pope, and the duke of Alva for the Spaniards. Through the mediation of Venice, the terms of the treaty were finally settled, on the fourteenth of September, although the inflexible pontiff still insisted on concessions nearly as extravagant as those he had demanded before. It was stipulated in a preliminary article, that the duke of Alva should publicly ask pardon, and receive absolution, for having borne arms against the holy see. "Sooner than surrender this point," said Paul, "I would see the whole world perish; and this, not so much for my own sake as for the honor of Jesus Christ."[177]

It was provided by the treaty, that the Spanish troops should be immediately withdrawn from the territory of the Church, that all the places taken from the Church should be at once restored, and that the French army should be allowed a free passage to their own country. Philip did not take so good care of his allies as Paul did of his. Colonna, who had done the cause such good service, was not even reinstated in the possessions of which the pope had deprived him. But a secret article provided that his claims should be determined hereafter by the joint arbitration of the pontiff and the king of Spain.[178]

The treaty was, in truth, one which, as Alva bitterly remarked, "seemed to have been dictated by the vanquished rather than by the victor." It came hard to the duke to execute it, especially the clause relating to himself. "Were I the king," said he haughtily, "his holiness should send one of his nephews to Brussels, to sue for my pardon, instead of my general's suing for his."[179] But Alva had no power to consult his own will in the matter. The orders from Philip were peremptory, to come to some terms, if possible, with the pope. Philip had long since made up his own mind, that neither profit nor honor was to be derived from a war with the Church,--a war not only repugnant to his own feelings, but which placed him in a false position, and one most prejudicial to his political interests.

The news of peace filled the Romans with a joy great in proportion to their former consternation. Nor was this joy much diminished by a calamity which at any other time would have thrown the city into mourning. The Tiber, swollen by the autumnal rains, rose above its banks, sweeping away houses and trees in its fury, drowning men and cattle, and breaking down a large piece of the wall that surrounded the city. It was well that this accident had not occurred a few days earlier, when the enemy was at the gates.[180]

On the twenty-seventh of September, 1557, the duke of Alva made his public entrance into Rome. He was escorted by the papal guard, dressed in its gay uniform. It was joined by the other troops in the city, who, on this holiday service, did as well as better soldiers. On entering the gates, the concourse was swelled by thousands of citizens, who made the air ring with their acclamations, as they saluted the Spanish general with the titles of Defender and Liberator of the capital. The epithets might be thought an indifferent compliment to their own government. In this state the procession moved along, like the triumph of a conqueror returned from his victorious campaigns to receive the wreath of laurel in the capitol.

On reaching the Vatican, the Spanish commander fell on his knees before the pope, and asked his pardon for the offence of bearing arms against the Church. Paul, soothed by this show of concession, readily granted absolution. He paid the duke the distinguished honor of giving him a seat at his own table; while he complimented the duchess by sending her the consecrated golden rose, reserved only for royal persons and illustrious champions of the Church.[181]

[Sidenote: PAUL CONSENTS TO PEACE.]

Yet the haughty spirit of Alva saw in all this more of humiliation than of triumph. His conscience, like that of his master, was greatly relieved by being discharged from the responsibilities of such a war. But he had also a military conscience, which seemed to be quite as much scandalized by the conditions of the peace. He longed to be once more at Naples, where the state of things imperatively required his presence. When he returned there, he found abundant occupation in reforming the abuses which had grown out of the late confusion, and especially in restoring, as far as possible, the shattered condition of the finances,--a task hardly less difficult than that of driving out the French from Naples.[182]

Thus ended the war with Paul the Fourth,--a war into which that pontiff had plunged without preparation, which he had conducted without judgment, and terminated without honor. Indeed, it brought little honor to any of the parties concerned in it, but, on the other hand, a full measure of those calamities which always follow in the train of war.

The French met with the same fate which uniformly befell them, when, lured by the phantom of military glory, they crossed the Alps to lay waste the garden of Italy,--in the words of their own proverb, "the grave of the French." The duke of Guise, after a vexatious campaign, in which it was his greatest glory that he had sustained no actual defeat, thought himself fortunate in being allowed a free passage, with the shattered remnant of his troops, back to his own country. Naples, besides the injuries she had sustained on her borders, was burdened with a debt which continued to press heavily for generations to come. Nor were her troubles ended by the peace. In the spring of the following year, 1558, a Turkish squadron appeared off Calabria; and, running down the coast, the Moslems made a landing on several points, sacked some of the principal towns, butchered the inhabitants, or swept them off into hopeless slavery.[183] Such were some of the blessed fruits of the alliance between the grand seignior and the head of the Catholic Church. Solyman had come into the league at the invitation of the Christian princes. But it was not found so easy to lay the spirit of mischief as it had been to raise it.

The weight of the war, however, fell, as was just, most heavily on the author of it. Paul, from his palace of the Vatican, could trace the march of the enemy by the smoking ruins of the Campagna. He saw his towns sacked, his troops scattered, his very capital menaced, his subjects driven by ruinous taxes to the verge of rebellion. Even peace, when it did come, secured to him none of the objects for which he had contended, while he had the humiliating consciousness that he owed this peace, not to his own arms, but to the forbearance--or the superstition of his enemies. One lesson he might have learned,--that the thunders of the Vatican could no longer strike terror into the hearts of princes, as in the days of the Crusades.

In this war Paul had called in the French to aid him in driving out the Spaniards. The French, he said, might easily be dislodged hereafter; "but the Spaniards were like dog-grass, which is sure to strike root wherever it is cast."--This was the last great effort that was made to overturn the Spanish power in Naples; and the sceptre of that kingdom continued to be transmitted in the dynasty of Castile, with as little opposition as that of any other portion of its broad empire.

Being thus relieved of his military labors, Paul set about those great reforms, the expectation of which had been the chief inducement to his election. But first he gave a singular proof of self-command, in the reforms which he introduced into his own family. Previously to his election, no one, as we have seen, had declaimed more loudly than Paul against nepotism,--the besetting sin of his predecessors, who, most of them old men and without children, naturally sought a substitute for these in their nephews and those nearest of kin. Paul's partiality for his nephews was made the more conspicuous by the profligacy of their characters. Yet the real bond which held the parties together was hatred of the Spaniards. When peace came, and this bond of union was dissolved, Paul readily opened his ears to the accusations against his kinsmen. Convinced at length of their unworthiness, and of the flagrant manner in which they had abused his confidence, he deprived the Caraffas of all their offices, and banished them to the farthest part of his dominions. By the sterner sentence of his successor, two of the brothers, the duke and the cardinal, perished by the hand of the public executioner.[184]

After giving this proof of mastery over his own feelings, Paul addressed himself to those reforms which had engaged his attention in early life. He tried to enforce a stricter discipline and greater regard for morals, both in the religious orders and the secular clergy. Above all, he directed his efforts against the Protestant heresy, which had begun to show itself in the head of Christendom, as it had long since done in the extremities. The course he adopted was perfectly characteristic. Scorning the milder methods of argument and persuasion, he resorted wholly to persecution. The Inquisition, he declared, was the true battery with which to assail the defences of the heretic. He suited the action so well to the word, that in a short time the prisons of the Holy Office were filled with the accused. In the general distrust no one felt himself safe; and a panic was created, scarcely less than that felt by the inhabitants when the Spaniards were at their gates.

Happily, their fears were dispelled by the death of Paul, which took place suddenly, from a fever, on the eighteenth of August, 1559, in the eighty-third year of his age, and fifth of his pontificate. Before the breath was out of his body, the populace rose en masse, broke open the prisons of the Inquisition, and liberated all who were confined there. They next attacked the house of the grand-inquisitor, which they burned to the ground; and that functionary narrowly escaped with his life. They tore down the scutcheons, bearing the arms of the family of Caraffa, which were affixed to the public edifices. They wasted their rage on the senseless statue of the pope, which they overturned, and, breaking off the head, rolled it, amidst the groans and execrations of the by-standers, into the Tiber. Such was the fate of the reformer, who, in his reforms, showed no touch of humanity, no sympathy with the sufferings of his species.[185]

Yet, with all its defects, there is something in the character of Paul the Fourth that may challenge our admiration. His project--renewing that of Julius the Second--of driving out the barbarians from Italy, was nobly conceived, though impracticable. "Whatever others may feel, I at least will have some care for my country," he once said to the Venetian ambassador.

[Sidenote: ENGLAND JOINS THE WAR WITH FRANCE.]

"If my voice is unheeded, it will at least be a consolation to me to reflect, that it has been raised in such a cause; and that it will one day be said that an old Italian, on the verge of the grave, who might be thought to have nothing better to do than to give himself up to repose, and weep over his sins, had his soul filled with this lofty design."[186]

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VII. WAR WITH FRANCE

England joins in the War.--Philip's Preparations.--Siege of St. Quentin.--French Army routed.--Storming of St. Quentin.--Successes of the Spaniards.

1557.

While the events related in the preceding chapter were passing in Italy, the war was waged on a larger scale, and with more important results, in the northern provinces of France. As soon as Henry had broken the treaty, and sent his army across the Alps, Philip lost no time in assembling his troops, although in so quiet a manner as to attract as little attention as possible. His preparations were such as enabled him, not merely to defend the frontier of the Netherlands, but to carry the war into the enemy's country.

He despatched his confidential minister, Ruy Gomez, to Spain, for supplies both of men and money; instructing him to visit his father, Charles the Fifth, and, after acquainting him with the state of affairs, to solicit his aid in raising the necessary funds.[187]

Philip had it much at heart to bring England into the war. During his stay in the Low Countries, he was in constant communication with the English cabinet, and took a lively interest in the government of the kingdom. The minutes of the privy council were regularly sent to him, and as regularly returned with his remarks, in his own handwriting, on the margin. In this way he discussed and freely criticized every measure of importance; and, on one occasion, we find him requiring that nothing of moment should be brought before parliament until it had first been submitted to him.[188]

In March, 1557, Philip paid a second visit to England, where he was received by his fond queen in the most tender and affectionate manner. In her letters she had constantly importuned him to return to her. On that barren eminence which placed her above the reach of friendship, Mary was dependent on her husband for sympathy and support. But if the channel of her affections was narrow, it was deep.

Philip found no difficulty in obtaining the queen's consent to his wishes with respect to the war with France. She was induced to this, not merely by her habitual deference to her husband, but by natural feelings of resentment at the policy of Henry the Second. She had put up with affronts, more than once, from the French ambassador, in her own court; and her throne had been menaced by repeated conspiracies, which, if not organized, had been secretly encouraged by France. Still, it was not easy to bring the English nation to this way of thinking. It had been a particular proviso of the marriage treaty, that England should not be made a party to the war against France; and subsequent events had tended to sharpen the feeling of jealousy rather towards the Spaniards than towards the French.

The attempted insurrection of Stafford, who crossed over from the shores of France at this time, did for Philip what possibly neither his own arguments nor the authority of Mary could have done. It was the last of the long series of indignities which had been heaped on the country from the same quarter; and parliament now admitted that it was no longer consistent with its honor to keep terms with a power which persisted in fomenting conspiracies to overturn the government and plunge the nation into civil war. On the seventh of June, a herald was despatched, with the formality of ancient and somewhat obsolete usages, to proclaim war against the French king in the presence of his court and in his capital. This was done in such a bold tone of defiance, that the hot old constable, Montmorency, whose mode of proceeding, as we have seen, was apt to be summary, strongly urged his master to hang up the envoy on the spot.[189]

The state of affairs imperatively demanded Philip's presence in the Netherlands, and, after a residence of less than four months in London, he bade a final adieu to his disconsolate queen, whose excessive fondness may have been as little to his taste as the coldness of her subjects.

Nothing could be more forlorn than the condition of Mary. Her health wasting under a disease that cheated her with illusory hopes, which made her ridiculous in the eyes of the world; her throne, her very life, continually menaced by conspiracies, to some of which even her own sister was supposed to be privy; her spirits affected by the consciousness of the decline of her popularity under the gloomy system of persecution into which she had been led by her ghostly advisers; without friends, without children, almost it might be said without a husband,--she was alone in the world, more to be commiserated than the meanest subject in her dominions. She has had little commiseration, however, from Protestant writers, who paint her in the odious colors of a fanatic. This has been compensated, it may be thought, by the Roman Catholic historians, who have invested the English queen with all the glories of the saint and the martyr. Experience may convince us that public acts do not always furnish a safe criterion of private character,--especially when these acts are connected with religion. In the Catholic Church the individual might seem to be relieved, in some measure, of his moral responsibility, by the system of discipline which intrusts his conscience to the keeping of his spiritual advisers. If the lights of the present day allow no man to plead so humiliating an apology, this was not the case in the first half of the sixteenth century,--the age of Mary,--when the Reformation had not yet diffused that spirit of independence in religious speculation, which, in some degree at least, has now found its way to the darkest corner of Christendom.

[Sidenote: PHILIP'S PREPARATIONS.]

A larger examination of contemporary documents, especially of the queen's own correspondence, justifies the inference, that, with all the infirmities of a temper soured by disease, and by the difficulties of her position, she possessed many of the good qualities of her illustrious progenitors, Katharine of Aragon and Isabella of Castile; the same conjugal tenderness and devotion, the same courage in times of danger, the same earnest desire, misguided as she was, to do her duty,--and, unfortunately, the same bigotry. It was, indeed, most unfortunate, in Mary's case, as in that of the Catholic queen, that this bigotry, from their position as independent sovereigns, should have been attended with such fatal consequences as have left an indelible blot on the history of their reigns.[190]

On his return to Brussels, Philip busied himself with preparations for the campaign. He employed the remittances from Spain to subsidize a large body of German mercenaries. Germany was the country which furnished, at this time, more soldiers of fortune than any other; men who served indifferently under the banner that would pay them best. They were not exclusively made up of infantry, like the Swiss, but, besides pikemen,--lanzknechts,--they maintained a stout array of cavalry, reiters, as they were called,--"riders,"--who, together with the cuirass and other defensive armor, carried pistols, probably of rude workmanship, but which made them formidable from the weapon being little known in that day. They were, indeed, the most dreaded troops of their time. The men-at-arms, encumbered with their unwieldy lances, were drawn up in line, and required an open plain to manœuvre to advantage, being easily discomposed by obstacles; and once broken, they could hardly rally. But the reiters, each with five or six pistols in his belt, were formed into columns of considerable depth, the size of their weapons allowing them to go through all the evolutions of light cavalry, in which they were perfectly drilled. Philip's cavalry was further strengthened by a fine corps of Burgundian lances, and by a great number of nobles and cavaliers from Spain, who had come to gather laurels in the fields of France, under the eye of their young sovereign. The flower of his infantry, too, was drawn from Spain; men who, independently of the indifference to danger, and wonderful endurance, which made the Spanish soldier inferior to none of the time, were animated by that loyalty to the cause which foreign mercenaries could not feel. In addition to these, the king expected, and soon after received, a reinforcement of eight thousand English under the earl of Pembroke. They might well fight bravely on the soil where the arms of England had won two of the most memorable victories in her history.

The whole force, exclusive of the English, amounted to thirty-five thousand foot and twelve thousand horse, besides a good train of battering artillery.[191] The command of this army was given to Emanuel Philibert, prince of Piedmont, better known by his title of duke of Savoy. No man had a larger stake in the contest, for he had been stripped of his dominions by the French, and his recovery of them depended on the issue of the war. He was at this time but twenty-nine years of age; but he had had large experience in military affairs, and had been intrusted by Charles the Fifth, who had early discerned his capacity, with important commands. His whole life may be said to have trained him for the profession of arms. He had no taste for effeminate pleasures, but amused himself, in seasons of leisure, with the hardy exercise of the chase. He strengthened his constitution, naturally not very robust, by living as much as possible in the open air. Even when conversing, or dictating to his secretaries, he preferred to do so walking in his garden. He was indifferent to fatigue. After hunting all day he would seem to require no rest, and in a campaign had been known, like the knights-errant of old, to eat, drink, and sleep in his armor for thirty days together.

He was temperate in his habits, eating little, and drinking water. He was punctual in attention to business, was sparing of his words, and, as one may gather from the piquant style of his letters, had a keen insight into character, looking below the surface of men's actions into their motives.[192]

His education had not been neglected. He spoke several languages fluently, and, though not a great reader, was fond of histories. He was much devoted to mathematical science, which served him in his profession, and he was reputed an excellent engineer.[193] In person the duke was of the middle size; well-made, except that he was somewhat bow-legged. His complexion was fair, his hair light, and his deportment very agreeable.

Such is the portrait of Emanuel Philibert, to whom Philip now intrusted the command of his forces, and whose pretensions he warmly supported as the suitor of Elizabeth of England. There was none more worthy of the royal maiden. But the duke was a Catholic; and Elizabeth, moreover, had seen the odium which her sister had incurred by her marriage with a foreign sovereign. Philip, who would have used some constraint in the matter, pressed it with such earnestness on the queen as proved how much importance he attached to the connection. Mary's conduct on the occasion was greatly to her credit; and, while she deprecated the displeasure of her lord, she honestly told him that she could not in conscience do violence to the inclinations of her sister.[194]

The plan of the campaign, as determined by Philip's cabinet,[195] was that the duke should immediately besiege some one of the great towns on the northern borders of Picardy, which in a manner commanded the entrance into the Netherlands. Rocroy was the first selected. But the garrison, who were well provided with ammunition, kept within their defences, and maintained so lively a cannonade on the Spaniards, that the duke, finding the siege was likely to consume more time than it was worth, broke up his camp, and resolved to march against St. Quentin. This was an old frontier town of Picardy, important in time of peace as an entrepôt for the trade that was carried on between France and the Low Countries. It formed a convenient place of deposit, at the present period, for such booty as marauding parties from time to time brought back from Flanders. It was well protected by its natural situation, and the fortifications had been originally strong; but, as in many of the frontier towns, they had been of late years much neglected.

[Sidenote: SIEGE OF ST. QUENTIN.]

Before beginning operations against St. Quentin, the duke of Savoy, in order to throw the enemy off his guard, and prevent his introducing supplies into the town, presented himself before Guise, and made a show of laying siege to that place. After this demonstration he resumed his march, and suddenly sat down before St. Quentin, investing it with his whole army.

Meanwhile the French had been anxiously watching the movements of their adversary. Their forces were assembled on several points in Picardy and Champagne. The principal corps was under the command of the duke of Nevers, governor of the latter province, a nobleman of distinguished gallantry, and who had seen some active service. He now joined his forces to those under Montmorency, the constable of France, who occupied a central position in Picardy, and who now took the command, for which his rash and impetuous temper but indifferently qualified him. As soon as the object of the Spaniards was known, it was resolved to reinforce the garrison of St. Quentin, which otherwise, it was understood, could not hold out a week. This perilous duty was assumed by Gaspard de Coligni, admiral of France.[196] This personage, the head of an ancient and honored house, was one of the most remarkable men of his time. His name had gained a mournful celebrity in the page of history, as that of the chief martyr in the massacre of St. Bartholomew. He embraced the doctrines of Calvin, and by his austere manners and the purity of his life well illustrated the doctrines he embraced. The decent order of his household, and their scrupulous attention to the services of religion, formed a striking contrast to the licentious conduct of too many of the Catholics, who, however, were as prompt as Coligni to do battle in defence of their faith. In early life he was the gay companion of the duke of Guise.[197] But as the Calvinists, or Huguenots, were driven by persecution to an independent and even hostile position, the two friends, widely separated by opinion and by interest, were changed into mortal foes. That hour had not yet come. But the heresy that was soon to shake France to its centre was silently working under ground.

As the admiral was well instructed in military affairs, and was possessed of an intrepid spirit and great fertility of resource, he was precisely the person to undertake the difficult office of defending St. Quentin. As governor of Picardy he felt this to be his duty. Without loss of time, he put himself at the head of some ten or twelve hundred men, horse and foot, and used such despatch that he succeeded in entering the place before it had been entirely invested. He had the mortification, however, to be followed only by seven hundred of his men, the remainder having failed through fatigue, or mistaken the path.

The admiral found the place in even worse condition than he had expected. The fortifications were much dilapidated; and in many parts of the wall the masonry was of so flimsy a character, that it must have fallen before the first discharge of the enemy's cannon. The town was victualled for three weeks, and the magazines were tolerably well supplied with ammunition. But there were not fifty arquebuses fit for use.

St. Quentin stands on a gentle eminence, protected on one side by marshes, or rather a morass of great extent, through which flows the river Somme, or a branch of it. On the same side of the river with St. Quentin lay the army of the besiegers, with their glittering lines extending to the very verge of the morass. A broad ditch defended the outer wall. But this ditch was commanded by the houses of the suburbs, which had already been taken possession of by the besiegers. There was, moreover, a thick plantation of trees close to the town, which would afford an effectual screen for the approach of an enemy.

One of the admiral's first acts was to cause a sortie to be made. The ditch was crossed, and some of the houses were burned to the ground. The trees on the banks were then levelled, and the approach to the town was laid open. Every preparation was made for a protracted defence. The exact quantity of provision was ascertained, and the rations were assigned for each man's daily consumption. As the supplies were inadequate to support the increased population for any length of time, Coligni ordered that all except those actively engaged in the defence of the place should leave it without delay. Many, under one pretext or another, contrived to remain, and share the fortunes of the garrison. But by this regulation he got rid of seven hundred useless persons, who, if they had staid, must have been the victims of famine; and "their dead bodies," the admiral coolly remarked, "would have bred a pestilence among the soldiers."[198]

He assigned to his men their several posts, talked boldly of maintaining himself against all the troops of Spain, and by his cheerful tone endeavored to inspire a confidence in others which he was far from feeling himself. From one of the highest towers he surveyed the surrounding country, tried to ascertain the most practicable fords in the morass, and sent intelligence to Montmorency, that, without relief, the garrison could not hold out more than a few days.[199]

That commander, soon after the admiral's departure, had marched his army to the neighborhood of St. Quentin, and established it in the towns of La Fère and Ham, together with the adjoining villages, so as to watch the movements of the Spaniards, and coöperate, as occasion served, with the besieged. He at once determined to strengthen the garrison, if possible, by a reinforcement of two thousand men under Dandelot, a younger brother of the admiral, and not inferior to him in audacity and enterprise. But the expedition miserably failed. Through the treachery or the ignorance of the guide, the party mistook the path, came on one of the enemy's outposts, and, disconcerted by the accident, were thrown into confusion, and many of them cut to pieces or drowned in the morass. Their leader, with the remainder, succeeded, under cover of the night, in making his way back to La Fère.

[Sidenote: BATTLE OF ST. QUENTIN.]

The constable now resolved to make another attempt, and in the open day. He proposed to send a body, under the same commander, in boats across the Somme, and to cover the embarkation in person with his whole army. His force was considerably less than that of the Spaniards, amounting in all to about eighteen thousand foot and six thousand horse, besides a train of artillery consisting of sixteen guns.[200] His levies, like those of his antagonist, were largely made up of German mercenaries. The French peasantry, with the exception of the Gascons, who formed a fine body of infantry, had long since ceased to serve in war. But the chivalry of France was represented by as gallant an array of nobles and cavaliers as ever fought under the banner of the lilies.

On the ninth of August, 1557, Montmorency put his whole army in motion; and on the following morning, the memorable day of St. Lawrence, by nine o'clock, he took up a position on the bank of the Somme. On the opposite side, nearest the town, lay the Spanish force, covering the ground, as far as the eye could reach, with their white pavilions; while the banners of Spain, of Flanders, and of England, unfurled in the morning breeze, showed the various nations from which the motley host had been gathered.[201]

On the constable's right was a windmill, commanding a ford of the river which led to the Spanish quarters. The building was held by a small detachment of the enemy. Montmorency's first care was to get possession of the mill, which he did without difficulty; and, by placing a garrison there, under the prince of Condé, he secured himself from surprise in that quarter. He then profited by a rising ground to get his guns in position, so as to sweep the opposite bank, and at once opened a brisk cannonade on the enemy. The march of the French had been concealed by some intervening hills, so that, when they suddenly appeared on the farther side of the Somme, it was as if they had dropped from the clouds; and the shot which fell among the Spaniards threw them into great disorder. There was hurrying to and fro, and some of the balls striking the duke of Savoy's tent, he had barely time to escape with his armor in his hand. It was necessary to abandon his position, and he marched some three miles down the river, to the quarters occupied by the commander of the cavalry, Count Egmont.[202]

Montmorency, as much elated with this cheap success as if it had been a victory, now set himself about passing his troops across the water. It was attended with more difficulty than he had expected. There were no boats in readiness, and two hours were wasted in procuring them. After all, only four or five could be obtained, and these so small that it would be necessary to cross and recross the stream many times to effect the object. The boats, crowded with as many as they could carry, stuck fast in the marshy banks, or rather quagmire, on the opposite side; and when some of the soldiers jumped out to lighten the load, they were swallowed up and suffocated in the mud.[203] To add to these distresses, they were galled by the incessant fire of a body of troops which the Spanish general had stationed on an eminence that commanded the landing.

While, owing to these causes, the transportation of the troops was going slowly on, the duke of Savoy had called a council of war, and determined that the enemy, since he had ventured so near, should not be allowed to escape without a battle. There was a practicable ford in the river, close to Count Egmont's quarters; and that officer received orders to cross it at the head of his cavalry, and amuse the enemy until the main body of the Spanish army, under the duke, should have time to come up.

Lamoral, Count Egmont, and prince of Gavre, a person who is to occupy a large space in our subsequent pages, was a Flemish noble of an ancient and illustrious lineage. He had early attracted the notice of the emperor, who had raised him to various important offices, both civil and military, in which he had acquitted himself with honor. At this time, when thirty-five years old, he held the post of lieutenant-general of the horse, and that of governor of Flanders.

Egmont was of a lofty and aspiring nature, filled with dreams of glory, and so much elated by success, that the duke of Savoy was once obliged to rebuke him, by reminding him that he was not the commander-in-chief of the army.[204] With these defects he united some excellent qualities, which not unfrequently go along with them. In his disposition he was frank and manly, and, though hasty in temper, had a warm and generous heart. He was distinguished by a chivalrous bearing, and a showy, imposing address, which took with the people, by whom his name was held dear in later times for his devotion to the cause of freedom. He was a dashing officer, prompt and intrepid, well fitted for a brilliant coup-de-main, or for an affair like the present, which required energy and despatch; and he eagerly undertook the duty assigned him.

The light horse first passed over the ford, the existence of which was known to Montmorency; and he had detached a corps of German pistoleers, of whom there was a body in the French service, to defend the passage. But the number was too small, and the Burgundian horse, followed by the infantry, advanced, in face of the fire, as coolly and in as good order as if they had been on parade.[205] The constable soon received tidings that the enemy had begun to cross; and, aware of his mistake, he reinforced his pistoleers with a squadron of horse under the duc de Nevers. It was too late; when the French commander reached the ground, the enemy had already crossed in such strength that it would have been madness to attack him. After a brief consultation with his officers, Nevers determined, by as speedy a countermarch as possible, to join the main body of the army.

[Sidenote: BATTLE OF ST. QUENTIN.]

The prince of Condé, as has been mentioned, occupied the mill which commanded the other ford, on the right of Montmorency. From its summit he could descry the movements of the Spaniards, and their battalions debouching on the plain, with scarcely any opposition from the French. He advised the constable of this at once, and suggested the necessity of an immediate retreat. The veteran did not relish advice from one so much younger than himself, and testily replied, "I was a soldier before the prince of Condé was born; and, by the blessing of Heaven, I trust to teach him some good lessons in war for many a year to come." Nor would he quit the ground while a man of the reinforcement under Dandelot remained to cross.[206]

The cause of this fatal confidence was information he had received that the ford was too narrow to allow more than four or five persons to pass abreast, which would give him time enough to send over the troops, and then secure his own retreat to La Fère. As it turned out, unfortunately, the ford was wide enough to allow fifteen or twenty men to go abreast.

The French, meanwhile, who had crossed the river, after landing on the opposite bank, were many of them killed or disabled by the Spanish arquebusiers; others were lost in the morass; and of the whole number not more than four hundred and fifty, wet, wounded, and weary, with Dandelot at their head, succeeded in throwing themselves into St. Quentin. The constable, having seen the last boat put off, gave instant orders for retreat. The artillery was sent forward in the front, then followed the infantry, and, last of all, he brought up the rear with the horse, of which he took command in person. He endeavored to make up for the precious time he had lost by quickening his march, which, however, was retarded by the heavy guns in the van.

The duc de Nevers, as we have seen, declining to give battle to the Spaniards who had crossed the stream, had prepared to retreat on the main body of the army. On reaching the ground lately occupied by his countrymen, he found it abandoned; and joining Condé, who still held the mill, the two officers made all haste to overtake the constable.

Meanwhile, Count Egmont, as soon as he was satisfied that he was in sufficient strength to attack the enemy, gave orders to advance, without waiting for more troops to share with him the honors of victory. Crossing the field lately occupied by the constable, he took the great road to La Fère. But the rising ground which lay between him and the French prevented him from seeing the enemy until he had accomplished half a league or more. The day was now well advanced, and the Flemish captain had some fears that, notwithstanding his speed, the quarry had escaped him. But, as he turned the hill, he had the satisfaction to descry the French columns in full retreat. On their rear hung a body of sutlers and other followers of the camp, who, by the sudden apparition of the Spaniards, were thrown into a panic, which they had wellnigh communicated to the rest of the army.[207] To retreat before an enemy is in itself a confession of weakness sufficiently dispiriting to the soldier. Montmorency, roused by the tumult, saw the dark cloud gathering along the heights, and knew that it must soon burst on him. In this emergency, he asked counsel of an old officer near him as to what he should do. "Had you asked me," replied the other, "two hours since, I could have told you; it is now too late."[208] It was indeed too late, and there was nothing to be done but to face about and fight the Spaniards. The constable, accordingly, gave the word to halt, and made dispositions to receive his assailants.

Egmont, seeing him thus prepared, formed his own squadron into three divisions. One, which was to turn the left flank of the French, he gave to the prince of Brunswick and to Count Hoorne,--a name afterwards associated with his own on a sadder occasion than the present. Another, composed chiefly of Germans, he placed under Count Mansfeldt, with orders to assail the centre. He himself, at the head of his Burgundian lances, rode on the left against Montmorency's right flank. Orders were then given to charge, and, spurring forward their horses, the whole column came thundering on against the enemy. The French met the shock like well-trained soldiers, as they were; but the cavalry fell on them with the fury of a torrent sweeping everything before it, and for a few moments it seemed as if all were lost. But the French chivalry was true to its honor, and, at the call of Montmorency, who gallantly threw himself into the thick of the fight, it rallied, and, returning the charge, compelled the assailants to give way in their turn. The struggle, now continued on more equal terms, grew desperate; man against man, horse against horse,--it seemed to be a contest of personal prowess, rather than of tactics or military science. So well were the two parties matched, that for a long time the issue was doubtful; and the Spaniards might not have prevailed in the end, but for the arrival of reinforcements, both foot and heavy cavalry, who came up to their support. Unable to withstand this accumulated force, the French cavaliers, overpowered by numbers, not by superior valor, began to give ground. Hard pressed by Egmont, who cheered on his men to renewed efforts, their ranks were at length broken. The retreat became a flight; and, scattered over the field in all directions, they were hotly pursued by their adversaries, especially the German schwarzreiters,--those riders "black as devils,"[209]--who did such execution with their fire-arms as completed the discomfiture of the French.

Amidst this confusion, the Gascons, the flower of the French infantry, behaved with admirable coolness.[210] Throwing themselves into squares, with the pikemen armed with their long pikes in front, and the arquebusiers in the centre, they presented an impenetrable array, against which the tide of battle raged and chafed in impotent fury. It was in vain that the Spanish horse rode round the solid masses bristling with steel, if possible, to force an entrance, while an occasional shot, striking a trooper from his saddle, warned them not to approach too near.

It was in this state of things that the duke of Savoy, with the remainder of the troops, including the artillery, came on the field of action. His arrival could not have been more seasonable. The heavy guns were speedily turned on the French squares, whose dense array presented an obvious mark to the Spanish bullets. Their firm ranks were rent asunder; and, as the brave men tried in vain to close over the bodies of their dying comrades, the horse took advantage of the openings to plunge into the midst of the phalanx. Here the long spears of the pikemen were of no avail, and, striking right and left, the cavaliers dealt death on every side. All now was confusion and irretrievable ruin. No one thought of fighting, or even of self-defence. The only thought was of flight. Men overturned one another in their eagerness to escape. They were soon mingled with the routed cavalry, who rode down their own countrymen. Horses ran about the field without riders. Many of the soldiers threw away their arms, to fly the more quickly. All strove to escape from the terrible pursuit which hung on their rear. The artillery and ammunition-wagons choked up the road, and obstructed the flight of the fugitives. The slaughter was dreadful. The best blood of France flowed like water.

[Sidenote: ARMY ROUTED.]

Yet mercy was shown to those who asked it. Hundreds and thousands threw down their arms, and obtained quarter. Nevers, according to some accounts, covered the right flank of the French army. Others state that he was separated from it by a ravine or valley. At all events, he fared no better than his leader. He was speedily enveloped by the cavalry of Hoorne and Brunswick, and his fine corps of light horse cut to pieces. He himself, with the prince of Condé, was so fortunate as to make his escape, with the remnant of his forces, to La Fère.

Had the Spaniards followed up the pursuit, few Frenchmen might have been left that day to tell the story of the rout of St. Quentin. But the fight had already lasted four hours; evening was setting in; and the victors, spent with toil and sated with carnage, were content to take up their quarters on the field of battle.

The French, in the mean time, made their way, one after another, to La Fère, and, huddling together in the public squares, or in the quarters they had before occupied, remained like a herd of panic-struck deer, in whose ears the sounds of the chase are still ringing. But the loyal cavaliers threw off their panic, and recovered heart, when a rumor reached them that their commander, Montmorency, was still making head, with a body of stout followers, against the enemy. At the tidings, faint and bleeding as they were, they sprang to the saddles which they had just quitted, and were ready again to take the field.[211]

But the rumor was without foundation. Montmorency was a prisoner in the hands of the Spaniards. The veteran had exposed his own life throughout the action, as if willing to show that he would not shrink in any degree from the peril into which he had brought his followers. When he saw that the day was lost, he threw himself into the hottest of the battle, holding life cheap in comparison with honor. A shot from the pistol of a schwarzreiter, fracturing his thigh, disabled him from further resistance; and he fell into the hands of the Spaniards, who treated him with the respect due to his rank. The number of prisoners was very large,--according to some accounts, six thousand, of whom six hundred were said to be gentlemen and persons of condition. The number of the slain is stated, as usual, with great discrepancy, varying from three to six thousand. A much larger proportion of them than usual were men of family. Many a noble house in France went into mourning for that day. Among those who fell was Jean de Bourbon, count d'Enghien, a prince of the blood. Mortally wounded, he was carried to the tent of the duke of Savoy, where he soon after expired, and his body was sent to his countrymen at La Fère for honorable burial. To balance this bloody roll, no account states the loss of the Spaniards at over a thousand men.[212]

More than eighty standards, including those of the cavalry, fell into the hands of the victors, together with all the artillery, ammunition-wagons, and baggage of the enemy. France had not experienced such a defeat since the battle of Agincourt.[213]

King Philip had left Brussels, and removed his quarters to Cambray, that he might be near the duke of Savoy, with whom he kept up daily communication throughout the siege. Immediately after the battle, on the eleventh of August, he visited the camp in person. At the same time, he wrote to his father, expressing his regret that he had not been there to share the glory of the day.[214] The emperor seems to have heartily shared this regret.[215] It is quite certain, if Charles had had the direction of affairs, he would not have been absent. But Philip had not the bold, adventurous spirit of his father. His talent lay rather in meditation than in action; and his calm, deliberate forecast better fitted him for the council than the camp. In enforcing levies, in raising supplies, in superintending the organization of the army, he was indefatigable. The plan of the campaign was determined under his own eye; and he was most sagacious in the selection of his agents. But to those agents he prudently left the conduct of the war, for which he had no taste, perhaps no capacity, himself. He did not, like his rival, Henry the Second, fancy himself a great captain because he could carry away the prizes of a tourney.

Philip was escorted to the camp by his household troops. He appeared on this occasion armed cap-à-pie,--a thing by no means common with him. It seems to have pleased his fancy to be painted in military costume. At least, there are several portraits of him in complete mail,--one from the pencil of Titian. A picture taken at the present time was sent by him to Queen Mary, who, in this age of chivalry, may have felt some pride in seeing her lord in the panoply of war.

On the king's arrival at the camp, he was received with all the honors of a victor; with flourishes of trumpets, salvos of artillery, and the loud shouts of the soldiery. The duke of Savoy laid at his feet the banners and other trophies of the fight, and, kneeling down, would have kissed Philip's hand; but the king, raising him from the ground, and embracing him as he did so, said that the acknowledgments were due from himself to the general who had won him such a victory. At the same time, he paid a well-deserved compliment to the brilliant part which Egmont and his brave companions had borne in the battle.[216]

[Sidenote: FRENCH ARMY ROUTED.]

The first thing to be done was to dispose of the prisoners, whose number embarrassed the conquerors. Philip dismissed all those of the common file, on the condition that they should not bear arms for six months against the Spaniards. The condition did no great detriment to the French service, as the men, on their return, were sent to garrison some distant towns, and their places in the army filled by the troops whom they had relieved. The cavaliers and persons of condition were lodged in fortresses, where they could be securely detained till the amount of their respective ransoms was determined. These ransoms formed an important part of the booty of the conqueror. How important, may be inferred from the sum offered by the constable on his own account and that of his son,--no less, it is said, than a hundred and sixty-five thousand gold crowns.[217] The soldier of that day, when the penalty was loss of fortune as well as of freedom, must be confessed to have fought on harder conditions than at present.

A council of war was next called, to decide on further operations. When Charles the Fifth received tidings of the victory of St. Quentin, the first thing he asked, as we are told, was "whether Philip were at Paris."[218] Had Charles been in command, he would doubtless have followed up the blow by presenting himself at once before the French capital. But Philip was not of that sanguine temper which overlooks, or at least overleaps, the obstacles in its way. Charles calculated the chances of success; Philip, those of failure. Charles's character opened the way to more brilliant achievements, but exposed him also to severer reverses. His enterprising spirit was more favorable to building up a great empire; the cautious temper of Philip was better fitted to preserve it. Philip came in the right time; and his circumspect policy was probably better suited to his position, as well as to his character, than the bolder policy of the emperor.

When the duke of Savoy urged, as it is said, the expediency of profiting by the present panic to march at once on the French capital, Philip looked at the dangers of such a step. Several strong fortresses of the enemy would be left in his rear. Rivers must be crossed, presenting lines of defence which could easily be maintained against a force even superior to his own. Paris was covered by formidable works, and forty thousand citizens could be enrolled, at the shortest notice, for its protection. It was not wise to urge the foe to extremity, to force a brave and loyal people, like the French, to rise en masse, as they would do for the defence of their capital. The emperor, his father, had once invaded France with a powerful army, and laid siege to Marseilles. The issue of that invasion was known to everybody. "The Spaniards," it was tauntingly said, "had come into the country feasting on turkeys; they were glad to escape from it feeding on roots!"[219] Philip determined, therefore, to abide by his original plan of operations, and profit by the late success of his arms to press the siege of St. Quentin with his whole force.--It would not be easy for any one, at this distance of time, to pronounce on the wisdom of his decision. But subsequent events tend considerably to strengthen our confidence in it.

Preparations were now made to push the siege with vigor. Besides the cannon already in the camp, and those taken in the battle, a good number of pieces were brought from Cambray to strengthen the battering-train of the besiegers. The river was crossed; and the Faubourg d'Ile was carried by the duke, after a stout resistance on the part of the French, who burned the houses in their retreat. The Spanish commander availed himself of his advantage to establish batteries close to the town, which kept up an incessant cannonade, that shook the old walls and towers to their foundation. The miners also carried on their operations, and galleries were excavated almost to the centre of the place.

The condition of the besieged, in the mean time, was forlorn in the extreme; not so much from want of food, though their supplies were scanty, as from excessive toil and exposure. Then it was that Coligni displayed all the strength of his character. He felt the importance of holding out as long as possible, that the nation might have time to breathe, as it were, and recover from the late disaster. He endeavored to infuse his own spirit into the hearts of his soldiers, toiling with the meanest of them, and sharing all their privations. He cheered the desponding, by assuring them of speedy relief from their countrymen. Some he complimented for their bravery; others he flattered by asking their advice. He talked loudly of the resources at his command. If any should hear him so much as hint at a surrender, he gave them leave to tie him hand and foot, and throw him into the moat. If he should hear one of them talk of it, the admiral promised to do as much by him.[220]

The duc de Nevers, who had established himself, with the wreck of the French army and such additional levies as he could muster, in the neighborhood of St. Quentin, contrived to communicate with the admiral. On one occasion he succeeded in throwing a reinforcement of a hundred and twenty arquebusiers into the town, though it cost him thrice that number, cut to pieces by the Spaniards in the attempt. Still the number of the garrison was altogether inadequate to the duties imposed on it. With scanty refreshment, almost without repose, watching and fighting by turns, the day passed in defending the breaches which the night was not long enough to repair. No frame could be strong enough to endure it.

Coligni had, fortunately, the services of a skilful engineer, named St. Rémy, who aided him in repairing the injuries inflicted on the works by the artillery, and by the scarcely less destructive mines of the Spaniards. In the want of solid masonry, every material was resorted to for covering up the breaches. Timbers were thrown across; and boats filled with earth, laid on the broken rampart, afforded a good bulwark for the French musketeers. But the time was come when neither the skill of the engineer nor the courage of the garrison could further avail. Eleven practicable breaches had been opened, and St. Rémy assured the admiral that he could not engage to hold out four-and-twenty hours longer.[221]

[Sidenote: STORMING OF ST. QUENTIN.]

The duke of Savoy also saw that the time had come to bring the siege to a close by a general assault. The twenty-seventh of August was the day assigned for it. On that preceding he fired three mines, which shook down some fragments of the wall, but did less execution than was expected. On the morning of the twenty-seventh, his whole force was under arms. The duke divided it into as many corps as there were breaches, placing these corps under his best and bravest officers. He proposed to direct the assault in person.

Coligni made his preparations also with consummate coolness. He posted a body of troops at each of the breaches, while he and his brother Dandelot took charge of the two which, still more exposed than the others, might be considered as the post of danger. He had the satisfaction to find, in this hour of trial, that the men, as well as their officers, seemed to be animated with his own heroic spirit.

Before proceeding to storm the place, the duke of Savoy opened a brisk cannonade, in order to clear away the barricades of timber, and other temporary defences, which had been thrown across the breaches. The fire continued for several hours, and it was not till afternoon that the signal was given for the assault. The troops rushed forward,--Spaniards, Flemings, English, and Germans,--spurred on by feelings of national rivalry. A body of eight thousand brave Englishmen had joined the standard of Philip in the early part of the campaign;[222] and they now eagerly coveted the opportunity for distinction which had been denied them at the battle of St. Quentin, where the fortune of the day was chiefly decided by cavalry. But no troops felt so keen a spur to their achievements as the Spaniards, fighting as they were under the eye of their sovereign, who from a neighboring eminence was spectator of the combat.

The obstacles were not formidable in the path of the assailants, who soon clambered over the fragments of masonry and other rubbish which lay scattered below the ramparts, and, in the face of a steady fire of musketry, presented themselves before the breaches. The brave men stationed to defend them were in sufficient strength to occupy the open spaces; their elevated position gave them some advantage over the assailants, and they stood to their posts with the resolution of men prepared to die rather than surrender. A fierce conflict now ensued along the whole extent of the ramparts; and the French, sustained by a dauntless spirit, bore themselves as stoutly in the fight as if they had been in training for it of late, instead of being enfeebled by scanty subsistence and excessive toil. After a severe struggle, which lasted nearly an hour, the Spaniards were driven back at all points. Not a breach was won; and, broken and dispirited, the assailants were compelled to retire on their former position.

After this mortifying repulse, the duke did not give them a long time to breathe, before he again renewed the assault. This time he directed the main attack against a tower where the resistance had been weakest. In fact, Coligni had there placed the troops on whom he had least reliance, trusting to the greater strength of the works. But a strong heart is worth all the defences in the world. After a sharp but short struggle, the assailants succeeded in carrying the tower. The faint-hearted troops gave way; and the Spaniards, throwing themselves on the rampart, remained masters of one of the breaches. A footing once gained, the assailants poured impetuously into the opening, Spaniards, Germans, and English streaming like a torrent along the ramparts, and attacking the defenders on their flank. Coligni, meanwhile, and his brother Dandelot, had rushed, with a few followers, to the spot, in the hope, if possible, to arrest the impending ruin. But they were badly supported. Overwhelmed by numbers, they were trodden down, disarmed, and made prisoners. Still the garrison, at the remaining breaches, continued to make a desperate stand. But, with one corps pressing them on flank, and another in front, they were speedily cut to pieces, or disabled and taken. In half an hour resistance had ceased along the ramparts. The town was in possession of the Spaniards.[223]

A scene of riot and wild uproar followed, such as made the late conflict seem tame in comparison. The victorious troops spread over the town in quest of plunder, perpetrating those deeds of ruthless violence, usual, even in this enlightened age, in a city taken by storm. The wretched inhabitants fled before them; the old and the helpless, the women and children, taking refuge in garrets, cellars, and any other corner where they could hide themselves from their pursuers. Nothing was to be heard but the groans of the wounded and the dying, the cries of women and children,--"so pitiful," says one present, "that they would grieve any Christian heart,"[224]--mingled, with the shouts of the victors, who, intoxicated with liquor, and loaded with booty, now madly set fire to several of the buildings, which soon added the dangers of conflagration to the other horrors of the scene. In a short time, the town would have been reduced to ashes, and the place which Philip had won at so much cost would have been lost to him by the excesses of his own soldiers.

The king had now entered the city in person. He had never been present at the storming of a place, and the dreadful spectacle which he witnessed touched his heart. Measures were instantly taken to extinguish the flames, and orders were issued that no one, under pain of death, should offer any violence to the old and infirm, to the women and children, to the ministers of religion, to religious edifices, or, above all, to the relics of the blessed St. Quentin. Several hundred of the poor people, it is said, presented themselves before Philip, and claimed his protection. By his command they were conducted, under a strong escort, to a place of safety.[225]

It was not possible, however, to prevent the pillage of the town. It would have been as easy to snatch the carcass from the tiger that was rending it. The pillage of a place taken by storm was regarded as the perquisite of the soldier, on which he counted as regularly as on his pay. Those who distinguished themselves most, in this ruthless work, were the German mercenaries. Their brutal rapacity filled even their confederates with indignation. The latter seem to have been particularly disgusted with the unscrupulous manner in which the schwarzreiters appropriated not only their own share of the plunder, but that of both English and Spaniards.[226]

[Sidenote: SUCCESSES OF THE SPANIARDS.]

Thus fell the ancient town of St. Quentin, after a defence which reflects equal honor on the courage of the garrison, and on the conduct of their commander. With its fortifications wretchedly out of repair, its supplies of arms altogether inadequate, the number of its garrison at no time exceeding a thousand, it still held out for near a month against a powerful army, fighting under the eyes of its sovereign, and led by one of the best captains of Europe.[227]

Philip, having taken measures to restore the fortifications of St. Quentin, placed it under the protection of a Spanish garrison, and marched against the neighboring town of Catelet. It was a strong place, but its defenders, unlike their valiant countrymen at St. Quentin, after a brief show of resistance, capitulated on the sixth of September. This was followed by the surrender of Ham, once renowned through Picardy for the strength of its defences. Philip then led his victorious battalions against Noyon and Chaulny, which last town was sacked by the soldiers. The French were filled with consternation, as one strong place after another, on the frontier, fell into the hands of an enemy who seemed as if he were planting his foot permanently on their soil. That Philip did not profit by his success to push his conquests still further, is to be attributed not to remissness on his part, but to the conduct, or rather the composition, of his army, made up, as it was, of troops, who, selling their swords to the highest bidder, cared little for the banner under which they fought. Drawn from different countries, the soldiers, gathered into one camp, soon showed all their national rivalries and animosities. The English quarrelled with the Germans, and neither could brook the insolent bearing of the Spaniards. The Germans complained that their arrears were not paid,--a complaint probably well founded, as, notwithstanding his large resources, Philip, on an emergency, found the difficulty in raising funds, which every prince in that day felt, when there was no such thing known as a well-arranged system of taxation. Tempted by the superior offers of Henry the Second, the schwarzreiters left the standard of Philip in great numbers, to join that of his rival.

The English were equally discontented. They had brought from home the aversion for the Spaniards which had been festering there since the queen's marriage. The sturdy islanders were not at all pleased with serving under Philip. They were fighting, not the battles of England, they said, but of Spain. Every new conquest was adding to the power of a monarch far too powerful already. They had done enough, and insisted on being allowed to return to their own country. The king, who dreaded nothing so much as a rupture between his English and his Spanish subjects, to which he saw the state of things rapidly tending, was fain to consent.

By this departure of the English force, and the secession of the Germans, Philip's strength was so much impaired, that he was in no condition to make conquests, hardly to keep the field. The season was now far advanced, for it was the end of October. Having, therefore, garrisoned the conquered places, and put them in the best posture of defence, he removed his camp to Brussels, and soon after put his army into winter-quarters.[228]

Thus ended the first campaign of Philip the Second; the first, and, with the exception of the following, the only campaign in which he was personally present. It had been eminently successful. Besides the important places which he had gained on the frontier of Picardy, he had won a signal victory in the field.

But the campaign was not so memorable for military results as in a moral view. It showed the nations of Europe that the Spanish sceptre had passed into the hands of a prince who was as watchful as his predecessor had been over the interests of the state; and who, if he were not so actively ambitious as Charles the Fifth, would be as little likely to brook any insult from his neighbors. The victory of St. Quentin, occurring at the commencement of his reign, reminded men of the victory won at Pavia by his father, at a similar period of his career, and, like that, furnished a brilliant augury for the future. Philip, little given to any visible expression of his feelings, testified his joy at the success of his arms, by afterwards raising the magnificent pile of the Escorial, in honor of the blessed martyr St. Lawrence, on whose day the battle was fought, and to whose interposition with Heaven he attributed the victory.

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VIII. WAR WITH FRANCE

Extraordinary Efforts of France.--Calais surprised by Guise.--The French invade Flanders.--Bloody Battle of Gravelines.--Negotiations for Peace.--Mary's Death.--Accession of Elizabeth.--Treaty of Cateau-Cambresis.

1557-1559.

The state of affairs in France justified Philip's conclusions in respect to the loyalty of the people. No sooner did Henry the Second receive tidings of the fatal battle of St. Quentin, than he despatched couriers in all directions, summoning his chivalry to gather round his banner, and calling on the towns for aid in his extremity. The nobles and cavaliers promptly responded to the call, flocking in with their retainers; and not only the large towns, but those of inferior size, cheerfully submitted to be heavily taxed for the public service. Paris nobly set the example. She did not exhaust her zeal in processions of the clergy, headed by the queen and the royal family, carrying with them relics from the different churches. All the citizens capable of bearing arms enrolled themselves for the defence of the capital; and large appropriations were made for strengthening Montmartre, and for defraying the expenses of the war.[229]

[Sidenote: CALAIS SURPRISED BY GUISE.]

With these and other resources at his command, Henry was speedily enabled to subsidize a large body of Swiss and German mercenaries. The native troops serving abroad were ordered home. The veteran Marshal Termes came, with a large corps, from Tuscany, and the duke of Guise returned, with the remnant of his battalions, from Rome. This popular commander was welcomed with enthusiasm. The nation seemed to look to him as to the deliverer of the country. His late campaign in the kingdom of Naples was celebrated as if it had been a brilliant career of victory. He was made lieutenant-general of the army, and the oldest captains were proud to take service under so renowned a chief.

The government was not slow to profit by the extraordinary resources thus placed at its disposal. Though in the depth of winter, it was resolved to undertake some enterprise that should retrieve the disasters of the late campaign, and raise the drooping spirits of the nation. The object proposed was the recovery of Calais, that strong place, which for more than two centuries had remained in possession of the English.

The French had ever been keenly sensible to the indignity of an enemy thus planting his foot immovably, as it were, on their soil. They had looked to the recovery of Calais with the same feelings with which the Spanish Moslems, when driven into Africa, looked to the recovery of their ancient possessions in Granada. They showed how constantly this was in their thoughts, by a common saying respecting any commander whom they held lightly, that he was "not a man to drive the English out of France."[230] The feelings they entertained, however, were rather those of desire than of expectation. The place was so strong, so well garrisoned, and so accessible to the English, that it seemed impregnable. These same circumstances, and the long possession of the place, had inspired the English, on the other hand, with no less confidence, as was pretty well intimated by an inscription on the bronze gates of the town,--"When the French besiege Calais, lead and iron will swim like cork."[231] This confidence, as it often happens, proved their ruin.

The bishop of Acqs, the French envoy to England, on returning home, a short time before this, had passed through Calais, and gave a strange report of the decay of the works, and the small number of the garrison, in short, of the defenceless condition of the place. Guise, however, as cautious as he was brave, was unwilling to undertake so hazardous an enterprise without more precise information. When satisfied of the fact, he entered on the project with his characteristic ardor. The plan adopted was said to have been originally suggested by Coligni. In order to deceive the enemy, the duke sent the largest division of the army, under Nevers, in the direction of Luxemburg. He then marched with the remainder into Picardy, as if to menace one of the places conquered by the Spaniards. Soon afterwards the two corps united, and Guise, at the head of his whole force, by a rapid march, presented himself before the walls of Calais.

The town was defended by a strong citadel, and by two forts. One of these, commanding the approach by water, the duke stormed and captured on the second of January, 1558. The other, which overlooked the land, he carried on the following day. Possessed of these two forts, he felt secure from any annoyance by the enemy, either by land or by water. He then turned his powerful battering-train against the citadel, keeping up a furious cannonade by day and by night. On the fifth, as soon as a breach was opened, the victorious troops poured in, and, overpowering the garrison, planted the French colors on the walls. The earl of Wentworth, who commanded in Calais, unable, with his scanty garrison, to maintain the place now that the defences were in the hands of the enemy, capitulated on the eighth. The fall of Calais was succeeded by that of Guisnes and of Hames. Thus, in a few days the English were stripped of every rood of the territory which they had held in France since the time of Edward the Third.

The fall of Calais caused the deepest sensation on both sides of the Channel. The English, astounded by the event, loudly inveighed against the treachery of the commander. They should rather have blamed the treachery of their own government, who had so grossly neglected to provide for the defence of the place. Philip, suspecting the designs of the French, had intimated his suspicions to the English government, and had offered to strengthen the garrison by a reinforcement of his own troops. But his allies, perhaps distrusting his motives, despised his counsel, or at least failed to profit by it.[232] After the place was taken, he made another offer to send a strong force to recover it, provided the English would support him with a sufficient fleet. This also, perhaps from the same feeling of distrust, though on the plea of inability to meet the expense, was declined, and the opportunity for the recovery of Calais was lost for ever.[233]

Yet, in truth, it was no great loss to the nation. Like more than one, probably, of the colonial possessions of England at the present day, Calais cost every year more than it was worth. Its chief value was the facility it afforded for the invasion of France. Yet such a facility for war with their neighbors, always too popular with the English before the time of Philip the Second, was of questionable value. The real injury from the loss of Calais was the wound which it inflicted on the national honor.

The exultation of the French was boundless. It could not well have been greater, if the duke of Guise had crossed the Channel and taken London itself. The brilliant and rapid manner in which the exploit had been performed, the gallantry with which the young general had exposed his own person in the assault, the generosity with which he had divided his share of the booty among the soldiers, all struck the lively imagination of the French; and he became more than ever the idol of the people.

Yet, during the remainder of the campaign, his arms were not crowned with such distinguished success. In May he marched against the strong town of Thionville, in Luxemburg. After a siege of twenty days, the place surrendered. Having taken one or two other towns of less importance, the French army wasted nearly three weeks in a state of inaction, unless, indeed, we take into account the activity caused by intestine troubles of the army itself. It is difficult to criticize fairly the conduct of a commander of that age, when his levies were made up so largely of foreign mercenaries, who felt so little attachment to the service in which they were engaged, that they were ready to quarrel with it on the slightest occasion. Among these the German schwarzreiters were the most conspicuous, manifesting too often a degree of insolence and insubordination that made them hardly less dangerous as friends than as enemies. The importance they attached to their own services made them exorbitant in their demands of pay. When this, as was too frequently the case, was in arrears, they took the matter into their own hands, by pillaging the friendly country in which they were quartered, or by breaking out into open mutiny. A German baron, on one occasion, went so far as to level his pistol at the head of the duke of Guise. So widely did this mutinous spirit extend, that it was only by singular coolness and address that this popular chieftain could bring these adventurers into anything like subjection to his authority. As it was, the loss of time caused by these troubles was attended with most disastrous consequences.

[Sidenote: THE FRENCH INVADE FLANDERS.]

The duke had left Calais garrisoned by a strong force, under Marshal Termes. He had since ordered that veteran to take command of a body of fifteen hundred horse and five thousand foot, drawn partly from the garrison itself, and to march into West Flanders. Guise proposed to join him there with his own troops, when they would furnish such occupation to the Spaniards as would effectually prevent them from a second invasion of Picardy.

The plan was well designed, and the marshal faithfully executed his part of it. Taking the road by St. Omer, he entered Flanders in the neighborhood of Dunkirk, laid siege to that flourishing town, stormed and gave it up to pillage. He then penetrated as far as Nieuport, when the fatigue and the great heat of the weather brought on an attack of gout, which entirely disabled him. The officer on whom the command devolved allowed the men to spread themselves over the country, where they perpetrated such acts of rapacity and violence as were not sanctioned even by the code of that unscrupulous age. The wretched inhabitants, driven from their homes, called loudly on Count Egmont, their governor, to protect them. The duke of Savoy lay with his army, at this time, at Maubeuge, in the province of Namur; but he sent orders to Egmont to muster such forces as he could raise in the neighboring country, and to intercept the retreat of the French, until the duke could come to his support and chastise the enemy.

Egmont, indignant at the wrongs of his countrymen, and burning with the desire of revenge, showed the greatest alacrity in obeying these orders. Volunteers came in from all sides, and he soon found himself at the head of an army consisting of ten or twelve thousand foot and two thousand horse. With these he crossed the borders at once, and sent forward a detachment to occupy the great road by which De Termes had penetrated into Flanders.

The French commander, advised too late of these movements, saw that it was necessary to abandon at once his present quarters, and secure, if possible, his retreat. Guise was at a distance, occupied with the troubles of his own camp. The Flemings had possession of the route by which the marshal had entered the country. One other lay open to him along the sea-shore, in the neighborhood of Gravelines, where the Aa pours its waters into the ocean. By taking advantage of the ebb, the river might be forded, and a direct road to Calais would be presented.

Termes saw that no time was to be lost. He caused himself to be removed from his sick-bed to a litter, and began his retreat at once. On leaving Dunkirk, he fired the town, where the houses were all that remained to the wretched inhabitants of their property. His march was impeded by his artillery, by his baggage, and especially by the booty which he was conveying back from the plundered provinces. He however succeeded in crossing the Aa at low water, and gained the sands on the opposite side. But the enemy was there before him.[234]

Egmont, on getting tidings of the marshal's movements, had crossed the river higher up, where the stream was narrower. Disencumbering himself of artillery, and even of baggage, in order to move the lighter, he made a rapid march to the sea-side, and reached it in time to intercept the enemy. There was no choice left for Termes but to fight his way through the Spaniards or surrender.

Ill as he was, the marshal mounted his horse, and addressed a few words to his troops. Pointing in the direction of the blazing ruins of Dunkirk, he told them that they could not return there. Then turning towards Calais, "There is your home," he said, "and you must beat the enemy before you can gain it." He determined, however, not to begin the action, but to secure his position as strongly as he could, and wait the assault of the Spaniards.

He placed his infantry in the centre, and flanked it on either side by his cavalry. In the front he established his artillery, consisting of six or seven falconets,--field-pieces of smaller size. He threw a considerable body of Gascon pikemen in the rear, to act as a reserve wherever their presence should be required. The river Aa, which flowed behind his troops, formed also a good protection in that quarter. His left wing he covered by a barricade made of the baggage and artillery wagons. His right, which rested on the ocean, seemed secure from any annoyance on that side.

Count Egmont, seeing the French thus preparing to give battle, quickly made his own dispositions. He formed his cavalry into three divisions. The centre he proposed to lead in person. It was made up chiefly of the heavy men-at-arms and some Flemish horse. On the right he placed his light cavalry, and on the left wing rode the Spanish. His infantry he drew up in such a manner as to support the several divisions of horse. Having completed his arrangements, he gave orders to the centre and the right wing to charge, and rode at full gallop against the enemy.

Though somewhat annoyed by the heavy guns in their advance, the battalions came on in good order, and fell with such fury on the French left and centre, that horse and foot were borne down by the violence of the shock. But the French gentlemen who formed the cavalry were of the same high mettle as those who fought at St. Quentin. Though borne down for a moment, they were not overpowered; and, after a desperate struggle, they succeeded in rallying and in driving back the assailants. Egmont returned to the charge, but was forced back with greater loss than before. The French, following up their advantage, compelled the assailants to retreat on their own lines. The guns, at the same time, opening on the exposed flank of the retreating troopers, did them considerable mischief. Egmont's horse was killed under him, and he had nearly been run over by his own followers. In the mean while, the Gascon reserve, armed with their long spears, pushed on to the support of the cavalry, and filled the air with their shouts of "Victory!"[235]

The field seemed to be already lost; when the left wing of Spanish horse, which had not yet come into action, seeing the disorderly state of the French, as they were pressing on, charged them briskly on the flank. This had the effect to check the tide of pursuit, and give the fugitives time to rally. Egmont, meanwhile, was mounted on a fresh horse, and, throwing himself into the midst of his followers, endeavored to reanimate their courage and reform their disordered ranks. Then, cheering them on by his voice and example, he cried out, "We are conquerors! Those who love glory and their fatherland, follow me!"[236] and spurred furiously against the enemy.

[Sidenote: BATTLE OF GRAVELINES.]

The French, hard pressed both on front and on flank, fell back in their turn, and continued to retreat till they had gained their former position. At the same time, the lanzknechts in Egmont's service, marched up, in defiance of the fire of the artillery, and got possession of the guns, running the men who had charge of them through with their lances.[237] The fight now became general; and, as the combatants were brought into close quarters, they fought as men fight where numbers are nearly balanced, and each one seems to feel that his own arm may turn the scale of victory. The result was brought about by an event which neither party could control, and neither have foreseen.

An English squadron of ten or twelve vessels lay at some distance, but out of sight of the combatants. Attracted by the noise of the firing, its commander drew near the scene of action, and, ranging along shore, opened his fire on the right wing of the French, nearest the sea.[238] The shot, probably, from the distance of the ships, did no great execution, and is even said to have killed some of the Spaniards. But it spread a panic among the French, as they found themselves assailed by a new enemy, who seemed to have risen from the depths of the ocean. In their eagerness to extricate themselves from the fire, the cavalry on the right threw themselves on the centre, trampling down their own comrades, until all discipline was lost, and horse and foot became mingled together in wild disorder. Egmont profited by the opportunity to renew his charge; and at length, completely broken and dispirited, the enemy gave way in all directions. The stout body of Gascons who formed the reserve alone held their ground for a time, until, vigorously charged by the phalanx of Spanish spearmen, they broke, and were scattered like the rest.

The rout was now general, and the victorious cavalry rode over the field, trampling and cutting down the fugitives on all sides. Many who did not fall under their swords perished in the waters of the Aa, now swollen by the rising tide. Others were drowned in the ocean. No less than fifteen hundred of those who escaped from the field are said to have been killed by the peasantry, who occupied the passes, and thus took bloody revenge for the injuries inflicted on their country.[239] Two thousand French are stated to have fallen on the field, and not more than five hundred Spaniards, or rather Flemings, who composed the bulk of the army. The loss fell most severely on the French cavalry; severely indeed, if, according to some accounts, not very credible, they were cut to pieces almost to a man.[240] The number of prisoners was three thousand. Among them was Marshal Termes himself, who had been disabled by a wound in the head. All the baggage, the ammunition, and the rich spoil gleaned by the foray into Flanders, became the prize of the victors.--Although not so important for the amount of forces engaged, the victory of Gravelines was as complete as that of St. Quentin.[241]

Yet the French, who had a powerful army on foot, were in better condition to meet their reverses than on that day. The duke of Guise, on receiving the tidings, instantly marched with his whole force, and posted himself strongly behind the Somme, in order to cover Picardy from invasion. The duke of Savoy, uniting his forces with those of Count Egmont, took up a position along the line of the Authie, and made demonstrations of laying siege to Dourlens. The French and Spanish monarchs both took the field. So well appointed and large a force as that led by Henry had not been seen in France for many a year; yet that monarch might justly be mortified by the reflection that the greater part of this force was made up of foreign mercenaries, amounting, it is said, to forty thousand. Philip was in equal strength, and the length of the war had enabled him to assemble his best captains around him. Among them was Alva, whose cautious councils might serve to temper the bolder enterprise of the duke of Savoy.

A level ground, four leagues in breadth, lay between the armies. Skirmishes took place occasionally between the light troops on either side, and a general engagement might be brought on at any moment. All eyes were turned to the battle-field, where the two greatest princes of Europe might so soon contend for mastery with each other. Had the fathers of these princes, Charles the Fifth and Francis the First, been in the field, such very probably would have been the issue. But Philip was not disposed to risk the certain advantages he had already gained by a final appeal to arms. And Henry was still less inclined to peril all--his capital, perhaps his crown--on the hazard of a single cast.

[Sidenote: NEGOTIATIONS FOR PEACE.]

There were many circumstances which tended to make both monarchs prefer a more peaceful arbitrament of their quarrel, and to disgust them with the war. Among these was the ruinous state of their finances.[242] When Ruy Gomez de Silva, as has been already stated, was sent to Spain by Philip, he was commanded to avail himself of every expedient that could be devised to raise money. Offices were put up for sale to the highest bidder. The public revenues were mortgaged. Large sums were obtained from merchants at exorbitant rates of interest. Forced loans were exacted from individuals, especially from such as were known to have received large returns by the late arrivals from the New World. Three hundred thousand ducats were raised on the security of the coming fair at Villalon. The Regent Joanna was persuaded to sell her yearly pension, assigned her on the alcavala, for a downright sum to meet the exigencies of the state. Goods were obtained from the king of Portugal, in order to be sent to Flanders for the profit to be raised on the sale.[243] Such were the wretched devices by which Philip, who inherited this policy of temporizing expedients from his father, endeavored to replenish his exhausted treasury. Besides the sums drawn from Castile, the king obtained also no less than a million and a half of ducats, as an extraordinary grant from the states of the Netherlands.[244] Yet these sums, large as they were, were soon absorbed by the expense of keeping armies on foot in France and in Italy. Philip's correspondence with his ministers teems with representations of the low state of his finances, of the arrears due to his troops, and the necessity of immediate supplies to save him from bankruptcy. The prospects the ministers hold out to him in return are anything but encouraging.[245]

Another circumstance which made both princes desire the termination of the war was the disturbed state of their own kingdoms. The Protestant heresy had already begun to rear its formidable crest in the Netherlands; and the Huguenots were beginning to claim the notice of the French government. Henry the Second, who was penetrated, as much as Philip himself, with the spirit of the Inquisition, longed for leisure to crush the heretical doctrines in the bud. In this pious purpose he was encouraged by Paul the Fourth, who, now that he was himself restrained from levying war against his neighbors, seemed resolved that no one else should claim that indulgence. He sent legates to both Henry and Philip, conjuring them, instead of warring with each other, to turn their arms against the heretics in their dominions, who were sapping the foundations of the Church.[246]

The pacific disposition of the two monarchs was, moreover, fostered by the French prisoners, and especially by Montmorency, whose authority had been such at court, that Charles the Fifth declared "his capture was more important than would have been that of the king himself."[247] The old constable was most anxious to return to his own country, where he saw with uneasiness the ascendancy which his absence and the prolongation of the war were giving to his rival, Guise, in the royal counsels. Through him negotiations were opened with the French court, until, Henry the Second thinking, with good reason, that these negotiations would be better conducted by a regular congress than by prisoners in the custody of his enemies, commissioners were appointed on both sides, to arrange the terms of accommodation.[248] Montmorency and his fellow-captive, Marshal St. André, were included in the commission. But the person of most importance in it, on the part of France, was the cardinal of Lorraine, brother of the duke of Guise, a man of a subtle, intriguing temper, and one who, like the rest of his family, notwithstanding his pacific demonstrations, may be said to have represented the war party in France[249]

On the part of Spain the agents selected were the men most conspicuous for talent and authority in the kingdom; the names of some of whom, whether for good or for evil report, remain immortal on the page of history. Among these were the duke of Alva and his great antagonist,--as he became afterwards in the Netherlands,--William of Orange. But the principal person in the commission, the man who in fact directed it, was Anthony Perrenot, bishop of Arras, better known by his later title of Cardinal Granvelle. He was son of the celebrated chancellor of that name under Charles the Fifth, by whom he was early trained, not so much to the duties of the ecclesiastical profession as of public life. He profited so well by the instruction, that, in the emperor's time, he succeeded his father in the royal confidence, and surpassed him in his talent for affairs. His accommodating temper combined with his zeal for the interests of Philip to recommend Granvelle to the favor of that monarch; and his insinuating address and knowledge of character well qualified him for conducting a negotiation where there were so many jarring feelings to be brought into concord, so many hostile and perplexing interests to be reconciled.

As a suspension of hostilities was agreed on during the continuance of the negotiations, it was decided to remove the armies from the neighborhood of each other, where a single spark might at any time lead to a general explosion. A still stronger earnest was given of their pacific intentions, by both the monarchs disbanding part of their foreign mercenaries, whose services were purchased at a ruinous cost, that made one of the great evils of the war.

The congress met on the fifteenth of October, 1558, at the abbey of Cercamps, near Cambray. Between parties so well disposed, it might be thought that some general terms of accommodation would soon be settled. But the war, which ran back pretty far into Charles the Fifth's time, had continued so long, that many territories had changed masters during the contest, and it was not easy to adjust the respective claims to them. The duke of Savoy's dominions, for example, had passed into the hands of Henry the Second, who, moreover, asserted an hereditary right to them through his grandmother. Yet it was not possible for Philip to abandon his ally, the man whom he had placed at the head of his armies. But the greatest obstacle was Calais. "If we return without the recovery of Calais," said the English envoys, who also took part in this congress, "we shall be stoned to death by the people."[250]

[Sidenote: MARY'S DEATH.]

Philip supported the claim of England; and yet it was evident that France would never relinquish a post so important to herself, which, after so many years of hope deferred, had at last come again into her possession. While engaged in the almost hopeless task of adjusting these differences, an event occurred which suspended the negotiations for a time, and exercised an important influence on the affairs of Europe. This was the death of one of the parties to the war, Queen Mary of England.

Mary's health had been fast declining of late, under the pressure of both mental and bodily disease. The loss of Calais bore heavily on her spirits, as she thought of the reproach it would bring on her reign, and the increased unpopularity it would draw upon herself. "When I die," she said, in the strong language since made familiar to Englishmen by the similar expression of their great admiral, "Calais will be found written on my heart."[251]

Philip, who was not fully apprised of the queen's low condition, early in November sent the count, afterwards duke, of Feria as his envoy to London, with letters for Mary. This nobleman, who had married one of the queen's maids of honor, stood high in the favor of his master. With courtly manners, and a magnificent way of living, he combined a shrewdness and solidity of judgment, that eminently fitted him for his present mission. The queen received with great joy the letters which he brought her, though too ill to read them. Feria, seeing the low state of Mary's health, was earnest with the council to secure the succession for Elizabeth.

He had the honor of supping with the princess at her residence in Hatfield, about eighteen miles from London. The Spaniard enlarged, in the course of conversation, on the good-will of his master to Elizabeth, as shown in the friendly offices he had rendered her during her imprisonment, and his desire to have her succeed to the crown. The envoy did not add that this desire was prompted not so much by the king's concern for the interests of Elizabeth as by his jealousy of the French, who seemed willing to countenance the pretensions of Mary Stuart, the wife of the dauphin, to the English throne.[252] The princess acknowledged the protection she had received from Philip in her troubles. "But for her present prospects," she said, "she was indebted neither to the king nor to the English lords, however much these latter might vaunt their fidelity. It was to the people that she owed them, and on the people she relied."[253] This answer of Elizabeth furnishes the key to her success.

The penetrating eye of the envoy soon perceived that the English princess was under evil influences. The persons most in her confidence, he wrote, were understood to have a decided leaning to the Lutheran heresy, and he augured most unfavorably for the future prospects of the kingdom.

On the seventeenth of November, 1558, after a brief, but most disastrous reign, Queen Mary died. Her fate had been a hard one. Unimpeachable in her private life, and, however misguided, with deeply-seated religious principles, she has yet left a name held in more general execration than any other on the roll of English sovereigns. One obvious way of accounting for this, doubtless, is by the spirit of persecution which hung like a dark cloud over her reign. And this not merely on account of the persecution; for that was common with the line of Tudor; but because it was directed against the professors of a religion which came to be the established religion of the country. Thus the blood of the martyr became the seed of a great and powerful church, ready through all after time to bear testimony to the ruthless violence of its oppressor.

There was still another cause of Mary's unpopularity. The daughter of Katharine of Aragon could not fail to be nurtured in a reverence for the illustrious line from which she was descended. The education begun in the cradle was continued in later years. When the young princess was betrothed to her cousin, Charles the Fifth, it was stipulated that she should be made acquainted with the language and the institutions of Castile, and should even wear the costume of the country. "And who," exclaimed Henry the Eighth, "is so well fitted to instruct her in all this as the queen, her mother?" Even after the match with her imperial suitor was broken off by his marriage with the Portuguese infanta, Charles still continued to take a lively interest in the fortunes of his young kinswoman; while she, in her turn, naturally looked to the emperor, as her nearest relative, for counsel and support. Thus drawn towards Spain by the ties of kindred, by sympathy, and by interest, Mary became in truth more of a Spanish than an English woman; and when all this was completed by the odious Spanish match, and she gave her hand to Philip the Second, the last tie seemed to be severed which had bound her to her native land. Thenceforth she remained an alien in the midst of her own subjects.--Very different was the fate of her sister and successor, Elizabeth, who ruled over her people like a true-hearted English queen, under no influence, and with no interests distinct from theirs. She was requited for it by the most loyal devotion on their part; while round her throne have gathered those patriotic recollections which, in spite of her many errors, still render her name dear to Englishmen.

On the death of her sister, Elizabeth, without opposition, ascended the throne of her ancestors. It may not be displeasing to the reader to see the portrait of her sketched by the Venetian minister at this period, or rather two years earlier, when she was twenty-three years of age. "The princess," he says, "is as beautiful in mind as she is in body; though her countenance is rather pleasing from its expression, than beautiful.[254] She is large and well-made; her complexion clear, and of an olive tint; her eyes are fine, and her hands, on which she prides herself, small and delicate. She has an excellent genius, with much address and self-command, as was abundantly shown in the severe trials to which she was exposed in the earlier part of her life. In her temper she is haughty and imperious, qualities inherited from her father, King Henry the Eighth, who, from her resemblance to himself, is said to have regarded her with peculiar fondness."[255]--He had, it must be owned, an uncommon way of showing it.

[Sidenote: ACCESSION OF ELIZABETH.]

One of the first acts of Elizabeth was to write an elegant Latin epistle to Philip, in which she acquainted him with her accession to the crown, and expressed the hope that they should continue to maintain "the same friendly relations as their ancestors had done, and, if possible, more friendly."

Philip received the tidings of his wife's death at Brussels, where her obsequies were celebrated, with great solemnity, on the same day with her funeral in London. All outward show of respect was paid to her memory. But it is doing no injustice to Philip to suppose that his heart was not very deeply touched by the loss of a wife so many years older than himself, whose temper had been soured, and whose personal attractions, such as they were, had long since faded under the pressure of disease. Still, it was not without feelings of deep regret that the ambitious monarch saw the sceptre of England--barren though it had proved to him--thus suddenly snatched from his grasp.

We have already seen that Philip, during his residence in the country, had occasion more than once to interpose his good offices in behalf of Elizabeth. It was perhaps the friendly relation in which he thus stood to her, quite as much as her personal qualities, that excited in the king a degree of interest which seems to have provoked something like jealousy in the bosom of his queen.[256] However this may be, motives of a very different character from those founded on sentiment now determined him to retain, if possible, his hold on England, by transferring to Elizabeth the connection which had subsisted with Mary.

A month had not elapsed since Mary's remains were laid in Westminster Abbey, when the royal widower made direct offers, through his ambassador, Feria, for the hand of her successor. Yet his ardor did not precipitate him into any unqualified declaration of his passion; on the contrary, his proposals were limited by some very prudent conditions.

It was to be understood that Elizabeth must be a Roman Catholic, and, if not one already, must repudiate her errors and become one. She was to obtain a dispensation from the pope for the marriage. Philip was to be allowed to visit Spain, whenever he deemed it necessary for the interests of that kingdom;--a provision which seems to show that Mary's over-fondness, or her jealousy, must have occasioned him some inconvenience on that score. It was further to be stipulated, that the issue of the marriage should not, as was agreed in the contract with Mary, inherit the Netherlands, which were to pass to his son Don Carlos, the prince of Asturias.

Feria was directed to make these proposals by word of mouth, not in writing, "although," adds his considerate master, "it is no disgrace for a man to have his proposals rejected, when they are founded, not on worldly considerations, but on zeal for his Maker and the interests of religion."

Elizabeth received the offer of Philip's hand, qualified as it was, in the most gracious manner. She told the ambassador, indeed, that, "in a matter of this kind, she could take no step without consulting her parliament. But his master might rest assured, that, should she be induced to marry, there was no man she should prefer to him."[257] Philip seems to have been contented with the encouragement thus given, and shortly after he addressed Elizabeth a letter, written with his own hand, in which he endeavored to impress on her how much he had at heart the successes of his ambassador's mission.

The course of events in England, however, soon showed that such success was not to be relied on, and that Feria's prognostics in regard to the policy of Elizabeth were well founded. Parliament soon entered on the measures which ended in the subversion of the Roman Catholic, and the restoration of the Reformed religion. And it was very evident that these measures, if not originally dictated by the queen, must at least have received her sanction.

Philip, in consequence, took counsel with two of his ministers, on whom he most relied, as to the expediency of addressing Elizabeth on the subject, and telling her plainly, that, unless she openly disavowed the proceedings of parliament, the marriage could not take place.[258] Her vanity should be soothed by the expressions of his regret at being obliged to relinquish the hopes of her hand. But, as her lover modestly remarked, after this candid statement of all the consequences before her, whatever the result might be, she would have no one to blame but herself.[259] His sage advisers, probably not often called to deliberate on questions of this delicate nature, entirely concurred in opinion with their master. In any event, they regarded it as impossible that he should wed a Protestant.

What effect this frank remonstrance had on the queen we are not told. Certain it is, Philip's suit no longer sped so favorably as before. Elizabeth, throwing off all disguise, plainly told Feria, when pressed on the matter, that she felt great scruples as to seeking a dispensation from the pope;[260] and soon after she openly declared in parliament, what she was in the habit of repeating so often, that she had no other purpose but to live and die a maid.[261]--It can hardly be supposed that Elizabeth entertained serious thoughts, at any time, of marrying Philip. If she encouraged his addresses, it was only until she felt herself so securely seated on the throne, that she was independent of the ill-will she would incur by their rejection. It was a game in which the heart, probably, formed no part of the stake on either side. In this game, it must be confessed, the English queen showed herself the better player of the two.

[Sidenote: TREATY OF CATEAU-CAMBRESIS.]

Philip bore his disappointment with great equanimity. He expressed his regret to Elizabeth that she should have decided in a way so contrary to what the public interests seemed to demand. But since it appeared to her otherwise, he should acquiesce, and only hoped that the same end might be attained by the continuance of their friendship.[262] With all this philosophy, we may well believe that, with a character like that of Philip, some bitterness must have remained in the heart; and that, very probably, feelings of a personal nature mingled with those of a political in the long hostilities which he afterwards carried on with the English queen.

In the month of February, the conferences for the treaty of peace had been resumed, and the place of meeting changed from the abbey of Cercamps to Cateau-Cambresis. The negotiations were urged forward with greater earnestness than before, as both the monarchs were more sorely pressed by their necessities. Philip, in particular, was so largely in arrears to his army, that he frankly told his ministers "he was on the brink of ruin, from which nothing but a peace could save him."[263] It might be supposed that, in this state of things, he would be placed in a disadvantageous attitude for arranging terms with his adversary. But Philip and his ministers put the best face possible on their affairs, affecting a confidence in their resources, before their allies as well as their enemies, which they were far from feeling; like some half-famished garrison, which makes a brave show of its scanty stock of supplies, in order to win better terms from the besiegers.[264]

All the difficulties were at length cleared away, except the vexed question of Calais. The English queen, it was currently said in the camp, would cut off the head of any minister who abandoned it. Mary, the young queen of Scots, had just been married to the French dauphin, afterwards Francis the Second. It was proposed that the eldest daughter born of this union should be united to the eldest son of Elizabeth, and bring with her Calais as a dowry. In this way, the place would be restored to England without dishonor to France.[265] Such were the wild expedients to which the parties resorted in the hope of extricating themselves from their embarrassment!

At length, seeing the absolute necessity of bringing the matter to an issue, Philip ordered the Spanish plenipotentiaries to write his final instructions to Feria, his minister in London. The envoy was authorized to say, that, although England had lost Calais through her own negligence, yet Philip would stand faithfully by her for the recovery of it. But, on the other hand, she must be prepared to support him with her whole strength by land and by sea, and that not for a single campaign, but for the war so long as it lasted. The government should ponder well whether the prize would be worth the cost. Feria must bring the matter home to the queen, and lead her, if possible, to the desired conclusion; but so that she might appear to come to it by her own suggestion rather than by his. The responsibility must be left with her.[266] The letter of the plenipotentiaries, which is a very long one, is a model in its way, and shows that, in some particulars, the science of diplomacy has gained little since the sixteenth century.

Elizabeth needed no argument to make her weary of a war which hung like a dark cloud on the morning of her reign. Her disquietude had been increased by the fact of Scotland having become a party to the war; and hostilities, with little credit to that country, had broken out along the borders. Her own kingdom was in no condition to allow her to make the extraordinary efforts demanded by Philip. Yet it was plain if she did not make them, or consent to come into the treaty, she must be left to carry on the war by herself. Under these circumstances, the English government at last consented to an arrangement, which, if it did not save Calais, so far saved appearances that it might satisfy the nation. It was agreed that Calais should be restored at the end of eight years. If France failed to do this, she was to pay five hundred thousand crowns to England, whose claims to Calais would not, however, be affected by such a payment. Should either of the parties, or their subjects, during that period, do anything in contravention of this treaty, or in violation of the peace between the two countries, the offending party should forfeit all claim to the disputed territory.[267] It was not very probable that eight years would elapse without affording some plausible pretext to France, under such a provision, for keeping her hold on Calais.

The treaty with England was signed on the second of April, 1559. On the day following was signed that between France and Spain. By the provisions of this treaty, the allies of Philip, Savoy, Mantua, Genoa, were reinstated in the possession of the territories of which they had been stripped in the first years of the war. Four or five places of importance in Savoy were alone reserved, to be held as guaranties by the French king, until his claim to the inheritance of that kingdom was determined.

The conquests made by Philip in Picardy were to be exchanged for those gained by the French in Italy and the Netherlands. The exchange was greatly for the benefit of Philip. In the time of Charles the Fifth, the Spanish arms had experienced some severe reverses, and the king now received more than two hundred towns in return for the five places he held in Picardy.[268]

[Sidenote: TREATY OF CATEAU-CAMBRESIS.]

Terms so disadvantageous to France roused the indignation of the duke of Guise, who told Henry plainly, that a stroke of his pen would cost the country more than thirty years of war. "Give me the poorest of the places you are to surrender," said he, "and I will undertake to hold it against all the armies of Spain!"[269] But Henry sighed for peace, and for the return of his friend, the constable. He affected much deference to the opinions of the duke. But he wrote to Montmorency that the Guises were at their old tricks,[270]--and he ratified the treaty.

The day on which the plenipotentiaries of the three great powers had completed their work, they went in solemn procession to the church, and returned thanks to the Almighty for the happy consummation of their labors. The treaty was then made public; and, notwithstanding the unfavorable import of the terms to France, the peace, if we except some ambitious spirits, who would have found their account in the continuance of hostilities, was welcomed with joy by the whole nation. In this sentiment all the parties to the war participated. The more remote, like Spain, rejoiced to be delivered from a contest which made such large drains on their finances; while France had an additional reason for desiring peace, now that her own territory had become the theatre of war.

The reputation which Philip had acquired by his campaigns was greatly heightened by the result of his negotiations. The whole course of these negotiations--long and intricate as it was--is laid open to us in the correspondence fortunately preserved among the papers of Granvelle; and the student who explores these pages may probably rise from them with the conviction that the Spanish plenipotentiaries showed an address, a knowledge of the men they had to deal with, and a consummate policy, in which neither their French nor English rivals were a match for them. The negotiation all passed under the eyes of Philip. Every move in the game, if not by his suggestion, had been made at least with his sanction. The result placed him in honorable contrast to Henry the Second, who, while Philip had stood firmly by his allies, had, in his eagerness for peace, abandoned those of France to their fate.

The early campaigns of Philip had wiped away the disgrace caused by the closing campaigns of Charles the Fifth; and by the treaty he had negotiated, the number of towns which he lost was less than that of provinces which he gained.[271] Thus he had shown himself as skilful in counsel as he had been successful in the field. Victorious in Picardy and in Naples, he had obtained the terms of a victor from the king of France, and humbled the arrogance of Rome, in a war to which he had been driven in self-defence.[272] Faithful to his allies and formidable to his foes, there was probably no period of Philip's life in which he possessed so much real consideration in the eyes of Europe, as at the time of signing the treaty of Cateau-Cambresis.

In order to cement the union between the different powers, and to conciliate the good-will of the French nation to the treaty by giving it somewhat of the air of a marriage contract, it was proposed that an alliance should take place between the royal houses of France and Spain. It was first arranged that the hand of Henry's daughter, the Princess Elizabeth, should be given to Carlos, the son and heir of Philip. The parties were of nearly the same age, being each about fourteen years old. Now that all prospect of the English match had vanished, it was thought to be a greater compliment to the French to substitute the father for the son, the monarch himself for the heir apparent, in the marriage treaty. The disparity of years between Philip and Elizabeth was not such as to present any serious objection. The proposition was said to have come from the French negotiators. The Spanish envoys replied, that, notwithstanding their master's repugnance to entering again into wedlock, yet, from his regard to the French monarch, and his desire for the public weal, he would consent to waive his scruples, and accept the hand of the French princess, with the same dowry which had been promised to his son Don Carlos.[273]

Queen Elizabeth seems to have been not a little piqued by the intelligence that Philip had so soon consoled himself for the failure of his suit to her. "Your master," said she, in a petulant tone, to Feria, "must have been much in love with me not to be able to wait four months!" The ambassador answered somewhat bluntly, by throwing the blame of the affair on the queen herself. "Not so," she retorted, "I never gave your king a decided answer." "True," said Feria, "the refusal was only implied, for I would not urge your highness to a downright 'No,' lest it might prove a cause of offence between so great princes."[274]

In June, 1559, the duke of Alva entered France for the purpose of claiming the royal bride, and espousing her in the name of his master. He was accompanied by Ruy Gomez, count of Melito,--better known by his title of prince of Eboli,--by the prince of Orange, the Count Egmont, and other noblemen, whose high rank and character might give lustre to the embassy. He was received in great state by Henry, who, with his whole court, seemed anxious to show to the envoy every mark of respect that could testify their satisfaction with the object of his mission. The duke displayed all the stately demeanor of a true Spanish hidalgo. Although he conformed to the French usage by saluting the ladies of the court, he declined taking this liberty with his future queen, or covering himself, as repeatedly urged, in her presence,--a piece of punctilio greatly admired by the French, as altogether worthy of the noble Castilian breeding.[275]

[Sidenote: DEATH OF HENRY THE SECOND.]

On the twenty-fourth of June, the marriage of the young princess was celebrated in the church of St. Mary. King Henry gave his daughter away. The duke of Alva acted as his sovereign's proxy. At the conclusion of the ceremony, the prince of Eboli placed on the finger of the princess, as a memento from her lord, a diamond ring of inestimable value; and the beautiful Elizabeth, the destined bride of Don Carlos, became the bride of the king his father. It was an ominous union, destined, in its mysterious consequences, to supply a richer theme for the pages of romance than for those of history.

The wedding was followed by a succession of brilliant entertainments, the chief of which was the tournament,--the most splendid pageant of that spectacle-loving age. Henry was, at that time, busily occupied with the work of exterminating the Protestant heresy, which, as already noticed, had begun to gather formidable head in the capital of his dominions.[276] On the evening of the fifteenth of June, he attended a session of the parliament, and arrested some of its principal members for the boldness of their speech in his presence. He ordered them into confinement, deferring their sentence till the termination of the engrossing business of the tourney.

The king delighted in these martial exercises, in which he could display his showy person and matchless horsemanship in the presence of the assembled beauty and fashion of his court.[277] He fully maintained his reputation on this occasion, carrying off one prize after another, and bearing down all who encountered his lance. Towards evening, when the games had drawn to a close, he observed the young count of Montgomery, a Scotch noble, the captain of his guard, leaning on his lance, as yet unbroken. The king challenged the cavalier to run a course with him for his lady's sake. In vain the queen, with a melancholy boding of some disaster, besought her lord to remain content with the laurels he had already won. Henry obstinately urged his fate, and compelled the count, though extremely loth, to take the saddle. The champions met with a furious shock in the middle of the lists. Montgomery was a rude jouster. He directed his lance with such force against the helmet of his antagonist, that the bars of the visor gave way. The lance splintered; a fragment struck the king with such violence on the temple as to lay bare the eye. The unhappy monarch reeled in his saddle, and would have fallen but for the assistance of the constable, the duke of Guise, and other nobles, who bore him in their arms senseless from the lists. Henry's wound was mortal. He lingered ten days in great agony, and expired on the ninth of July, in the forty-second year of his age, and the thirteenth of his reign. It was an ill augury for the nuptials of Elizabeth.[278]

The tidings of the king's death were received with demonstrations of sorrow throughout the kingdom. He had none of those solid qualities which make either a great or a good prince. But he had the showy qualities which are perhaps more effectual to secure the affections of a people as fond of show as the nation whom Henry governed.[279] There were others in the kingdom, however,--that growing sect of the Huguenots,--who looked on the monarch's death with very different eyes,--who rejoiced in it as a deliverance from persecution. They had little cause to rejoice. The sceptre passed into the hands of a line of imbecile princes, or rather of their mother, the famous Catherine de Medicis, who reigned in their stead, and who ultimately proved herself the most merciless foe the Huguenots ever encountered.

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