BOOK XII.

DEATH OF CHARLES V

 

 

 

While these operations or intrigues kept the pope and Philip busy and attentive, the emperor disentangled himself finally from all the affairs of this world, and set out for the place of his retreat. He had hitherto retained the Imperial dignity, not from any unwillingness to relinquish it, for, after having resigned the real and extensive authority that he enjoyed in his hereditary dominions, to part with the limited and often ideal jurisdiction which belongs to an elective crown, was no great sacrifice. His sole motive for delay was to gain a few months, for making one trial more in order to accomplish his favorite scheme in behalf of his son. At the very time Charles seemed to be most sensible of the vanity of worldly grandeur, and when he appeared to be quitting it not only with indifference, but with contempt, the vast schemes of ambition, which had so long occupied and engrossed his mind, still kept possession of it. He could not think of leaving his son in a rank inferior to that which he himself had held among the princes of Europe. As be had, some years before, made a fruitless attempt to secure the Imperial crown to Philip, that by uniting it to the kingdoms of Spain, and the dominions of the house of Burgundy, he might put it in his power to prosecute, with a better prospect of success, those great plans, which his own infirmities had obliged him to abandon, he was still unwilling to relinquish this flattering project as chimerical or unattainable.

Notwithstanding the repulse which he had formerly met with from his brother Ferdinand, he renewed his solicitations with fresh importunity; and, during the summer, had tried every art, and employed every argument, which be thought could induce him to quit the Imperial throne to Philip, and to accept of the investiture of some province, either in Italy, or in the Low-Countries, as an equivalent. But Ferdinand, who was so firm and inflexible with regard to this point, that he had paid no regard to the solicitations of the emperor, even when they were enforced with all the weight of authority which accompanies supreme power, received, the overture that now came from him in the situation to which he had descended, with greater indifference, and would hardly deign to listen to it. Charles, ashamed of his own credulity in having imagined that he might accomplish that now, which he attempted formerly without success, desisted finally from his scheme. He then resigned the government of the empire, and having transferred all his claims of obedience and allegiance from the Germanic body, to his brother the king of the Romans, he executed a deed to that effect [Aug. 27], with all the formalities requisite in such an important transaction. The instrument of resignation he committed to William prince of Orange, and empowered him to lay it before the college of electors.

Nothing now remained to detain Charles from that retreat for which he languished. The preparations for his voyage having been made for some timer he set out for Zuitburg in Zealand, where the fleet which was to convoy him had orders to assemble. In his way thither he passed through Ghent, and after stopping there a few days, to indulge that tender and pleasing melancholy, which arises in the mind of every man in the decline of life, on visiting the place of his nativity, and viewing the scenes and objects familiar to him in his early youth, he pursued his journey, accompanied by his son Philip, his daughter the archduchess, his sisters the dowager queens of France and Hungary, Maximilian his son-in-law, and a numerous retinue of the Flemish nobility. Before he went on board, he dismissed them, with marks of his attention or regard, and taking leave of Philip with all the tenderness of a father who embraced his son for the last time, he set sail on the seventeenth of September, under convoy of a large fleet of Spanish, Flemish, and English ships. He declined a pressing invitation from the queen of England, to land in some part of her dominions in order to refresh himself, and that she might have the comfort of seeing him once more. “It cannot surely”, said he, “be agreeable to a queen to receive a visit from a father-in-law, who is now nothing more than a private gentleman”.

His voyage was prosperous, and he arrived at Laredo in Biscay on the eleventh day after he left Zealand. As soon as he landed, he fell prostrate on the ground; and considering himself now as dead to the world, he kissed the earth, and said, “Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked I now return to thee, thou common mother of mankind”. From Laredo he pursued his journey to Burgos, carried sometimes in a chair, and sometimes in a horse litter, suffering exquisite pain at every step, and advancing with the greatest difficulty. Some of the Spanish nobility repaired to Burgos, in order to pay court to him, but they were so few in number, and their attendance was so negligent, that Charles observed it, and felt, for the first time; that he was no longer a monarch. Accustomed from his early youth to the dutiful and officious respect with which those who possess sovereign power are attended, he had received it with the credulity common to princes, and was sensibly mortified, when he now discovered, that he had been indebted to his rank and power for much of that obsequious regard which he had fondly thought was paid to his personal qualities. But though he might have soon learned to view with unconcern the levity of his subjects, or to have despised their neglect, he was more deeply afflicted with the ingratitude of his son, who, forgetting already how much he owed to his father’s bounty, obliged him to remain some weeks at Burgos, before he paid him the first moiety of that small pension, which was all that he had reserved of so many kingdoms. As without this sum, Charles could not dismiss his domestics with such rewards as their services merited or his generosity had destined for them, he could not help expressing both surprise and dissatisfaction. At last the money was paid, and Charles having dismissed a great number of his domestics, whose attendance he thought would be superfluous or cumbersome in his retirement, he proceeded to Valladolid. There he took a last and tender leave of his two sisters, whom he would not permit to accompany him to his solitude, though they requested him with tears, not only that they might have the consolation of contributing by their attendance and care to mitigate or to soothe his sufferings, but that they might reap instruction and benefit by joining with him in those pious exercises to which he had consecrated the remainder of his days.

From Valladolid he continued his journey to Placentia in Extremadura. He had passed through this place a great many years before, and having been struck at that time with the delightful situation of the monastery of St. Justus, belonging to the order of St. Jerome, not many miles distant from the town, he had then observed to some of his attendants, that this was a spot to which Diocletian might have retired with pleasure. The impression had remained so strong on his mind, that he pitched upon it as the place of his own retreat. It was seated, in a vale of no great extent, watered by a small brook, and surrounded by rising grounds, covered with lofty trees; from the nature of the soil, as well as the temperature of the climate, it was esteemed the most healthful and delicious situation in Spain. Some months before his resignation he had sent an architect thither to add a new apartment to the monastery, for his accommodation; but he gave strict orders that the style of the building should be such as suited his present station, rather than his former dignity. It consisted only of six rooms, four of them in the form of friars' cells, with naked walls; the other two, each twenty feet square, were hung with brown cloth, and furnished in the most simple manner. They were all on a level with the ground; with a door on one side into a garden, of which Charles himself had given the plan, and had filled it with various plants, which he intended to cultivate with his own hands. On the other side they communicated with the chapel of the monastery, in which he was to perform his devotions. Into this humble retreat, hardly sufficient for the comfortable accommodation of a private gentleman, did Charles enter [Feb. 24,] with twelve domestics only. He buried there, in solitude and silence, his grandeur, his ambition, together with all those vast projects, which, during almost half a century, had alarmed and agitated Europe, filling every kingdom in it, by turns, with the terror of his arms, and the dread of being subdued by his power.

The contrast between Charles’s conduct and that of the pope at this juncture was so obvious, that it struck even the most careless observers; nor was the comparison which they made to the advantage of Paul.

The former, a conqueror, born to reign, long accustomed to the splendor which accompanies supreme power, and to those busy and interesting scenes in which an active ambition had engaged him, quitted the world at a period of life not far advanced, that he might close the evening of his days in tranquility, and secure some interval for sober thought and serious recollection. The latter a priest, who had passed the early part of his life in the shade of the schools, and in the study of the speculative sciences, who was seemingly so detached from the world, that he had shut himself up for many years in the solitude of a cloister, and who was not raised to the papal throne until he had reached the extremity of old age, discovered at once all the impetuosity of youthful ambition, and formed extensive schemes, in order to accomplish which he scrupled not to scatter the seeds of discord, and to kindle the flames of war, in every corner of Europe. But Paul, regardless of the opinion or censures of mankind, held on his own course with his wonted arrogance and violence. These, although they seemed already to have exceeded all bounds, rose to a still greater height, upon the arrival of the duke of Guise in Italy.

That which the two princes of Lorrain foresaw and desired had happened. The duke of Guise was entrusted with the command of the army appointed to march to the pope’s assistance. It consisted of twenty thousand men, of the best troops in the service of France. So high was the duke’s reputation, and such the general expectation of beholding some extraordinary exertion of his courage and abilities in a war into which he had precipitated his country, chiefly with the design of obtaining a field where he might display his own talents, that many of the French nobility who had no command in the troops employed, accompanied him as volunteers. This army passed the Alps in an inclement season, and advanced towards Rome without any opposition from the Spaniards, who, as they were not strong enough to act in different parts, had collected all their forces in one body on the frontiers of Naples, for the defence of that kingdom.

Emboldened by the approach of the French, the pope let loose all the fury of his resentment against Philip, which, notwithstanding the natural violence of his temper, prudential considerations had hitherto obliged him to keep under some restraint. He named commissioners [Feb. 12] whom he empowered to pass judgment in the suit, which the consistorial advocate had commenced against Philip, in order to prove that he had forfeited the crown of Naples, by taking arms against the holy see, of which he was a vassal. He recalled all the nuncios [April 9] residing in the courts of Charles V, of Philip, or any of their allies. This was leveled chiefly against cardinal Pole, the papal legate in the court of England, whose great merit, in having contributed so successfully to reconcile that kingdom to the church of Rome, together with the expectation of farther services, which he might perform, was not sufficient to screen him from the resentment that he had incurred by his zealous endeavors to establish peace between the house of Austria and France. He commanded an addition to be made to the anathemas annually denounced against the enemies of the church on Maundy Thursday, whereby he inflicted the censure of excommunication on the authors of the late invasion of the ecclesiastical territories, whatever their rank or dignity might be; and in consequence of this, the usual prayers for the emperor were omitted next day in the pope's chapel.

But while the pope indulged himself in those wild and childish sallies of rage, either he neglected, or found that it exceeded his power, to take such measures as would have rendered his resentment really formidable and fatal to his enemies. For when the duke of Guise entered Rome, where he was received with a triumphal pomp, which would have been more suitable if he had been returning; after having terminated the war with glory, than when he was going to begin it with a doubtful chance of success, he found none of the preparations for war in such forwardness as cardinal Caraffa had promised, or he had expected. The papal troops were far inferior in number to the quota stipulated; no magazines sufficient for their subsistence were formed; nor was money for paying them provided. The Venetians agreeably to that cautious maxim which the misfortunes of their state had first led them to adopt, and which was now become a fundamental principle in their policy, declared their resolution to preserve an exact neutrality, without taking any part in the quarrels of princes, so far superior to themselves in power. The other Italian states were either openly united in league with Philip, or secretly wished success to his arms against a pontiff, whose inconsiderate ambition had rendered Italy once more the seat of war.

The duke of Guise perceived that the whole weight of the war would devolve on the French troops under his command; and became sensible, though too late, how imprudent it is to rely, in the execution of great enterprises, on the aid of feeble allies. Pushed on, however, by the pope's impatience for action, as well as by his own desire of performing some part of what he had so confidently undertaken, he marched towards Naples [April 13], and began his operations. But the success of these fell far short of his former reputation, of what the world expected, and of what he himself had promised. He opened the campaign with the siege of Chitella, a town of some importance on the Neapolitan frontier. But the obstinacy with which the Spanish governor defended it, baffled all the impetuous efforts of the French valor, and obliged the duke of Guise, after a siege of three weeks, to retire from the town with disgrace. He endeavored to wipe off that stain, by advancing boldly towards the duke of Alva's camp, and offering him battle.

But that prudent commander, sensible of all the advantages of standing on the defensive before an invading enemy, declined an engagement, and kept within his entrenchments; and adhering to his plan with the steadiness of a Castilian, eluded, with great address, all the duke of Guise's stratagems to draw him into action. By this time sickness began to waste the French army; violent dissensions had arisen between the duke of Guise and the commander of the pope's forces; the Spaniards renewed their incursions into the ecclesiastical state; the pope, when he found, instead of the conquests and triumphs which he had fondly expected, that he could not secure his own territories from depredation, murmured, complained, and began to talk of peace. The duke of Guise, mortified to the last degree with having acted such an inglorious part, not only solicited his court either to reinforce his army, or to recall him, but urged Paul to fulfill his engagements; and called on cardinal Caraffa, sometimes with reproaches, sometimes with threats, to make good those magnificent promises, from a rash confidence in which he had advised his master to renounce the truce of Vaucelles, and to join in league with the pope.

But while the French affairs in Italy were in this wretched situation, an unexpected event happened in the Low-Countries, which called the duke of Guise from a station wherein he could acquire no honor, to the most dignified and important charge which could be committed to a subject. As soon as the French had discovered their purpose of violating the truce of Vaucelles, not only by sending an army into Italy, but by attempting to surprise some of the frontier towns in Flanders, Philip, though willing to have avoided a rupture, determined to prosecute the war with such spirit, as should make his enemies sensible that his father had not erred, when he judged him to be so capable of government, that he had given up the reins into his hands.

As he knew that Henry had been at great expense in fitting out the army under the duke of Guise, and that his treasury was hardly able to answer the exorbitant and endless demands of a distant war, he foresaw that all his operations in the Low-Countries must, of consequence, prove feeble, and be considered only as secondary to those in Italy. For that reason, he prudently resolved to make his principal effort in that place where he expected the French to be weakest, and to bend his chief force against that quarter where they would feel a blow most sensibly. With this view, be assembled in the Low-Countries an army of about fifty thousand men, the Flemings serving him on this occasion with that active zeal which subjects are wont to exert in obeying the first commands of a new sovereign. But Philip, cautious and provident, even at this early period of life, did not rest all his hopes of success on that formidable force alone.

He had been laboring for some time to engage the English to espouse his quarrel; and though it was manifestly the interest of that kingdom to maintain a strict neutrality, and the people themselves were sensible of the advantages which they derived from it; though he knew how odious his name was to the English, and how averse they would he to co-operate with him in any measure, be nevertheless did not despair of accomplishing his point. He relied on the affection with which the queen doated on him, which was so violent, that even his coldness and neglect had not extinguished it; he knew her implicit reverence for his opinion, and her fond desire of gratifying him in every particular.

That he might work on these with greater facility and more certain success, he set out for England. The queen, who, during her husband's absence, had languished in perpetual dejection, resumed fresh spirits on his arrival; and, without paying the least attention either to the interest or to the inclinations of her people, entered warmly into all his schemes. In vain did her privy-council remonstrate against the imprudence as well as danger of involving the nation in an unnecessary war; in vain did they put her in mind of the solemn treaties of peace subsisting between England and France, which the conduct of that nation had afforded her no pretext to violate. Mary, soothed by Philip’s caresses, or intimidated by the threats which his ascendant over her emboldened him at some times to throw out, was deaf to everything that could be urged in opposition to his sentiments, and insisted with the greatest vehemence on an immediate declaration of war against France.

The council, though all Philip’s address and Mary's authority were employed to gain or overawe them, after struggling long, yielded at last, not from conviction, but merely from deference to the wilt of their sovereign. War was declared against France [June 20], the only one perhaps against that kingdom into which the English ever entered with reluctance. As Mary knew the aversion of the nation to this measure, she durst not call a parliament in order to raise money for carrying on the war. She supplied this want, however, by a stretch of royal prerogative, not unusual in that age; and levied large sums on her subjects by her own authority. This enabled her to assemble a sufficient body of troops, and to send eight thousand men under the conduct of the earl of Pembroke to join Philip’s army.

Philip, who was not ambitious of military glory, gave the command of his army to Emanuel Philibert, duke of Savoy, and fixed his own residence at Cambray, that he might be at hand to receive the earliest intelligence of his motions, and to aid him with his councils. The duke opened the campaign with a masterly stroke of address, which justified Philip's choice, and discovered such a superiority of genius over the French generals, as almost insured success in his subsequent operations. He appointed the general rendezvous of his troops at a place considerably distant from the country which he destined to be the scene of action; and having kept the enemy in suspense for a good time with regard to his intentions, he at last deceived them so effectually by the variety of his marches and counter­marches, as led them to conclude that he meant to bend all his force against the province of Champagne, and would attempt to penetrate into the kingdom on that side. In consequence of this opinion, they drew all their strength towards that quarter, and reinforcing the garrisons there, left the towns on other parts of the frontier destitute of troops sufficient to defend them.

The duke of Savoy, as soon as he perceived that this feint had its full effect, turned suddenly to the right, advanced by rapid marches into Picardy, and sending his cavalry, in which he was extremely strong, before him, invested St. Quintin. This was a town deemed in that age of considerable strength, and of great importance, as there were few fortified cities between it and Paris. The fortifications, however, had been much neglected; the garrison, weakened by draughts sent towards Champagne, did not amount to a fifth part of the number requisite for its defence; and the governor, though a brave officer, was neither of rank nor authority equal to the command in a place of so much consequence, besieged by such a formidable army.

A few days must have put the duke of Savoy in possession of the town, if the admiral de Coligny, who thought it concerned his honor to attempt saving a place of such importance to his country, and which lay within his jurisdiction as governor of Picardy, had not taken the gallant resolution of throwing himself into it, with such a body of men as he could collect on a sudden. This resolution he executed with great intrepidity, and, if the nature of the enterprise be considered, with no contemptible success; for though one half of his small body of troops were cut off, he, with the other, broke through the enemy, and entered the town. The unexpected arrival of an officer of such high rank and reputation, and who had exposed himself to such danger in order to join them, inspired the desponding garrison with courage. Everything that the admiral's great skill and experience in the art of war could suggest, for annoying the enemy, or defending the town, was attempted; and the citizens, as well as the garrison, seconding his zeal with equal ardor, seemed to be determined that they would hold out to the last, and sacri­fice themselves in order to save their country.

The duke of Savoy, whom the English, under the earl of Pembroke, joined about this time, pushed on the siege with the greatest vigour. An army so numerous, and so well supplied with everything requisite, carried on its approaches with great advantage against a garrison which was still so feeble that it durst seldom venture to disturb or retard the enemy's operations by sallies. The admiral, sensible of the approaching danger, and unable to avert it, acquainted his uncle the constable Montmorency, who had the command of the French army, with his situation, and pointed out to him a method by which he might throw relief into the town.

The constable solicitous to save a town, the loss of which would open a passage for the enemy into the heart of France; and eager to extricate his nephew out of that perilous situation, in which zeal for the public had engaged him; resolved, though aware of the danger, to attempt what he desired. With this view, he marched from La Feré towards St. Quintin at the head of his army, which was not by one half so numerous as that of the enemy, and having given the command of a body of chosen men to Coligny's brother Dandelot, who was colonel-general of the French infantry, he ordered him to force his way into the town by that avenue which the admiral had represented as most practicable, while he himself, with the main army, would give the alarm to the enemy's camp on the opposite side, and endeavor to draw all their attention towards that quarter. Dandelot executed his orders with greater intrepidity than conduct. [Aug. 10.] He rushed on with such headlong impetuosity, that, though it broke the first body of the enemy which stood in their way, it threw his own soldiers into the utmost confusion; and as they were attacked in that situation by fresh troops which closed in upon them on every side, the greater part of them were cut in pieces. Dandelot with about five hundred of the most adventurous and most fortunate, making good his entrance into the town.

Meanwhile the constable, in executing his part of the plan, advanced so near the camp of the besiegers, as rendered it impossible to retreat with safety in the face of an enemy so much superior in number. The duke of Savoy instantly perceived Montmorency's error, and prepared, with the presence of mind and abilities of a great general, to avail himself of it. He drew up his army in order of battle, with the greatest expedition, and watching the moment when the French began to file off towards La Feré, he detached all his cavalry, under the command of the count of Egmont, to fall on their rear, while he himself, at the head of his infantry, advanced to support him. The French at first retired in perfect order, and with a good countenance; but when they saw Egmont draw near with hit formidable body of cavalry, the shock of which they were conscious that they could not withstand, the prospect of imminent danger, added to distrust of their general, whose imprudence every soldier now perceived, struck them with general consternation.

They began insensibly to quicken their pace, and those in the rear pressed so violently on such as were before them, that in a short time their march resembled a flight rather than a retreat. Egmont, observing their confusion, charged them with the greatest fury, and in a moment all their men at arms, the pride and strength of the French troops in that age, gave way and fled with precipitation. The infantry, however, whom the constable, by his presence and authority, kept to their colors, still continued to retreat in good order, until the enemy brought some pieces of cannon to bear upon their centre, which threw them into such confusion, that the Flemish cavalry, renewing their attack, broke in, and the rout became universal. About four thousand of the French fell in the field, and among these the duke of Anguien, a prince of the blood, together with six hundred gentlemen.

The constable, as soon as he perceived the fortune of the day to be irretrievable, rushed into the thickest of the enemy, with a resolution not to survive the calamity which his ill conduct had brought upon his country; but having received a dangerous wound, and being wasted with the loss of blood, he was surrounded by some Flemish officers, to whom he was known, who protected him from the violence of the soldiers, and obliged him to surrender. Besides the constable, the dukes of Montpensier and Longueville, the marechal St. Andre, many officers of distinction, three hundred gentlemen, and near four thousand private soldiers, were taken prisoners. All the colors belonging to the infantry, all the ammunition, and all the cannon, two pieces excepted, fell into the enemy’s hands. The victorious army did not lose above fourscore men.

This battle, no less fatal to France than the ancient victories of Crecy and Agincourt, gained by the English on the same frontier, bore a near resemblance to those disastrous events in the suddenness of the rout; in the ill-conduct of the commander in chief; in the number of persons of note slain or taken; and in the small loss sustained by the enemy. It filled France with equal consternation. Many inhabitants of Paris, with the same precipitancy and trepidation as if the enemy had been already at their gates, quitted the city and retired into the interior provinces. The king, by his presence and exhortations, endeavored to console and to animate such as remained, and applying himself with the greatest diligence to repair the ruinous fortifications of the city, prepared to defend it against the attack which he instantly expected. But happily for France, Philip’s caution, together with the intrepid firmness of the admiral de Coligny, not only saved the capital from the danger to which it was exposed, but gained the nation a short interval, during which the people recovered from the terror and dejection occasioned by a blow no less severe than unexpected, and Henry had leisure to take measures for the public security, with the spirit which became the sovereign of a powerful and martial people.

Philip, immediately after the battle, visited the camp at St. Quintin, where he was received with all the exultation of military triumph; and such were his transports of joy on account of an event which threw so much luster on the beginning of his reign, that they softened his severe and haughty temper into an unusual flow of courtesy. When the duke it Savoy approached, and was kneeling to kiss his hands, he caught him in his arms, and embracing him with warmth, “It becomes me”, says he, “rather to kiss your hands, which have gained me such a glorious and almost bloodless victory”.

As soon as the rejoicings and congratulations on Philip's arrival were over, a council of war was held, in order to determine how they might improve their victory to the best advantage. The duke of Savoy, seconded by several of the ablest officers formed under Charles V insisted that they should immediately relinquish the siege of St. Quintin, the reduction of which was now an object below their attention, and advance directly towards Paris; that as there were neither troops to oppose, nor any town of strength to retard their march, they might reach that capital while under the full impression of the astonishment and terror occasioned by the rout of the army, and take possession of it without resistance. But Philip, less adventurous or more prudent than his generals, preferred a moderate but certain advantage, to an enterprise of greater splendor, but of more doubtful success.

He represented to the council the infinite resources of a kingdom so powerful as France; the great number as well as martial spirit of its nobles; their attachment to their sovereign; the manifold advantages with which they could carry on war in their own territories; and the unavoidable destruction which must be the consequence of their penetrating too rashly into the enemy's country, before they had secured such a communication with their own as might render a retreat safe, if, upon any disastrous event, that measure should become necessary. On all these accounts, he advised the continuance of the siege, and his generals acquiesced the more readily in his opinion, as they made no doubt of being masters of the town in a few days, a loss of time of so little consequence in the execution of their plan, that they might easily repair it by their subsequent activity.

The weakness of the fortifications, and the small number of the garrison, which could no longer hope either for reinforcement or relief, seemed to authorize this calculation of Philip's generals. But, in making it, they did not attend sufficiently to the character of admiral de Coligny, who commanded in the town. A courage undismayed, and tranquil amidst the greatest dangers, an invention fruitful in resources, a genius which roused and seemed to acquire new force upon every disaster, a talent of governing the minds of men, together with a capacity of maintaining his ascendant over them even under circumstances the most adverse and distressful, were qualities which Coligny possessed in a degree superior to any general of that age. These qualities were peculiarly adapted to the station in which he was now placed; and as he knew the infinite importance to his country of every hour which he could gain at this juncture, he exerted himself to the utmost in contriving how to protract the siege, and to detain the enemy from attempting any enterprise more dangerous to France. Such were the perseverance and skill with which he conducted the defence, and such the fortitude as well as patience with which he animated the garrison, that though the Spaniards, the Flemings, and the English, carried on the attack with all the ardor which national emulation inspires, he held out the town seventeen days. He was taken prisoner at last [Aug. 27], on the breach, overpowered by the superior number of the enemy.

Henry availed himself; with the utmost activity, of the interval which the admiral's well-timed obstinacy had afforded him. He appointed officers to collect the scattered remains of the constable's army; he issued orders for levying soldiers in every part of the kingdom; he commanded the ban and arriere ban of the frontier provinces instantly to take the field, and to join the duke of Nevers at Laon in Picardy; he recalled the greater part of the veteran troops which served under the marechal Brissac in Piedmont; he sent courier after courier to the duke of Guise, requiring him, together with all his army. to return instantly for the defence of their country; he despatched one envoy to the grand seignior, to solicit the assistance of his fleet, and the loan of a sum of money; he sent another into Scotland, to incite the Scots to invade the north of England, that, by drawing Mary's attention to that quarter, he might prevent her from reinforcing her troops which served under Philip. These efforts of the king were warmly seconded by the zeal of his subjects. The city of Paris granted him a free gift of three hundred thousand livres. The other great towns imitated the liberality of the capital, and contributed in proportion. Several noblemen of distinction engaged, at their own expense, to garrison and defend the towns which lay most exposed to the enemy. Nor was the general concern for the public confined to corporate bodies alone, or to those in the higher sphere of life, but diffusing itself among persons of every rank, each individual seemed disposed to act with as much vigour as if the honor of the king, and the safety of the state, had depended solely on his single efforts.

Philip, who was no stranger either to the prudent measures taken by the French monarch for the security of his dominions, or to the spirit with which his subjects prepared to defend themselves, perceived, when it was too late, that he had lost an opportunity which could never be recalled, and that it was now vain to think of penetrating into the heart of France. He abandoned, therefore, without much reluctance, a scheme which was too bold and hazardous to be perfectly agreeable to his cautious temper; and employed his army, during the remainder of the campaign, in the sieges of Ham and Catelet. Of these, he soon became master; and the reduction of two such petty towns, together with the acquisition of St. Quintin, were all the advantages which tie derived from one of the most decisive victories gained in that century. Philip himself, however, continued in high exultation on account of his success; and as all his passions were tinged with superstition, he, in memory of the battle of St. Quintin, which had been fought on the day consecrated to St. Laurence, vowed to build a church, a monastery, and a palace, in honor of that saint and martyr. Before the expiration of the year, he laid the foundation of an edifice, in which all these were united, at the Escurial in the neighborhood of Madrid; and the same principle which dictated the vow, directed the building. For the plan of the work was so formed as to resemble a grid­iron, which, according to the legendary tale, had been the instrument of St. Laurence's martyrdom. Notwithstanding the great and expensive schemes in which his restless ambition involved him, Philip continued the building with such perseverance for twenty-two years, and reserved such large sums for this monument of his devotion and vanity, that the monarchs of Spain are indebted to him for a royal residence, which, though not the most elegant, is certainly the most sumptuous and magnificent of any in Europe.

The first account of that fatal blow which the French had received at St. Quintin was carried to Rome by the courier whom Henry had sent to recall the duke of Guise. As Paul, even with the assistance of his French auxiliaries, had hardly been able to check the progress of the Spanish arms, he foresaw that, as soon as he was deprived of their protection, his territories must be overrun in a moment. He remonstrated, therefore, with the greatest violence against the departure of the French army, reproaching the duke of Guise for his ill conduct, which had brought him in such an unhappy situation; and complaining of the king for deserting him so ungenerously under such circumstances. The duke of Guise's orders, however, were peremptory. Paul, inflexible as he was, found it necessary to accommodate his conduct to the exigency of his affairs, and to employ the mediation of the Venetians, and of Cosmo di Medici, in order to obtain peace. Philip, who had been forced unwillingly to a rupture with the pope, and who, even while success crowned his arms, doubted so much the justice of his own cause, that he had made frequent overtures of pacification, listened eagerly to the first proposals of this nature from Paul, and discovered such moderation in his demands, as could hardly have been expected from a prince elated with victory.

The duke of Alva on the part of Philip, and the cardinal Caraffa in the name of his uncle, met at Cavi, and both being equally disposed to peace, they, after a short conference, terminated the war by a treaty on the following terms:

That Paul should renounce his league with France, and maintain for the future such a neutrality as became the common father of Christendom;

That Philip should instantly restore all the towns of the ecclesiastical territory of which he had taken possession;

That the claims of the Caraffas to the duchy of Paliano, and other demesnes of the Colonnas, should be referred to the decision of the republic of Venice;

That the duke of Alva should repair in person to Rome, and after asking pardon of Paul in his own name, and in that of his master, for having invaded the patrimony of the church, should receive the pope's absolution from that crime.

Thus Paul, through Philip’s scrupulous timidity, finished an unprosperous war without any detriment to the papal see. The conqueror appeared humble, and acknowledged his error; while he who had been vanquished retained his usual haughtiness, and was treated with every mark of superiority. The duke of Alva, in terms of the treaty, repaired to Rome, and, in the posture of a supplicant, kissed the feet, and implored the forgiveness of that very person whom his arms had reduced to the last extremity. Such was the superstitious veneration of the Spaniards for the papal character, that Alva, though perhaps the proudest man of the age, and accustomed from his infancy to a familiar intercourse with princes, acknowledged that when he approached the pope, he was so much overawed, that his voice failed, and his presence of mind forsook him.

 

The Sagacity of Cosmo di Medici

 

But though this war, which at its commencement threatened mighty revolutions, was brought to an end without occasioning any alteration in those states which were its immediate object, it had produced during its progress effects of considerable consequence in other parts of Italy. As Philip was extremely solicitous to terminate his quarrel with Paul as speedily as possible, he was willing to make any sacrifice in order to gain those princes, who, by joining their troops to the papal and French army, might have prolonged the war. With this view, he entered into a negotiation with Octavio Farnese, duke of Parma, and in order to seduce him from his alliance with France, he restored to him the city of Placentia, with the territory depending on it, which Charles V had seized in the year one thousand five hundred and forty-seven, had kept from that time in his possession, and had transmitted, together with his other dominions, to Philip. This step made such a discovery of Philip’s character and views to Cosmo di Medici, the most sagacious as well as provident of all the Italian princes, that he conceived hopes of accomplishing his favorite scheme of adding Sienna and its territories to his dominions in Tuscany. As his success in this attempt depended entirely on the delicacy of address with which it should be conducted, he employed all the refinements of policy in the negotiation which he set on foot for this purpose. He began with soliciting Philip, whose treasury he knew to be entirely drained by the expense of the war, to repay the great sums which he had advanced to the emperor during the siege of Sienna. When Philip endeavored to elude a demand which he was unable to satisfy, Cosmo affected to be extremely disquieted, and making no secret of his disgust, instructed his ambassador at Rome to open a negotiation with the pope which seemed to be the effect of it.

The ambassador executed his commission with such dexterity, that Paul, imagining Cosmo to be entirely alienated from the Spanish interest, proposed to him an alliance with France which should be cemented by the marriage of his eldest son to one of Henry’s daughters. Cosmo received the overture with such apparent satisfaction, and with so many professions of gratitude for the high honor of which he had the prospect, that not only the pope's ministers, but the French envoy at Rome, talked confidently, and with little reserve, of the accession of that important ally, as a matter certain and decided. The account of this was quickly carried to Philip; and Cosmo, who foresaw how much it would alarm him, had despatched his nephew Ludovico de Toledo into the Netherlands, that he might be at hand to observe and take advantage of his consternation, before the first impression which it made should in any degree abate.

Cosmo was extremely fortunate in the choice of the instrument whom he employed. Toledo waited, with patience, until he discovered with certainty, that Philip had received such intelligence of his uncle's negotiations at Rome, as must have filled his suspicious mind with fear and jealousy; and then craving an audience, he required payment of the money which had been borrowed by the emperor, in the most earnest and peremptory terms. In urging that point, he artfully threw out several dark hints and ambiguous declarations, concerning the extremities to which Cosmo might be driven by a refusal of this just demand, as well as by other grievances of which he had good reason to complain.

Philip, astonished at an address in such a strain from a prince so far his inferior as the duke of Tuscany, and comparing what he now heard with the information which he had received from Italy, immediately concluded that Cosmo had ventured to assume this bold and unusual tone on the prospect of his union with France. In order to prevent the pope and Henry from acquiring an ally, who, by his abilities, as well as the situation of his dominions, would have added both reputation and strength to their confederacy, he offered to grant Cosmo the investiture of Sienna, if he would consent to accept of it as an equivalent for the sums due to him, and engage to furnish a body of troops towards the defence of Philip’s territories in Italy, against any power who should attack them. As soon as Cosmo had brought Philip to make this concession, which was the object of all his artifices and intrigues, he did not protract the negotiation by any unnecessary delay, or any excess of refinement, but closed eagerly with the proposal, and Philip, in spite of the remonstrances of his ablest counselors, signed a treaty with him to that effect.

As no prince was ever more tenacious of his rights than Philip, or less willing to relinquish any territory which he possessed, by what tenure soever he held it, these unusual concessions to the dukes of Parma and Tuscany, by which he wantonly gave up countries, in acquiring or defending which his father had employed many years, and wasted much blood and treasure, cannot be accounted for from any motive, but his superstitious desire of extricating himself out of the war which he had been forced to wage against the pope.

By these treaties, however, the balance of power among the Italian states was poised with greater equality, and rendered less variable than it had been since it received the first violent shock from the invasion of Charles VIII of France. From this period Italy ceased to be the great theatre, on which the monarchs of Spain, France, and Germany, contended for power or for fame. Their dissensions and hostilities, though as frequent and violent as ever, being excited by new objects, stained other regions of Europe with blood, and rendered them miserable, in their turn, by the devastations of war.

 

The Duke of Guise conquer Calais

 

The duke of Guise left Rome on the same day [Sept. 29] that his adversary the duke of Alva made his humiliating submission to the pope. He was received in France as the guardian angel of the kingdom. His late ill success in Italy seemed to be forgotten, while his former services, particularly his defence of Metz, were recounted with exaggerated praise; and he was welcomed in every city through which he passed, as the restorer of public security, who, after having set bounds by his conduct and valor to the victorious arms of Charles V, returned now, at the call of his country, to check the formidable progress of Philip’s power. The reception which he met with from Henry was no less cordial and honorable. New titles were invented, and new dignities created, in order to distinguish him. He was appointed lieutenant-general in chief both within and without the kingdom, with a jurisdiction almost unlimited, and hardly inferior to that which was possessed by the king himself. Thus, through the singular felicity which attended the princes of Lorrain, the miscarriage of their own schemes contributed to aggrandize them. The calamities of his country and the ill conduct of his rival the constable, exalted the duke of Guise to a height of dignity and power, which he could not have expected to attain by the most fortunate and most complete success of his own ambitious projects.

 

The duke of Guise, eager to perform something suitable to the high expectations of his countrymen, and that he might justify the extraordinary confidence which the king had reposed in him, ordered all the troops, which could be got together, to assemble at Compeigne. Though the winter was well advanced, and had set in with extreme severity, he placed himself at their head and took the field. By Henry's activity and the zeal of his subjects, so many soldiers had been raised in the kingdom, and such considerable reinforcements had been draw in from Germany and Switzerland, as formed an army respectable even in the eyes of a victorious enemy. Philip, alarmed at seeing it put in motion at such an uncommon season, began to tremble for his new conquests, particularly St. Quintin, the fortifications of which were hitherto but imperfectly repaired.

But the duke of Guise meditated a more important enterprise; and after amusing the enemy with threatening successively different towns on the frontiers of Flanders, he turned suddenly to the left, and invested Calais with his whole army [Jan. 1, 1558]. Calais had been taken by the English under Edward III and was the fruit of that monarch's glorious victory at Crecy. Being the only place that they retained of their ancient and extensive territories in France, and which opened to them, at all times, an easy and secure passage into the heart of that kingdom, their keeping possession of it soothed the pride of the one nation as much as it mortified the vanity of the other. Its situation was naturally so strong, and its fortifications deemed so impregnable, that no monarch of France how adventurous soever, had been bold enough to attack it. Even when the domestic strength of England was broken and exhausted by the bloody wars between the houses of York and Lancaster, and its attention entirely diverted from foreign objects, Calais had remained undisturbed and unthreatened.

Mary and her council, composed chiefly of ecclesiastics, unacquainted with military affairs, and whose whole attention was turned towards extirpating heresy out of kingdom, had not only neglected to take any precautions for the safety of this important place, but seemed to think that the reputation of its strength was alone sufficient for its security. Full of this opinion, they ventured, even after the declaration of war, to continue a practice which the low state of the queen's finances bad introduced in times of peace.

As the country adjacent to Calais was overflowed during the winter, and the marshes around it became impassable, except by one avenue, which the forts of St. Agatha and Newnhambridge commanded, it had been the custom of the English to dismiss the greater part of the garrison towards the end of autumn, and to replace it in the spring. In vain did Lord Wentworth, the governor of Calais, remonstrate against this ill-timed parsimony, and represent the possibility of his being attacked suddenly, while he had not troops sufficient to man the works. The privy-council treated these remonstrances with scorn, as if they had flowed from the timidity or the rapaciousness of the governor; and some of them, with that confidence which is the companion of ignorance, boasted that they would defend Calais with their white rods against any enemy who should approach it during winter. In vain did Philip, who had passed through Calais as he returned from England to the Netherlands, warn the queen of the danger to which it was exposed; and acquainting her with what was necessary for its security, in vain did he offer to reinforce the garrison during winter with a detachment of his own troops.

Mary’s counselors, though obsequious to her in all points wherein religion was concerned, distrusted, as much as the rest of their countrymen, every proposition that came from her husband; and suspecting this to be an artifice of Philip's in order to gain the command of the town, they neglected his intelligence, declined his offer, and left Calais with less than a fourth part of the garrison requisite for its defence. His knowledge of this encouraged the duke of Guise to venture on an enterprise, that surprised his own countrymen no less than his enemies. As he knew that its success depended on conducting his operations with such rapidity as would afford the English no time for throwing relief into the town by sea, and prevent Philip from giving him any interruption by land, he pushed the attack with a degree of vigor little known in carrying on sieges during that age. He drove the English from fort St. Agatha, at the first assault. He obliged them to abandon the fort of Newnhambridge after defending it only three days. He took the castle which commanded the harbor by storm; and on the eighth day after he appeared before Calais, compelled the governor to surrender, as his feeble garrison, which did not exceed five hundred men, was worn out with the fatigue of sustaining so many attacks, and defending such extensive works.

The duke of Guise, without allowing the English time to recover from the consternation occasioned by this blow, immediately invested Guisnes, the garrison of which, though more numerous, defended itself with less vigour, and after standing one brisk assault, gave up the town. The castle of Hames was abandoned by the troops posted there, without waiting the approach of the enemy. Thus in a few days, during the depth of winter, and at a time when the fatal battle of St. Quintin had so depressed the sanguine spirit of the French, that their utmost aim was to protect their own country, without dreaming of making conquests on the enemy, the enterprising valor of one man drove the English out of Calais, after they had held it two hundred and ten years, and deprived them of every foot of land in a kingdom, where their dominions had been once very extensive.

This exploit, at the same time that it gave a high idea of the power and resources of France to all Europe, set the duke of Guise, in the opinion of his countrymen, far above all the generals of the age. They celebrated his conquests with immoderate transports of joy; while the English gave vent to all the passions which animate a high-spirited people, when any great national calamity is manifestly owing to the ill conduct of their rulers. Mary and her ministers, formerly odious, were now contemptible in their eyes. All the terrors of her severe and arbitrary administration could not restrain them from uttering execrations and threats against those, who, having wantonly involved the nation in a quarrel wherein it was noways interested, had by their negligence or incapacity brought irreparable distress on their country, and lost the most valuable possession belonging to the English crown.

The king of France imitated the conduct of its former conqueror, Edward III, with regard to Calais. He commanded all the English inhabitants to quit the town, and giving their houses to his own subjects, whom he allured to settle there by granting them various immunities, he left a numerous garrison, under an experienced governor, for their defence. After this, his victorious army was conducted into quarters of refreshment, and the usual inaction of winter returned.

 

The Madness of the Pope Paul the Fourth

 

During these various operations, Ferdinand assembled the college of electors at Frankfort [Feb. 24], in order to lay before them the instrument whereby Charles V had resigned the Imperial crown, and transferred it to him. This he had hitherto delayed on account of some difficulties which had occurred concerning the formalities requisite in supplying a vacancy occasioned by an event, to which there was no parallel in the annals of the empire. These being at length adjusted, the prince of Orange executed the commission with which he had been entrusted by Charles; the electors accepted of his resignation; declared Ferdinand his lawful successor; and put him in possession of all the ensigns of the Imperial dignity. But when the new emperor sent Gusman his chancellor to acquaint the pope with this transaction, to testify his reverence towards the holy see, and to signify that, according to form, he would soon dispatch an ambassador extraordinary to treat with his holiness concerning his coronation; Paul, whom neither experience nor disappointments could teach to bring down his lofty ideas of the papal prerogative to such a moderate standard as suited the genius of the times, refused to admit the envoy into his presence, and declared all the proceedings at Frankfort irregular and invalid. He contended that the pope, as the vicegerent of Christ, was entrusted with the keys both of spiritual and of civil government; that from him the Imperial jurisdiction was derived; that though his predecessors had authorized the electors to choose an emperor whom the holy see confirmed, this privilege was confined to those cases when a vacancy was occasioned by death; that the instrument of Charles’s resignation had been presented in an improper court, as it belonged to the pope alone to reject or to accept of it, and to nominate a person to fill the Imperial throne; that setting aside all these objections, Ferdinand’s election labored under two defects which alone were sufficient to render it void, for the protestant electors had been admitted to vote, though, by their apostasy from the catholic faith, they had forfeited that and every other privilege of the electoral office: and Ferdinand, by ratifying the concessions of several diets, in favor of heretics, had rendered himself unworthy of the Imperial dignity, which was instituted for the protection, not for the destruction of the church.

But after thundering out these extravagant maxims, he added, with an appearance of condescension, that if Ferdinand would renounce all title to the Imperial crown, founded on the election at Frankfort, make professions of repentance for his past conduct, and supplicate him, with due humility, to confirm Charles's resignation, as well as his own assumption to the empire, he might expect every mark of favor from his paternal clemency and goodness. Gusman, though he had foreseen considerable difficulties in his negotiation with the pope, little expected that he would have revived those antiquated and wild pretensions, which astonished him so much that he hardly knew in what tone he ought to reply. He prudently declined entering into any controversy concerning the nature or extent of the papal jurisdiction, and confined himself to the political considerations, which should determine the pope to recognize an emperor already in possession, he endeavored to place them in such a light, as he imagined could scarcely fail to strike Paul, if he were not altogether blind to his own interest.

Philip seconded Gusman’s arguments with great earnestness, by an ambassador whom he sent to Rome on purpose, and besought the pope to desist from claims so unseasonable, as might not only irritate and alarm Ferdinand and the princes of the empire, but furnish the enemies of the holy see with a new reason for representing its jurisdiction as incompatible with the rights of princes, and subversive of all civil authority. But Paul, who deemed it a crime to attend to any consideration suggested by human prudence or policy, when he thought himself called upon to assert the prerogatives of the papal see, remained inflexible; and during his pontificate, Ferdinand was not acknowledged as emperor by the court of Rome.

 

The Road to the Peace of the Kings

 

While Henry was intent upon his preparations for the approaching campaign, he received accounts of the issue of his negotiations in Scotland. Long experience having at last taught the Scots the imprudence of involving their country in every quarrel between France and England, neither the solicitations of the French ambassador, nor the address and authority of the queen regent, could prevail on them to take arms against a kingdom with which they were at peace. On this occasion, the ardor of a martial nobility, and of a turbulent people was restrained by regard for the public interest and tranquility, which in former deliberations of this kind had been seldom attended to by a nation always prone to rush into every new war. But though the Scots adhered with steadiness to their pacific system, they were extremely ready to gratify the French king in another particular which he had given in charge to his ambassador.

The young queen of Scots had been affianced to the dauphin in the year one thousand five hundred and forty-eight, and having been educated since that time in the court of France, she had grown up to be the most amiable, and one of the most accomplished princesses of that age. Henry demanded the consent of her subjects to the celebration of the marriage, and a parliament, which was held for that purpose, appointed eight commissioners to represent the whole body of the nation at that solemnity, with power to sign such deeds as might be requisite before it was concluded. In settling the articles of the marriage, the Scots took every precaution that prudence could dictate, in order to preserve the liberty and independence of their country; while the French used every art to secure to the dauphin the conduct of affairs during the queen's life, and the succession of the crown on the event of her demise.

[April 14.] The marriage was celebrated with pomp suitable to the dignity of the parties, and the magnificence of a court at that time the most splendid in Europe. Thus Henry, in the course of a few months, had the glory of recovering an important possession which had anciently belonged to the crown of France, and of adding to it the acquisition of a new kingdom. By this event, too, the duke of Guise acquired new consideration and importance; the marriage of his niece to the apparent heir of the crown, raising him so far above the condition of other subjects, that the credit which he had gained by his great actions, seemed thereby to be rendered no less permanent than it was extensive.

When the campaign opened soon after the dauphin's marriage, the duke of Guise was placed at the head of the army, with the same unlimited powers as formerly. Henry had received such liberal supplies from his subjects, that the troops under his command were both numerous and well appointed; while Philip, exhausted by the extraordinary efforts of the proceeding year, had been obliged to dismiss so many of his forces during the winter, that he could not bring an army into the field capable of making head against the enemy. The duke of Guise did not lose the favorable opportunity which his superiority afforded him. He invested Thionville in the duchy of Luxemburg, one of the strongest towns on the frontier of the Netherlands, and of great importance to France by its neighborhood to Metz; and, notwithstanding the obstinate valor with which it was defended, he forced it to capitulate [June 22] after a siege of three weeks.

But the success of this enterprise, which it was expected would lead to other conquests, was more than counterbalanced by an event which happened in another part of the Low-Countries. The marechal de Termes, governor of Calais, having penetrated into Flanders without opposition, invested Dunkirk with an army of fourteen thousand men, and took it by storm on the fifth day of the siege. Hence he advanced towards Nieuport, which must have soon fallen into his hands, if the approach of the count of Egmont with a superior army had not made it prudent to retreat. The French troops were so much encumbered with the booty which they had got at Dunkirk, or by ravaging the open country, that they moved slowly; and Egmont, who had left his heavy baggage and artillery behind him, marched with such rapidity, that he came up with them near Gravelines, and attacked them with the utmost impetuosity. De Termes, who had time choice of the ground, having posted his troops to advantage in the angle formed by the mouth of the river Aa and the sea, received him with great firmness.

Victory remained for some time in suspense, the desperate valor of the French, who foresaw the unavoidable destruction that must follow upon a rout in an enemy's country, counterbalanced the superior number of the Flemings, when one of those accidents to which human prudence does not extend, decided the contest in favor of the latter. A squadron of English ships of war, which was cruising on the coast, being drawn by the noise of the firing towards the place of engagement, entered the river Aa, and turning its great guns against the right wing of the French, with such effect, as immediately broke that body, and spread terror and confusion through the whole army. The Flemings, to whom assistance, so unexpected, and so seasonable, gave fresh spirit, redoubled their efforts, that they might not lose the advantage which fortune had presented them, or give the enemy time to recover from their consternation, and the rout of the French soon became universal. Near two thousand were killed on time spot; a greater number fell by the hands of the peasants, who, in revenge for the cruelty with which their country had been plundered, pursued the fugitives, and massacred them without mercy; the rest were taken prisoners, together with De Termes their general, and many officers of distinction.

This signal victory, for which the count of Egmont was afterwards so ill requited by Philip, obliged the duke of Guise to relinquish all other schemes, and to hasten towards the frontier of Picardy, that he might oppose the progress of the enemy in that province. This disaster, however, reflected new luster on his reputation, and once more turned the eyes of his countrymen towards him, as the only general on whose arms victory always attended, and in whose conduct, as well as good fortune, they could confide in every danger.

Henry reinforced the duke of Guise's army with so many troops drawn from the adjacent garrisons, that it soon amounted to forty thousand men. That of the enemy, after the junction of Egmont with the duke of Savoy, was not inferior in number. They encamped at the distance of a few leagues from one another; and each monarch having joined his respective army, it was expected, after the vicissitudes of good and had success during this and the former campaign, that a decisive battle would at last determine, which of the rivals should take the ascendant for the future, and give law to Europe. But though both had it in their power, neither of them discovered any inclination to bring the determination of such an important point to depend upon the uncertain issue of a single battle.

The fatal engagements at St. Quintin and Gravelines were too recent to be so soon forgotten, and the prospect of encountering the same troops, commanded by the same generals who had twice triumphed over his arms, inspired Henry with a degree of caution which was not common to him. Philip, of a genius averse to bold operations in war, naturally leaned to cautious measures, and was not disposed to hazard anything against a general so fortunate and successful as the duke of Guise. Both monarchs, as if by agreement, stood on the defensive, and fortifying their camps carefully, avoided every skirmish or reencounter that might bring on a general engagement.

While the armies continued in this inaction, peace began to be mentioned in each camp, and both Henry and Philip discovered an inclination to listen to any overture that tended to reestablish it. The kingdoms of France and Spain had been engaged during half a century in almost continual wars, carried on at great expense, and productive of no considerable advantage to either. Exhausted by extraordinary and unceasing efforts, which far exceeded those to which the nations of Europe had been accustomed before the rivalship between Charles V and Francis I, both nations longed so much for an interval of repose, in order to recruit their strength, that their sovereigns drew from them with difficulty the supplies necessary for carrying on hostilities.

The private inclinations of both the kings concurred with those of their people. Philip was prompted to wish for peace by his fond desire of returning to Spain. Accustomed from his infancy to the climate and manners of that country, he was attached to it with such extreme predilection, that he never felt himself at ease in any other part of his dominions. But as he could not quit the Low-Countries, either with decency or safety, and venture on a voyage to Spain during the continuance of war, the prospect of a pacification which would put it in his power to execute his favorite scheme, was highly acceptable. Henry was no less desirous of being delivered from the burden and occupations of war, that he might have leisure to turn all his attention, and bend the whole force of his government, towards suppressing the opinions of the reformers, which were spreading with such rapidity in Paris and other great towns of France, that they began to grow formidable to the established church.

Besides these public and avowed considerations, arising from the state of the two hostile kingdoms, or from the wishes of their respective monarchs, there was a secret intrigue carried on in the court of France, which contributed as much as either of the other, to hasten and to facilitate the negotiation of a peace. The constable Montmorency, during his captivity, beheld the rapid success and growing favor of the duke of Guise with the envy natural to a rival. Every advantage gained by the princes of Lorrain he considered as a fresh wound to his own reputation, and he knew with what malevolent address it would be improved to diminish his credit with the king, and to augment that of the duke of Guise.

These arts, he was afraid, might, by degrees, work on the easy and ductile mind of Henry, so as to efface all remains of his ancient affection towards himself. But he could not discover any remedy for this, unless he were allowed to return home, that he might try whether by his presence he could defeat the artifices of his enemies, and revive those warm and tender sentiments which had long attached Henry to him, with a confidence so entire, as resembled rather the cordiality of private friendship, than the cold and selfish connection between a monarch and one of his courtiers. While Montmorency was forming schemes and wishes for his return to France with much anxiety of mind, but little hope of success, an unexpected incident prepared the way for it.

The cardinal of Lorrain, who had shared with his brother in the king's favor, and participated of the power which that conferred, did not bear prosperity with the same discretion as the duke of Guise. Intoxicated with their good fortune, he forgot how much they had been indebted for their present elevation to their connections with the duchess of Valentinois, and vainly ascribed all to the extraordinary merit of their family. This led him not only to neglect his benefactress, but to thwart her schemes, and to talk with a sarcastic liberty of her character and person. That singular woman, who, if we may believe contemporary writers, retained the beauty and charms of youth at the age of threescore, and on whom it is certain that Henry still doated with all the fondness of love, felt this injury with sensibility, and set herself with eagerness to inflict the vengeance which it merited. As there was no method of supplanting the princes of Lorrain so effectually as by a coalition of interests with the constable, she proposed the marriage of her granddaughter with one of his sons, as the bond of their future union; and Montmorency readily gave his consent to the match. Having thus cemented their alliance, the duchess employed all her influence with the king, in order to confirm his inclinations towards peace, and induce him to take the steps necessary for attaining it. She insinuated that any overture of that kind would come with great propriety from the constable, and if entrusted to the conduct of his prudence, could hardly fail of success.

Henry, long accustomed to commit all affairs of importance to the management of the constable, and needing only this encouragement to return to his ancient habits, wrote to him immediately with his usual familiarity and affection, empowering him at the same time to take the first opportunity of sounding Philip and his ministers with regard to peace. Montmorency made his application to Philip by the most proper channel. He opened himself to the duke of Savoy, who, notwithstanding the high command to which he had been raised, and the military glory which he had acquired in the Spanish service, was weary of remaining in exile, and languished to return into his paternal dominions.

As there was no prospect of his recovering possession of them by force of arms, he considered a definitive treaty of peace between France and Spain as the only event by which he could hope to obtain restitution. Being no stranger to Philip's private wishes with regard to peace, he easily prevailed on him not only to discover a disposition on his part towards accommodation, but to permit Montmorency to return, on his parole, to France, that he might confirm his own sovereign in his pacific sentiments. Henry received the constable with the most flattering marks of regard; absence, instead of having abated or extinguished the monarch's friendship, seemed to have given it new ardor.

Montmorency, from the moment of his appearance in court, assumed, if possible, a higher place than ever in his affection, and a more perfect ascendant over his mind. The cardinal of Lorrain and the duke of Guise prudently gave way to a tide of favor too strong for them to oppose, and confining themselves to their proper departments, permitted, without any struggle, the constable and duchess of Valentinois to direct public affairs at their pleasure. They soon prevailed on the king to nominate plenipotentiaries to treat of peace. Philip did the same. The abbey of Cercamp was fixed on as the place of congress; and all military operations were immediately terminated by a suspension of arms.

 

Death of Charles I of Spain and V of Germany

 

While these preliminary steps were taking towards a treaty which restored tranquility to Europe, Charles V, whose ambition had so long disturbed it, ended his days in the monastery of St. Justus.  When Charles entered this retreat, he formed such a plan of life for himself, as would have suited the condition of a private gentleman of a moderate fortune. His table was neat, but plain; his domestics, few; his intercourse with them, familiar; all the cumbersome and ceremonious forms of attendance on his person were entirely abolished, as destructive of that social ease and tranquility which he courted, in order to soothe the remainder of his days. As the mildness of the climate, together with his deliverance from the burdens and cares of government, procured him, at first, a considerable remission from the acute pains with which he had been long tormented; he enjoyed, perhaps, more complete satisfaction in this humble solitude, than all his grandeur had ever yielded him. The ambitious thoughts and projects which had so long engrossed and disquieted him, were quite effaced from his mind; far from taking any part in the political transactions of the princes of Europe, he restrained his curiosity even from any inquiry concerning them; and he seemed to view the busy scene which he had abandoned with all the contempt and indifference arising from his thorough experience of its vanity, as well as from the pleasing reflection of having disentangled himself from its cares.

Other amusements and other objects now occupied him. Sometimes he cultivated the plants in his garden with his own hands; sometimes he rode out to the neighboring wood on a little horse, the only one that he kept, attended by a single servant on foot. When his infirmities confined him to his apartment, which often happened, and deprived him of these more active recreations, he either admitted a few gentlemen who resided near the monastery to visit him, and entertained them familiarly at his table; or he employed himself in studying mechanical principles, and in forming curious works of mechanism, of which he had always been remarkably fond, and to which his genius was peculiarly turned. With this view he had engaged Turriano, one of the most ingenious artists of that age, to accompany him in his retreat. He labored together with him in framing models of the most useful machines, as well as in making experiments with regard to their respective powers, and it was not seldom that the ideas of the monarch assisted or perfected the inventions of the artist. He relieved his mind, at intervals, with slighter and more fantastic works of mechanism, in fashioning puppets, which, by the structure of internal springs, mimicked the gestures and actions of men, to the astonishment of the ignorant monks, who, beholding movements which they could not comprehend, sometimes distrusted their own senses, and sometimes suspected Charles and Turriano of being in compact with invisible powers. He was particularly curious with regard to the construction of clocks and watches; and having found, after repeated trials, that he could not bring any two of them to go exactly alike, he reflected, it is said, with a mixture of surprise as well as regret, on his own folly, in having bestowed so much time and labor on the more vain attempt of bringing mankind to a precise uniformity of sentiment concerning the profound and mysterious doctrines of religion.

But in what manner soever Charles disposed of the rest of his time, he constantly reserved a considerable portion of it for religious exercises. He regularly attended divine service in the chapel of the monastery, every morning and evening; he took great pleasure in reading books of devotion, particularly the works of St. Augustin, and St. Bernard; and conversed much with his confessor, and the prior of the monastery, on pious subjects. Thus did Charles pass the first year of his retreat, in a manner not unbecoming a man perfectly disengaged from the affairs of the present life, and standing on the confines of a future world; either in innocent amusements, which soothed his pains, and relieved a mind worn out with excessive application to business; or in devout occupations, which he deemed necessary in preparing for another state:

But about six months before his death, the gout, after a longer intermission than usual, returned with a proportional increase of violence. His shattered constitution had not vigor enough remaining to withstand such a shock. It enfeebled his mind as much as his body, and from this period we hardly discern any traces of that sound and masculine understanding, which distinguished Charles among his contemporaries. An illiberal and timid superstition depressed his spirit. He had no relish for amusements of any kind. He endeavored to conform, in his manner of living, to all the rigor of monastic austerity. He desired no other society than that of monks, and was almost continually employed with them in chanting the hymns of the Missal. As an expiation for his sins, he gave himself the discipline in secret with such severity, that the whip of cords which he employed as the instrument of his punishment, was found after his decease tinged with his blood. Nor was he satisfied with these acts of mortification, which, however severe, were not unexampled.

The timorous and distrustful solicitude which always accompanies superstition, still continued to disquiet him, and depreciating all the devout exercises in which he had hitherto been engaged, prompted him to aim at something extraordinary, at some new and singular act of piety that would display his zeal, and merit the favor of Heaven. The act on which he fixed was as wild and uncommon as any that superstition ever suggested to a weak and disordered fancy. He resolved to celebrate his own obsequies before his death. He ordered his tomb to be erected in the chapel of the monastery. His domestics marched thither in funeral procession, with black tapers in their hands. He himself followed in his shroud. He was laid in his coffin with much solemnity. The service for the dead was chanted, and Charles joined in the prayers which were offered up for the rest of his soul, mingling his tears with those which his attendants shed, as if they had been celebrating a real funeral.

The ceremony closed with sprinkling holy water on the coffin in the usual form, and all the assistants retiring, the doors of the chapel were shut. Then Charles rose out of the coffin, and withdrew to his apartment, full of those awful sentiments which such a singular solemnity was calculated to inspire. But either the fatiguing length of the ceremony, or the impression which this image of death left on his mind, affected him so much, that next day he was seized with a fever. His feeble frame could not long resist its violence, and he expired on the twenty-first of September, after a life of fifty-eight years, six mouths, and twenty-five days.

As Charles was the first prince of the age in rank and dignity, the part which he acted, whether we consider the greatness, the variety, or the success of his undertakings, was the most conspicuous. It is from an attentive observation of his conduct, not from the exaggerated praises of the Spanish historians, or the undistinguishing censure of the French, that a just idea of Charles's genius and abilities is to be collected. He possessed qualities so peculiar, that they strongly mark his character, and not only distinguish him from the princes who were his contemporaries, but account for that superiority over them which he so long maintained. In forming his schemes, he was, by nature, as well as by habit, cautious and considerate.

Born with talents which unfolded themselves slowly, and were late in attaining to maturity, he was accustomed to ponder every subject that demanded his consideration, with a careful and deliberate attention. He bent the whole force of his mind towards it, and dwelling upon it with a serious application, undiverted by pleasure, and hardly relaxed by any amusement, he revolved it, in silence, in his own breast. He then communicated the matter to his ministers, and after hearing their opinions, took his resolution with a decisive firmness, which seldom follows such slow and seemingly hesitating consultations.

Of consequence, Charles’s measures, instead of resembling the desultory and irregular sallies of Henry VIII or Francis I, had the appearance of a consistent system, in which all the parts were arranged, all the effects were foreseen, and even every accident was provided for. His promptitude in execution was no less remarkable than his patience in deliberation. He did not discover greater sagacity in his choice of the measures which it is proper to pursue, than fertility of genius in finding out the means for rendering his pursuit of them successful. Though he had naturally so little of the martial turn, that during the most ardent and bustling period of life, he remained in the cabinet inactive, yet when he chose at length to appear at the head of his armies, his mind was so formed for vigorous exertions in every direction, that he acquired such knowledge in the art of war, and such talents for command, as rendered him equal in reputation and success to the most able generals of the age.

But Charles possessed, in the most eminent degree, the science which is of the greatest importance to a monarch, that of knowing men, and of adapting their talents to the various departments which he allotted to them. From the death of Chievres to the end of his reign, he employed no general in the field, no minister in the cabinet, no ambassador to a foreign court, no governor of a province, whose abilities were inadequate to the trust which he reposed in them. Though destitute of that bewitching affability of manners, which gained Francis the hearts of all who approached his person, he was no stranger to the virtues which secure fidelity and attachment. He placed unbounded confidence in his generals; he rewarded their services with munificence; he neither envied their fame, nor discovered any jealousy of their power. Almost all the generals who conducted his armies, may be placed on a level with those illustrious personages who have attained the highest eminence of military glory; and his advantages over his rivals are to be ascribed so manifestly to the superior abilities of the commanders whom he set in opposition to them, that this might seem to detract, in some degree, from his own merit, if the talent of discovering, and steadiness in employing such instruments were not the most undoubted proofs of a capacity for government.

There were, nevertheless, defects in his political character which must considerably abate the admiration due to his extraordinary talents. Charles’s ambition was insatiable; and though there seems to be no foundation for an opinion prevalent in his own age, that he had formed the chimerical project of establishing a universal monarchy in Europe, it is certain that his desire of being distinguished as a conqueror involved him in continual wars, which not only exhausted and oppressed his subjects, but left him little leisure for giving attention to the interior police and improvement of his kingdoms, the great objects of every prince who makes the happiness of his people the end of his government.

Charles, at a very early period of life, having added the Imperial crown to the kingdoms of Spain, and to the hereditary dominions of the houses of Austria and Burgundy, this opened to him such a vast field of enterprise, and engaged him in schemes so complicated as well as arduous, that feeling his power to be unequal to the execution of them, he had often recourse to low artifices, unbecoming his superior talents, and sometimes ventured on such deviations from integrity, as were dishonorable in a great prince. His insidious and fraudulent policy appeared more conspicuous, and was rendered more odious by a comparison with the open and undesigning character of his contemporaries Francis I and Henry VIII. This difference, though occasioned chiefly by the diversity of their tempers, must be ascribed in some degree, to such an opposition in the principles of their political conduct as affords some excuse for this defect in Charles’s behavior, though it cannot serve as a justification of it. Francis and Henry seldom acted but from the impulse of their passions, and rushed headlong towards the object in view. Charles’s measures, being the result of cool reflection, were disposed into a regular system, and carried on upon a concerted plan. Persons who act in the former manner, naturally pursue the end in view, without assuming any disguise, or displaying much address. Such as hold the latter course, are apt, in forming, as well as in executing their designs, to employ such refinements as always lead to artifice in conduct, and often degenerate into deceit.

The circumstances transmitted to us, with respect to Charles's private deportment and character, are fewer and less interesting, than might have been expected from the great number of authors who have undertaken to write an account of his life. These are not the object of this history, which aims more at representing the great transactions of the reign of Charles V, and pointing out the manner in which they affected the political state of Europe, than at delineating his private virtues or defects.

 

The rise of Elizabeth of England

 

The plenipotentiaries of France, Spain, and England, continued their conferences at Cercamp; and though each of them, with the usual art of negotiators, made at first very high demands in the name of their respective courts, yet as they were all equally desirous of peace, they would have consented reciprocally to such abatements and restrictions of their claims, as must have removed every obstacle to an accommodation.

The death of Charles V was a new motive with Philip to hasten the conclusion of a treaty, as it increased his impatience for returning into Spain, where there was now no person greater or more illustrious than himself. But in spite of the concurring wishes of all the parties interested, an event happened which occasioned an unavoidable delay in their negotiations. About a month after the opening of the conferences at Cercamp, Mary of England ended her short and inglorious reign [Nov. 17], and Elizabeth, her sister, was immediately proclaimed queen with universal joy. As the powers of the English plenipotentiaries expired on the death of their mistress, they could not proceed until they received a commission and instructions from their new sovereign.

Henry and Philip beheld Elizabeth’s elevation to the throne with equal solicitude. As during Mary's jealous administration, under the most difficult circumstances, and in a situation extremely delicate, that princess had conducted herself with prudence and address far exceeding her years, they had conceived a high idea of her abilities, and already formed expectations of a reign very different from that of her sister. Equally sensible of the importance of gaining her favor, both monarchs set themselves with emulation to court it, and employed every art in order to insinuate themselves into her confidence.

Each of them had something meritorious, with regard to Elizabeth, to plead in his own behalf. Henry had offered her a retreat in his dominions, if the dread of her sister's violence should force her to fly for safety out of England. Philip, by his powerful intercession, had prevented Mary from proceeding to the most fatal extremities against her sister. Each of them endeavored now to avail himself of the circumstances in his favor. Henry wrote to Elizabeth soon after her accession, with the warmest expressions of gratitude and friendship. He represented the war which had unhappily been kindled between their kingdoms, not as a national quarrel, but as the effect of Mary's blind partiality to her husband, and fond compliance with all his wishes. He entreated her to disengage herself from an alliance which had proved so unfortunate to England, and to consent to a separate peace with him, without mingling her interests with those of Spain, from which they ought now to be altogether disjoined. Philip on the other hand, unwilling to lose his connection with England, the importance of which, during a rupture with France, he had so recently experienced, not only vied with Henry in declarations of esteem for Elizabeth, and in professions of his resolution to cultivate the strictest amity with her, but, in order to confirm and perpetuate their union, he offered himself to her in marriage, and undertook to procure a dispensation from the pope for that purpose.

Elizabeth weighed the proposals of the two monarchs attentively, and with that provident discernment of her true interest, which was conspicuous in all her deliberations. She gave some encouragement to Henry’s overture of a separate negotiation, because it opened a channel of correspondence with France, which she might find to be of great advantage, if Philip should not discover sufficient zeal and solicitude for securing to her proper terms in the joint treaty. But she ventured on this step with the most cautious reserve, that she might not alarm Philip's suspicious temper, and lose an ally in attempting to gain an enemy. Henry himself, by an unpardonable act of indiscretion, prevented her from carrying her intercourse with him to such a length as might have offended or alienated Philip. At the very time when he was courting Elizabeth’s friendship with the greatest assiduity, he yielded with an inconsiderate facility to the solicitations of the princes of Lorrain, and allowed his daughter-in-law the queen of Scots to assume the title and arms of queen of England. This ill-timed pretension, the source of many calamities to the unfortunate queen of Scots, extinguished at once all the confidence that might have grown between Henry and Elizabeth, and left in its place distrust, resentment, and antipathy. Elizabeth soon found that she must unite her interests closely with Philip’s, and expect peace only from negotiations carried on in conjunction with him.

As she had granted a commission, immediately after her accession, to the same plenipotentiaries whom her sister had employed, she now instructed them to act in every point in concert with the plenipotentiaries of Spain, and to take no step until they had previously consulted with them. But though she deemed it prudent to assume this appearance of confidence in the Spanish monarch, she knew precisely how far to carry it; and discovered no inclination to accept of that extraordinary proposal of marriage which Philip had made to her. The English had expressed so openly their detestation of her sister's choice of him, that it would have been highly imprudent to have exasperated them by renewing that odious alliance. She was too well acquainted with Philip's harsh imperious temper, to think of him for a husband. Nor could she admit a dispensation from the pope to be sufficient to authorize her marrying him, without condemning her father's divorce from Catherine of Arragon, and acknowledging of consequence that her mother's marriage was null, and her own birth illegitimate. But though she determined not to yield to Philip's addresses, the situation of her affairs rendered it dangerous to reject them; she returned her answer, therefore, in terms which were evasive, but so tempered with respect, that though they gave him no reason to be secure of success, they did not altogether extinguish his hopes. By this artifice, as well as by the prudence with which she concealed her sentiments and intentions concerning religion, for some time after her accession, she so far gained upon Philip, that he warmly espoused her interest in the conferences which were renewed at Cercamp, and afterwards removed to Chateau-Cambresis [Feb. 6, 1559]. A definitive treaty, which was to adjust the claims and pretensions of so many princes, required the examination of such a variety of intricate points, and led to such infinite and minute details, as drew out the negotiations to a great length. But the constable Montmorency exerted himself with such indefatigable zeal and industry, repairing alternately to the courts of Paris and Brussels, in order to obviate or remove every difficulty, that all the points in dispute were adjusted at length in such a manner, as to give entire satisfaction in every particular to Henry and Philip; and the last hand was ready to be put to the treaty between them.

The claims of England remained as the only obstacle to retard it. Elizabeth demanded the restitution of Calais in the most peremptory tone, as an essential condition of her consenting to peace; Henry refused to give up that important conquest; and both seemed to have taken their resolution with unalterable firmness.

Philip warmly supported Elizabeth's pretensions to Calais, not merely from a principle of equity towards the English nation, that he might appear to have contributed to their recovering what they had lost by espousing his cause; nor solely with a view of soothing Elizabeth by his manifestation of zeal for her interest; but in order to render France less formidable, by securing to her ancient enemy this easy access into the heart of the kingdom. The earnestness, however, with which he seconded the arguments of the English plenipotentiaries, soon began to relax. During the course of the negotiation, Elizabeth, who now felt herself firmly seated on her throne, began to take such open and vigorous measures not only for overturning all that her sister had done in favor of popery, but for establishing the protestant church on a firm foundation, as convinced Philip that his hopes of a union with her had been from the beginning vain, and were now desperate. From that period, his interpositions in her favor became more cold and formal, flowing merely from a regard to decorum, or from the consideration of remote political interests. Elizabeth having reason to expect such an alteration in his conduct, quickly perceived it. But as nothing would have been of greater detriment to her people, or more inconsistent with her schemes of domestic administration, than the continuance of war, she saw the necessity of submitting to such conditions as the situation of her affairs imposed, and that she must reckon upon being deserted by an ally who was now united to her by a very feeble tie, if she did not speedily reduce her demands to what was moderate and attainable. She accordingly gave new instructions to her ambassadors; and Philip’s plenipotentiaries acting as mediators between the French and them, an expedient was fallen upon which, in some degree, justified Elizabeth's departing from the rigor of her first demand with regard to Calais. All lesser articles were settled without much discussion or delay. Philip, that he might not appear to have abandoned the English, insisted that the treaty between Henry and Elizabeth should be concluded in form, before that between the French monarch and himself. The one was signed on the second day of April, the other on the day following.

The treaty of peace between France and England contained no articles of real importance, but that which respected Calais. It was stipulated,

That the king of France should retain possession of that town, with all its dependencies, during eight years;

That at the expiration of that term, he should restore it to England;

That in case of non-performance, he should forfeit five hundred thousand crowns, for payment of which sum, seven or eight wealthy merchants, who were not his subjects, should grant security;

That five persons of distinction should be given as hostages until that security were provided;

That, although the forfeit of five hundred thousand crowns should be paid, the right of England to Calais should still remain entire, in the same manner as it the term of eight years were expired;

That the king and queen of Scotland should be included in the treaty;

That if they, or the French king, should violate the peace by any hostile action, Henry should be obliged instantly to restore Calais;

That on the other hand, if any breach of the treaty proceeded from Elizabeth, then Henry, and the king and queen of Scots were absolved from all the engagements which they had come under by this treaty.

Notwithstanding the studied attention with which so many precautions were taken, it is evident that Henry did not intend the restitution of Calais, nor is it probable that Elizabeth expected it. It was hardly possible that she could maintain, during the course of eight years, such perfect concord both with France and Scotland, as not to afford Henry some pretext for alleging that she had violated the treaty. But even it that term should elapse without any ground for complaint, Henry might then choose to pay the sum stipulated, and Elizabeth had no method of asserting her right but by force of arms. However, by throwing the articles in the treaty with regard to Calais into this form, Elizabeth satisfied her subjects of every denomination; she gave men of discernment a striking proof of her address, in palliating what she could not prevent; and amusing the multitude, to whom the cession of such an important place would have appeared altogether infamous, with the prospect of recovering in a short time that favorite possession.

The expedient which Montmorency employed, in order to facilitate the conclusion of peace between France and Spain, was the negotiating two treaties of marriage, one between Elizabeth, Henry's eldest daughter, and Philip, who supplanted his son, the unfortunate Don Carlos, to whom that princess had been promised in the former conferences at Cercamp; the other between Margaret, Henry's only sister, and the duke of Savoy. For however feeble the ties of blood may often be among princes, or how little soever they may regard them when pushed on to act by motives of ambition, they assume on other occasions the appearance of being so far influenced by these domestic affections as to employ them to justify measures and concessions which they find to be necessary, but know to be impolitic or dishonorable. Such was the use Henry made of the two marriages to which he gave his consent. Having secured an honorable establishment for his sister and his daughter, he, in consideration of these, granted terms both to Philip and the duke of Savoy, of which he would not, on any other account, have ventured to approve.

The principal articles in the treaty between France and Spain were,

That sincere and perpetual amity should be established between the two crowns and their respective allies;

That the two monarchs should labor in concert to procure the convocation of a general council, in order to check the progress of heresy, and restore unity and concord to the Christian church;

That all conquests made by either party, on this side of the Alps, since the commencement of the war in one thousand five hundred and fifty-one, should be mutually restored;

That the duchy of Savoy, the principality of Piedmont, the country of Bresse, and all the other territories formerly subject to the dukes of Savoy, should be restored to Emanuel Philibert, immediately after the celebration of his marriage with Margaret of France, the towns of Turin, Quiers, Pignerol, Chivaz, and Villanova excepted, of which Henry should keep possession until his claims to these places, in right of his grandmother, should be tried and decided in course of law;

That as long as Henry retained these places in his hands, Philip should be at liberty to keep garrisons in the towns of Varcelli and Asti;

That the French king should immediately evacuate all the places which he held in Tuscany and the Siennese, and renounce all future pretensions to them;

That he should restore the marquisate of Montferrat to the duke of Mantua;

That he should receive the Genoese into favor, and give up to them the towns which he had conquered in the island of Corsica;

That none of the princes or states, to whom these cessions were made, should call their subjects to account for any part of their conduct while under the dominion of their enemies, but should bury all past transactions in oblivion.

The pope, the emperor, the kings of Denmark, Sweden, Poland, Portugal, the king and queen of Scots, and almost every prince and state in Christendom, were comprehended in this pacification as the allies either of Henry or of Philip.

Thus, by this famous treaty, peace was reestablished in Europe. All the causes of discord which had so long embroiled the powerful monarchs of France and Spain, which had transmitted hereditary quarrels and wars from Charles to Philip, and from Francis to Henry, seemed to be wholly removed, or finally terminated. The French alone complained of the unequal conditions of a treaty, into which an ambitious minister, in order to recover his liberty, and an artful mistress, that she might gratify her resentment, had seduced their too easy monarch. They exclaimed loudly against the folly of giving up to the enemies of France a hundred and eighty-nine fortified places, in the Low-Countries: or in Italy, in return for the three insignificant towns of St. quintin, Ham, and Catelet. They considered it as an indelible stain upon the glory of the nation, to renounce in one day territories so extensive, and so capable of being defended, that the enemy could not have hoped to wrest them out of their hands, after many years of victory.

But Henry, without regarding the sentiments of his people, or being moved by the remonstrances of his council, ratified the treaty, and executed with great fidelity whatever he had stipulated to perform. The duke of Savoy repaired with a numerous retinue to Paris, in order to celebrate his marriage with Henry's sister. The duke of Alva was sent to the same capital, at the head of a splendid embassy, to espouse Elizabeth in the name of his master. They were received with extraordinary magnificence by the French court. Amidst the rejoicings and festivities on that occasion, Henry's days were cut short by a singular and tragical accident [July 10]. His son, Francis II a prince under age, of a weak constitution, and of a mind still more feeble, succeeded him. Soon after, Paul ended his violent and imperious pontificate, at enmity with all the world, and dis­gusted even with his awn nephews. They, persecuted by Philip, and deserted by the succeeding pope, whom they had raised by their influence to the papal throne, were condemned to the punishment which their crimes and ambition had merited, and their death was as infamous as their lives had been criminal. Thus most of the personages, who had long sustained the principal characters on the great theatre of Europe disappeared about the same time. A more known period of history opens at this era; other actors enter upon the stage, with different views, as well as different passions; new contests arose, and new schemes of ambition occupied and disquieted mankind.

 

Conclusions

 

Upon reviewing the transactions of any active period, in the history of civilized nations, the changes which are accomplished appear wonderfully disproportioned to the efforts which have been exerted. Conquests are never very extensive or rapid, but among nations whose progress in improvement is extremely unequal. When Alexander the Great, at the head of a gallant people, of simple manners and formed to war by admirable military institutions, invaded a state sunk in luxury, and enervated by excessive refinement; when Genghis Kan and Tamerlane, with their armies of hardy barbarians, poured in upon nations, enfeebled by the climate in which they lived, or by the arts and commerce which they cultivated, these conquerors, like a torrent, swept everything before them, subduing kingdoms and provinces in as short a space of time as was requisite to march through them.

But when nations are in a state similar to each other, and keep equal pace in their advances towards refinement, they are not exposed to the calamity of sudden conquests. Their acquisitions of knowledge, their progress in the art of war, their political sagacity and address, are nearly equal. The fate of states in this situation, depends not on a single battle. Their internal resources are many and various. Nor are they themselves alone interested in their own safety, or active in their own defence. Other states interpose, and balance any temporary advantage which either party may have acquired. After the fiercest and most lengthened contest, all the rival nations are exhausted, none are conquered. At length they find it necessary to conclude a peace, which restores to each almost the same power and the same territories of which they were formerly in possession.

Such was the state of Europe during the reign of Charles V. No prince was so much superior to the rest in power, as to render his efforts irresistible, and his conquests easy. No nation had made progress in improvement so far beyond its neighbors, as to have acquired a very manifest pre-eminence. Each state derived some advantage, or was subject to some inconvenience from its situation or its climate; each was distinguished by something peculiar in the genius of its people, or the constitution of its government. But the advantages possessed by one state, were counter­balanced by circumstances favorable to others; and this prevented any from attaining such superiority as might have been fatal to all. The nations of Europe in that age, as in the present, were like one great family; there were some features common to all, which fixed a resemblance; there were certain peculiarities conspicuous in each, which marked a distinction. But there was not among them that wide diversity of character and of genius which, in almost every period of history, had exalted the Europeans above the inhabitants of the other quarters of the globe, and seems to have destined the one to rule, and the other to obey.

But though the near resemblance and equality in improvement among the different nations of Europe prevented the reign of Charles V from being distinguished by such sudden and extensive conquests as occur in some other periods of history, yet, during the course of his administration, all the considerable states in Europe suffered a remarkable change in their political situation, and felt the influence of events, which have not hitherto spent their force, but still continue to operate in a greater or in a less degree. It was during his reign, and in consequence of the perpetual efforts to which his enterprising ambition roused him, that the different kingdoms of Europe acquired internal vigor; that they discerned the resources of which they were possessed; that they came both to feel their own strength, and to know how to make it formidable to others. It was during his reign, too, that the different kingdoms of Europe, which in former times seemed frequently to act as if they had been single and dis­joined, became so thoroughly acquainted, and so intimately connected with each other, as to form one great political system, in which each took a station, wherein it has remained since that time with less variation than could have been expected after the events of two active centuries.

The progress, however, and acquisitions of the house of Austria, were not only greater than those of any other power, but more discernible and conspicuous. I have already enumerated the extensive territories which descended to Charles from his Austrian, Burgundian, and Spanish ancestors. To these he himself added the Imperial dignity; and, as if all this had been too little, the bounds of the habitable globe seemed to be extended, and a new world was subjected to his command. Upon his resignation, the Burgundian provinces, and the Spanish kingdoms with their dependencies, both in the old and new worlds, devolved to Philip. But Charles transmitted his dominions to his son, in a condition very different from that in which he himself had received them. They were augmented by the accession of new provinces; they were habituated to obey an administration no less vigorous than steady; they were accustomed to expensive and persevering efforts, which, though necessary in the contests between civilized nations, had been little known in Europe before the sixteenth century. The provinces of Friesland, Utrecht, and Overyssel, which he acquired by purchase from their former proprietors, and the duchy of Gueldres, of which he made himself master, partly by force of arms, partly by the arts of negotiation, were additions of great value to his Burgundian dominions. Ferdinand and Isabella transmitted to him all the provinces of Spain, from the bottom of the Pyrenees to the frontiers of Portugal; but as he maintained a perpetual peace with that kingdom, amidst the various efforts of his enterprising ambition, he made no acquisition of territory in that quarter.

Charles had gained, however, a vast accession of power in this part of his dominions. By his success in the war with the commons of Castile, he exalted the regal prerogative upon the ruins of the privileges which formerly belonged to the people. Though he allowed the name of the Cortes to remain, and the formality of holding it to be continued; he reduced its authority and jurisdiction almost to nothing, and modeled it in such a manner, that it became rather a junto of the servants of the crown, than an assembly of the representatives of the people. One member of the constitution being thus lopped off, it was impossible but that the other must feel the stroke, and suffer by it. The suppression of the popular power rendered the aristocratical less formidable. The grandees, prompted by the warlike spirit of the age, or allured by the honors which they enjoyed in a court, exhausted their fortunes in military service, or in attending on the person of their prince. They did not dread, perhaps did not observe, the dangerous progress of the royal authority, which, leaving them the vain distinction of being covered in presence of their sovereign, stripped them, by degrees, of that real power which they possessed while they formed one body, and acted in concert with the people. Charles's success in abolishing the privileges of the commons, and in breaking the power of the nobles of Castile, encouraged Philip to invade the liberties of Arragon, which were still more extensive. The Castilians, accustomed to subjection themselves, assisted in imposing the yoke on their more happy and independent neighbors. The will of the sovereign became the supreme law in all the kingdoms of Spain; and princes who were not checked in forming their plans by the jealousy of the people, nor controlled in executing them by the power of the nobles, could both aim at great objects, and call forth the whole strength of the monarchy in order to attain them.

As Charles, by extending the royal prerogative, tendered the monarchs of Spain masters at home, he added new dignity and power to their crown by his foreign acquisitions. He secured to Spain the quiet possession of the kingdom of Naples, which Ferdinand had usurped by fraud, and held with difficulty. He united the duchy of Milan, one of the most fertile and populous Italian provinces, to the Spanish crown; and left his successors, even without taking their other territories into the account, the most considerable provinces in Italy, which had been long the theatre of contention to the great powers of Europe, and in which they had struggled with emulation to obtain the superiority. When the French, in conformity to the treaty of Chateau-Cambresis, withdrew their forces out of Italy, and finally relinquished all their schemes of conquest on that side of the Alps, the Spanish dominions then rose in importance, and enabled their kings, as long as the monarchy retained any degree of vigour, to preserve the chief sway in all the transactions of that country. But whatever accession, either of interior authority or of foreign dominion, Charles gained for the monarchs of Spain in Europe, was inconsiderable when compared with his acquisitions in the new world. He added there, not provinces, but empires to his crown. He conquered territories of such immense extent; he discovered such inexhaustible veins of wealth, and opened such boundless prospects of every kind, as must have roused his successor, and have called him forth to action, though his ambition had been much less ardent than that of Philip, and must have rendered him not only enterprising but formidable.

While the elder branch of the Austrian family rose to such pre-eminence in Spain, the younger, of which Ferdinand was the head, grew to be considerable in Germany; the ancient hereditary dominions of the house of Austria in Germany, united to the kingdoms of Hungary and Bohemia, which Ferdinand had acquired by marriage, formed a respectable power; and when the Imperial dignity was added to these, Ferdinand possessed territories more extensive than had belonged to any prince, Charles V excepted, who had been at the head of the empire for several ages. Fortunately for Europe, the disgust which Philip conceived on account of Ferdinand's refusing to relinquish the Imperial crown in his favor, not only prevented for some time the separate members of the house of Austria from acting in concert, but occasioned between them a visible alienation and rivalship. By degrees, however, regard to the interest of their family extinguished this impolitical animosity. The confidence, which was natural, returned; the aggrandizing of the house of Austria became the common object of all their schemes; they gave and received assistance alternately towards the execution of them; and each derived consideration and importance from the other's success. A family so great and so aspiring, became the general object of jealousy and terror. All the power, as well as policy, of Europe were exerted during a century, in order to check and humble it. Nothing can give a more striking idea of the ascendant which it had acquired, and of the terror which it had inspired, than that after its vigour was spent with extraordinary exertions of its strength, after Spain was become only the shadow of a great name, and its monarchs were sunk into debility and dotage, the house of Austria still continued to be formidable. The nations of Europe had so often felt its superior power, and had been so constantly employed in guarding against it, that the dread of it became a kind of political habit, the influence of which remained when the causes which had formed it ceased to exist.

While the house of Austria went on with such success in enlarging its dominions, France made no considerable acquisition of new territory. All its schemes of conquest in Italy had proved abortive; it had hitherto obtained no establishment of consequence in the new world; and after the continued and vigorous efforts of four successive reigns, the confines of the kingdom were much the same as Louis XI had left them. But though France made not such large strides towards dominion as the house of Austria, it continued to advance by steps which were more secure, because they were gradual and less observed. The conquest of Calais put it out of the power of the English to invade France but at their utmost peril, and delivered the French from the dread of their ancient enemies, who, previous to that event, could at any time penetrate into the kingdom by that avenue, and thereby retard or defeat the execution of their best concerted enterprises against any foreign power. The important acquisition of Metz covered that part of their frontier which formerly was most feeble, and lay most exposed to insult. France, from the time of its obtaining these additional securities against external invasion, must be deemed the most powerful kingdom in Europe, and is more fortunately situated than any on the continent either for conquest or defence. From the confines of Artois to the bottom of the Pyrenees, and from the British channel to the frontiers of Savoy and the coast of the Mediterranean, its territories lay compact and unmingled with those of any other power. Several of the considerable provinces, which had contracted a spirit of independence by their having been long subject to the great vassals of the crown, who were often at variance or at war with their master, were now accustomed to recognize and to obey one sovereign. As they became members of the same monarchy, they assumed the sentiments of that body into which they were incorporated, and co-operated with zeal towards promoting its interest and honor. The power and influence wrested from the nobles were seized by the crown. The people were not admitted to share in these spoils; they gained no new privilege; they acquired no additional weight in the legislature. It was not for the sake of the people, but in order to extend their own prerogative, that the monarchs of France had labored to humble their great vassals. Satisfied with having brought them under entire subjection to the crown, they discovered no solicitude to free the people from their ancient dependence on the nobles of whom they held, and by whom they were often oppressed.

A monarch at the head of a kingdom thus united at home and secure from abroad, was entitled to form great designs, because he felt himself in a condition to execute them. The foreign wars which had continued with little interruption from the accession of Charles VIII, had not only cherished and augmented the martial genius of the nation, but by inuring the troops during the course of long service to the fatigues of war, and accustoming them to obedience, had added the force of discipline to their natural ardor. A gallant and active body of nobles, who considered themselves as idle and useless, unless when they were in the field; who were hardly acquainted with any pastime or exercise but what was military; and who knew no road to power, or fame, or wealth, but war, would not have suffered their sovereign to remain long in inaction. The people, little acquainted with the arts of peace, and always ready to take arms at the command of their superiors, were accustomed, by the expense of long wars carried on in distant countries, to bear impositions, which, however inconsiderable they may seem if estimated by the exorbitant rate of modern exactions, appear immense when compared with the sums levied in France, or in any other country of Europe, previous to the reign of Louis XI. As all the members of which the state was composed were thus impatient for action, and capable of great efforts, the schemes and operations of France must have been no less formidable to Europe than those of Spain. The superior advantages of its situation, the contiguity and compactness of its territories, together with the peculiar state of its political constitution at that juncture, must have rendered its enterprises still more alarming and more decisive. The king possessed such a degree of power as gave him the entire, command of his subjects; the people were strangers to those occupations and habits of life which render men averse to war, or unfit for it; and the nobles, though reduced to the subordination necessary in a regular government, still retained the high, undaunted spirit which was the effect of their ancient independence. The vigor of the feudal times remained, their anarchy was at an end; and the kings of France could avail themselves of the martial ardor which that singular institution had kindled or kept alive, without being exposed to any of the dangers or inconveniences which are inseparable from it when in entire force.

A kingdom in such a state is, perhaps, capable of greater military efforts than at any other period in its progress. But how formidable or how fatal soever to the other nations of Europe the power of such a monarchy might have been, the civil wars which broke out in France saved them at that juncture from feeling its effects. These wars, of which religion was the pretext and ambition the cause, wherein great abilities were displayed by the leaders of the different factions, and little conduct or firmness were manifested by the crown under a succession of weak princes, kept France occupied and embroiled for half a century. During these commotions the internal strength of the kingdom was much wasted, and such a spirit of anarchy was spread among the nobles, to whom rebellion was familiar, and the restraint of laws unknown, that a considerable interval became requisite not only for recruiting the internal vigour of the nation, but for reestablishing the authority of the prince; so that it was long before France could turn her whole attention towards foreign transactions, or act with her proper force in foreign wars. It was long before she rose to that ascendant in Europe which she has maintained since the administration of Cardinal Richelieu, and which the situation as well as extent of the kingdom, the nature of her government, together with the character of her people, entitle her to maintain.

While the kingdoms on the continent grew into power and consequence, England likewise made considerable progress towards regular government and interior strength. Henry VIII, probably without intention, and certainly without any consistent plan, of which his nature was incapable, pursued the scheme of depressing the nobility, which the policy of his father Henry VII had begun. The pride and caprice of his temper led him to employ chiefly new men in the administration of affairs, because he found them most obsequious, or least scrupulous; and he not only conferred on them such plenitude of power, but exalted them to such pre­eminence in dignity, as mortified and degraded the ancient nobility. By the alienation or sale of the church lands, which were dissipated with a profusion no inferior to the rapaciousness with which they had been seized, as well as by the privilege granted to the ancient landholders of selling their estates, or disposing of them by will, an immense property, formerly locked up, was brought into circulation. This put the spirit of industry and commerce in motion, and gave it some considerable degree of vigour. The road to power and to opulence became open to persons of every condition. A sudden and excessive flow of wealth from the West Indies proved fatal to industry in Spain; a moderate accession in England to the sum in circulation gave life to commerce, awakened the ingenuity of the nation, and excited it to useful enterprise. In France, what the nobles lost the crown gained. In England, the commons were gainers as well as the king. Power and influence accompanied of course the property which they acquired. They rose to consideration among their fellow subjects; they began to feel their own importance; and extending their influence in the legislative body gradually, and often when neither they themselves nor others foresaw all the effects of their claims and pretensions, they at last attained that high authority to which the British constitution is indebted for the existence, and must owe the preservation of its liberty. At the same time that the English constitution advanced towards perfection, several circumstances brought on a change in the ancient system with respect to foreign powers, and introduced another more beneficial to the nation. As soon as Henry disclaimed the supremacy of the papal see, and broke off all connection with the papal court, considerable sums were saved to the nation, of which it had been annually drained by remittances to Rome for dispensations and indulgences, by the expense of pilgrimages into foreign countries, or by payment of annates, first fruits, and a thousand other taxes which that artful and rapacious court levied on the credulity of mankind. The exercise of a jurisdiction different from that of the civil power, and claiming not only to be independent of it, but superior to it, a wild solecism in government, apt not only to perplex and disquiet weak minds, but tending directly to disturb society, was finally abolished. Government became more simple as well as more respectable, when no rank or character exempted any person from being amenable to the same courts as other subjects, from being tried by the same judges, and from being acquitted or condemned by the same laws.

By the loss of Calais the English were excluded from the continent. All schemes for invading France became of course as chimerical as they had formerly been pernicious. The views of the English were confined, first, by necessity, and afterwards from choice, within their own island. That rage for conquest which had possessed the nation during many centuries, and wasted its strength in perpetual and fruitless wars, ceased at length. Those active spirits which had known and followed no profession but war, sought for occupation in the arts of peace, and their country was benefited as much by the one as it had suffered by the other. The nation, which had been exhausted by frequent expeditions to the continent, recruited its numbers, and acquired new strength; and when roused by any extraordinary exigency to take part in foreign operations, the vigour of its efforts was proportionally great, because they were only occasional and of a short continuance.

The same principle which had led England to adopt this new system with regard to the powers on the continent, occasioned a change in its plan of conduct with respect to Scotland, the only foreign state with which, on account of its situation in the same island, the English had such a close connection as demanded their perpetual attention. Instead of prosecuting the ancient scheme of conquering that kingdom, which the nature of the country, defended by a brave and hardy people, rendered dangerous if not impracticable; it appeared more eligible to endeavor at obtaining such influence in Scotland as might exempt England from any danger or disquiet from that quarter. The national poverty of the Scots, together with the violence and animosity of their factions, rendered the execution of this plan easy to a people far superior to them in wealth. The leading men of greatest power and popularity were gained; the ministers and favorites of the crown were corrupted; and such absolute direction of the Scottish councils was acquired, as rendered the operations of the one kingdom dependent, in a great measure, on the sovereign of the other. Such perfect external security, added to the interior advantages which England now possessed, must soon have raised it to new considera­tion and importance; the long reign of Elizabeth, equally conspicuous for wisdom, for steadiness, and for vigour, accelerated its progress, and carried it with greater rapidity towards that elevated station which it bath since held among the powers of Europe.

During the period in which the political state of the great kingdoms underwent such changes, revolutions of considerable importance happened in that of the secondary or inferior powers. Those in the papal court are most obvious, and of most extensive consequence.

In the Preliminary Book, I have mentioned the rise of that spiritual jurisdiction which the popes claim as vicars of Jesus Christ, and have traced the progress of that authority which they possess as temporal princes. Previous to the reign of Charles V there was nothing that tended to circumscribe or to moderate their authority, but science and philosophy, which began to revive and be cultivated. The progress of these, however, was still inconsiderable; they always operate slowly; and it is long before their influence reaches the people, or can produce any sensible effect upon them. They may perhaps gradually, and in a long course of years, undermine and shake an established system of false reli­gion, but there is no instance of their having overturned one. The battery is too feeble to demolish those fabrics which superstition raises on deep foundations, and can strengthen with the most consummate art.

Luther had attacked the papal supremacy with other weapons, and with an impetuosity more formidable. The time and manner of his attack concurred with a multitude of circumstances, which have been explained, in giving him immediate success. The charm which had bound mankind for so many ages was broken at once. The human mind, which had continued long as tame and passive as if it had been formed to believe whatever was taught, and to bear whatever was imposed, roused of a sudden and became inquisitive, mutinous, and disdainful of the yoke to which it had hitherto submitted. That wonderful ferment and agitation of mind, which, at this distance of time, appears unaccountable, or is condemned as extravagant, was so general, that it must have been excited by causes which were natural and of powerful efficacy. The kingdoms of Denmark, Sweden, England, and Scotland, and almost one half of Germany, threw off their allegiance to the pope, abolished his jurisdiction within their territories, and gave the sanction of law to modes of discipline and systems of doctrine which were not only independent of his power, but hostile to it. Nor was this spirit of innovation confined to those countries which openly revolted from the pope; it spread through all Europe, and broke out in every part of it with various degrees of violence. It penetrated early into France, and made a quick progress there. In that kingdom, the number of converts to the opinions of the reformers was so great, their zeal so enterprising, and the abilities of their leaders so distinguished, that they soon ventured to contend for superiority with the established church, and were sometimes on the point of obtaining it. In all the provinces of Germany which continued to acknowledge the papal supremacy, as well as in the Low-Countries, the protestant doctrines were secretly taught, and had gained so many proselytes, that they were ripe for revolt, and were restrained merely by the dread of their rulers from imitating the example of their neighbors, and asserting their independence. Even in Spain and Italy, symptoms to shake off the yoke appeared. The pretensions of the pope to infallible knowledge and supreme power were treated by many persons of eminent learning and abilities with such scorn, or attacked with such vehemence, that the most vigilant attention of the civil magistrate, the highest strains of pontifical authority, and all the rigor of inquisitorial jurisdiction were requisite to check and extinguish it.

The defection of so many opulent and powerful kingdoms from the papal see, was a fatal blow to its grandeur and power. It abridged the dominions of the popes in extent, it diminished their revenues, and left them fewer rewards to bestow on the ecclesiastics of various denominations, attached to them by vows of obedience as well as by ties of interest, and whom they employed as instruments to establish or support their usurpations in every part of Europe. The countries too which now disclaimed their authority, were those which formerly had been most devoted to it. The empire of superstition differs from every other species of dominion; its power is often greatest and most implicitly obeyed in the provinces most remote from the seat of government; while such as are situated nearer to that are more apt to discern the artifices by which it is upheld, or the impostures on which it is founded. The personal frailties or vices of the popes, the errors as well as corruption of their administration, the ambition, venality, and deceit which reigned in their courts, fell immediately under the observation of the Italians, and could not fail of diminishing that respect which begets submission. But in Germany, England, and the more remote parts of Europe, these were either altogether unknown, or being only known by report, made a slighter impression. Veneration for the papal dignity increased accordingly in these countries in proportion to their distance from Rome; and that veneration, added to their gross ignorance, rendered them equally credulous and passive. In tracing the progress of the papal domination, the boldest and most successful instances of encroachment are to be found in Germany and other countries distant from Italy. In these its impositions were heaviest and its exactions the most rapacious; so that in estimating the diminution of power which the court of Rome suffered in consequence of the reformation, not only the number but the character of the people who revolted, not only the great extent of territory, but the extraordinary obsequiousness of the subjects which it lost, must be taken into the account.

Nor was it only by this defection of so many kingdoms and states which the reformation occasioned, that it contributed to diminish the power of the Roman pontiffs. It obliged them to adopt a different system of conduct towards the nations which still continued to recognize their jurisdiction, and to govern them by new maxims and with a milder spirit. The reformation taught them, by a fatal example, what they seem not before to have apprehended, that the credulity and patience of mankind might be overburdened and exhausted. They became afraid of venturing upon any such exertion of their authority as might alarm or exasperate their subjects, and excite them to a new revolt. They saw a rival church established in many countries of Europe, the members of which were on the watch to observe any errors in their administration, and eager to expose them. They were sensible that the opinions, adverse to their power and usurpations, were not adopted by their enemies alone, but had spread even among the people who still adhered to them. Upon all these accounts, it was no longer possible to lead or to govern their flock in the same manner as in those dark and quiet ages when faith was implicit, when submission was unreserved, and all tamely followed and obeyed the voice of their pastor. From the era of the reformation, the popes have ruled rather by address and management than by authority. Though the style of their decrees be still the same, the effect of them is very different. Those bulls and interdicts which, before the reformation, made the greatest princes tremble, have since that period been disregarded or despised by the most inconsiderable. Those bold decisions and acts of jurisdiction which, during many ages, not only passed uncensured, but were revered as the awards of a sacred tribunal, would, since Luther's appearance, he treated by one part of Europe as the effect of folly or arrogance, and be detested by the other as impious and unjust. The popes, in their administration, have been obliged not only to accommodate themselves to the notions of their adherents, but to pay some regard to the prejudices of their enemies. They seldom venture to claim new powers, or even to insist obstinately on their ancient prerogatives, lest they should irritate the former; they carefully avoid every measure that may either excite the indignation or draw on them the derision of the latter. The policy of the court of Rome has become as cautious, circumspect, and timid, as it was once adventurous and violent; and though their pretensions to infallibility, on which all their authority is founded, does not allow them to renounce any jurisdiction, which they have at any time claimed or exercised, they find it expedient to suffer many of their prerogatives to lie dormant, and not to expose themselves to the risk of losing that remainder of power which they still enjoy, by ill-timed attempts towards reviving obsolete pretensions. Before the sixteenth century, the popes were the movers and directors in every considerable enterprise; they were at the head of every great alliance; and being considered as arbiters in the affairs of Christendom, the court of Rome was the centre of political negotiation and intrigue. Since that time, the greatest operations in Europe have been carried on independent of them; they have sunk almost to a level with the other petty, princes of Italy; they continue to claim, though they dare not exercise, the same spiritual jurisdiction, but hardly retain any shadow of the temporal power which they anciently possessed.

But how fatal soever the reformation may have been to the power of the popes, it has contributed to improve the church of Rome both in science and in morals. The desire of equaling the reformers in those talents which had procured them respect; the necessity of acquiring the knowledge requisite for defending their own tenets, or refuting the arguments of their opponents; together with the emulation natural between two rival churches, engaged the Roman catholic clergy to apply themselves to the study of useful science, which they cultivated with such assiduity and success, that they have gradually become as eminent in literature, as they were in some periods infamous for ignorance. The same principle occasioned a change no less considerable in the morals of the Romish clergy. Various causes which have formerly been enumerated, had concurred in introducing great irregularity, and even dissolution of manners, among the popish clergy. Luther and his adherents began their attack on the church with such vehement invectives against these, that, in order to remove the scandal, and silence their declamations, greater decency of conduct became necessary. The reformers themselves were so eminent not only for the purity but even austerity of their manners, and had acquired such reputation among the people on that account, that the Roman Catholic clergy must have soon lost all credit, if they had not endeavored to conform in some measure to their standard. They knew that all their actions fell under the severe inspection of the protestants, whom enmity and emulation prompted to observe every vice, or even impropriety in their conduct; to censure them without indulgence, and expose them without mercy. This rendered them, of course, not only cautious to avoid such enormities as might give offence, but studious to acquire the virtues which might merit praise. In Spain and Portugal, where the tyrannical jurisdiction of the inquisition crushed the protestant faith as soon as it appeared, the spirit of popery continues invariable; science has made small progress, and the character of ecclesiastics has undergone little change. But in those countries where the members of the two churches have mingled freely with each other, or have carried on any considerable intercourse, either commercial or literary, an extraordinary alteration in the ideas, as well as in the morals of the popish ecclesiastics, is manifest. In France, the manners of the dignitaries and secular clergy have become decent and exemplary in a high degree. Many of them have been distinguished for all the accomplishments and virtues which can adorn their pro­fession; and differ greatly from their predecessors before the reformation, both in their maxims and in their conduct.

Nor has the influence of the reformation been felt only by the inferior members of the Roman catholic church; it has extended to the see of Rome, to the sovereign pontiffs themselves. Violations of decorum, and even trespasses against morality, which passed without censure in those ages, when neither the power of popes, nor the veneration of the people for their character, had any bounds; when there was no hostile eye to observe the errors in their conduct, and no adversaries zealous to inveigh against them; would be liable now to the severest animadversion, and excite general indignation or horror. Instead of rivaling the courts of temporal princes in gayety, and surpassing them in licentiousness, the popes have studied to assume manners more severe and more suitable to their ecclesiastical character. The chair of St. Peter hath not been polluted during two centuries, by any pontiff that resembled Alexander VI or several of his predecessors, who were a disgrace to religion and to human nature. Throughout this long succession of popes, a wonderful decorum of conduct, compared with that of preceding ages, is observable. Many of them, especially among the pontiff's of the present century, have been conspicuous for all the virtues becoming their high station; and by their humanity, their love of literature, and their moderation, have made some atonement to mankind for the crimes of their predecessors. Thus the beneficial influences of the reformation have been more extensive than they appear on a superficial view; and this great division in the Christian church hath contributed, in some measure, to increase purity of manners, to diffuse science, and to inspire humanity. History recites such a number of shocking events occasioned by religious dissensions, that it must afford peculiar satisfaction to trace any one salutary or beneficial effect to that source from which so many fatal calamities have flowed.

The republic of Venice, which, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, had appeared so formidable, that almost all the potentates of Europe united in a confederacy for its destruction, declined gradually from its ancient power and splendor. The Venetians not only lost a great part of their territory in the war excited by the league of Cambray, but the revenues as well as vigour of the state were exhausted by their extraordinary and long-continued efforts in their own defence; and that commerce by which they had acquired their wealth and power began to decay, without any hopes of its reviving. All the fatal consequences to their republic, which the sagacity of the Venetian senate foresaw on the first discovery of a passage to the East Indies by the Cape of Good Hope, actually took place. Their endeavors to prevent the Portuguese from establishing themselves in the East Indies, not only by exciting the Sultans of Egypt, and the Ottoman monarchs, to turn their arms against such dangerous intruders, but by affording secret aid to the infidels in order to insure their success, proved ineffectual. The activity and valor of the Portuguese surmounted every obstacle, and obtained such a firm footing in that fertile country, as secured to them large possessions, together with an influence till more extensive. Lisbon, instead of Venice, became the staple for the precious commodities of the East. The Venetians, after having possessed; for many years, the monopoly of that beneficial commerce, had the mortification to be excluded from almost any share in it. The discoveries of the Spaniards in the Western world proved no less fatal to inferior branches of their commerce. The original defects which were formerly pointed out in the constitution of the Venetian republic still continued, and the dis­advantages with which it undertook any great enterprise increased, rather than diminished. The sources from which it derived its extraordinary riches and power being dried up, the interior vigor of the state declined, and, of course, its external operations became less formidable. Long before the middle of the sixteenth century, Venice ceased to be one of the principal powers in Europe, and dwindled into a secondary and subaltern state. But as the senate had the address to conceal the diminution of its power, under the veil of moderation and caution; as it made no rash effort that could discover its weakness; as the symptoms of political decay in states are not soon observed, and are seldom so apparent to their neighbors as to occasion any sudden alteration in their conduct towards them, Venice continued long to be considered and respected. She was treated not according to her present condition, but according to the rank which she had formerly held. Charles V as well as the kings of France his rivals, courted her assistance with emulation and solicitude in all their enterprises. Even down to the close of the century, Venice remained not only an object of attention, but a considerable seat of political negotiation and intrigue.

That authority which the first Cosmo di Medici, and Laurence, his grandson, had acquired in the republic of Florence, by their beneficence and abilities, inspired their descendants with the ambition of usurping the sovereignty in their country, and paved their way towards it. Charles V placed Alexander di Medici at the head of the republic [A. D. 1550], and to the natural interest and power of the family added the weight as well as credit of the Imperial protection. Of these, his successor Cosmo, surnamed the Great, availed himself; and establishing his supreme authority on the ruins of the ancient republican constitution, he transmitted that, together with the title of grand duke of Tuscany, to his descendants. Their dominions were composed of the territories which had belonged to the three commonwealths of Florence, Pisa, and Sienna, and formed one of the most respectable of the Italian states.

The dukes of Savoy, during the former part of the sixteenth century, possessed territories which were not considerable either for extent or value; and the French, having seized the greater part of them, obliged the reigning duke to retire for safety to the strong fortress of Nice, where he shut himself up for several years, while his son, the prince of Piedmont, endeavored to better his fortune by serving as an adventurer in the armies of Spain. The peace of Chateau-Cambresis restored to him his paternal dominions. As these are environed on every hand by powerful neighbors, all whose motions the dukes of Savoy most observe with the greatest attention, in order not only to guard against the danger of being surprised and overpowered, but that they may choose their side with discernment in those quarrels wherein it is impossible for them to avoid taking part, this peculiarity in their situation seems to have had no inconsiderable influence on their character. By rousing them to perpetual attention, by keeping their ingenuity always on the stretch, and engaging them in almost continual action, it hath formed a race of princes more sagacious in discovering their true interest, more decisive in their resolutions, and more dexterous in availing themselves of every occurrence which presented itself, than any perhaps that can be singled out in the history of Europe. By gradual acquisitions the dukes of Savoy have added to their territories, as well as to their own importance; and aspiring at length to regal dignity, which they obtained about half a century ago, by the title of kings of Sardinia, they hold now no inconsiderable rank among the monarchs of Europe.

The territories which form the republic of the United Netherlands were lost during the first part of the sixteenth century, among the numerous provinces subject to the house of Austria; and were then so inconsiderable, that hardly one opportunity of mentioning them bath occurred in all the busy period of this history. But soon after the peace of Chateau-Cambresis, the violent and bigoted maxims of Philip's government, being carried into execution with unrelenting rigour by the duke of Alva, exasperated the free people of the Low-Countries to such a degree, that they threw off the Spanish yoke, and asserted their ancient liberties and laws. These they defended with a persevering valor, which gave employment to the arms of Spain during half a century, exhausted the vigor, ruined the reputation of that monarchy, and at last constrained their ancient masters to recognize and to treat with them as a free independent state. This state, founded on liberty, and reared by industry and economy, grew into great reputation, even while struggling for its existence. But when peace and security allowed it to enlarge its views, and to extend its commerce, it rose to be one of the most respectable as well as enterprising powers in Europe.

The transactions of the kingdoms in the North of Europe have been seldom attended to in the course of this history.

Russia remained buried in that barbarism and obscurity, from which it was called about the beginning of the present century, by the creative genius of Peter the Great, who made his country known and formidable to the rest of Europe.

In Denmark and Sweden, during the reign of Charles V, great revolutions happened in their constitutions, civil as well as ecclesiastical. In the former kingdom, a tyrant being degraded from the throne, and expelled the country, a new prince was called by the voice of the people to assume the reins of government. In the latter, a fierce people roused to arms by injuries and oppression, shook off the Danish yoke, and conferred the regal dignity on its deliverer Gustavus Ericson, who had all the virtues of a hero, and of a patriot. Denmark, exhausted by foreign wars, or weakened by the dissensions between the king and the nobles, became incapable of such efforts as were requisite in order to recover the ascendant which it had long possessed in the North of Europe. Sweden, as soon as it was freed from the dominion of strangers, began to recruit its strength, and acquired in a short time such internal vigour, that it became the first kingdom in the North. Early in the subsequent century, it lose to such a high rank among the powers of Europe, that it had the chief merit in forming, as well as conducting, that powerful league, which protected not only the protestant religion, but the liberties of Germany, against the bigotry and ambition of the house of Austria.

 

 

FINIS