Philip II. of Spain 11

Philip II. of Spain 11

Carranza was at Alcalá de Henares in August 1559, shortly before Philip

left Flanders, when he was summoned by the Regent Juana to Valladolid.

The archbishop had known for some time that the spies of the

Inquisition were around him, and endeavoured diplomatically to delay his

journey until the king should arrive; but Philip had deferred his

departure for a fortnight, because a soothsayer had predicted heavy

storms at sea, and before he could arrive the archbishop, who had then

reached Torrelaguna, was taken from his bed at one o’clock in the

morning and carried to the dungeons of the Inquisition at Valladolid.

His arrest caused the greatest dismay throughout Spain. Contemporaries

made no secret of their belief that he was not imprisoned for religion

at all. His catechism was unanimously approved of by the pope, and by

the Congregation of the Index in Rome. The Council of Trent solemnly and

repeatedly protested against his arrest, and for many years it was a

pitched battle between the Inquisition and the king on the one hand, and

all the Catholic Church on the other. The documents in the case reached

25,000 folios of writing, some of the allegations against the archbishop

being quite ludicrous in their triviality and looseness. In all

probability the first cause of Carranza’s arrest was the jealousy of

Valdes, Archbishop of Seville, the inquisitor-general. He was, like all

the chief inquisitors, a Dominican, and during the many years he had

been at the head of the Holy Office had become intolerably overbearing

and ambitious. Carranza, on the other hand, was a much younger man

(fifty-five), and had, after several years’ absence from Spain, been

suddenly lifted from the position of a simple friar to that of Primate

of Spain, the holder of the richest ecclesiastical benefice in the

world. That Valdes should be jealous was only natural, and in the

absence of any adequate reason for his imprisonment in Carranza’s

writings, it is almost certain that the cause for his first detention

must be sought in this direction. Feria, who, of course, knew him well,

writing from Brussels at the date of his first arrest to Bishop Quadra

in England, says: “Things are going so badly in Spain, and they are

coming to such a pass, that we shall soon not know who are the heretics

and who the Christians. I will not believe evil of the archbishop, or of

his companion, or of the Archbishop of Granada, who has also been

summoned by the Inquisitors. What drives me crazy is to see the lives

led by the criminals (_i.e._ the accused) and those led by their judges,

and to compare their respective intelligence.” The bishop’s (Quadra’s)

reply to this is almost as bold; and a priest sitting at table in Ruy

Gomez’s house is reported to have said without rebuke, speaking of

Carranza, “We shall see by and by whether he is a heretic, but we

already see that he is being persecuted by envy.” When Philip arrived in

Spain the archbishop was in the dark dungeon, where he stayed for two

years, and churchmen everywhere were murmuring at the fate of the

primate. Then the matter assumed a very different complexion. It was now

a question of the vindication of Philip’s favourite tribunal against the

demands of Rome, and for many years Philip held out, making use of every

procrastination and subterfuge of which he was a master, until Pius V.

in 1566 threatened to excommunicate Philip unless Carranza were sent to

Rome. Then after some further delay Philip thought wise to cede the

point, and the archbishop left in April 1567. But his troubles were not

at an end. After a weary delay in Rome, he was fully absolved and

restored by the pope, and the decision sent to Spain for the king’s

ratification. This was deferred until Pius V. died (1572), whereupon the

new pope, Gregory XIII., commenced another interrogatory, which lasted

three years. This ended in the absolution of the archbishop after a

light penance, at the end of which, in a few days, Carranza died.

Through all this the monarch seems to have had no personal feeling

against the primate, but it was necessary at all costs to strengthen the

Inquisition.

 

On the arrival of Philip in Spain in the autumn of 1559, his methods and

character were well matured, and he began the regular routine of

government which continued unbroken almost for the next forty years,

endeavouring to rule his wide-spreading dominions from his desk, and

trying to make puppets of all men for his own political ends. The

government was divided into eleven departments, distributed between four

secretaries of state. Letters and documents, after being deciphered,

were sent to the king by the secretary of the department to which they

belonged, often accompanied by a note explaining them or recommending a

particular course. Every letter, to the most trivial detail, was read by

Philip himself, who scrawled over the margins his acceptance or

otherwise of the recommendations, or ordered them to be submitted to the

inner council of state, Ruy Gomez, Alba, the confessor, and one or two

other persons. The results of the conference were sent to the king in a

memorandum from the secretary, and were once more considered. Every

paper was therefore before the king several times. All letters or

replies sent were submitted to him in draft, and frequently amended by

him. At the same time his secretaries kept up a copious semi-private

correspondence with all the Spanish ambassadors and governors, which was

also perused by the king, and frequently contained matters of the

highest importance in secret diplomacy, which it was unadvisable to send

by the usual official channels. It will be seen that this cumbrous

system, by which every individual point was brought before the king’s

personal consideration, entailed an immensity of work, and made prompt

action impossible, even if the king’s own character was capable of

promptitude. Ruy Gomez, Duke of Pastrana and Prince of Eboli, was

high-chamberlain and state councillor, the inseparable friend of the

king, over whom his influence was great. He had taken care to place

around the king secretaries of state attached to his party, the

principal of whom were Eraso and the two Perezes successively--Gonzalo

and Antonio. The Duke of Alba, unlike the other political advisers of

the king, was a great noble, ambitious, harsh, and turbulent, but

partaking of Philip’s own view of the sacredness of the power of the

crown. We have seen that Philip in his youth had been warned by his

father not to trust Alba, or any other great noble, with power in Spain,

and he never did. But the duke was useful in council, because he always

opposed Ruy Gomez, whose soft and peaceful methods he contemned. This

exactly suited Philip, who invariably wished to hear both sides of every

question, and followed his father’s advice to keep rivals and enemies

near him, in order that he might hear the worst that was to be said of

each, whilst he held the balance.

 

The king loved to surround himself with mystery, to be unseen by the

crowd except on occasions of great ceremony; and as he got older he

became in public graver and more reserved than ever. He had by this time

probably persuaded himself that he really was a sacred being, specially

selected as the direct representative of the Almighty, to whom Popes and

Churches were merely tools. Certain it is that he considered it

unfitting in him to exhibit any of the usual emotions of humanity. On

his marble mask anger, surprise, or joy left no sign.

 

Philip landed in Spain on September 8, 1559, in great danger, the ship

and all her rich freight sinking immediately after he left her. He had

previously instructed the Regent Juana that heresy must be pursued

without mercy in Spain, and she and young Carlos had sat through the

horrors of a great auto de fé in Valladolid at the beginning of June,

where some of the principal ladies of her own court were cruelly

sacrificed. But this did not suffice for Philip. If he was to dominate

the world from Spain, that country, at least, must be free from stain or

suspicion. So the first great public ceremony he attended in the country

that welcomed him was another stately auto at Valladolid. On Sunday,

October 18, he sat on a splendid platform in the open space opposite the

church of St. Martin. The judges of the Holy Office surrounded the

throne, and the multitude, frantic with joy to see their beloved Philip

again, and to enjoy a brilliant holiday, had flocked in for many miles

around, attracted by the festival, and the forty days’ indulgence

promised to them by the Church as a reward for their presence. Before

the assembled multitude Philip solemnly swore to maintain the purity of

the faith and to support the Holy Office. As the condemned criminals

passed his platform, one of them, a gentleman of high birth, married to

a descendant of the royal house of Castile, cried out to the king, “How

is it that a gentleman like you can hand over another gentleman such as

I am to these friars?” “If my son were as perverse as you are,” said

Philip, “I myself would carry the faggots to burn him.” Twelve poor

wretches were then handed over to the civil power for execution, with a

canting request for mercy from the Inquisition, for the Holy Office

itself never officially carried out the last sentence, and invariably

begged hypocritically for mercy for the poor wracked bodies it had

doomed to the fire.

 

It is probable that Philip’s object in thus celebrating his return to

his country was intended to give additional prestige to the institution

which he intended to use as a main instrument in keeping his country

free from the dissensions, such as he saw spreading over the rest of the

world. But it will be a mistake to conclude that his proceeding, or even

the Inquisition itself, was unpopular with Spaniards. On the contrary,

Philip seems in this, as in most other things, to have been a perfect

embodiment of the feeling of his country at this time. The enormous

majority of Spaniards exulted in the idea that their nation, and

especially their monarch, had been selected to make common cause with

the Almighty for the extirpation of His enemies.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VII

 

Arrival of Elizabeth de Valois in Spain--Her influence over

Philip--Position of affairs in France--War with England--Philip’s

attitude towards France--Death of Francis II.--Spanish disaster at

Los Gelves--Position of Spain in the Mediterranean.

 

 

But it was time now for Philip to think of the reception of his new

child-wife, whom Alba had married as his proxy in Paris five months

before. Endless questions of etiquette had to be settled, political

arrangements had to be made in Paris that should ensure to Philip the

full benefit of the marriage, the bribing of ministers and the like; and

it was far into the winter before the bride started from Paris, which

she was to see no more. She was the flower of a bad flock, the most

dearly beloved of any of her house, and her slow journey through France

was a triumphal march. The splendid court in which her life had been

passed was very dear to her, and she expected but little happiness in

the rich squalor and rigid grimness of her husband’s palace. She was

going, she knew, to be handed over like a chattel to the enemy of her

country, but she kept up a brave heart, and daily wrote cheerful letters

to her mother. So great was the distrust between the two countries that

the most elaborate precautions were taken on both sides to prevent

surprise or treachery, and Elizabeth was kept for three days in the snow

at Roncesvalles whilst Anthony de Bourbon was bickering with the

Spaniards as to which frontier should be crossed first. Philip was not a