Philip II. of Spain 16

Philip II. of Spain 16

CHAPTER X

 

Renewed contest between Philip and the papacy--Condition of Don

Carlos--His arrest and imprisonment--Philip’s explanations--His

last illness and death--Death of Elizabeth de Valois--The

interviews of Bayonne and the Catholic League--Catharine de

Medici--Philip face to face with Protestantism--Philip and the

Moriscos--Rising of the Moriscos--Deza at Granada--Don Juan of

Austria--Expulsion of the Moriscos from Andalucia.

 

 

Whilst Philip was engaged in his hopeless efforts to extirpate national

feeling and the Protestant faith in his Flemish dominions, he was, on

the other hand, carrying on a bitter contest with the Holy See. His

arrogant claims had tired out even the erstwhile obedient Pius IV., but

on his death in December 1565 a man of Philip’s own stamp mounted the

chair of St. Peter. Michael Ghislieri, Pius V., was consumed with the

one idea that the Church must be absolutely omnipotent through

Christendom in all ecclesiastical affairs; and this was in direct

opposition to the keynote of Philip’s policy, namely, that all power

within his dominions must be concentrated in the sovereign. It did not

take long, therefore, for matters to reach a crisis, the main bone of

contention being the king’s direct control of the clergy, and his claim

to withhold the papal bulls from promulgation in Spain. The new pope

issued a number of fresh orders for Church administration and

discipline, which were promptly set aside by Philip’s council, and the

contest then opened.

 

First, the pope turned his hand to the Spanish possessions in Italy,

sending peremptory orders to the Neapolitan bishops for them to

promulgate and obey the papal bulls without waiting for the royal

confirmation. This was met by the viceroy, the Duke of Alcalá, by

threatening any bishop who did so with summary imprisonment. Pius tried

by every device imaginable for three years to circumvent the Spanish

position in Naples, but at last in February 1569 had to confess himself

beaten. The patronage was in the hands of Philip, which necessarily made

the bishops his creatures. The pope was equally unsuccessful in Sicily

and in Milan, notwithstanding the efforts of the great cardinal, Charles

Borromeo, and the excommunication of Philip’s governor, the Duke of

Albuquerque. The pope’s action in Spain itself was more effectual. The

various pontiffs had from time to time regranted to the Spanish monarchs

the revenues arising from the sale of the so-called Crusade bulls

granting certain indulgences. Pius V. now refused to do this, on the

ground that the government traffic in these indulgences had become a

scandal. He also continued to worry Philip about Carranza and the

appropriation of the great revenues of his vacant see of Toledo to the

cost of the building of the Escorial. Bitter words and reproaches were

used on both sides. Philip gave way on secondary points, such as the

sending of Carranza to Rome, but he kept fast to his main idea of

retaining control over the clergy and benefices; and the constant

menaces of the Turks in the Mediterranean made it impossible for the

pope to carry to the last extreme the quarrel with the only prince to

whom he could look for protection. Philip, indeed, was assailed by

trouble at all points. His married life, in a domestic sense, was a

happy one, though his constant labour left him but small leisure to

enjoy it. All else was bitterness and disappointment, mostly, it is

true, the result of his rigid unadaptability to circumstances.

 

His greatest trouble was undoubtedly the state of his son. His frantic

excesses had become more and more scandalous as he grew older. The

marriage with Mary Stuart had fallen through, in consequence of the

superior quickness of Elizabeth of England, and perhaps in consequence

of Carlos’s own condition. The emperor was working incessantly to gain

the prince’s hand for his daughter Anne; and this was the match which

seemed most probable, and indeed was in principle accepted by Philip.

But the delicate state of health of the prince was Philip’s constant

excuse for not carrying the project into effect. The matter was a

delicate one, and the king was naturally desirous of making it as little

public as possible, but as early as 1562 the king had clearly hinted to

the imperial ambassador that the prince’s judgment and understanding

were defective. Dietrichstein, the emperor’s envoy, saw the prince in

1564, and confirmed the impression already given of him. The Venetian

ambassador in 1563 bluntly reported that the prince was a chronic

lunatic. The oft-told story of his forcing a bootmaker to eat a pair of

boots he had made too tight for him, and also of his murderous attack

on Cardinal Espinosa, need not be repeated here, but they are well

authenticated; and although too much weight need not be given to

Brantome’s repulsive account of the prince’s behaviour in the streets of

Madrid, it is quite consistent with what we know positively of his

character. Philip’s hopes and ambitions for his heir had been great, and

he strove long before he abandoned them. In the hope that serious work

might fix the prince’s mind, his father appointed him in 1567 to the

presidency of the Council of State, but in this position his excesses

and aberrations became the more conspicuous. He openly mocked at and

derided his father, whom he cordially hated, and delighted to thwart. He

had extorted a promise from the king that he should accompany him to

Flanders, but when he learnt at length that Alba was going instead, his

fury passed all bounds. When the duke went to take leave of the prince,

the latter cast himself upon him with his dagger, and only with

difficulty could the old warrior escape from his maniacal violence; and

on another occasion in January 1567, when the Cortes of Castile

presented a petition to the king that the prince should remain in Spain

if his father went to Flanders, he made an open scandal, threatening

with death those deputies who voted in favour of such a petition. This

public exhibition of his lunacy opened the eyes of the world as to his

condition, which could no longer be concealed, and in September of 1567

Ruy Gomez told the French ambassador that after the impending delivery

of the queen of what, no doubt, would be a son, the future fate of

Carlos would be decided.

 

But Carlos himself precipitated events. Philip had decided that his son

should remain in Spain. The prince was determined that he would not.

Philip had gone in December 1567 to pass Christmas in his devotions at

the Escorial as usual, and during his absence, on December 23, Carlos

informed his young uncle, Juan of Austria, of his intention to escape.

Don Juan lost no time. The next day he rode post-haste to the Escorial

and told the king. Philip’s thoughts must have been bitter indeed that

Heaven had afflicted him with such a son. He must have seen that the

great patriotic task to which he had devoted all his life would be

frustrated if handed to such a successor. But he was calm and rigid in

outward guise, and returned to Madrid as intended on January 17, 1568.

The next day he saw the French ambassador, and went with his son to

mass, but still made no sign. Don Juan had before this endeavoured to

dissuade the prince from his intention, and the madman had attempted to

kill even him. It was evident now to the king that he must strike,

however reluctantly. When he consulted his closest councillors on the

subject, for once his feelings broke through his reserve, and his

emotion was terrible. It was a duty he owed to his country and to the

cause for which he lived, to protect them against falling into the hands

of a congenital madman, and he took the course which duty dictated. Late

at night, when the prince was asleep, the king himself, with five

gentlemen and twelve guards, entered the chamber, in spite of the secret

bolts and bars with which it was provided. The prince woke from sleep,

started up, and tried to grasp a weapon; but the weapons were gone. The

unhappy young man then tried to lay violent hands upon himself, but was

restrained. The issues of the room barred, the secret receptacles

opened, the papers taken, himself restrained, the prince recognised his

helplessness, and casting himself on to his bed he sobbed out, “But I am

not mad! I am only desperate.” From that hour he was dead to the world,

which saw him no more.

 

Couriers flew with the news all over Europe. Explanations must not be

sought in Philip’s cold diplomatic letters giving foreign courts

information of the event, but in other quarters. The Queen of England

learnt the news on February 2, and on the 6th saw the Spanish

ambassador, when she expressed her surprise, said that the king had

acted with all dignity in the matter, but that she had not been informed

of the reason for the arrest. Letters had come from France even thus

early by which Cecil learnt that the prince had been implicated in a

plot against his father’s life. The ambassador was very indignant at

such an idea, which, he said, could only have emanated from heretics,

children of the devil.

 

But it is clear to see that the ambassador himself is as much in the

dark as every one else, for he prays his master to instruct him what

attitude he is to assume, “as the matter has made great noise here, and

no doubt elsewhere.” To this the king coldly replied that no more was to

be said about it. Ruy Gomez was less reticent. He told the French and

English ambassadors in Spain that the prince’s mind was as defective as

his body, and had been getting steadily worse. The king had dissembled

as long as he could, in the hope of improvement, but the prince’s

violence had now become intolerable, and it had been necessary to place

him under restraint. Dr. Man, the English ambassador, fully agreed that

the step had become inevitable, as did all the ambassadors then resident

in Madrid. “It was not a punishment,” wrote Philip to his aunt and

mother-in-law, the grandmother of Don Carlos, “if it were, there would

be some limit to it; but I never hope to see my son restored to his

right mind again. I have chosen in this matter to make a sacrifice to

God of my own flesh and blood, preferring His service and the universal

good to all other human considerations.”

 

It was a humiliating position for Philip, who had been so dutiful a son

himself, and had such far-reaching ambitions to hand down to his heir.

It is not surprising that he avoided reference to it as much as

possible. Some sort of trial or examination of the prince took place in

secret before Ruy Gomez, Cardinal Espinosa, and Muñatones, but the

documents have never been found. The rumour that Carlos plotted against

his father’s life was repudiated vigorously by the king and his

ministers, but that he had been disobedient and rebellious is certain,

and probably this was the foundation of the charge of treason brought

against him. The Protestant party, in France and Flanders especially,

were willing enough to wound Philip and discredit the Inquisition by

saying that Carlos was punished for supposed Protestant leanings; and

even in Spain such things were cautiously whispered. There is, however,

not the slightest indication that such was really the case from the

papers of the prince himself and those who surrounded him, unless

perhaps the letter from his friend and almoner, Suarez, to him, in

which he reproaches him for not going to confession, and warns him that

if he persisted in his present course every one would think him mad;

“things so terrible, that in the case of other persons they have caused

the Inquisition to inquire whether they were Christians.” Certainly to