THE REIGN OF THE EMPEROR CHARLES V

BOOK VI.  

FRANCIS I AND HIS ZEAL FOR RELIGION

UNFORTUNATELY for the reputation of Francis I among his contemporaries, his conduct at this juncture appeared a perfect contrast to that of his rival, as he laid hold on the opportunity afforded him, by the emperor’s having turned his whole force against the common enemy of Christendom, to revive his pretensions in Italy, and to plunge Europe into a new war.

The treaty of Cambray, as has been observed, did not remove the causes of enmity between the two contending princes; it covered up, but did not extinguish the flames of discord. Francis in particular, who waited with impatience for a proper occasion of recovering the reputation as well as the territories which he had lost, continued to carry on his negotiations in different courts against the emperor, taking the utmost pains to heighten the jealousy which many princes entertained of his power or designs, and to inspire the rest with the same suspicion and fear: among others, he applied to Francis Sforza, who, though indebted to Charles for the possession of the duchy of Milan, had received it on such hard conditions, as rendered him not only a vassal of the empire, but a tributary dependant upon the emperor.

The honor of having married the emperor’s niece did not reconcile him to this ignominious state of subjection, which became so intolerable even to Sforza, though a weak and poor-spirited prince, that he listened with eagerness to the first proposals Francis made of rescuing him from the yoke. These proposals were conveyed to him by Maraviglia, or Merveille, as he is called by the French historians, a Milanese gentleman residing at Paris; and soon after, in order to carry on the negotiation with greater advantage, Merveille was sent to Milan, on pretence of visiting his relations, but with secret credentials from Francis as his envoy. In this character he was received by Sforza. But, notwithstanding his care to keep that circumstance concealed, Charles suspecting, or having received information of it, remonstrated and threatened in such a high tone, that the duke and his ministers, equally intimidated, gave the world immediately a most infamous proof of their servile fear of offending the emperor. As Merveille had neither the prudence nor the temper which the function wherein he was employed required, they artfully decoyed him into a quarrel, in which he happened to kill his antagonist, one of the duke’s domestics, and having instantly seized him, they ordered him to be tried for that crime, and to be beheaded [Dec. 1533]. Francis, no less astonished at this violation of a character held sacred among the most uncivilized nations than enraged at the insult offered to the dignity of his crown, threatened Sforza with the effects of his indignation, and complained to the emperor, whom he considered as the real author of that unexampled outrage. But receiving no satisfaction from either, he appealed to all the princes of Europe, and thought himself now entitled to take vengeance for an injury, which it would have been, indecent and pusillanimous to let pass with impunity.

Being thus furnished with a pretext for beginning a war, on which he had already resolved, he multiplied his efforts in order to draw in other princes to take part in the quarrel. But all his measures for this purpose were disconcerted by unforeseen events. After having sacrificed the honor of the royal family of France by the marriage of his son with Catherine of Medici, in order to gain Clement the death of that pontiff had deprived him of all the advantages which he expected to derive from his friendship. Paul, his successor, though attached by inclination to the Imperial interest, seemed determined to maintain the neutrality suitable to his character as the common father of the contending princes.

The king of England, occupied with domestic cares and projects, declined, for once, engaging in the affairs of the continent, and refused to assist Francis, unless he would imitate his example, in throwing off the papal supremacy. These disappointments led him to solicit, with greater earnestness, the aid of the protestant princes associated by the league of Smalkalde. That he might the more easily acquire their confidence, he endeavored to accommodate himself to their predominant passion, zeal for their religious tenets. He affected a wonderful moderation with regard to the points in dispute; he permitted Bellay, his envoy in Germany, to explain his sentiments concerning some of the most important articles, in terms not far different from those used by the protestants: he even condescended to invite Melanchthon, whose gentle manners and pacific spirit distinguished him among the reformers, to visit Paris, that by his assistance he might concert the most proper measures for reconciling the contending sects which so unhappily divided the church. These concessions must be considered rather as arts of policy, than the result of conviction; for whatever impression the new opinions in religion had made on his sisters, the queen of Navarre and duchess of Ferrara, the gayety of Francis’s own temper, and his love of pleasure, allowed him little leisure to examine theological controversies.

But soon after he lost all the fruits of this disingenuous artifice, by a step very inconsistent with his declarations to the German princes. This step, however, the prejudices of the age, and the religious sentiments of his own subjects, rendered it necessary for him to take. His close union with the king of England, an excommunicated heretic; his frequent negotiations with the German protestants; but above all, his giving public audience to an envoy from sultan Solyman, had excited violent suspicions concerning the sincerity of his attachment to religion.

To have attacked the emperor, who, on all occasions, made high pretensions to zeal in defence of the catholic faith, and at the very juncture when he was preparing for his expedition against Barbarossa, which was then considered as a pious enterprise, could not have failed to confirm such unfavorable sentiments with regard to Francis, and called on him to vindicate himself by some extraordinary demonstration of his reverence for the established doctrines of the church. The indiscreet zeal of some of his subjects, who had imbibed the protestant opinions, furnished him with such an occasion as he desired. They had affixed to the gates of the Louvre, and other public places, papers containing indecent reflections on the doctrines and rites of the popish church. Six of the persons concerned in this rash action were discovered and seized. The king, in order to avert the judgments which it was supposed their blasphemies might draw down upon the nation, appointed a solemn procession.

The holy sacrament was carried through the city in great pomp; Francis walked uncovered before it, bearing a torch in his hand; the princes of the blood supported the canopy over it; the nobles marched in order behind. In the presence of this numerous assembly, the king, accustomed to express himself on every subject in strong and animated language, declared, that if one of his hands were infected with heresy, he would cut it off with the other, and would not spare even his own children, if found guilty of that crime. As a dreadful proof of his being in earnest, the six unhappy persons were publicly burnt before the procession was finished, with circumstances of the most shocking barbarity attending their execution.

The princes of the league of Smalkalde, filled with resentment and indignation at the cruelty with which their brethren were treated, could not conceive Francis to be sincere, when he offered to protect in Germany those very tenets, which he persecuted with such rigor in his own dominions; so that all Bellay’s art and eloquence in vindicating his master, or apologizing for his conduct, made but little impression upon them. They considered likewise, that the emperor, who hitherto had never employed violence against the doctrines of the reformers, nor even given them much molestation in their progress, was now bound by the agreement at Ratisbon, not to disturb such as had embraced the new opinions; and the Protestants wisely regarded this as a more certain and immediate security, than the precarious and distant hopes with which Francis endeavored to allure them. Besides, the manner in which he had behaved to his allies at the peace of Cambray, was too recent to be forgotten, and did not encourage others to rely much on his friendship or generosity. Upon all these accounts, the protestant princes refused to assist the French king in any hostile attempt against the emperor. The elector of Saxony, the most zealous among them, in order to avoid giving any umbrage to Charles, would not permit Melanchthon to visit the court of France, although that reformer, flattered perhaps by the invitation of so great a monarch, or hoping that his presence there might be of signal advantage to the protestant cause, discovered a strong inclination to undertake the journey.

But though none of the many princes who envied or dreaded the power of Charles, would second Francis’s efforts in order to reduce and circumscribe it, he, nevertheless, commanded his army to advance towards the frontiers of Italy. As his sole pretext for taking arms was that he might chastise the duke of Milan for his insolent and cruel breach of the law of nations, it might have been expected that the whole weight of his vengeance was to have fallen on his territories. But on a sudden, and at their very commencement, the operations of war took another direction.

Charles duke of Savoy, one of the least active and able princes of the line from which he descended, had married Beatrix of Portugal, the sister of the empress. By her great talents, she soon acquired an absolute ascendant over her husband; and proud of her affinity to the emperor, or allured by the magnificent promises with which he flattered her ambition, she formed a union between the duke and the Imperial court, extremely inconsistent with that neutrality which wise policy as well as the situation of his dominions had hitherto induced him to observe in all the quarrels between the contending monarchs.

Francis was abundantly sensible of the distress to which he might be exposed, if, when he entered Italy, he should leave behind him the territories of a prince, devoted so obsequiously to the emperor, that he had sent his eldest son to be educated in the court of Spain, as a kind of hostage for his fidelity. Clement the Seventh, who had represented this danger in a strong light during his interview with Francis at Marseilles, suggested to him, at the same time, the proper method of guarding against it, having advised him to begin his operations against the Milanese, by taking possession of Savoy and Piedmont, as the only certain way of securing a communication with his own dominions.

Francis, highly irritated at the duke on many accounts, particularly for having supplied the constable Bourbon with the money that enabled him to levy the body of troops which ruined the French army in the fatal battle of Pavia, was not unwilling to let him now feel both how deeply he resented, and how severely he could punish these injuries. Nor did he want several pretexts which gave some color of equity to the violence he intended. The territories of France and Savoy lying contiguous to each other, and intermingled in many places, various disputes, unavoidable in such a situation, subsisted between the two sovereigns concerning the limits of their respective property; and besides, Francis, in right of his mother, Louise of Savoy, had large claims upon the duke her brother, for her share in their father's succession.

Being unwilling, however, to begin hostilities without some cause of quarrel more specious than these pretensions, many of which were obsolete, and others dubious, he demanded permission to march through Piedmont in his way to the Milanese, hoping that the duke, from an excess of attachment to the Imperial interest, might refuse this request, and thus give a greater appearance of justice to all his operations against him. But, if we may believe the historians of Savoy, who appear to be better informed with regard to this particular than those of France, the duke readily, and with a good grace, granted what it was not in his power to deny, promising free passage to the French troops as was desired; so that Francis, as the only method now left of justifying the measures which he determined to take, was obliged to insist for full satisfaction with regard to everything that either the crown of France or his mother Louise could demand of the house of Savoy. Such an evasive answer, as might have been expected, being made to this requisition, the French army under the admiral Brion poured at once into the duke’s territories at different places. The countries of Bresse and Bugey, united at that time to Savoy, were overrun in a moment. Most of the towns in the duchy of Savoy opened their gates at the approach of the enemy; a few which attempted to make resistance were easily taken; and before the end of the campaign the duke saw himself stripped of all his dominions, but the province of Piedmont, in which there were not many places in a condition to be defended.

To complete the duke’s misfortunes, the city of Geneva, the sovereignty of which he claimed, and in some degree possessed, threw off his yoke, and its revolt drew along with it the loss of the adjacent territories.

Geneva was, at that time, an Imperial city, and though under the direct dominion of its own bishops, and the remote sovereignty of the dukes of Savoy, the form of its internal constitution was purely republican, being governed by syndics and a council chosen by the citizens. From these distinct and often clashing jurisdictions, two opposite parties took their rise, and had long subsisted in the state; the one, composed of the advocates for the privileges of the community, assumed the name of Eignotz, or confederates in defence of liberty; and branded the other, which supported the episcopal or ducal prerogatives, with the name of Mammelukes, or slaves. At length [1532], the protestant opinions beginning to spread among the citizens, inspired such as embraced them with that bold enterprising spirit which always accompanied or was naturally produced by them in their first operations. As both the duke and bishop were from interest, from prejudice, and from political considerations, violent enemies of the reformation, all the new converts joined with warmth the party of the Eignotz; and zeal for religion, mingling with the love of liberty, added strength to that generous passion. The rage and animosity of two factions, shut up within the same walls, occasioned frequent insurrections, which terminating mostly to the advantage of the friends of liberty, they daily became more powerful.

The duke and bishop, forgetting their ancient contests about jurisdiction, had united against their common enemies, and each attacked them with his proper weapons. The bishop excommunicated the people of Geneva as guilty of a double crime; of impiety, in apostatizing from the established religion; and of sacrilege, in invading the rights of his see. The duke attacked them as rebels against their lawful prince, and attempted to render himself master of the city, first by surprise, and then by open force [1534]. The citizens, despising the thunder of the bishop’s censures, boldly asserted their independence against the duke; and partly by their valor, partly by the powerful assistance which they received from the canton of Berne; together with some small supplies both of men and money, secretly furnished by the king of France, they defeated all his attempts.

Not satisfied with having repulsed him, or with remaining always upon the defensive themselves, they now took advantage of the duke’s inability to resist them, while overwhelmed by the armies of France, and seized several castles and places of strength which he possessed in the neighborhood of Geneva: thus delivering the city from those odious monuments of its former subjection, and rendering the public liberty more secure for the future. At the same time the canton of Berne invaded and conquered the Pays de Vaud, to which it had some pretensions. The canton of Freiburg, though zealously attached to the catholic religion, and having no subject of contest with the duke, laid hold on part of the spoils of that unfortunate prince. A great portion of these conquests or usurpations being still retained by the two cantons, add considerably to their power, and have become the most valuable part of their territories. Geneva, notwithstanding many schemes and enterprises of the dukes of Savoy to reestablish their dominion over it, still keeps possession of its independence; and in consequence of that blessing, has attained a degree of consideration, wealth, and elegance, which it could not otherwise have reached.

Amidst such a succession of disastrous events, the duke of Savoy had no other resource but the emperor’s protection, which, upon his return from Tunis, he demanded with the most earnest importunity; and as his misfortunes were occasioned chiefly by his attachment to the Imperial interest, he had a just title to immediate assistance. Charles, however, was not in a condition to support him with that vigour and dispatch which the exigency of his affairs called for. Most of the troops employed in the African expedition, having been raised for that service alone, were disbanded as soon as it was finished; the veteran forces under Antonio de Leyva were hardly sufficient for the defence of the Milanese; and the emperor's treasury was entirely drained by his extraordinary efforts against the Infidels.

But the death of Francis Sforza [Oct. 24], occasioned, according to some historians, by the terror of a French invasion, which had twice been fatal to his family, afforded the emperor full leisure to prepare for action.

By this unexpected event, the nature of the war, and the causes of discord, were totally changed. Francis’s first pretext for taking arms, in order to chastise Sforza for the insult offered to the dignity of his crown, was at once cut off; but as that prince died without issue, all Francis’s rights to the duchy of Milan, which he had yielded only to Sforza and his posterity, returned back to him in full force.

As the recovery of the Milanese was the favorite object of that monarch, he instantly renewed his claim to it; and if he had supported his pretensions by ordering the powerful army quartered in Savoy to advance without loser; a moment towards Milan, he could hardly have failed to secure the important point of possession. But Francis, who became less enterprising as he advanced in years, and who was overawed at some times into an excess of caution by the remembrance of his past misfortunes, endeavored to establish his rights by negotiation, not by arms; and from a timid moderation, fatal in all great affairs, neglected to improve the favorable opportunity which presented itself.

Charles was more decisive in his operations, and in quality of sovereign, took possession of the duchy, as a vacant fief of the empire. While Francis endeavored to explain and assert his title to it by arguments and memorials, or employed various arts in order to reconcile the Italian powers to the thoughts of his regaining footing in Italy, his rival was silently taking effectual steps to prevent it. The emperor, however, was very careful not to discover too early any intention of this kind; but seeming to admit the equity of Francis’s claim, he appeared solicitous only about giving him possession in such a manner as might not disturb the peace of Europe, or overturn the balance of power in Italy, which the politicians of that country were so desirous of preserving. By this artifice he deceived Francis, and gained so much confidence with the rest of Europe, that almost without incurring any suspicion, he involved the affair in new difficulties, and protracted the negotiations at pleasure. Sometimes he proposed to grant the investiture of Milan to the duke of Orleans, Francis’s second son, sometimes to the duke of Angouleme, his third son; as the views and inclinations of the French court varied, he transferred his choice alternately from the one to the other, with such profound and well-conducted dissimulation, that neither Francis nor his ministers seem to have penetrated his real intention; and all military operations were entirely suspended, as if nothing had remained but to enter quietly into possession of what they demanded.

1536. STATE OF EUROPE: THE FOLY OF THE KINGS

During the interval of leisure gained in this manner, Charles, on his return from Tunis, assembled the states both of Sicily and Naples, and as they thought themselves greatly honored by the presence of their sove­reign, and were no less pleased with the apparent disinterestedness of his expedition into Africa, than dazzled by the success which had attended his arms, he prevailed on them to vote him such liberal subsidies as were seldom granted in that age. This enabled him to recruit his veteran troops, to levy a body of Germans, and to take every other proper precaution for executing or supporting the measures on which he had determined. Bellay, the French envoy in Germany, having discovered the Intention of raising troops in that country, notwithstanding all the pretexts employed in order to conceal it, first alarmed his master with this evident proof of the emperor’s insincerity.

But Francis was so possessed at that time with the rage of negotiation, in all the artifices and refinements of which his rival far surpassed him, that instead of beginning his military operations, and pushing them with vigour, or seizing the Milanese before the Imperial army was assembled, he satisfied himself with making new offers to the emperor, in order to procure the investiture by his voluntary deed. His offers were, indeed, so liberal and advantageous, that if ever Charles had intended to grant his demand, he could not have rejected them with decency. He dexterously eluded them by declaring that until he consulted the pope in person, he could not take his final resolution with regard to a point which so nearly concerned the peace of Italy. By this evasion he gained some farther time for ripening the schemes which he had in view.

The emperor at last advanced towards Rome, and made his public entry into that city with extraordinary pomp [April 6]; but it being found necessary to remove the ruins of an ancient temple of peace, in order to widen one of the streets through which the cavalcade had to pass, all the historians take notice of this trivial circumstance, and they are fond to interpret it as an omen of the bloody war that followed. Charles, it is certain, had by this time banished all thoughts of peace; and at last threw off the mask, with which he had so long covered his designs from the court of France, by a declaration of his sentiments no less singular than explicit.

The French ambassadors having in their master’s name demanded a definitive reply to his propositions concerning the investiture of Milan, Charles promised to give it next day in presence of the pope and cardinals assembled in full consistory. These being accordingly met, and all the foreign ambassadors invited to attend, the emperor stood up, and addressing himself to the pope, expatiated for some time on the sincerity of his own wishes for the peace of Christendom, as well as his abhorrence of war, the miseries of which he enumerated at great length, with studied and elaborate oratory; he complained that all his endeavors to preserve the tranquility of Europe had hitherto been defeated by the restless and unjust ambition of the French king; that even during his minority he had proofs of the unfriendly and hostile intentions of that monarch; that, afterwards, he had openly attempted to wrest from him the Imperial crown which belonged to him by a title no less just than natural; that he had next invaded his kingdom of Navarre; that not satisfied with this, he had attacked his territories, as well as those of his allies, both in Italy and the Low-Countries; that when the valor of the Imperial troops, rendered irresistible by the protection of the Almighty, had checked his progress, ruined his armies, and seized his person, he continued to pursue by deceit what he had undertaken with injustice; that he had violated every article in the treaty of Madrid to which he owed his liberty, and as soon as he returned to his dominions took measures for rekindling the war which that pacification had happily extinguished; that when new misfortunes compelled him to sue again for peace at Cambray, he concluded and observed it with equal insincerity; that soon after he had formed dangerous connections with the heretical princes in Germany, and incited them to disturb the tranquility of the empire; that now he had driven the duke of Savoy, a prince married to a sister of the empress, and joined in close alliance with Spain, out of the greater part of his territories; that after injuries so often repeated, and amidst so many sources of discord, all hope of amity or concord became desperate, and though he himself was still willing to grant the investiture of Milan to one of the princes of France, there was little probability of that event taking place, as Francis, on the one hand, would not consent to what was necessary for securing the tranquility of Europe, nor, on the other, could he think it reasonable or safe to give a rival the unconditional possession of all that he demanded.

“Let us not, however”, added he, “continue wantonly to shed the blood of our innocent subjects; let us decide the quarrel man to man, with what arms he pleases to choose, in our shirts, on an island, a bridge, or aboard a galley moored in a river; let the duchy of Burgundy be put in deposite on his part, and that of Milan on mine; these shall be the prize of the conqueror; and after that, let the united forces of Germany, Spain, and France be em­ployed to humble the rower of the Turk, and to extirpate heresy out of Christendom. But if he, by declining this method of terminating our differences, renders war inevitable, nothing shall divert me from prosecuting it to such extremity, as shall reduce one of us to be the poorest gentleman in his own dominions. Nor do I fear that it will be on me this misfortune shall fall; I enter upon action with the fairest prospect of success; the justness of my cause, the union of my subjects, the number and valor of my troops, the experience and fidelity of my generals, all combine to ensure it. Of all these advantages, the king of France is destitute, and were my resources no more certain, and my hopes of victory no better founded than his, I would instantly throw myself at his feet, and with folded hands, and a rope about my neck, implore his mercy”.

This long harangue the emperor delivered with an elevated voice, a haughty tone, and the greatest vehemence of expression and gesture. The French ambassadors, who did not fully comprehend his meaning, as he snake in the Spanish tongue, were totally disconcerted, and at a loss how they should answer such an unexpected invective; when one of them began to vindicate his master’s conduct, Charles interposed abruptly, and would not permit him to proceed.

The pope, without entering into any particular detail, satisfied himself with a short but pathetic recommendation of peace, together with an offer of employing his sincere endeavors in order to procure that blessing to Christendom; and the assembly broke up in the greatest astonishment at the extraordinary scene which had been exhibited. In no part of his conduct, indeed, did Charles ever deviate so widely from his general character.

Instead of that prudent recollection, that composed and regular deportment so strictly attentive to decorum, and so admirably adapted to conceal his own passions, for which he was at all other times conspicuous, he appears on this occasion before one of the most august assemblies in Europe, boasting of his own power and exploits with insolence; inveighing against his enemy with indecency; and challenging him to combat with an ostentatious valor, more becoming a champion in romance, than the first monarch in Christendom. But the well-known and powerful operation of continued prosperity, as well as of exaggerated praise, even upon the firmest minds, sufficiently account for this seeming inconsistency. After having compelled Solyman to retreat, and having stripped Barbarossa of a kingdom, Charles began to consider his arms as invincible. He had been entertained, ever since his return from Africa, with repeated scenes of triumphs and public rejoicings; the orators and poets of Italy, the most elegant at that time in Europe, had exhausted their genius in panegyric on his conduct and merit, to which the astrologers added magnificent promises of a more splendid fortune still in store. Intoxicated with all these, he forgot his usual reserve and modera­tion, and was unable to restrain this extravagant sally of vanity, which became the more remarkable, by being both so uncommon and so public.

He himself seems to have been immediately sensible of the impropriety of his behavior; and when the French ambassadors demanded next day a more clear explanation of what he had said concerning the combat, he told them that they were not to consider his proposal as a formal challenge to their master, but as an expedient for preventing bloodshed; he endeavored to soften several expressions in his discourse; and spoke in terms full of respect towards Francis. But though this slight apology was far from being sufficient to remove the offence which had been given, Francis, by an unaccountable infatuation, continued to negotiate, as if it had still been possible to bring their differences to a period by an amicable composition. Charles, finding him so eager to run into the snare, favored the deception, and, by seeming to listen to his proposals, gained farther time to prepare for the execution of his own designs.

THE RETREAT OF THE INVINCIBLE ARMY

At last, the Imperial army assembled on the frontiers of the Milanese, to the amount of forty thousand foot and ten thousand horse, while that of France encamped near Vercelli in Piedmont, being greatly inferior in number, and weakened by the departure of a body of Swiss, whom Charles artfully persuaded the popish cantons to recall, that they might not serve against the duke of Savoy, their ancient ally. The French general not daring to risk a battle, retired as soon as the Imperialists advanced.

The emperor put himself at the head of his forces [May 6], which the marquis del Guasto, the duke of Alva, and Ferdinand de Gonzago commanded under him, though the supreme direction of the whole was committed to Antonio de Leyva, whose abilities and experience justly entitled him to that distinction. Charles soon discovered his intention not to confine his operations to the recovery of Piedmont and Savoy, but to push forward and invade the southern provinces of France. This scheme he had long meditated, and had long been taking measures for executing it with such vigor as might ensure success. He had remitted large sums to his sister, the governess of the Low-Countries, and to his brother, the king of the Romans, instructing them to levy all the forces in their power, in order to form two separate bodies, the one to enter France on the side of Picardy, the other on the side of Champagne; while he, with the main army, fell upon the opposite frontier of the kingdom. Trusting to these vast preparations, he thought it impossible that Francis could resist so many unexpected attacks on such different quarters; and began his enterprise with such confidence of its happy issue, that he desired Jovius the historian, to make a large provision of paper sufficient to record the victories which he was going to obtain.

His ministers and generals, instead of entertaining the same sanguine hopes, represented to him in the strongest terms the danger of leading his troops so far from his own territories, to such a distance from his magazines, and into provinces which did not yield sufficient subsistence for their own inhabitants. They entreated him to consider the inexhaustible resources of France in maintaining a defensive war, and the active zeal with which a gallant nobility would serve a prince whom they loved, in repelling the enemies of their country; they recalled to his remembrance the fatal miscarriage of Bourbon and Pescara, when they ventured upon the same enterprise under circumstances which seemed as certainly to promise success; the marquis del Guasto in particular fell on his knees, and conjured him to abandon the undertaking as desperate.

But many circumstances combined in leading Charles to disregard all their remonstrances. He could seldom be brought, on any occasion, to depart from a resolution which he had once taken; he was too apt to underrate and despise the talents of his rival the king of France, because they differed so widely from his own; he was blinded by the presumption which accompanies prosperity; and relied, perhaps, in some degree, on the prophecies which predicted the increase of his own grandeur. He not only adhered obstinately to his own plan, but determined to advance towards France without waiting for the reduction of any part of Piedmont, except such towns as were absolutely necessary for preserving his communication with the Milanese.

The marquis de Saluces, to whom Francis had entrusted the command of a small body of troops left for the defence of Piedmont, rendered this more easy than Charles had any reason to expect. That nobleman, educated in the court of France, distinguished by continual marks of the king's favor, and honored so lately with a charge of such importance, suddenly, and without any provocation or pretext of disgust revolted from his benefactor. His motives to this treacherous action were as childish as the deed itself was base. Being strongly possessed with a superstitious faith in divination and astrology, he believed with full assurance, that the fatal period of the French nation was at hand; that on its ruins the emperor would establish a universal monarchy; that therefore he ought to follow the dictates of prudence, in attaching himself to his rising fortune, and could incur no blame for deserting a prince whom Heaven had devoted to destruction. His treason became still more odious, by his employing that very authority, with which Francis had invested him, in order to open the kingdom to his enemies. Whatever measures were proposed or undertaken by the officers under his command for the defence of their conquests, he rejected or defeated. Whatever properly belonged to himself, as commander in chief, to provide or perform for that purpose, he totally neglected. In this manner, he rendered towns even of the greatest consequence, untenable, by leaving them destitute either of provisions, ammunition, artillery, or a sufficient garrison; and the Imperialists must have reduced Piedmont in as short a time as was necessary to march through it, if Montpezat, the governor of Fossano, had not, by an extraordinary effort of courage and military conduct, detained them almost a month before that inconsiderable place.

By this meritorious and seasonable service, he gained his master sufficient time for assembling his forces, and for concerting a system of defence against a danger which he now saw to be inevitable. Francis fixed on the only proper and effectual plan for defeating the invasion of a powerful enemy; and his prudence in choosing this plan, as well as his perseverance in executing it, deserve the greater praise, as it was equally contrary to his own natural temper, and to the genius of the French nation. He determined to remain altogether upon the defensive; never to hazard a battle, or even a great skirmish without certainty of success; to fortify his camps in a regular manner; to throw garrisons only into towns of great strength; to deprive the enemy of subsistence, by laying waste the country before them; and to save the whole kingdom, by sacrificing one of its provinces. The execution of this plan he committed entirely to the marechal Montmorency, who was the author of it; a man wonderfully fitted by nature for such a trust, haughty, severe, confident in his own abilities, and despising those of other men; incapable of being diverted from any resolution by remonstrances or entreaties; and, in prosecuting any scheme, regardless alike of love or of pity.

Montmorency made choice of a strong camp, under the walls of Avignon, at the confluence of the Rhone and the Durance, one of which plentifully supplied his troops with all necessaries from the inland provinces, and the other covered his camp on that side where it was most probable the enemy would approach. He labored with unwearied industry to render the fortifications of this camp impregnable, and assembled there a considerable army, though greatly inferior to that of the enemy; while the king with another body of troops encamped at Valence higher up the Rhone. Marseilles and Arles were the only towns he thought it necessary to defend; the former, in order to retain the command of the sea; the latter, as the barrier of the province of Languedoc; and each of these he furnished with numerous garrisons of his best troops, commanded by officers on whose fidelity and valor he could rely. The inhabitants of the other towns, as well as of the open country, were compelled to abandon their houses, and were conducted to the mountains, or to the camp at Avignon, or to the inland provinces. The fortifications of such places as might have afforded shelter or defence to the enemy, were thrown down. Corn, forage, and provisions of every kind, were carried away or destroyed; all the mills and ovens were ruined, and the wells filled up or rendered useless. The devastation extended from the Alps to Marseilles, and from the sea to the confines of Dauphiné; nor does history afford any instance among civilized nations, in which this cruel expedient for the public safety was employed with the same rigor.

At length, the emperor arrived with the van of his army on the frontiers of Provence, and was still so possessed with confidence of success, that during a few days when he was obliged to halt until the rest of his troops came up, he began to divide his future conquests among his officers; and, as a new incitement to serve him with zeal, gave them liberal promises of offices, lands, and honors in France. The face of desolation, however, which presented itself to him, when he entered the country, began to damp his hopes, and convinced him that a monarch, who, in order to distress an enemy, had voluntarily ruined one of his richest provinces, would defend the rest with desperate obstinacy. Nor was it long before he became sensible that Francis’s plan of defence was as prudent as it appeared to be extraordinary. His fleet, on which Charles chiefly depended for subsistence, was prevented for some time by contrary winds, and other accidents to which naval operations are subject, from approaching the French coast; even after its arrival, it afforded at best a precarious and scanty supply to such a numerous body of troops; nothing was to be found in the country itself for their support; nor could they draw any considerable aid from the dominions of the duke of Savoy, exhausted already by maintaining two great armies. The emperor was no less embarrassed how to employ, than how to subsist his forces; for though he was now in possession of almost an entire province, he could not be said to have the command of it, while he held only defenseless towns; and while the French, besides their camp, at Avignon, continued masters of Marseilles and Arles. At first he thought of attacking their camp, and of terminating the war by one decisive blow; but skillful officers who were appointed to view it, declared the attempt to be utterly impracticable. He then gave orders to invest Marseilles and Arles, hoping that the French would quit their advantageous post in order to relieve them; but Montmorency adhering firmly to his plan, remained immoveable at Avignon, and the Imperialists met with such a warm reception from the garrisons of both towns, that they relinquished their enterprises with loss and disgrace. As a last effort, the emperor advanced once more towards Avignon, though with an army harassed by the perpetual incursions of small parties of the French light troops, weakened by diseases, and dispirited by disasters, which seemed the more intolerable, because they were unexpected.

During these operations, Montmorency found himself exposed to greater danger from his own troops than from the enemy; and their inconsiderate valor went near to have precipitated the kingdom into those calamities which he with such industry and caution had endeavored to avoid. Unaccustomed to behold an enemy ravaging their country almost without control; impatient of such long inaction; unacquainted with the slow and remote, but certain effects of Montmorency’s system of defence; the French wished for a battle with no less ardor than the Imperialists. They considered the conduct of their general as a disgrace to their country, his caution they imputed to timidity; his circumspection to want of spirit; and the constancy with which he pursued his plan, to obstinacy or pride. These reflections, whispered at first among the soldiers and subalterns, were adopted, by degrees, by officers of high rank; and as many of them envied Montmorency’s favor with the king, and more were dissatisfied with his harsh disgusting manner, the discontent soon became great in his camp, which was filled with general murmurings, and almost open complaints against his measures.

Montmorency, on whom the sentiments of his own troops made as little impression as the insults of the enemy, adhered steadily to his system; though, in order to reconcile the army to his maxims, no less contrary to the genius of the nation, than to the ideas of war among undisciplined troops, he assumed an unusual affability in his deportment, and often explained, with great condescension, the motives of his conduct, the advantages which had already resulted from it, and the certain success with which it would be attended.

At last, Francis joined his army at Avignon, which, having received several reinforcements, he now considered as of strength sufficient to face the enemy. As he had pit no small constraint upon himself, in consenting that his troops should remain so long upon the defensive, it can hardly be doubted but that his fondness for what was daring and splendid, added to the impatience both of officers and Soldiers, would at last have overruled Montmorency’s salutary caution.

Happily the retreat of the enemy delivered the kingdom from the danger which any rash resolution might have occasioned. The emperor, after spending two inglorious months in Provence, without having performed anything suitable to his vast preparations, or that could justify the confidence with which he had boasted of his own power, found that besides Antonio de Leyva, and other officers of distinction, he had lost one half of his troops by diseases or by famine; and that the rest were in no condition to struggle any longer with calamities, by which so many of their companions had perished. Necessity, therefore, extorted from him orders to retire; and though he was some time in motion before the French suspected his intention, a body of light troops, assisted by crowds of peasants, eager to be revenged on those who had brought such desolation on their country, hung upon the rear of the Imperialists, and by seizing every favorable opportunity of attacking them, threw them often into confusion. The road by which they fled, for they pursued their march with such disorder and precipitation that it scarcely deserves the name of a retreat, was strewed with arms or baggage, which in their hurry and trepidation they had abandoned, and covered with the sick, the wounded, and the dead; insomuch that Martin Bellay, an eye-witness of their calamities, endeavors to give his readers some idea of them, by comparing their miseries to those which the Jews suffered from the victorious and destructive arms of the Romans. If Montmorency, at this critical moment, had advanced with all his forces, nothing could have saved the whole Imperial army from utter ruin. But that general, by standing so long and so obstinately on the defensive, had become cautious to excess; his mind, tenacious of any bent it had once taken, could not assume a contrary one as suddenly as the change of circumstances required; and he still continued to repeat his favorite maxims, that it was more prudent to allow the lion to escape than to drive him to despair, and that a bridge of gold should be made for a retreating enemy.

The emperor having conducted the shattered remains of his troops to the frontiers of Milan, and appointed the Marquis del Guasto to succeed Leyva in the government of that duchy, set out for Genoa. As he could not bear to expose himself to the scorn of the Italians, after such a sad reverse of fortune; and did not choose, under his present circumstances, to revisit those cities through which he had so lately passed in triumph for one conquest, and in certain expectation of another, he embarked directly for Spain [November].

Nor was the progress of his arms on the opposite frontier of France such as to alleviate, in any degree, the losses which he had sustained in Provence. Bellay, by his address and intrigues, had prevailed on so many of the German princes to withdraw the contingent of troops which they had furnished to the king of the Romans, that he was obliged to lay aside all thoughts of his intended irruption into Champagne. Though a powerful army levied in the Low-Countries entered Picardy, which they found but feebly guarded, while the strength of the kingdom was drawn towards the south; yet the nobility, taking arms with their usual alacrity, supplied by their spirit the defects of the king’s preparations, and defended Peronne, and other towns which were attacked, with such vigour, as obliged the enemy to retire, without making any conquest of importance.

Thus Francis, by the prudence of his own measures, and by the union and valor of his subjects, rendered abortive those vast efforts in which his rival had almost exhausted his whole force. As this humbled the emperor’s arrogance no less than it checked his power, he was mortified more sensibly on this occasion than on any other, during the course of the long contests between him and the French monarch. One circumstance alone embittered the joy with which the success of the campaign inspired Francis. That was the death of the dauphin, his eldest son, a prince of great hopes, and extremely beloved by the people on account of his resemblance to his father. This happening suddenly, was imputed to poison, not only by the vulgar, fond of ascribing the death of illustrious personages to extraordinary causes, but by the king and his ministers. The count de Montecuculi, an Italian nobleman, cupbearer to the dauphin, being seized on suspicion, and put to the torture, openly charged the Imperial generals, Gonzaga and Leyva, with having instigated him to the commission of that crime; he even threw out some indirect and obscure accusations against the emperor himself. At a time when all France was exasperated to the utmost against Charles, this uncertain and extorted charge was considered as an incontestable proof of guilt; while the confidence with which both he and his officers asserted their own innocence, together with the indignation, as well as horror, which they expressed on their being supposed capable of such a detestable action, were little attended to, and less regarded.

It is evident, however, that the emperor could have no inducement to perpetrate such a crime, as Francis was still in the vigor of life himself, and had two sons, besides the dauphin, grown up almost to the age of manhood. That single consideration, without mentioning the emperor’s general character, unblemished by the imputation of any deed resembling this in atrocity, is more than sufficient to counterbalance the weight of a dubious testimony uttered during the anguish of torture. According to the most unprejudiced historians, the dauphin’s death was occasioned by his having drunk too freely of cold water after overheating himself at tennis; and this account, as it is the most simple, is likewise the most credible. But if his days were cut short by poison, it is not improbable that the emperor conjectured rightly, when he affirmed that it had been administered by the direction of Catharine of Medici, in order to secure the crown to the duke of Orleans, her husband. The advantages resulting to her by the dauphin’s death were obvious as well as great; nor did her boundless and daring ambition ever recoil from any action necessary towards attaining the objects which she had in view.

1537. THE MADNESS OF THE FRENCH KING

Next year opened with a transaction very uncommon, but so incapable of producing any effect, that it would not deserve to be mentioned if it were not a striking proof of the personal animosity which mingled itself in all the hostilities between Charles and Francis, and which often betrayed them into such indecencies towards each other, as lessened the dignity of both. Francis, accompanied by the peers and princes of the blood, having taken his seat in the parliament of Paris with the usual solemnities, the advocate-general appeared; and after accusing Charles of Austria (for so he affected to call the emperor) of having violated the treaty of Cambray, by which he was absolved from the homage due to the crown of France for the countries of Artois and Flanders; insisted that this treaty Being now void, he was still to be considered as a vassal of the crown, and by consequence had been guilty of rebellion in taking arms against his sovereign; and therefore he demanded that Charles should be summoned to appear in person, or by his counsel, before the parliament of Paris, his legal judges, to answer for this crime. The request was granted; a herald repaired to the frontiers of Picardy, and summoned him with the accustomed formalities to appear against a day prefixed. That term being expired, and no person appearing in his name, the parliament gave judgment, “That Charles of Austria had forfeited by rebellion and contumacy those fiefs; declared Flanders and Artois to be reunited to the crown of France!” and ordered their decree for this purpose to be published by sound of trumpet on the frontiers of these provinces.

Soon after this vain display of his resentment, rather than of his power, Francis marched towards the Low-Countries [March], as if he had intended to execute the sentence which his parliament had pronounced, and to seize those territories which it had awarded to him. As the queen of Hungary, to whom her brother the emperor had committed the government of that part of his dominions, was not prepared for so early a campaign, he at first made some progress, and took several towns of importance. But being obliged soon to leave his army, in order to superintend the operations of war, the Flemings, having assembled a numerous army, not only recovered most of the places which they had lost, but began to make conquests in their turn. At last they invested Térouanne, and the duke of Orleans, now dauphin, by the death of his brother, and Montmorency, whom Francis had honored with the constable’s sword, as the reward of his great services during the former campaign, determined to hazard a battle in order to relieve it. While they were advancing for this purpose, and within a few miles of the enemy, they were stopped short by the arrival of a herald from the queen of Hungary, acquainting him that a suspension of arms was now agreed upon.

This unexpected event was owing to the zealous endeavors of the two sisters, the queens of France and of Hungary, who had long labored to reconcile the contending monarchs. The war in the Netherlands Had laid waste the frontier provinces of both countries, without any real advantage to either. The French and Flemings equally regretted the interruption of their commerce, which was beneficial to both. Charles as well as Francis, who had each strained to the utmost, in order to support the vast operations of the former campaign, found that they could not now keep armies on foot in this quarter, without weakening their operations in Piedmont, where both wished to push the war with the greatest vigour. All these circumstances facilitated the negotiations of the two queens; a truce was concluded [July 30th], to continue in force for ten months, but it extended no farther than the Low-Countries.

In Piedmont the war was still prosecuted with great animosity; and though neither Charles nor Francis could make the powerful efforts to which this animosity prompted them, they continued to exert themselves like combatants, whose rancor remains after their strength is exhausted. Towns were alternately lost and retaken; skirmishes were fought every day; and much blood was shed, without any action that gave a decided superiority to either side. At last the two queens, determined not to leave unfinished the Good work which they had begun, prevailed, by their importunate solicitations, the one on her brother, the other on her husband, to consent also to a truce in Piedmont for three months. The conditions of it were, that, each should keep possession of what was in his hands, and after leaving garrisons in the towns, should withdraw his army out of the province; that plenipotentiaries should be appointed to adjust all matters in dispute by a final treaty.

The powerful motives which inclined both princes to this accommodation, have been often mentioned. The expenses of the war had far exceeded the sums which their revenues were capable of supplying; nor durst they venture upon any great addition to the impositions then established, as subjects had not yet learned to bear with patience the immense burdens to which they have become accustomed in modern times. The emperor in particular, though he had contracted debts which in that age appeared prodigious, had it not in his power to pay the large arrears long due to his army. At the same time, he had no prospect of deriving any aid in money or men either from the pope or venetians, though he had employed promises and threats, alternately, in order to procure it. But he found the former not only fixed in his resolution of adhering steadily to the neutrality which he had always declared to be suitable to his character, but passionately desirous of bringing about a peace. He perceived that the latter were still intent on their ancient object of holding the balance even between the rivals, and solicitous not to throw too great a weight into either scale.

What made a deeper impression on Charles than all these, was the dread of the Turkish arms, which, by his league with Solyman, Francis had drawn upon him. Though Francis, without the assistance of a single ally, had a war to maintain against an enemy greatly superior in power to himself, yet so great was the horror of Christians, in that age, at any union with infidels, which they considered not only as dishonorable but profane, that it was long before he could be brought to avail himself of the obvious advantages resulting from such a confederacy. Necessity at last surmounted his delicacy and scruples.

Towards the close of the preceding year, La Forest, a secret agent at the Ottoman Porte, had concluded a treaty with the sultan, whereby Solyman engaged to invade the kingdom of Naples, during the next campaign, and to attack the king of the Romans in Hungary with a powerful army, while Francis undertook to enter the Milanese at the same time with a proper force. Solyman had punctually performed what was incumbent on him. Barbarossa with a great fleet appeared on the coast of Naples, filled that kingdom, from which all the troops had been drawn towards Piedmont, with consternation, landed without resistance near Taranto, obliged Castro, a place of some strength, to surrender, plundered the adjacent country, and was taking measures for securing and extending his conquests, when the unexpected arrival of Doria, together with the pope’s galleys, and a squadron of the Venetian fleet, made it prudent for him to retire. In Hungary the progress of the Turks was more formidable. Mahmet, their general, after gaining several small advantages, defeated the Germans in a great battle at Essek on the Drave. Happily for Christendom, it was not in Francis’s power to execute with equal exactness what he had stipulated; nor could he assemble at this juncture an army strong enough to penetrate into the Milanese. By this he failed in recovering possession of that duchy; and Italy was not only saved from the calamities of a new war, but from feeling the desolating rage of the Turkish arms, as an addition to all that it had suffered. As the emperor knew that he could not long resist the efforts of two such powerful confederates, nor could expect that the same fortunate accidents would concur a second time to deliver Naples, and to preserve the Milanese; as he foresaw that the Italian states would not only tax him loudly with insatiable ambition, but might even turn their arms against him, if he should be so regardless of their danger as obstinately to protract the war, he thought it necessary, both for his safety and reputation, to give his consent to a truce. Nor was Francis willing to sustain all the blame of obstructing the reestablishment of tranquility, or to expose himself on that account to the danger of being deserted by the Swiss and other foreigners in his service. He even began to apprehend that his own subjects would serve him coldly, if by contributing to aggrandize the power of the Infidels, which it was his duty, and had been the ambition of his ancestors to depress, he continued to act in direct opposition to all the principles which ought to influence a monarch distinguished by the title of Most Christian King. He chose, for all these reasons, rather to run the risk of disobliging his new ally the sultan, than, by an unseasonable adherence to the treaty with him, to forfeit what was of greater consequence.

But though both parties consented to a truce, the plenipotentiaries found insuperable difficulties in settling the articles of a definitive treaty. Each of the monarchs, with the arrogance of a conqueror, aimed at giving law to the other; and neither would so far acknowledge his inferiority, as to sacrifice any point of honor, or to relinquish any matter of right; so that the plenipotentiaries spent the time in long and fruitless negotiations, and separated after agreeing to prolong the truce for a few months.

1538. THE PEACE OF THE POPE

The pope, however, did not despair of accomplishing a point in which the plenipotentiaries had failed, and took upon himself the sole burden of negotiating a peace. To form a confederacy capable of defending Christendom from the formidable inroads of the Turkish arms, and to concert effectual measures for the extirpation of the Lutheran heresy, were two great objects which Paul had much at heart, and he considered the union of the emperor with the king of France as an essential preliminary to both.

To be the instrument of reconciling these contending monarchs, whom his predecessors by their interested and indecent intrigues had so often embroiled, was a circumstance which could not fail of throwing distinguished luster on his character and administration. Nor was he without hopes that, while he pursued this laudable end, he might secure advantages to his own family, the aggrandizing of which he did not neglect, though he aimed at it with a less audacious ambition than was common among the popes of that century.

Influenced by these considerations, he proposed an interview between the two monarchs, at Nice, and offered to repair thither in person, that he might act as mediator in composing all their differences. When a pontiff of a venerable character, and of a very advanced age, was willing, from his zeal for peace, to undergo the fatigues of so long a journey, neither Charles nor Francis could with decency decline the interview. But though both came to the place of rendezvous, so great was the difficulty of adjusting the ceremonial, or such the remains of distrust and rancor on each side, that they refused to see one another, and everything was transacted by the intervention of the pope, who visited them alternately.

With all his zeal and ingenuity he could not find out a method of removing the Obstacles which prevented a final accommodation, particularly those arising from the possession of the Milanese; nor was all the weight of his authority sufficient to overcome the obstinate perseverance of either monarch in asserting his own claims. At last, that he might not seem to have labored altogether without effect, he prevailed on them to sign a truce for ten years [June 18], upon the same condition with the former, that each should retain what was now in his possession, and in the meantime should send ambassadors to Rome, to discuss their pretensions at leisure.

Thus ended a war of no long continuance, but very extensive in its operations, and in which both parties exerted their utmost strength. Though Francis failed in the object which he had principally in view, the recovery of the Milanese, he acquired, nevertheless, great reputation by the wisdom of his measures as well as the success of his arms in repelling a formidable invasion; and by keeping possession of one half of the duke of Savoy’s dominions, he added no inconsiderable accession of strength to his kingdom. Whereas Charles, repulsed and baffled, after having boasted so arrogantly of victory, purchased an inglorious truce, by sacrificing an ally who had rashly confided too much in his friendship and power.

The unfortunate duke murmured, complained, and remonstrated against a treaty so much to his disadvantage, but in vain; he had no means of redress, and was obliged to submit. Of all his dominions, Nice, with its dependences, was the only corner of which he himself kept possession. He saw the rest divided between a powerful invader and the ally to whose protection he had trusted, while he remained a sad monument of the imprudence of weak princes, who by taking part in the quarrel of mighty neighbors, between whom they happen to be situated, are crushed and overwhelmed in the shock.

A few days after signing the treaty of truce, the emperor set sail for Barcelona, but was driven by contrary winds to the island of St. Margaret on the coast of Provence. When Francis, who happened to be not far distant, heard of this, he considered it as an office of civility to invite him to take shelter in his dominions, and proposed a personal interview with him at Aigues-mortes. The emperor, who would not be outdone by his rival in complaisance, instantly repaired thither. As soon as he cast anchor in the road, Francis, without waiting to settle any point of ceremony, but relying implicitly on the emperor’s honor for his security, visited him on board his galley, and was received and entertained with the warmest demonstrations of esteem and affection. Next day the emperor repaid the confidence which the king had placed in him. He landed at Aigues­mortes with as little precaution, and met with a reception equally cordial. He remained on shore during the night, and in both visits the two monarchs vied with each other in expressions of respect and friendship.

After twenty years of open hostilities, or of secret enmity; after so many injuries reciprocally inflicted or endured; after having formally challenged one another to single combat; after the emperor had inveighed so publicly against Francis as a prince void of honor and integrity; and after Francis had accused him of being accessary to the murder of his eldest son; such an interview appears altogether singular and even unnatural. But the history of these monarchs abounds with such surprising transitions. From implacable hatred they appeared to pass, in a moment, to the most cordial reconcilement; nom suspicion and distrust, to perfect confidence; and from, practicing all the dark arts of a deceitful policy, they could assume, of a sudden, the liberal and open manners of two gallant gentlemen.

THE STORY OF THE MURDER OF THE DUKE OF FLORENCE

The pope, besides the glory of having restored peace to Europe, gained, according to his expectation, a point of great consequence to his family, by prevailing on the emperor to betroth Margaret of Austria, his natural daughter, formerly the wife of Alexander di Medici, to his grandson Octavio Farnese, and, in consideration of this marriage, to bestow several honors and territories upon his future son-in-law. A very tragical event, which happened about the beginning of the year 1537, had deprived Margaret of her first husband.

That young prince, whom the emperor’s partiality had raised to the supreme power in Florence, upon the ruins of the public liberty, neglected entirely the cares of government, and abandoned himself to the most dissolute debauchery. Lorenzo di Medici his nearest kinsman was not only the companion but director of his pleasures, and employing all the powers of a cultivated and inventive genius in this dishonorable ministry, added such elegance as well as variety to vice, as gained him an absolute ascendant over the mind of Alexander. But while Lorenzo seemed to be sunk in luxury, and affected such an appearance of indolence and effeminacy, that he would not wear a sword, and trembled at the sight of blood, he concealed under that disguise a dark, designing, audacious spirit. Prompted either by the love of liberty, or allured by the hope of attaining the supreme power, he determined to assassinate Alexander his benefactor and friend.

Though he long revolved this design in his mind, his reserved and suspicious temper prevented him from communicating it to any person whatever; and continuing to live with Alexander in their usual familiarity, he, one night, under pretence of having secured him an assignation with a lady of high rank whom he had often solicited, drew that unwary prince into a secret apartment of his house, and there stabbed him, while he lay carelessly on a couch expecting the arrival of the lady whose company he had been promised.

But no sooner was the deed done, than standing astonished, and struck with horror at its atrocity, he forgot, in a moment, all the motives which had induced him to commit it. Instead of rousing the people to recover their liberty by publishing the death of the tyrant, instead of taking any step towards opening his own way to the dignity now vacant, he locked the door of the apartment, and, like a man bereaved of reason and presence of mind, fled with the utmost precipitation out of the Florentine territories. It was late next morning before the fate of the unfortunate prince was known, as his attendants, accustomed to his irregularities, never entered his apartment early. Immediately the chief persons in the state assembled. Being induced partly by the zeal of cardinal Cibo for the house of Medici, to which he was nearly related, partly by the authority of Francis Guicciardini, who recalled to their memory, and represented in striking colors, the caprice as well as turbulence of their ancient popular government, they agreed to place Cosmo di Medici, a youth of eighteen, the only male heir of that illustrious house, at the head of the government; though at the same time such was their love of liberty, that they established several regulations in order to circumscribe and moderate his power.

Meanwhile, Lorenzo having reached a place of safety; made known what he had done to Philip Strozzi and the other Florentines who had been driven into exile, or who had voluntarily retired, when the republican form of government was abolished, in order to make way for the dominion of the Medici. By them, the deed was extolled with extravagant praises, and the virtue of Lorenzo was compared to that of the elder Brutus, who disregarded the ties of blood, or with that of the younger, who forgot the friendship and favors of the tyrant, that they might preserve or recover the liberty of their country. Nor did they rest satisfied with empty panegyrics; they immediately quitted their different places of retreat, assembled forces, animated their vassals and partisans to take arms, and to seize this opportunity of reestablishing the public liberty on its ancient foundation. Being openly assisted by the French ambassador at Rome, and secretly encouraged by the pope, who bore no good-will to the house of Medici, they entered the Florentine dominions with a considerable body of men. But the persons who had elected Cosmo possessed not only the means of supporting his government, but abilities to employ them in the most proper manner. They levied, with the greatest expedition, a good number of troops; they endeavored by every art to gain the citizens of greatest authority, and to render the administration of the young prince agreeable to the people. Above all, they courted the emperor’s protection, as the only firm foundation of Cosmos dignity and power.

Charles, knowing the propensity of the Florentines to the friendship of France, and how much all the partisans of a republican government detested him as the oppressor of their liberties, saw it to be greatly for his interest to prevent the reestablishment of the ancient constitution in Florence. For this reason, he not only acknowledged Cosmo as head of the Florentine state, and conferred on him all the titles of honor with which Alexander had been dignified, but engaged to defend him to the utmost; and as a pledge of this, ordered the commanders of such of his troops as were stationed on the frontiers of Tuscany, to support him against all aggressors. By their aid, Cosmo, obtained an easy victory over the exiles, whose troops he surprised in the night-time, and took most of the chiefs prisoners; an event which broke all their measures, and fully established his own authority. But though he was extremely desirous of the additional honor of marrying the emperor’s daughter, the widow of his predecessor, Charles, secure already of his attachment, chose rather to gratify the pope, by bestowing her on his nephew.

1539. THE CALL FOR THE COUNCIL OF TRENT

During the war between the emperor and Francis, an event had happened which abated in some degree the warmth and cordiality of friendship which had long subsisted between the latter and the king of England.

James the fifth of Scotland, an enterprising young prince, having heard of the emperor’s intention to invade Provence, was so fond of showing that he did not yield to any of his ancestors in the sincerity of his attachment to the French crown, and so eager to distinguish himself by some military exploit, that he levied a body of troops with an intention of leading them in person to the assistance of the king of France. Though some unfortunate accidents prevented his carrying any troops into France, nothing could divert him from going thither in person. Immediately upon his landing, he hastened to Provence, but had been detained so long in his voyage, that he came too late to have any share in the military operations, and met the king on his return after the retreat of the Imperialists. But Francis was so greatly pleased with his zeal, and no less with his manners and conversation, that he could not refuse him his daughter Magdalen, whom he demanded in marriage. It mortified Henry extremely to see a prince, of whom he was immoderately jealous, form an alliance [Jan 1, 1537], from which he derived such an accession of reputation as well as security. He could not, however, with decency, oppose Francis’s bestowing his daughter upon a monarch descended from a race of princes, the most ancient and faithful allies of the French crown. But when James, upon the sudden death of Magdalen, demanded as his second wife Mary of Guise, he warmly solicited Francis to deny his suit, and in order to disappoint him, asked that lady in marriage for himself. When Francis preferred the Scottish king’s sincere courtship to his artful and malevolent proposal, he discovered much dissatisfaction. The pacification agreed upon at Nice, and the familiar interview of the two rivals at Aigues-mortes, filled Henry’s mind with new suspicions, as if Francis had altogether renounced his friendship for the sake of new connections with the emperor.

Charles, thoroughly acquainted with the temper of the English king, and watchful to observe all the shiftings and caprices of his passions, thought this a favorable opportunity of renewing his negotiations with him, which had been long broken off. By the death of queen Catharine, whose interest the emperor could not with decency have abandoned, the chief cause of their discord was removed; so that, without touching upon the delicate question of her divorce, he might now take what measures he thought most effectual for regaining Henry’s good-will. For this purpose, he began with proposing several marriage-treaties to the king. He offered his niece, a daughter of the king of Denmark, to Henry himself; he demanded the princess Mary for one of the princes of Portugal, and was even willing to receive her as the king’s illegitimate daughter. Though none of these projected alliances ever took place, or perhaps were ever seriously intended, they occasioned such frequent intercourse between the courts, and so many reciprocal professions of civility and esteem, as considerably abated the edge of Henry’s rancor against the emperor, and paved the way for that union between them which afterwards proved so disadvantageous to the French king.

The ambitious schemes in which the emperor had been engaged, and the wars he had been carrying on for some years, proved, as usual, extremely favorable to the progress of the reformation in Germany. While Charles was absent upon his African expedition, or intent on his projects against France, his chief object in Germany was to prevent the dissensions about religion from disturbing the public tranquility, by granting such indulgence to the protestant princes as might induce them to concur with his measures, or at least to hinder them from taking part with his rival. For this reason, he was careful to secure to the protestants the possession of all the advantages which they had gained by the articles of pacification at Nuremberg, in the year one thousand five hundred and thirty-two; and except some slight trouble from the proceedings of the Imperial chamber, they met with nothing to disturb them in the exercise of their religion, or to interrupt the successful zeal with which they propagated their opinions.

Meanwhile the pope continued his negotiations for convoking a general council; and though the protestants had expressed great dissatisfaction with his intention to fix upon Mantua as the place of meeting, he adhered obstinately to his choice, issued a bull on the second of June, one thousand five hundred and thirty-six, appointing it to assemble in that city on the twenty-third of May the year following; he nominated three cardinals to preside in his name; enjoined all Christian princes to countenance it by their authority, and invited the prelates of every nation to attend in person.

This summons of a council, an assembly which from its nature and intention demanded quiet times, as well as pacific dispositions, at the very juncture when the emperor was on his march towards France, and ready to involve a great part of Europe in the confusions of war, appeared to every person extremely unseasonable. It was intimated, however, to all the different courts by nuncios despatched on purpose. With an intention to gratify the Germans, the emperor, during his residence in Rome, had warmly solicited the pope to call a council; but being at the same time willing to try every art in order to persuade Paul to depart from the neutrality which he preserved between him and Francis, he sent Heldo his vice-chancellor into Germany, along with a nuncio despatched thither, instructing him to second all the nuncio’s representations, and to enforce them with the whole weight of the Imperial authority.

The protestants gave them audience at Smalkalde, [Feb, 25, 1537], where they had assembled in a body in order to receive them. But after weighing all their arguments, they unanimously refused to acknowledge a council summoned in the name and by the authority of the pope alone; in which he assumed the sole right of presiding; which was to be held in a city not only far distant from Germany, but subject to a prince, who was a stranger to them, and closely connected with the court of Rome; and to which their divines could not repair with safety, especially after their doctrines had been stigmatized in the very bull of convocation with the name of heresy. These and many other objections against the council, which appeared to them unanswerable, they enumerated in a large manifesto, which they published in vindication of their conduct.

Against this the court of Rome exclaimed as a flagrant proof of their obstinacy and presumption, and the pope still persisted in his resolution to hold the council at the time and in the place appointed. But some unexpected difficulties being started by the duke of Mantua, both about the right of jurisdiction over the persons who resorted to the council, and the security of his capital amidst such a concourse of strangers, the pope [Oct. 8, 1538], after fruitless endeavors to adjust these, first prorogued the council for some months, and afterwards, transferring the place of meeting to Vicenza in the Venetian territories, appointed it to assemble on the First of May, in the following year. As neither the emperor nor the French king, who had not then come to any accommodation, would permit their subjects to repair thither, not a single prelate appeared on the day prefixed, and the pope, that his authority might not become altogether contemptible by so many ineffectual efforts to convoke that assembly, put off the meeting by an indefinite prorogation.

But that he might not seem to have turned his whole attention towards a reformation which he was not able to accomplish, while he neglected that which was in his own power, he deputed a certain number of cardinals and bishops, with full authority to inquire into the abuses and corruptions of the Roman court; and to propose the most effectual method of removing them. This scrutiny, undertaken with reluctance, was carried on slowly and with remissness. All defects were touched with a gentle hand, afraid of probing too deep, or of discovering too much. But even by this partial examination, many irregularities were detected, and many enormities exposed to light, while the remedies which they suggested as most proper were either inadequate or were never applied. The report and resolution of these deputies, though intended to be kept secret, were transmitted by some accident into Germany, and being immediately made public, afforded ample matter for reflection, and triumph to the protestants.

On the one hand, they demonstrated the necessity of a reformation in the head as well as the members of the church, and even pointed out many of the corruptions against which Luther and his followers had remonstrated with the greatest vehemence. They showed, on the other hand, that it was vain to expect this reformation from ecclesiastics themselves, who, as Luther strongly expressed it, piddled at curing warts, while they overlooked or confirmed ulcers.

The earnestness with which the emperor seemed, at first, to press their acquiescing in the pope’s scheme of holding a council in Italy, alarmed the protestant princes so much, that they thought it prudent to strengthen their confederacy, by admitting several new members who solicited that privilege, particularly the king of Denmark. Heldo, who during his residence in Germany, had observed all the advantages which they derived from that union, endeavored to counterbalance its effects by an alliance among the Catholic powers of the empire. This league, distinguished by the name of Holy, was merely defensive; and though concluded by Heldo in the emperor’s name, was afterwards disowned by him, and subscribed by very few princes.

The protestants soon got intelligence of this association, notwithstanding all the endeavors of the contracting parties to conceal it; and their zeal, always apt to suspect and to dread, even to excess, everything that seemed to threaten religion, instantly took the alarm, as if the emperor had been just ready to enter upon the execution of some formidable plan for the extirpation of their opinions. In order to disappoint this, they held frequent consultations, they courted the kings of France and England with great assiduity, and even began to think of raising the respective contingents both in men and money with which they were obliged to furnish by the treaty of Smalkalde. But it was not long before they were convinced that these apprehensions were without foundation, and that the emperor, to whom repose was absolutely necessary, after efforts so much beyond his strength in the war with France, had no thoughts of disturbing the tranquility of Germany. As a proof of this, at an interview with the protestant princes in Frankfort [April 19], his ambassadors agreed that all concessions in their favor, particularly those contained in the pacification of Nuremberg, should continue in force for fifteen months; that during this period all proceedings of the Imperial chamber against them should be suspended; that a conference should be held by a few divines of each party, in order to discuss the points in controversy, and to propose articles of accommodation which should be laid before the next diet. Though the emperor, that he might not irritate the pope, who remonstrated against the first part of this agreement as impolitic, and against the latter, as an impious encroachment upon his prerogative, never formally ratified this convention, it was observed with considerable exactness, and greatly strengthened the basis of that ecclesiastical liberty for which the protestants contended.

A few days after the convention at Frankfort, George duke of Saxony died [April 24], and his death was an event of great advantage to the reformation. That prince, the head of the Albertine, or younger branch of the Saxon family, possessed, as marquis of Misnia and Thuringia, extensive territories, comprehending Dresden, Leipzig, and other cities now the most considerable in the electorate. From the first dawn of the reformation, he had been its enemy as avowedly as the electoral princes were its pro­tectors, and had carried on his opposition not only with all the zeal flowing from religious prejudices, but with a virulence inspired by personal antyipathy to Luther, and embittered by the domestic animosity subsisting between him and the other branch of his family. By his death without issue, his succession fell to his brother Henry, whose attachment to the protestant religion surpassed, if possible, that of his predecessor to popery. Henry no sooner took possession of his new dominions, than, disregarding a clause in George’s will, dictated by his bigotry, whereby he bequeathed all his territories to the emperor and king of the Romans, if his brother should attempt to make any innovation in religion, he invited some pro­testant divines, and among them Luther himself, to Leipzig. By their advice and assistance, he overturned in a few weeks the whole system of ancient rites, establishing the full exercise of the reformed religion with the universal applause of his subjects, who had long wished for this change, which the authority of their duke alone had hitherto prevented. This revolution delivered the protestants from the danger to which they were exposed by having an inveterate enemy situated in the middle of their territories; and they had now the satisfaction of seeing that the possessions of the princes and cities attached to their cause, extended in one great and almost unbroken line from the shore of the Baltic to the banks of the Rhine.

THE SPANISH PRIDE AT TEST

Soon after the conclusion of the truce at Nice, an event happened, which satisfied all Europe that Charles had prosecuted the war to the utmost extremity that the state of his affairs would permit.

Vast arrears were due to his troops, whom he had long amused with vain hopes and promises. As they now foresaw what little attention would be paid to their demands, when by the reestablishment of peace their services became of less importance, they lost all patience, broke out into an open mutiny, and declared that they thought themselves entitled to seize by violence what was detained from them contrary to all justice. Nor was this spirit of sedition confined to one part of the emperor’s dominions; the mutiny was almost as general as the grievance which gave rise to it. The soldiers in the Milanese plundered the open country without control, and filled the capital itself with consternation. Those in garrison at Goletta threatened to give up that important fortress to Barbarossa. In Sicily, the troops proceeded to still greater excesses; having driven away their officers, they elected others in their stead, defeated a body of men whom the viceroy sent against them, took and pillaged several cities, conducting themselves all the while in such a manner, that their operations resembled rather the regular proceedings of a concerted rebellion, than the rashness and violence of a military mutiny. But by the address and prudence of the generals, who, partly by borrowing money in their own name, or in that of their master, partly by extorting large sums from the cities in their respective provinces, raised what was sufficient to discharge the arrears of the soldiers, these insurrections were quelled. The greater part of the troops were disbanded, such a number only being kept in pay as was necessary for garrisoning the principal towns and protecting the seacoasts from the insults of the Turks.

It was happy for the emperor that the abilities of his generals extricated him out of these difficulties, which it exceeded his own power to have removed. He had depended, as his chief resource for discharging the arrears due to his soldiers, upon the subsidies which he expected from his Castilian subjects. For this purpose, he assembled the Cortes of Castile at Toledo, and having represented to them the extraordinary expense of his military operations, together with the great debts in which these had necessarily involved him, he proposed to levy such supplies as the present exigency of his affairs demanded, by a general excise on commodities.

But the Spaniards already felt themselves oppressed with a load of taxes unknown to their ancestors. They had often complained that their country was drained not only of its wealth but of its inhabitants, in order to prosecute quarrels in which it was not interested, and to fight battles, from which it could reap no benefit; and they determined not to add voluntarily to their own burdens, or to furnish the emperor with the means of engaging in new enterprises no less ruinous to the kingdom than most of those which he had hitherto carried on. The nobles in particular inveighed with great vehemence against the imposition proposed, as an encroachment upon the valuable and distinguishing privilege of their order, that of being exempted from the payment of any tax.

They demanded a conference with the representatives of the cities concerning the state of the nation. They contended that if Charles would imitate the example of his predecessors, who had resided constantly in Spain, and would avoid entangling himself in a multiplicity of transactions foreign to the concerns of his Spanish dominions, his stated revenues of the crown would be fully sufficient to defray the necessary expenses of government. They represented to him, that it would be unjust to lay new burdens upon the people, while this prudent and effectual method of reestablishing public credit, and securing national opulence, was totally neglected.

Charles, after employing arguments, entreaties, and promises, but without success, in order to overcome their obstinacy, dismissed the assembly with great indignation. From that period neither the nobles nor the prelates have been called to these assemblies, on pretence that such as pay no part of the public taxes, should not claim any vote in laying them on. None have been admitted to the Cortes but the procurators or representatives eighteen cities. These to the number of thirty-six, being two from each community, form an assembly which bears no resemblance either in power or dignity or independence to the ancient Cortes; and are absolutely at the devotion of the court in all their determinations. Thus the imprudent zeal with which the Castilian nobles had supported the regal prerogative, in opposition to the claims of the commons during the commotions in the year one thousand five hundred and twenty-one, proved at last fatal to their own body. By enabling Charles to depress one of the orders in the state, they destroyed that balance to which the constitution owed its security, and put it in his power, or in that of his successors, to humble the other, and to strip it gradually of its most valuable privileges.

At the same time, however, the Spanish grandees still possessed extraordinary power as well as privileges, which they exercised and defended with a haughtiness peculiar to themselves. Of this the emperor himself had a mortifying proof during the meeting of the Cortes at Toledo. As he was returning one day from a tournament accompanied by most of the nobility, one of the sergeants of the court, out of officious zeal to clear the way for the emperor, struck the duke of Infantado’s horse with his baton, which that haughty grandee resenting, drew his sword, beat and wounded the officer. Charles, provoked at such an insolent deed in his presence, immediately ordered Ronquillo the judge of the court to arrest the duke; Ronquillo advanced to execute his charge, when the constable of Castile interposing, checked him, claimed the right of jurisdiction over a grandee as a privilege of his office, and conducted Infantado to his own apartment. All the nobles present were so pleased with the boldness of the constable in asserting the rights of their order, that, deserting the emperor, they attended him to his house with infinite applauses, and Charles returned to the palace unaccompanied by any person but the cardinal Tavera.

The emperor, how sensible soever of the affront, saw the danger of irritating a jealous and high-spirited order of men, whom the slightest appearance of offence might drive to the most unwarrantable extremities. For that reason, instead of straining at any ill-timed exertion of his prerogative, he prudently connived at the arrogance of a hotly too potent for him to control, and sent next morning to the duke of Infantado offering to inflict what punishment he pleased on the person who had affronted him. The duke considering this as a full reparation to his honor, instantly forgave the officer; bestowing on him, besides, a considerable present as a compensation for his wound. Thus the affair was entirely forgotten; nor would it have deserved to be mentioned, if it were not a striking example of the high and independent spirit of the Spanish nobles in that age, as well as an instance of the emperor’s dexterity in accommodating his conduct to the circumstances in which he was placed.

STATES OF THE UNITED PROVINCES

Charles was far from discovering the same condescension or lenity toward the citizens of Ghent, who not long after broke out into open rebellion against his government.

An event which happened in the year one thousand five hundred and thirty-six, gave occasion to this rash insurrection so fatal to that flourishing city. At that time the queen dowager of Hungary, governess of the Netherlands, having received orders from her brother to invade France with all the forces which she could raise, she assembled the States of the United Provinces, and obtained from them a subsidy of twelve hundred thousand florins, to defray the expense of that undertaking. Of this sum, the county of Flanders was obliged to pay a third part as its proportion. But the citizens of Ghent, the most considerable city in that country, averse to a war with France, with which they carried on an extensive and gainful commerce, refused to pay their quota, and contended, that in consequence of stipulations between them and the ancestors of their present sovereign the emperor, no tax could be levied upon them, unless they had given their express consent to the imposition of it. The governess on the other hand, maintained, that as the subsidy of twelve hundred thousand florins had been granted by the States of Flanders, of which their representatives were members, they were bound, of course, to conform to what was enacted by them, as it is the first principle in society, on which the tranquility and order of government depend, that the inclinations of the minority must be overruled by the judgment and decision of the superior number.

The citizens of Ghent, however, were not willing to relinquish a privilege of such high importance as that which they claimed. Having been accustomed, under the government of the house of Burgundy, to enjoy extensive immunities, and to be treated with much indulgence, they disdained to sacrifice to the delegated power of a regent, those rights and liberties which they had often and successfully asserted against their greatest princes. The queen, though she endeavored at first to soothe them, and to reconcile them to their duty by various concessions, was at last so much irritated by the obstinacy with which they adhered to their claim, that she ordered all the citizens of Ghent, on whom she could lay hold in any part of the Netherlands, to be arrested. But this rash action made an impression very different from what she expected, on men whose minds were agitated with all the violent passions which indignation at oppression and zeal for liberty inspire.

Less affected with the danger of their friends and companions, than irritated at the governess, they openly despised her authority, and sent deputies to the other towns of Flanders, conjuring them not to abandon their country at such a juncture, but to concur with them in vindicating its rights against the encroachments of a woman, who either did not know or did not regard their immunities. All but a few inconsiderable towns declined entering into any confederacy against the governess; they joined, however, in petitioning her to put off the term for payment of the tax so long, that they might have it in their power to send some of their number into Spain, in order to lay their title to exemption before their sovereign. This she granted with some difficulty. But Charles received their commissioners with a haughtiness to which they were not accustomed from their ancient princes, and enjoining them to yield the same respectful obedience to his sister, which they owed to him in person, remitted the examination of their claim to the council of Malines. This court, which is properly a standing committee of the parliament or states of the country, and which possesses the supreme jurisdiction in all matters civil as well as criminal, pronounced the claim of the citizens of Ghent to be ill-founded, and appointed them forthwith to pay their proportion of the tax.

Enraged at this decision, which they considered as notoriously unjust, and rendered desperate on seeing their rights betrayed by that very court which was bound to protect them, the people of Ghent ran to arms in a tumultuary manner; drove such of the nobility as resided among them out of the city; secured several of the emperor’s officers; put one of them to the torture, whom they accused of having stolen or destroyed the record that contained a ratification of the privileges of exemption from taxes which they pleaded; chose a council to which they committed the direction of their affairs; gave orders for repairing and adding to their fortifications; and openly erected the standard of rebellion against their sovereign. Sensible, however, of their inability to support what their zeal had prompted them to undertake, and desirous of securing a protector against the formidable forces by which they might expect soon to be attacked, they sent some of their number to Francis, offering not only to acknowledge him as their sovereign, and to put him in immediate possession of Ghent, but to assist him with all their forces in recovering those provinces in the Netherlands, which had anciently belonged to the crown of France, and had been so lately reunited to it by the decree of the parliament of Paris.

This unexpected proposition coming from persons who had it in their power to have performed instantly one part of what they undertook, and who could contribute so effectually towards the execution of the whole, opened great as well as alluring prospects to Francis's ambition. The counties of Flanders and Artois were of greater value than the duchy of Milan, which he had so long labored to acquire with passionate but fruitless desire; their situation with respect to France rendered it more easy to conquer or to defend them; and they might be formed into a separate principality for the duke of Orleans, no less suitable to his dignity than that which his father aimed at obtaining. To this, the Flemings, who were acquainted with the French manners and government, would not have been averse; and his own subjects, weary of their destructive expeditions into Italy, would have turned their arms towards this quarter with more good will, and with greater vigour. Several considerations, nevertheless, prevented Francis from laying hold of this opportunity, the most favorable in appearance which had ever presented itself, of extending his own dominions, or distressing the emperor. From the time of their interview at Aigues-mortes, Charles had continued to court the king of France with wonderful attention; and often flattered him with hopes of gratifying at last his wishes concerning the Milanese, by granting the investiture of it either to him or to one of his sons. But though these hopes and promises were thrown out with no other intention than to detach him from his confederacy with the grand seignior, or to raise suspicions in Solyman’s mind by the appearance of a cordial and familiar intercourse subsisting between the courts of Paris and Madrid, Francis was weak enough to catch at the shadow by which he had been so often amused, and from eagerness to seize it, relinquished what must have proved a more substantial acquisition. Besides this, the dauphin, jealous to excess of his brother, and unwilling that a prince who seemed to be of a restless and enterprising nature, should obtain an establishment, which from its situation might be considered almost as a domestic one, made use of Montmorency, who, by a singular piece of good fortune, was at the same time the favorite of the father and of the son, to defeat the application of the Flemings, and to divert the king from espousing their cause. Montmorency, accordingly, represented, in strong terms, the reputation and power which Francis would acquire by recovering that footing which he formerly had in Italy, and that nothing would be so efficacious to overcome the emperor's aversion to this as a sacred adherence to the truce, and refusing, on an occasion so inviting, to countenance the rebellious subjects of his rival. Francis, apt of himself to overrate the value of the Milanese, because he estimated it from the length of time as well as from the great efforts which he had employed in order to reconquer it, and fond of every action which had the appearance of generosity, assented without difficulty to sentiments so agreeable to his own, rejected the propositions of the citizens of Ghent, and dismissed their deputies with a harsh answer.

Not satisfied with this, by a further refinement in generosity, he communicated to the emperor his whole negotiation with the malecontents, and all that le knew of their schemes and intentions. This convincing proof of Francis’s disinterestedness relieved Charles from the most disquieting apprehensions, and opened a way to extricate himself out of all his difficulties. He had already received full information of all the transactions in the Netherlands, and of the rage with which the people of Ghent had taken arms against his government. He was thoroughly acquainted with the genius and qualities of his subjects in that country; with their love of liberty; their attachment to their ancient privileges and customs; as well as the invincible obstinacy with which their minds, slow but firm and persevering, adhered to any measure on which they had deliberately resolved. He easily saw what encouragement and support they might have derived from the assistance of France and though now free from any danger on that quarter, he was still sensible that some immediate as well as vigorous interposition was necessary, in order to prevent the spirit of disaffection from spreading in a country where the number of cities, the multitude of people, together with the great wealth diffused among them by commerce, rendered it peculiarly formidable, and would supply it with inexhaustible resources. No expedient, after long deliberation, appeared to him so effectual as his going in person to the Netherlands; and the governess his sister being of the same opinion, warmly solicited him to undertake the journey. There were only two routes which he could take; one by land through Italy and Germany, the other entirely by sea, from some port in Spain to one in the Low-Countries But the former was more tedious than suited the present exigency of his affairs; nor could he in consistency with his dignity, or even his safety, pass through Germany, without such a train both of attendants and of troops, as would have added greatly to the time he must have consumed in his journey; the latter was dangerous at this season, and while he remained uncertain with respect to the friendship of the king of England, was not to be ventured upon, unless under the convoy of a powerful fleet. This perplexing situation, in which he was under the necessity of choosing, and did not know what to choose, inspired him at last with the singular and seemingly extravagant thought of passing through France, as the most expeditious way of reaching the Netherlands. He proposed in his council to demand Francis’s permission for that purpose. All his counselors joined with one voice in condemning the measure as no less rash than unprecedented, and which must infallibly expose him to disgrace or to danger; to disgrace, if the demand were rejected in the manner that he had reason to expect; to danger, if he put his person in the power of an enemy whom he had often offended, who had ancient injuries to revenge, as well as subjects of present contest still remaining undecided. But Charles, who had studied the character of his rival with greater care and more profound discernment than any of his ministers, persisted in his plan, and flattered himself that it might be accomplished not only without danger to his own person, but even without the expense of any concession detrimental to his crown.

With this view he communicated the matter to the French ambassador at his court, and sent Granville his chief minister to Paris, in order to obtain from Francis permission to pass through his dominions, and to promise that he would soon settle the affair of the Milanese to his satisfaction. But at the same time he entreated that Francis would not exact any new promise, or even insist on former engagements, at this juncture, lest whatever he should grant, under his present circumstances, might seem rather to be extorted by necessity than to flow from friendship or the love of justice.

Francis, instead of attending to the snare which such a slight artifice scarcely concealed, was so dazzled with the splendor of overcoming an enemy by acts of generosity, and so pleased with the air of superiority which the rectitude and disinterestedness of his proceedings gave him on this occasion, that he at once assented to all that was demanded. Judging of the emperor’s heart by his own, he imagined that the sentiments of gratitude, arising from the remembrance of good offices and liberal treatment, would determine him more forcibly to fulfill what he had so often promised, than the most precise stipulations that could he inserted in any treaty.

Upon this, Charles, to whom every moment was precious, set out, notwithstanding the fears and suspicions of his Spanish subjects, with a small but splendid train of about a hundred persons. At Bayonne, on the frontiers of France, he was received by the dauphin and the duke of Orleans, attended by the constable Montmorency. The two princes offered to go into Spain, and to remain there as hostages for the emperor’s safety; but this he rejected, declaring, that he relied with implicit confidence on the king’s honor, and had never demanded, nor would accept of any other pledge for his security. In all the towns through which he passed, the greatest possible magnificence was displayed; the magistrates presented him the keys of the gates; the prison doors were set open; and by the royal honors paid to him, he appeared more like the sovereign of the country than a foreign prince [1540]. The king advanced as far as Chatelherault to meet him; their interview was distinguished by the warmest expressions of friendship and regard. They proceeded together towards Paris, and presented to the inhabitants of that city, the extraordinary spectacle of two rival monarchs, whose enmity had disturbed and laid waste Europe during twenty years, making their solemn entry together with all the symptoms of a confidential harmony, as if they had forgotten for ever past injuries, and would never revive hostilities for the future.

Charles remained six days at Paris; but amidst the perpetual caresses of the French court, and the various entertainments contrived to amuse or to do him honor, he discovered an extreme impatience to continue his journey, arising as much from an apprehension of danger which constantly haunted him, as from the necessity of his presence in the Low-Countries.

Conscious of the disingenuity of his own intentions, he trembled when he reflected that some fatal accident might betray them to his rival, or lead him to suspect them; and though his artifices to conceal them should be successful, he could not help fearing that motives of interest might at last triumph over the scruples of honor, and tempt Francis to avail himself of the advantage now in his hands. Nor were there wanting persons among the French ministers, who advised the king to turn his own arts against the emperor, and as the retribution due for so many instances of fraud or falsehood, to seize and detain his person until he granted him full satisfaction with regard to all the just claims of the French crown. But no consideration could induce Francis to violate the faith which he had pledged, nor could any argument convince him that Charles, after all the promises that he had given, and all the favors which lie had received, might still be capable of deceiving him. Full of this false confidence, he accompanied him to St. Quintin; and the two princes, who had met his on the borders of Spain, did not take leave of him until he entered his dominions in the Low-Countries.

As soon as the emperor reached his own territories [Jan. 24], the French ambassadors demanded the accomplishment of what he had promised concerning the investiture of Milan: but Charles, under the plausible pretext that his whole attention was then engrossed by the consultations necessary towards suppressing the rebellion in Ghent, put off the matter for some time. But in order to prevent Francis from suspecting his sincerity, he still continued to talk of his resolutions with respect to that matter in the same strain as when he entered France, and even wrote to the king much to the same purpose, though in general terms, and with equivocal expres­sions, which he might afterwards explain away or interpret at pleasure.

Meanwhile, the unfortunate citizens of Ghent, destitute of leaders, capable either of directing their councils, or conducting their troops; abandoned by the French king, and unsupported by their countrymen; were unable to resist their offended sovereign, who was ready to advance against them with one body of troops which he had raised in the Netherlands, with another drawn out of Germany, and a third which had arrived from Spain by sea. The near approach of danger made them, at last, so sensible of their own folly, that they sent ambassadors to the emperor, imploring his mercy, and offering to set open their gates at his approach. Charles, without vouchsafing them any other answer than that he would appear among them as their sovereign, with the scepter and the sword in his hand, began his march at the head of his troops. Though he chose to enter the city on the twenty-fourth of February, his birthday, he was touched with nothing of that tenderness or indulgence which was natural towards the place of his nativity. Twenty-six of the principal citizens were put to death [April 201]; a greater number were sent into banishment; the city was declared to have forfeited all its privileges and immunities; the revenues belonging to it were confiscated; its ancient form of government was abolished; the nomination of its magistrates was vested for the future in the emperor and his successors; a new system of laws and political administration was prescribed; and in order to bridle the seditious spirit of the citizens, orders were given to erect a strong citadel, for defraying the expense of which a fine of a hundred and fifty thousand florins was imposed on the inhabitants, together with an annual tax of six thousand florins for the support of the garrison. By these rigorous proceedings, Charles not only punished the citizens of Ghent, but set an awful example of severity before his other subjects in the Netherlands, whose immunities and privileges, partly the effect, partly the cause of their extensive commerce, circumscribed the prerogative of their sovereign within very narrow bounds, and often stood in the way of measures which he wished to undertake, or fettered and retarded him in his operations.

Charles having thus vindicated and reestablished his authority in the Low-Countries, and being, now under no necessity of continuing the same scene of falsehood and dissimulation with which he had long amused Francis, began gradually to throw aside the veil under which he had concealed his intentions with respect to the Milanese. At first, he eluded the demands of the French ambassadors, when they again reminded him of his promises; then he proposed, by way of equivalent for the duchy of Milan, to grant the duke of Orleans the investiture of Flanders, clogging the offer, however, with impracticable conditions, or such as he knew would be rejected. At last, being driven from all his evasions and subterfuges by their insisting for a categorical answer, he peremptorily refused to give up a territory of such value, or voluntarily to make such a liberal addition to the strength of an enemy, by diminishing his own power. He denied, at the same time, that he had ever made any promise which could bind him to an action so foolish, and so contrary to his own interest.

Of all the transactions in the emperor’s life, this, without doubt, reflects the greatest dishonor on his reputation. Though Charles was not extremely scrupulous at other times about the means which he employed for accomplishing his ends, and was not always observant of the strict precepts of veracity and honor, he had hitherto maintained some regard for the maxims of that less precise and rigid morality by which monarchs think themselves entitled to regulate their conduct. But, on this occasion, the scheme that he formed of deceiving a generous and open-hearted prince; the illiberal and mean artifices by which he carried it on; the insensibility with which he received all the marks of his friendship, as well as the ingratitude with which he requited them, are all equally unbecoming the dignity of his character, and inconsistent with the grandeur of his views.

This transaction exposed Francis to as much scorn as it did the emperor to censure. After the experience of a long-reign, after so many opportunities of discovering the duplicity and artifices of his rival, the credulous simplicity with which he trusted him at this juncture seemed to merit no other return than what it actually met with. Francis, however, remonstrated and exclaimed, as if this had been the first instance in which the emperor had deceived him. Feeling, as is usual, the insult which was offered to his understanding still more sensibly than the injury done to his interest, he discovered such resentment, as made it obvious that he would lay hold on the first opportunity of being revenged, and that a war, no less rancorous than that which had so lately raged, would soon break out anew in Europe.

GROWTH OF THE ORDER OF THE JESUITS

But singular as the transaction which has been related may appear, this year is rendered still more memorable by the establishment of the order of Jesuits; a body whose influence on ecclesiastical as well as civil affairs bath been so considerable, that an account of the genius of its laws and government justly merits a place in history.

When men take a view of the rapid progress of this society towards wealth and power; when they contemplate the admirable prudence with which it has been governed; when they attend to the persevering and systematic spirit with which its schemes have been carried on; they are apt to ascribe such a singular institution to the superior wisdom of its founder, and to suppose that he had formed and digested his plan with profound policy. But the Jesuits, as well as the other monastic orders, are indebted for the existence of their order not to the wisdom of their founder, but to his enthusiasm. Ignatio Loyola, whom I have already mentioned on occasion of the wound which he received in defending Pampeluna, was a fanatic distinguished by extravagancies in sentiment and conduct, no less incompatible with the maxims of sober reason, than repugnant to the spirit of true religion. The wild adventures, and visionary schemes, in which his enthusiasm engaged him, equal anything recorded in the legends of the Romish saints; but are unworthy of notice in history.

Prompted by this fanatical spirit, or incited by the love of power and distinction, from which such pretenders to superior sanctity are not exempt, Loyola was ambitious of becoming the founder of a religious order. The plan, which he formed of its constitution and laws, was suggested, as he gave out, and as his followers still teach, by the immediate inspiration of heaven. But notwithstanding this high pretension, his design met at first with violent opposition.

The pope, to whom Loyola had applied for the sanction of his authority to confirm the institution, referred his petition to a committee of cardinals. They represented the establishment to be unnecessary as well as dangerous, and Paul refused to grant his approbation of it. At last, Loyola removed all his scruples by an offer which it was impossible for any pope to resist. He proposed, that besides the three vows of poverty, of chastity, and of monastic obedience, which are common to all the orders of regulars, the members of his society should take a fourth vow of obedience to the pope, binding themselves to go whithersoever he should command for the service of religion, and without requiring anything from the holy see for their support. At a time when the papal authority had received such a shock by the revolt of so many nations from the Romish church; at a time when every part of the popish system was attacked with so much violence and success, the acquisition of a body of men, thus peculiarly devoted to the see of Rome, and whom it might set in opposition to all its enemies, was an object of the highest consequence. Paul, instantly perceiving this, confirmed the institution of the Jesuits by his bull [Sept. 27]; granted the most ample privileges to the members of the society; and appointed Loyola to be the first general of the order.

The event had fully justified Paul’s discernment, in expecting such bene­ficial consequences to the see of Rome from this institution. In less than half a century, the society obtained establishments in every country that adhered to the Roman catholic church; its power and wealth increased amazingly; the number of its members became great; their character as well as accomplishments were still greater; and the Jesuits were celebrated by the friends, and dreaded by the enemies of the Romish faith, as the most able and enterprising order in the church.

The constitution and laws of the society were perfected by Laynez and Aquaviva, the two generals who succeeded Loyola, men far superior to their master in abilities, and in the science of government. They framed that system of profound and artful policy which distinguishes the order. The large infusion of fanaticism, mingled with its regulations, should be imputed to Loyola its founder. Many circumstances concurred in giving a peculiarity of character to the order of Jesuits, and in forming the members of it not only to take a greater part in the affairs of the world than any other body of monks, but to acquire superior influence in the conduct of them.

The primary object of almost all the monastic orders is to separate men from the world, and from any concern in its affairs. In the solitude and silence of the cloister, the monk is called to work out his own salvation by extraordinary acts of mortification and piety. He is dead to the world, and ought not to mingle in its transactions. He can be of no benefit to mankind, but by his example and by his prayers. On the contrary, the Jesuits are taught to consider themselves as formed for action. They are chosen soldiers, bound to exert themselves continually in the service of God and of the pope, his vicar on earth. Whatever tends to instruct the ignorant; whatever can be of use to reclaim or to oppose the enemies of the holy see is their proper object. That they may have full leisure for this active service, they are totally exempted from those functions, the performance of which is the chief business of other monks. They appear in no processions; they practice no rigorous austerities; they do not consume one half of their time in the repetition of tedious offices. But they are required to attend to all the transactions of the world, on account of the influence which these may have upon religion; they are directed to study the dispositions of persons in high rank, and to cultivate their friendship; and by the very constitution, as well as genius of the order, a spirit of action and intrigue is infused into all its members.

As the object of the society of Jesuits differed from that of the other monastic orders, the diversity was no less in the form of its government. The other orders are to be considered as voluntary associations, in which whatever affects the whole body is regulated by the common suffrage of all its members. The executive power is vested in the persons placed at the head of each convent, or of the whole society; the legislative authority resides in the community. Affairs of moment, relating to particular convents, are determined in conventual chapters; such as respect the whole order are considered in general congregations. But Loyola, full of the ideas of implicit obedience, which he had derived from his military profession, appointed that the government of his order should be purely monarchical. A general, chosen for life by deputies from the several provinces, possessed power that was supreme and independent, extending to every person, and to every case. He, by his sole authority, nominated provincials, rectors, and every other officer employed in the government of the society, and could remove them at pleasure. In him was vested the sovereign administration of the revenues and funds of the order. Every member belonging to it was at his disposal; and by his uncontrollable mandate, he could impose on them any task, or employ them in what service soever he pleased. To his commands they were required not only to yield outward obedience, but to resign up to him the inclinations of their own wills, and the sentiments of their own understandings. They were to listen to his injunctions, as if they had been uttered by Christ himself. Under his direction, they were to be mere passive instruments, like clay in the hands of the potter or like dead carcasses incapable of resistance. Such a singular form of policy could not fail to impress its character on all the members of the order, and to give a peculiar force to all its operations. There is not in the annals of mankind any example of such perfect despotism, exercised not over monks shut up in the cells of a convent, but over men dispersed among all the nations of the earth.

As the constitutions of the order vest in the general such absolute dominion over all its members, they carefully provide for his being perfectly informed with respect to the character and abilities of his subjects. Every novice who offers himself as a candidate for entering into the order, is obliged to manifest his conscience to the superior, or to a person appointed by him; and in doing this is required to confess not only his sins and defects, but to discover the inclinations, the passions, and the bent of his soul. This manifestation must be renewed every six months. The society, not satisfied with penetrating in this manner into the innermost recesses of the heart, directs each member to observe the words and actions of the novices; they are constituted spies upon their conduct; and are bound to disclose everything of importance concerning them to the superior.

In order that this scrutiny into their character may be as complete as possible, a long noviciate must expire, during which they pass through the several gradations of ranks in the society, and they must have attained the full age of thirty-three years before they can be admitted to take the final vows, by which they become professed members. By these various methods, the superiors, under whose immediate inspection the novices are placed, acquire a thorough knowledge of their dispositions and talents. In order that the general, who is the soul that animates and moves the whole society, may have under his eye everything necessary to inform or direct him, the provincials and heads of the several houses are obliged to transmit to him regular and frequent reports concerning the members under their inspection. In these they descend into minute details with respect to the character of each person, his abilities, natural or acquired, his temper, his experience in affairs, and the particular department for which he is best fitted. These reports, when digested and arranged, are entered into registers kept on purpose, that the general may, at one comprehensive view, survey the state of the society in every corner of the earth; observe the qualifications and talents of its members; and thus choose, with perfect information, the instruments, which his absolute power can employ in any service for which he thinks meet to destine them.

As it was the professed intention of the order of Jesuits to labor with unwearied zeal in promoting the salvation of men, this engaged them, of course, in many active functions. From their first institution, they considered the education of youth as their peculiar province; they aimed at being spiritual guides and confessors; they preached frequently in order to instruct the people; they sent out missionaries to convert unbelieving nations. The novelty of the institution, as well as the singularity of its objects, procured the order many admirers and patrons. The governors of the society had the address to avail themselves of every circumstance in its favor, and in a short time the number as well as influence of its members increased wonderfully. Before the expiration of the sixteenth century, the Jesuits had obtained the chief direction of the education of youth in every catholic country in Europe. They had become the confessors of almost all its monarchs, a function of no small importance in any reign, but under a weak prince superior even to that of minister. They were the spiritual guides of almost every person eminent for rank or power. They possessed the highest degree of confidence and interest with the papal court, as the most zealous and able champions for its authority. The advantages which an active and enterprising body of men might derive from all these circumstances are obvious. They formed the minds of men in their youth. They retained an ascendant over them in their advanced years. They possessed, at different periods, the direction of the most considerable courts in Europe. They mingled in all affairs. They took part in every intrigue and revolution. The general, by means of the extensive intelligence which be received, could regulate the operations of the order with the most perfect discernment, and by means of his absolute power could carry them on with the utmost vigour and effect.

Together with the power of the order, its wealth continued to increase. Various expedients were devised for eluding the obligation of the vow of poverty. The order acquired ample possessions in every catholic country; and by the number as well as magnificence of its public buildings, together with the value of its property, moveable or real, it vied with the most opulent of the monastic fraternities. Besides the sources of wealth common to all the regular clergy, the Jesuits possessed one which was peculiar to themselves. Under pretext of promoting the success of their missions, and of facilitating the support of their missionaries, they obtained a special license from the court of Rome, to trade with the nations which they labored to convert. In consequence of this, they engaged in an ex­tensive and lucrative commerce, both in the East and West Indies. They opened warehouses in different parts of Europe, in which they vended their commodities. Not satisfied with trade alone, they imitated the example of other commercial societies, and aimed at obtaining settlements. They acquired possession accordingly of a large and fertile province in the southern continent of America, and reigned as sovereigns over some hundred thousand subjects.

Unhappily for mankind, the vast influence which the order of Jesuits acquired by all these different means, has been often exerted with the most pernicious effect. Such was the tendency of that discipline observed by the society in forming its members, and such the fundamental maxims in its constitution, that every Jesuit was taught to regard the interest of the order as the capital object, to which every consideration was to be sacrificed. This spirit of attachment to their order, the most ardent, perhaps, that ever influenced anybody of men, is the characteristic principle of the Jesuits, and serves as a key to the genius of their policy, as well as to the peculiarities in their sentiments and conduct.

As it was for the honor and advantage of the society, that its members should possess an ascendant over persons in high rank or of great power, the desire of acquiring and preserving such a direction of their conduct, with greater facility, has led the Jesuits to propagate a system of relaxed and pliant morality, which accommodates itself to the passions of men, which justifies their vices, which tolerates their imperfections, which authorizes almost every action that the most audacious or crafty politician would wish to perpetrate.

As the prosperity of the order was intimately connected with the preservation of the papal authority, the Jesuits, influenced by the same principle of attachment to the interests of their society, have been the most zealous patrons of those doctrines which tend to exalt ecclesiastical power on the ruins of civil government. They have attributed to the court of Rome a jurisdiction as extensive and absolute as was claimed by the most presumptuous pontiffs in the dark ages. They have contended for the entire independence of ecclesiastics on the civil magistrate. They have published such tenets concerning the duty of opposing princes who were enemies of the catholic faith, as countenanced the most atrocious crimes, and tended to dissolve all the ties which connect subjects with their rulers.

As the order derived both reputation and authority from the zeal with which it stood forth in defence of the Romish church against the attacks of the reformers, its members, proud of this distinction, have considered it as their peculiar function to combat the opinions, and to check the progress of the protestants. They have made use of every art, and have employed every weapon against them. They have set themselves in opposition to every gentle or tolerating measure in their favor. They have incessantly stirred up against them all the rage of ecclesiastical and civil persecution.

Monks of other denominations have, indeed, ventured to teach the same pernicious doctrines, and have held opinions equally inconsistent with the order and happiness of civil society. But they, from reasons which are obvious, have either delivered such opinions with greater reserve, or have propagated them with less success. Whoever recollects the events which have happened in Europe during two centuries, will find that the Jesuits may justly be considered as responsible for most of the pernicious effects arising from that corrupt and dangerous casuistry, from those extravagant tenets concerning ecclesiastical power, and from that intolerant spirit, which have been the disgrace of the church of Rome throughout that period, and which have brought so many calamities upon civil society.

But amidst many bad consequences flowing from the institution of this order, mankind, it must be acknowledged, have derived from it some considerable advantages. As the Jesuits made the education of youth one of their capital objects, and as their first attempts to establish colleges for the reception of students were violently opposed by the universities in differed countries, it became necessary for them, as the most effectual method of acquiring the public favor, to surpass their rivals in science and industry. This prompted them to cultivate the study of ancient literature with extraordinary ardor. This put them upon various methods for facilitating the instruction of youth; and by the improvements which they made in it, they have contributed so much towards the progress of polite learning, that on this account they have merited well of society. Nor has the order of Jesuits been successful only in teaching the elements of literature; it has produced likewise eminent masters in many branches of science, and can alone boast of a greater number of ingenious authors than all the other religious fraternities taken together.

But it is in the new world that the Jesuits have exhibited the most wonderful display of their abilities, and have contributed most effectually to the benefit of the human species. The conquerors of that unfortunate quarter of the globe acted at first as if they had nothing in view, but to plunder, to enslave, and to exterminate its inhabitants. The Jesuits alone made humanity the object of their settling there. About the beginning of the last century, they obtained admission into the fertile province of Paraguay, which stretches across the southern continent of America, from the east side of the immense ridge of the Andes, to the confines of the Spanish and Portuguese settlements on the banks of the river de la Plata. They found the inhabitants in a state little different from that which takes place among men when they first begin to unite together; strangers to the arts; subsisting precariously by hunting or fishing; and hardly acquainted with the first principles of subordination and government. The Jesuits set themselves to instruct and to civilize these savages. They taught them to cultivate the ground, to rear tame animals, and to build houses. They brought them to live together in villages. They trained them to arts and manufactures. They made them taste the sweets of society; and accustomed them to the blessings of security and order. These people became the subjects of their benefactors; who have governed them with a tender attention, resembling that with which a father directs his children. Respected and beloved almost to adoration, a few Jesuits presided over some hundred thousand Indians. They maintained a perfect equality among all the members of the community. Each of them was obliged to labor, not for himself alone, but for the public. The produce of their fields, together with the fruits of their industry of every species, were deposited in common store-houses, from which each individual received everything necessary for the supply of his wants. By this institution, almost all the passions which disturb the peace of society, and render the members of it unhappy, were extinguished. A few magistrates, chosen from among their countrymen by the Indians themselves, watched over the public tranquility, and secured obedience to the laws. The sanguinary punishments frequent under other governments were unknown. An admonition from a Jesuit, a slight mark of infamy, or, on some singular occasion, a few lashes with a whip, were sufficient to maintain good order among these innocent and happy people.

But even in this meritorious effort of the Jesuits for the good of mankind, the genius and spirit of their order have mingled and are discernible. They plainly aimed at establishing in Paraguay an independent empire, subject to the society alone, and which, by the superior excellence of its constitution and police, could scarcely have failed to extend its dominion over all the southern continent of America. With this view, in order to prevent the Spaniards or Portuguese in the adjacent settlements from acquiring any dangerous influence over the people within the limits of the province subject to the society, the Jesuits endeavored to inspire the Indians with hatred and contempt of these nations. They cut off all intercourse between their subjects and the Spanish or Portuguese settlements. They prohibited any private trader of either nation from entering their territories. When they were obliged to admit any person in a public character from the neighboring governments, they did not permit him to have any conversation with their subjects, and no Indian was allowed even to enter the house where these strangers resided, unless in the presence of a Jesuit. In order to render any communication between them as difficult as possible, they industriously avoided giving the Indians any knowledge of the Spanish, or of any other European language; but encouraged the different tribes, which they had civilized, to acquire a certain dialect of the Indian tongue, and labored to make that the universal language throughout their dominions. As all these precautions, without military force, would have been insufficient to have rendered their empire secure and permanent, they instructed their subjects in the European arts of war. They formed them into bodies of cavalry and infantry, completely armed and regularly disciplined. They provided a great train of artillery, as well as magazines stored with all the implements of war. Thus they established an army so numerous and well appointed, as to be formidable in a country, where a few sickly and ill-disciplined battalions composed all the military force kept on foot by the Spaniards or Portuguese.

The Jesuits gained no considerable degree of power during the reign of Charles V, who, with his usual sagacity, discerned the dangerous tendency of the institution, and checked its progress. But as the order was founded in the period of which I write the history, and as the age to which I address this work hath seen its fall, the view which I have exhibited of the laws and genius of this formidable body will not, I hope, be unacceptable to my readers; especially as one circumstance has enabled me to enter into this detail with particular advantage. Europe had observed, for two centuries, the ambition and power of the order. But while it felt many fatal effects of these, it could not fully discern the causes to which they were to be imputed. It was unacquainted with many of the singular regulations in the political constitution or government of the Jesuits, which formed the enterprising spirit of intrigue that distinguished its members, and elevated the body itself to such a height of power. It was a fundamental maxim with the Jesuits, from their first institution, not to publish the rules of their order. These they kept concealed as an impenetrable mystery. They never communicated them to strangers; nor even to the greater part of their own members. They refused to produce them when required by courts of justice; and by a strange solecism in policy, the civil power in different countries authorized or connived at the establishment of an order of men, whose constitution and laws were concealed with a solicitude which alone was a good reason for excluding them. During the prosecutions lately carried on against them in Portugal and France, the Jesuits have been so inconsiderate as to produce the mysterious volumes of their institute. By the aid of these authentic records, the principles of their government may be delineated, and the sources of their power investigated with a degree of certainty and precision, which, previous to that event, it was impossible to attain. But as I have pointed out the dangerous tendency of the constitution and spirit of the order with the freedom becoming an historian, the candor and impartiality no less requisite in that character call on me to add one observation, that no class of regular clergy in the Romish church has been more eminent for decency and even purity of manners, than the major part of the order of Jesuits. The maxims of an intriguing, ambitious, interested policy, might influence those who governed the society, and might even corrupt the heart, and pervert the conduct of some individuals, while the greater number, engaged in literary pursuits, or employed in the functions of religion, was left to the guidance of those common principles which restrain men from vice, and excite them to what is becoming and laudable. The causes which occasioned the ruin of this mighty body, as well as the circumstances and effects with which it has been attended in the different countries of Europe, though objects extremely worthy the attention of every intelligent observer of human affairs, do not fall within the period of this history.

1541. THE DIET OF RATISBON

No sooner had Charles reestablished order in the Low-Countries, than he was obliged to turn his attention to the affairs in Germany.

The protestants pressed him earnestly to appoint that conference between a select number of the divines of each party, which had been stipulated in the convention at Frankfort. The pope considered such an attempt to examine into the points in dispute, or to decide concerning them, as derogatory to his right of being the supreme judge in controversy; and being convinced that such a conference would either be ineffectual by determining nothing, or prove dangerous by determining too much, he employed every art to prevent it. The emperor, however, finding it more for his interest to soothe the Germans than to gratify Paul, paid little regard to his remonstrances. In a diet held at Haguenaw [June 25], matters were ripened for the conference. In another diet assembled at Worms [Dec. 6], the conference was begun, Melanchthon on the one side and Eckius on the other sustaining the principal part in the dispute; but after they had made some progress, though without concluding anything, it was suspended by the emperor’s command, that it might be renewed with greater solemnity in his own presence, in a diet summoned to meet at Ratisbon [1541]. This assembly was opened with great pomp, and with a general expectation that its proceedings would be vigorous and decisive.

By the consent of both parties, the emperor was entrusted with the power or nominating the persons who should manage the conference, which it was agreed should be conducted not in the form of a public disputation, but as a friendly scrutiny or examination into the articles which had given rise to the present controversies. He appointed Eckius, Gropper, and Pflug, on the part of the catholics; Melanchthon, Bucer, and Pistorius, on that of the protestants; all men of distinguished reputation among their own adherents, and, except Eckius, all eminent for moderation, as well as desirous of peace.

As they were about to begin their consultations, the emperor put into their hands a book, composed, as he said, by a learned divine in the Low-Countries, with such extraordinary perspicuity and temper, as, in his opinion, might go far to unite and comprehend the two contending parties. Gropper a canon of Cologne, whom he had named among the managers of the conference, a man of address as well as of erudition, was afterwards suspected of being the author of this short treatise. It contained positions with regard to twenty-two of the chief articles in theology, which included most of the questions then agitated in the controversy between the Lutherans and the church of Rome.

By ranging his sentiments in a natural order, and expressing them with great simplicity, by employing often the very words of scripture, or of the primitive fathers; by softening the rigor of some opinions, and explaining away what was absurd in others; by concessions, sometimes on one side, and sometimes on the other; and especially by banishing as much as possible scholastic phrases, those words and terms of arts in controversy, which serve as badges of distinction to different sects, and for which theologians often contend more fiercely than for opinions themselves; he at last framed his work in such a manner, as promised fairer than anything that had hitherto been attempted to compose and to terminate religious dissensions.

But the attention of the age was turned, with such acute observation, towards theological controversies, that it was not easy to impose on it by any gloss, how artful or specious soever. The length and eagerness of the dispute had separated the contending parties so completely, and had set their minds at such variance, that they were not to be reconciled by partial concessions.

All the zealous catholics, particularly the ecclesiastics who had a seat in the diet, joined in condemning Gropper’s treatise as too favorable to the Lutheran opinion, the poison of which heresy it conveyed, as they pretended, with greater danger, because it was in some degree disguised. The rigid protestants, especially Luther himself, and his patron the elector of Saxony, were for rejecting it as an impious compound of error and truth, craftily prepared that it might impose on the weak, the timid, and the unthinking. But the divines, to whom the examination of it was committed, entered upon that business with greater deliberation and temper. As it was more easy in itself, as well as more consistent with the dignity of the church, to make concessions, and even alterations with regard to speculative opinions, the discussion whereof is confined chiefly to schools, and which present nothing to the people that either strikes their imagination or affects their senses, they came to an accommodation about these without much labor, and even defined the great article concerning justification to their mutual satisfaction.

But, when they proceeded to points of jurisdiction, where the interest and authority of the Roman see were concerned, or to the rites and forms of external worship, where every change that could be made must be public, and draw the observation of the people, there the catholics were altogether intractable; nor could the church either with safety or with honor abolish its ancient institutions. All the articles relative to the power of the pope, the authority of councils, the administration of the sacraments, the worship of saints, and many other particulars, did not, in their nature, admit of any temperament; so that after laboring long to bring about an accommodation with respect to these, the emperor found all his endeavors ineffectual. Being impatient, however, to close the diet, he at last prevailed on a majority of the members to approve of the following recess [July 8]; “That the articles concerning which the divines had agreed in the conference, should be held as points decided, and be observed inviolably by all; that the other articles, about which they had differed, should be referred to the determination of a general council, or if that could not be obtained, to a national synod of Germany; and if it should prove impracticable, likewise, to assemble a synod, that a general diet of the empire should be called within eighteen months, in order to give some final judgment upon the whole controversy; that the emperor should use all his interest and authority with the pope, to procure the meeting either of a general council or synod; that, in the meantime, no innovations should be attempted, no endeavors should be employed to gain proselytes; and neither the revenues of the church, nor the rights of monasteries, should be invaded”.

All the proceedings of this diet, as well as the recess in which they terminated, gave great offence to the pope. The power which the Germans had assumed of appointing their own divines to examine and determine matters of controversy, he considered as a very dangerous invasion of his rights; the renewing of their ancient proposal concerning a national synod, which had been so often rejected by him and his predecessors, appeared extremely undutiful; but the bare mention of allowing a diet, composed chiefly of laymen, to pass judgment with respect to articles of faith, was deemed no less criminal and profane than the worst of those heresies which they seemed zealous to suppress. On the other hand, the protestants were no less dissatisfied with a recess, that considerably abridged the liberty which they enjoyed at that time. As they murmured loudly against it, Charles, unwilling to leave any seeds of discontent in the empire, granted them a private declaration in the most ample terms, exempting them from whatever they thought oppressive or injurious in the recess, and ascertaining to them the full possession of all the privileges which they had ever enjoyed.

Extraordinary as these concessions may appear, the situation of the emperor’s affairs at this juncture made it necessary for him to grant them. He foresaw a rupture with France to be not only unavoidable, but near at hand, and durst not give any such cause of disgust or fear to the protestants, as might force them, in self-defence, to court the protection of the French king, from whom, at present, they were much alienated. The rapid progress of the Turks in Hungary was a more powerful and urgent motive to that moderation which Charles discovered. A great revolution had happened in that kingdom...

STATE OF AFFAIRS IN HUNGARY

John Zapol Scepus having chosen, as has been related, rather to possess a tributary kingdom, than to renounce the royal dignity to which he had been accustomed, had, by the assistance of his mighty protector Solyman, wrested from Ferdinand a great part of the country, and left him only the precarious possession of the rest.

But being a prince of pacific qualities, the frequent attempts of Ferdinand, or of his partisans among the Hungarians, to recover what they had lost, greatly disquieted him; and the necessity on these occasions, of calling in the Turks, whom he considered and felt to be his masters rather than auxiliaries, was hardly less mortifying. In order, therefore, to avoid these distresses, as well as to secure quiet and leisure for cultivating the arts and enjoying amusements in which he delighted, he secretly came to an agreement with his competitor [A. D. 1535], on this condition; That Ferdinand should acknowledge him as king of Hungary, and leave him during life, the unmolested possession of that part of the kingdom now in his power; but that, upon his demise, the sole right of the whole should devolve upon Ferdinand.

As John had never been married, and was then far advanced in life, the terms of the contract seemed very favorable to Ferdinand. But, soon after, some of the Hungarian nobles, solicitous to prevent a foreigner from ascending their throne, prevailed on John to put an end to a long celibacy, by marrying Isabella, the daughter of Sigismund, king of Poland. John had the satisfaction, before his death, which happened within less than a year after his marriage, to see a son born to inherit his kingdom. To him, without regarding his treaty with Ferdinand, which he considered, no doubt, as void, upon an event not foreseen when it was concluded, he bequeathed his crown; appointing the queen and George Martinuzzi, bishop of Waradin, guardians of his son, and regents of the kingdom. The greater part of the Hungarians immediately acknowledged the young prince as king, to whom, in memory of the founder of their monarchy, they gave the name of Stephen.

Ferdinand, though extremely disconcerted by this unexpected event, resolved not to abandon the kingdom which he flattered himself with having acquired by his compact with John. He sent ambassadors to the queen to claim possession, and to offer the province of Transylvania as a settlement for her son, preparing at the same time to assert his right by force of arms. But John had committed the care of his son to persons, who had too much spirit to give up the crown tamely, and who possessed abilities sufficient to defend it. The queen, to all the address peculiar to her own sex, added a masculine courage, ambition, and magnanimity. Martinuzzi, who had raised himself from the lowest rank in life to his present dignity, was one of those extraordinary men, who, by the extent as well as variety of their talents, are fitted to act a superior part in bustling and factious times. In discharging the functions of his ecclesiastical office, he put on the semblance of an humble and austere sanctity. In civil transactions, he discovered industry, dexterity, and boldness. During war, he laid aside the cassock, and appeared on horseback with his scimitar and buckler, as active, as ostentatious, and as gallant as any of his countrymen. Amidst all these different and contradictory forms which he could assume, an insatiable desire of dominion and authority was conspicuous. From such persons it was obvious what answer Ferdinand had to expect. He soon perceived that he must depend on arms alone for recovering Hungary.

Having levied for this purpose a considerable body of Germans, whom his partisans among the Hungarians joined with their vassals, he ordered them to march into that part of the kingdom which adhered to Stephen. Martinuzzi, unable to make head against such a powerful army in the field, satisfied himself with holding out the towns, all of which, especially Buda, the place of greatest consequence, he provided with everything necessary for defence; and in the meantime he sent ambassadors to Solyman, beseeching him to extend towards the son the same imperial protection which had so long maintained the father on his throne. The sultan, though Ferdinand used his utmost endeavors to thwart this negotiation, and even offered to accept of the Hungarian crown on the same ignominious condition, of paying tribute to the Ottoman Porte, by which John had held it, saw such prospects of advantage from espousing the interest of the young king, that he instantly promised him his protection; and commanding one army to advance forthwith towards Hungary, he himself followed with another. Meanwhile the Germans, hoping to terminate the war by the reduction of a city in which the king and his mother were shut up, had formed the siege of Buda. Martinuzzi, having drawn thither the strength of the Hungarian nobility, defended the town with such courage and skill, as allowed the Turkish forces time to come up to its relief. They instantly attacked the Germans, weakened by fatigue, diseases, and desertion, and defeated them with great slaughter.

Solyman soon after joined his victorious troops, and being weary of so many expensive expeditions undertaken in defence of dominions which were not his own, or being unable to resist this alluring opportunity of seizing a kingdom, while possessed by an infant, under the guardianship of a woman and a priest, he allowed interested considerations to triumph with too much facility over the principles of honor and the sentiments of humanity. What he planned ungenerously, he executed by fraud. Having prevailed on the queen to send her son, whom he pretended to be desirous of seeing, into his camp, and having, at the same time, invited the chief of the nobility to an entertainment there, while they, suspecting no treachery, gave themselves up to the mirth and jollity of the feast, a select band of troops by the sultan’s orders seized one of the gates of Buda. Being thus master of the capital, of the king’s person, and of the leading men among the nobles, he gave orders to conduct the queen, together with her son, to Transylvania, which province he allotted to them, and appointing a pasha to preside in Buda with a large body of soldiers, annexed Hungary to the Ottoman empire. The tears and complaints of the unhappy queen had no influence to change his purpose, nor could Martinuzzi either resist his absolute and uncontrollable command, or prevail on him to recall it.

Before the account of this violent usurpation reached Ferdinand, he was so unlucky as to have despatched other ambassadors to Solyman with a fresh representation of his right to the crown of Hungary, as well as a renewal of his former overture to hold the kingdom of the Ottoman Porte, and to pay for it an annual tribute. This ill-timed proposal was rejected with scorn. The sultan, elated with success, and thinking that he might prescribe what terms he pleased to a prince who voluntarily proffered conditions so unbecoming his own dignity, declared that he would not suspend the operations of war, unless Ferdinand instantly evacuated all the towns which he still held in Hungary, and consented to the imposition of a tribute upon Austria, in order to reimburse the sums which his presumptuous invasion of Hungary had obliged the Ottoman Porte to expend in defence of that kingdom.

In this state were the affairs of Hungary. As the unfortunate events there had either happened before the dissolution of the diet at Ratisbon, or were dreaded at that time, Charles saw the danger of irritating and inflaming the minds of the Germans, while a formidable enemy was ready to break into the empire; and perceived that he could not expect any vigorous assistance either towards the recovery of Hungary, or the defence of the Austrian frontier, unless he courted and satisfied the protestants. By the concessions which have been mentioned, he gained this point, and such liberal supplies, both of men and money, were voted for carrying on the war against the Turks, as left him under little anxiety about the secu­rity of Germany during the next campaign.

Immediately upon the conclusion of the diet, the emperor set out for Italy. As he passed through Lucca, he had a short interview with the pope; but nothing could be concluded concerning the proper method of composing the religious disputes in Germany, between two princes, whose views and interests with regard to that matter were at this juncture so opposite. The pope’s endeavours to remove the causes of discord between Charles and Francis, and to extinguish those mutual animosities which threatened to break out suddenly into open hostility, were not more successful.

The emperor’s thoughts were bent so entirely, at that time, on the great enterprise which he had concerted against Algiers, that he listened with little attention to the pope’s schemes or overtures, and hastened to join his army and fleet.

THE DISASTER OF THE EXPEDITION AGAINST ALGIERS

Algiers still continued in that state of dependence on the Turkish empire to which Barbarossa had subjected it. Ever since he, as captain Basha, commanded the Ottoman fleet, Algiers had been governed by Hascen-Aga, a renegado eunuch, who, by passing through every station in the corsair’s service, had acquired such experience in war, that he was well fitted for a station which required a man of tried and daring courage.

Hascen, in order to show how well he deserved that dignity, carried on his piratical depredations against the Christian states with amazing activity, and outdid, if possible, Barbarossa himself in boldness and cruelty. The commerce of the Mediterranean was greatly interrupted by his cruisers, and such frequent alarms given to the coast of Spain, that there was a necessity of erecting watch-towers at proper distances, and of keeping guards constantly on foot, in order to descry the approach of his squadrons, and to protect the inhabitants from their descents.

Of this the emperor had received repeated and clamorous complaints from his subjects, who represented it as an enterprise corresponding to his power, and becoming his humanity, to reduce Algiers, which, since the conquest of Tunis, was the common receptacle of all the free-booters; and to exterminate that lawless race, the implacable enemies of the Christian name. Moved partly by their entreaties, and partly allured by the hope of adding to the glory which he had acquired by his last expedition into Africa, Charles, before he left Madrid in his way to the Low-Countries, had issued orders both in Spain and Italy, to prepare a fleet and army for this purpose.

No change in circumstances, since that time, could divert him from this resolution, or prevail on him to turn his arms towards Hungary; though the success of the Turks in that country seemed more immediately to require his presence there; though many of his most faithful adherents in Germany urged that the defence of the empire ought to be his first and peculiar care; though such as bore him no good-will ridiculed his preposterous con­duct in flying from an enemy almost at hand, that he might go in quest of a remote and more ignoble foe. But to attack the sultan in Hungary, how splendid soever that measure might appear, was an undertaking which exceeded his power, and was not consistent with his interest. To draw troops out of Spain or Italy, to march them into a country so distant as Hungary, to provide the vast apparatus necessary for transporting thither the artillery, ammunition, and baggage of a regular army, and to push the war in that quarter, where there was little prospect of bringing it to an issue during several campaigns, were undertakings so expensive and unwieldy as did not correspond with the low condition of the emperor’s treasury. While his principal force was thus employed, his dominions in Italy and the Low-Countries must have lain open to the French king, who would not have allowed such a favorable opportunity of attacking them to go unimproved. Whereas the African expedition, the preparations for which were already finished, and almost the whole expense of it defrayed, would depend upon a single effort; and besides the security and satisfaction which the success of it must give his subjects, would detain him during so short a space, that Francis could hardly take advantage of his absence, to invade his dominions in Europe.

On all these accounts, Charles adhered to his first plan, and with such determined obstinacy, that he paid no regard to the pope, who advised, or to Andrew Doria, who conjured him not to expose his whole armament to almost unavoidable destruction, by venturing to approach the dangerous coast of Algiers at such an advanced season of the year, and when the autumnal winds were so violent. Having embarked on board Doria’s galleys at Porto Venere in the Genoese territories, he soon found that this experienced sailor had not judged wrong concerning the element with which he was so well acquainted; for such a storm arose, that it was with the utmost difficulty and danger he reached Sardinia, the place of general rendezvous. But as his courage was undaunted, and his temper often inflexible, neither the renewed remonstrances of the pope and Doria, nor the danger to which he had already been exposed by disregarding their advice had any other effect than to confirm him in his fatal resolution. The force, indeed, which he had collected, was such as might have inspired a prince less adventurous, and less confident in his own schemes, with the most sanguine hopes of success. It consisted of twenty thousand foot, and two thousand horse, Spaniards, Italians, and Germans, mostly veterans, together with three thousand volunteers, the flower of the Spanish and Italian nobility, fond of paying court to the emperor by attending him in his favorite expedition, and eager to share in the glory which they believed he was going to reap; to these were added a thousand soldiers sent from Malta by the order of St. John, led by a hundred of its most gallant knights.

The voyage, from Majorca to the African coast, was not less tedious, or full of hazard, than that which he had just finished. When he approached the land, the roll of the sea, and vehemence of the winds, would not permit the troops to disembark. But at last the emperor, seizing a favorable opportunity, landed them without opposition, not far from Algiers, and immediately advanced towards the town. To oppose this mighty army, Hascen had only eight hundred Turks, and five thousand Moors, partly natives of Africa, and partly refugees from Granada. He returned, however, a fierce and haughty answer, when summoned to surrender. But with such a handful of soldiers, neither his desperate courage, nor consummate skill in war, could have long resisted forces superior to those which had defeated Barbarossa at the head of sixty thousand men, and which had reduced Tunis, in spite of all his endeavors to save it.

But how far soever the emperor might think himself beyond the reach of any danger from the enemy, he was suddenly exposed to a more dreadful calamity, and one against which human prudence, and human efforts availed nothing. On the second day after his landing, and before he had time for anything but to disperse some light armed Arabs who molested his troops on their march, the clouds began to gather, and the heavens to appear with a fierce and threatening aspect. Towards evening, rain began to fall, accompanied with violent wind; and the rage of the tempest increasing, during the night, the soldiers, who had brought nothing ashore but their arms, remained exposed to all its fury, without tents, or shelter, or cover of any kind. The ground was soon so wet that they could not lie down on it; their camp being in a low situation, was overflowed with water, and they sunk at every step to the ankles in mud; while the wind blew with such impetuosity, that, to prevent their falling, they were obliged to thrust their spears into the ground, and to support themselves by taking hold of them. Hascen was too vigilant an officer to allow an enemy in such distress to remain unmolested. About the dawn of morning, he sallied out with soldiers, who having been screened from the storm under their own roofs, were fresh and vigorous. A body of Italians, who were stationed nearest the city, dispirited and benumbed with cold, fled at the approach of the Turks. The troops at the post behind them discovered greater courage; but as the rain had extinguished their matches, and wetted their powder, their muskets were useless, and having scarcely strength to handle their other arms, they were soon thrown into confusion. Almost the whole army, with the emperor himself in person, was obliged to advance, before the enemy could be repulsed, who, after spreading such general consternation, and killing a considerable number of men, retired at last in good order.

But all feeling or remembrance of this loss and danger were quickly obliterated by a more dreadful as well as affecting spectacle. It was now broad day; the hurricane had abated nothing of its violence, and the sea appeared agitated with all the rage of which that destructive element is capable; all the ships, on which alone the whole army knew that their safety and subsistence depended, were seen driven from their anchors, some dashing against each other some beat to pieces on the rocks, many forced ashore, and not a few sinking in the waves. In less than an hour, fifteen ships of war, and a hundred and forty transports with eight thousand men perished; and such of the unhappy crews as escaped the fury of the sea, were murdered without mercy by the Arabs, as soon as they reached land. The emperor stood in silent anguish and astonishment beholding this fatal event, which at once blasted all his hopes of success, and buried in the depths the vast stores which he had provided, as well for annoying the enemy, as for subsisting his own troops. He had it not in his power to afford them any other assistance or relief than by sending some troops to drive away the Arabs, and thus delivering a few who were so fortunate as to get ashore from the cruel fate which their companions had met with. At last the wind began to fall, and to give some hopes that as many ships might escape as would be sufficient to save the army from perishing by famine, and transport them back to Europe. But these were only hopes; the approach of evening covered the sea with darkness; and it being impossible for the officers on board the ships which had outlived the storm to send any intelligence to their companions who were ashore, they remained during the night in all the anguish of suspense and uncertainty. Next day, a boat despatched by Doria made shift to reach land, with information, that having weathered out the storm, to which, during fifty years knowledge of the sea, he had never seen any equal in fierceness and horror, he had found it necessary to bear away with his shattered ships to Cape Metafuz. He advised the emperor, as the face of the sky was still lowering and tempestuous, to march with all speed to that place, where the troops could reembark with greater ease.

Whatever comfort this intelligence afforded Charles, from being assured that part of his fleet had escaped, was balanced by the new cares and perplexity in which it involved him with regard to his army. Metafuz was at least three days’ march from his present camp; all the provisions which he had brought ashore at his first landing were now consumed; his soldiers, worn out with fatigue, were hardly able for such a march, even in a friendly country, and being dispirited by a succession of hardships which victory itself would scarcely have rendered tolerable, they were in no condition to undergo new toils. But the situation of the army was such as allowed not one moment for deliberation, nor left it the least doubtful what to choose. They were ordered instantly to march, the wounded, the sick, and the feeble being placed in the centre; such as seemed most vigorous were stationed in the front and rear. Then the sad effects of what they had suffered began to appear more manifestly than ever, and new calamities were added to all those which they had already endured. Some could hardly bear the weight of their arms; others, spent with the toil of forcing their way through deep and almost impassable roads, sunk down and died; many perished by famine, as the whole army subsisted chiefly on roots and berries, or the flesh of horses, killed by the emperor’s order, and distributed among the several battalions; many were drowned in brooks, which were swollen so much by the excessive rains, that in passing them they waded up to the chin; not a few were killed by the enemy, who during the greater part of their retreat, alarmed, harassed, and annoyed them night and day. At last they arrived at Metafuz: and the weather being now so calm as to restore their communication with the fleet, they were supplied with plenty of provisions, and cheered with the prospect of safety.

During this dreadful series of calamities, the emperor discovered great qualities, many of which a long continued flow of prosperity had scarcely afforded him an opportunity of displaying. He appeared conspicuous for firmness and constancy of spirit, for magnanimity, fortitude, humanity, and compassion. He endured as great hardships as the meanest soldier; he exposed his own person wherever danger threatened; he encouraged the desponding, visited the sick and wounded, and animated all by his words and example. When the army embarked, he was among the last who left the shore, although a body of Arabs hovered at no great distance, ready to fall on the rear. By these virtues, Charles atoned, in some degree, for his obstinacy and presumption in undertaking an expedition so fatal to his subjects.

The calamities which attended this unfortunate enterprise did not end here; for no sooner were the forces got on board, than a new storm arising, though less furious than the former, scattered the fleet, and obliged them, separately, to make towards such ports in Spain or Italy as they could first reach; thus spreading the account of their disasters, with all the circumstances of aggravation and horror, which their imagination, still under the influence of fear, suggested. The emperor himself, after escaping great dangers, and being forced into the port of Bugia in Africa [Dec. 21], where he was obliged by contrary winds to remain several weeks, arrived at last in Spain, in a condition very different from that in which he had returned from his former expedition against the infidels.

 BOOK VII

THE COUNCIL OF TRENT