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[Illustration: DON JOHN OF AUSTRIA.

FROM THE ORIGINAL IN THE ROYAL MUSEUM AT MADRID.

London: George Routledge & Sons, Broadway, Ludgate Hill.]




HISTORY OF THE REIGN

OF

PHILIP THE SECOND

_KING OF SPAIN_

VOLUME THE THIRD

AND

BIOGRAPHICAL & CRITICAL MISCELLANIES

BY

WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT


LONDON

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS

BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL

NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET

   PRESCOTT'S WORKS.

  _One-Volume Edition._

  FERDINAND AND ISABELLA, 5s.
  CONQUEST OF MEXICO. 5s.
  CONQUEST OF PERU. 5s.
  PHILIP THE SECOND. Vols. I. and II. in One Vol., 5s.
  PHILIP THE SECOND. Vol. III., and ESSAYS, in One Vol., 5s.
  CHARLES THE FIFTH. 5s.




CONTENTS

OF

THE THIRD VOLUME.


BOOK V.


CHAPTER I.

                                                 PAGE

THE MOORS OF SPAIN                                  1

Conquest of Spain by the Arabs                      1

Hostility between the Two Races                     2

The Country recovered by the Spaniards              2

Effect of the Struggle on the National Character    2

Religious Intolerance of the Spaniards              3

Attempts to convert the Moslems                     3

Policy of Ximenes                                   3

Suppression of the Mahometan Worship                4

Outward Conformity to Christianity                  4

Moors abandon their National Habits                 4

Their Condition under Philip the Second             5

Their Industry and Commerce                         5

Treatment by the Government                         6

Ordinance of 1563                                   8

Stringent Measures called for by the Clergy         9

Prepared by the Government                          9

Severity of the Enactments                         10

Approval of them by Philip                         11

Proclamation at Granada                            12

Indignation of the Moriscoes                       12

Representations to Deza                            12

Appeal to the Throne                               13

Rejection of their Prayers                         14


CHAPTER II.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES                         14

The Edict enforced                                 14

Plans for Resistance by the Moriscoes              15

Their Descent on Granada                           16

Failure of the Attempt                             16

General Insurrection                               17

Election of a King                                 17

Character of Aben-Humeya                           18

His Coronation                                     18

His Preparations for Defence                       19

The Christian Population                           19

Unsuspicious of their Danger                       19

Attacked by the Moors--Panic                       20

General Massacre                                   21

Horrible Cruelties                                 21

Fate of the Women and Children                     22

Fierceness of Aben-Farax                           23

Deposed from his Command                           23


CHAPTER III.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES                         24

Consternation in the Capital                       24

Mutual Fears of the Two Races                      24

Garrison of the Alhambra strengthened              25

Troops mustered by Mondejar                        25

Civic Militia--Feudal Levies                       25

Warlike Ecclesiastics                              26

March of the Army                                  26

Pass of Tablate                                    27

Bridge crossed by a Friar                          27

The Army follows                                   28

The Moriscoes withdraw                             28

Entrance into the Alpujarras                       28

Night Encampment at Lanjaron                       29

Relief of Orgiba                                   29

Mondejar pursues his March                         30

Gloom of the Mountain Scenery                      30

Defile of Alfajarali                               30

Sudden Attack                                      30

Bravery of the Andalusian Knights                  31

Precipitate Retreat of the Moriscoes               31

Capture of Bubion                                  31

Humanity of Mondejar                               31

Sufferings of the Army                             32

Capture of Jubiles                                 33

Prisoners protected by Mondejar                    33

Massacred by the Soldiers                          33

Christian Women sent to Granada                    34

Welcomed by the Inhabitants                        34


CHAPTER IV.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES                         35

Mondejar's Policy                                  35

Aben-Humeya at Paterna                             35

Offers to Surrender                                36

Flight to the Sierra Nevada                        36

Disposition of the Moorish Prisoners               37

Attack on Las Guajaras                             38

Evacuated by the Garrison                          38

Massacre ordered by Mondejar                       38

Cruelty of the Count of Tendilla                   39

Attempt to capture Aben-Humeya                     39

His Escape                                         40

Heroism of Aben-Aboo                               40

The Marquis of Los Velez                           40

His Campaign in the Alpujarras                     41

Cruelties committed by the Troops                  41

Celebration of a religious _Fete_                  42

Licentiousness of the Soldiery                     42

Contrast between Mondejar and Los Velez            43

Accusations against the former                     44

Decision arrived at in Madrid                      44

Effect on the Army                                 45

Moorish Prisoners in Granada                       45

Rumours circulated in the Capital                  45

Night Attack on the Prisoners                      46

Fearful Struggle and Massacre                      46

Apathy of the Government                           47

Renewal of the Insurrection                        47


CHAPTER V.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES                         48

Don John of Austria                                48

Birth and Early History                            49

Placed under the Care of Quixada                   49

Secresy in regard to his Origin                    50

The young Geronimo at Yuste                        50

Testamentary Depositions of the Emperor            51

The Boy presented to the Regent                    51

Curious Scene                                      52

Meeting appointed with the King                    53

Philip acknowledges his Brother                    53

Assigns him an Establishment                       54

Royal Triumvirate at Alcala                        54

Chivalrous Character of Don John                   55

His adventurous Disposition                        55

He is entrusted with the Command of a Fleet        56

His Cruise in the Mediterranean                    56

He is selected for the Command in Granada          57

Restrictions on his Authority                      57

His Reception at Granada                           57

Answers to Petitioners                             58

Discussions in the Council of War                  59

New Levies summoned                                59

Increased Power of Aben-Humeya                     60

Forays into the Christian Territory                60

Movements of Los Velez                             61

Extension of the Rebellion                         61

Successful Expedition of Requesens                 61

Moriscoes lay Siege to Seron                       62

Surrender and Massacre of the Garrison             62

Decree for removing the Moriscoes from Granada     63

Their Consternation and Grief                      63

Expulsion from the City                            64

Farewell to their ancient Home                     64

Distribution through the Country                   64

Ruinous Effects on Granada                         65

Character of the Transaction                       66


CHAPTER VI.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES                         66

State of the Troops under Los Velez                66

Encounter with Aben-Humeya                         67

Flight of the Morisco Prince                       67

Desertions from the Spanish Camp                   68

Mondejar recalled to Court                         68

His Character                                      68

Exterminating Policy of the Government             69

Sensual Tyranny of Aben-Humeya                     69

Treachery towards Diego Alguazil                   70

Plan of Revenge formed by Alguazil                 71

Conspiracy against Aben-Humeya                     71

His Assassination                                  72

He is succeeded by Aben-Aboo                       72

Energy of the new Chief                            73

Repulse at Orgiba                                  73

The Place evacuated by the Garrison                74

Continual Forays                                   74

Conflicts in the _Vega_                            75

Don John's desire for Action                       75

Philip yields to his Entreaties                    76

Preparations for the Campaign                      76

Surprise of Guejar                                 76

Mortification of Don John                          77

Mendoza the Historian                              77


CHAPTER VII.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES                         79

Philip's Instructions to his Brother               80

Don John takes the Field                           80

Discontent of Los Velez                            80

His Meeting with Don John                          81

He retires from the War                            81

Investment of Galera                               82

Description of the Place                           82

Munitions and Garrison                             83

Establishment of Batteries                         84

The Siege opened                                   84

First Assault                                      84

Spaniards repulsed                                 85

Mines opened in the Rock                           86

Second Assault                                     86

Explosion of the Mine                              87

Troops rash to the Attack                          87

Struggle at the Ravelin                            87

Bravery of the Morisco Women                       87

Ill Success of Padilla                             87

Failure of the Attack                              88

Insubordination of the Troops                      88

Severe Loss of the Spaniards                       88

Bloody Determination of Don John                   89

Prudent Advice of Philip                           89

Condition of the Besieged                          89

Preparations for a last Attack                     90

Cannonade and Explosions                           91

Third Assault                                      91

Irresistible Fury of the Spaniards                 91

Struggle in the Streets and Houses                 92

Desperation of the Inhabitants                     92

Inhumanity of the Conqueror                        92

Wholesale Massacre                                 92

The Town demolished                                94

Tidings communicated to Philip                     94

Reputation gained by Don John                      94


CHAPTER VIII.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES                         95

Seron reconnoitred                                 95

Sudden Attack by the Moriscoes                     95

Army thrown into Confusion                         96

Indignation of Don John                            96

Death of Quixada                                   97

His Character                                      98

Dona Magdalena de Ulloa                            98

Rapid Successes of Don John                        98

Negotiations opened with El Habaqui                99

Merciless Pursuit of the Rebels                    99

Guerilla Warfare                                   99

Conferences at Fondon                             100

Aben-Aboo consents to treat                       100

Arrangement concluded                             100

Submission tendered by El Habaqui                 101

Dissatisfaction with the Treaty                   102

Vacillation of Aben-Aboo                          102

El Habaqui engages to arrest him                  103

Fate of El Habaqui                                103

Mission of Palacios                               104

His Interview with Aben-Aboo                      104

Spirited Declaration of that Chief                104

Stern Resolve of the Government                   104

War of Extermination                              105

Expedition of the Duke of Arcos                   105

March across the Plain of Calaluz                 106

Engagement with the Moriscoes                     106

The Rebellion crushed                             106

Edict of Expulsion                                106

Removal of the Moriscoes                          107

Don John's Impatience to Resign                   108

His Final Dispositions                            108

Hiding-place of Aben-Aboo                         109

Plot formed for his Capture                       109

His Interview with El Senix                       109

His Murder                                        110

His Body brought to Granada                       110

His Head placed in a Cage                         110

Remarks on his Career                             111

Wasted Condition of the Country                   112

The scattered Moriscoes                           112

Cruelly treated by the Government                 112

Their Industry and Cheerfulness                   113

Increase of their Numbers                         113

They preserve their National Feeling              114

Mutual Hatred of the Two Races                    114

Expulsion of the Moriscoes from Spain             114

Works of Marmol and Circourt                      114


CHAPTER IX.

WAR WITH THE TURKS                                116

Sultan Selim the Second                           116

Determines on the Conquest of Cyprus              116

Spirit of Pius the Fifth                          117

His Appeal to Philip                              117

King's Entrance into Seville                      117

Determines to join the League                     118

Capture of Nicosia                                118

Vacillating Conduct of Venice                     118

Meeting of Deputies at Rome                       119

Treaty of Confederation                           119

Ratified and proclaimed                           120

Turkish Fleet in the Adriatic                     120

Papal Legate at Madrid                            120

Concessions to the Crown                          121

Fleets of Venice and Rome                         121

Preparations in Spain                             121

Enthusiasm of the Nation                          122

Don John's Departure                              122

His Reception at Naples                           128

His noble Appearance                              123

Accomplishments and Popularity                    123

Presentation of the Consecrated Standard          124

Arrival at Messina                                124

Grand Naval Spectacle                             124

Strength and Condition of the Fleets              125

Discretion of the Generalissimo                   125

Communications from the Pope                      126

Departure from Messina                            126


CHAPTER X.

WAR WITH THE TURKS                                126

Arrival at Corfu                                  127

Council of War                                    127

Resolution to give Battle                         127

Arbitrary Conduct of Veniero                      128

Passage across the Sea of Iona                    128

Fall of Famagosta                                 128

The Enemy in Sight                                129

Preparations for Combat                           129

Final Instructions of Don John                    129

Approach of the Turkish Fleet                     130

Its Form and Disposition                          130

Change in the order of Battle                     131

Last Preparation of the Christians                131

Battle of Lepanto                                 132

Left Wing of the Allies turned                    132

Right Wing, under Doria, broken                   132

Don John and Ali Pasha engaged                    133

Superior Fire of the Spaniards                    133

Bird's-eye View of the Scene                      134

Venetians victorious on the Left                  134

Continued Struggle in the Centre                  135

Turkish Admiral boarded                           135

Death of Ali Pasha                                135

Victory of the Christians                         136

Flight of Uluch Ali                               137

Chase and Escape                                  137

Allies take Shelter in Petala                     137


CHAPTER XI.

WAR WITH THE TURKS                                137

Losses of the Combatants                          137

Turkish Armada annihilated                        138

Roll of Slaughter and Fame                        138

Exploits of Farnese                               138

Noble Spirit of Cervantes                         139

Sons of Ali Pasha Prisoners                       139

Generously treated by Don John                    139

His Conduct towards Veniero                       140

Operations suspended                              141

Triumphant Return to Messina                      141

Celebrations in Honour of the Victory             141

Tidings despatched to Spain                       142

Philip's reception of them                        142

Acknowledgments to his Brother                    143

Don John's Conduct criticised                     144

Real Fruits of the Victory                        145

Delay in resuming Operations                      145

Death of Pius the Fifth                           145

Philip's Distrust                                 146

Permits his Brother to Sail                       146

Turks decline to accept Battle                    147

Anniversary of Lepanto                            147

Allies disband their Forces                       147

Perfidy of Venice                                 147

The League dissolved                              148

Tunis taken by Don John                           148

He provides for its Security                      149

Returns to Naples                                 149

His Mode of Life there                            150

His Schemes of Dominion                           150

Tunis retaken by the Moslems                      150

Don John's Mission to Genoa                       151

He prepares a fresh Armament                      151

His Disappointment and Return to Madrid           151


BOOK VI.


CHAPTER I.

DOMESTIC AFFAIRS OF SPAIN                         153

Internal Administration                           153

Revolutions under Isabella and Charles V.         153

Absolute Power of the Crown                       154

Contrast between Charles and Philip               154

The latter wholly a Spaniard                      154

The Royal Councils                                155

Principal Advisers of the Crown                   155

Character of Ruy Gomez de Silva                   155

Figueroa, Count of Feria                          157

Cardinal Espinosa                                 157

Two Parties in the Council                        159

Balance held by Philip                            159

His Manner of transacting Business                159

His Assiduity                                     160

His Mode of dividing the Day                      161

His Love of Solitude                              161

Extent of his Information                         161

Partial Confidence in his Ministers               162

His Frugality                                     162

His magnificent Establishment                     162

His fatal Habit of Procrastination                163

Remonstrances of his Almoner                      164

Habits of the great Nobles                        164

Manners of the Court                              165

Degeneracy of the Nobles                          165

Splendour of their Households                     165

Loss of Political Power                           166

Depressed Condition of the Commons                166

Petitions of the Cortes                           166

Their Remonstrance against Arbitrary Government   167

Their Regard for the National Interests           167

Erroneous Notions respecting Commerce             168

Sumptuary Laws                                    168

Encouragement of Bull-Fights                      169

Various Subjects of Legislation                   169

Schools and Universities                          170

Royal Pragmatics                                  170

Philip's Replies to the Cortes                    170

Freedom of Discussion                             171

Standing Army                                     171

Guards of Castile                                 171


CHAPTER II.

DOMESTIC AFFAIRS OF SPAIN                         172

Philip the Champion of the Faith                  172

Endowments of the Church                          172

Alienations in Mortmain                           172

Disputed Prerogatives                             173

Appointments to Benefices                         173

The Clergy dependent on the Crown                 174

The Escorial                                      174

Motives for its Erection                          174

Site selected                                     175

Convent founded                                   175

Royal Humility                                    176

Building commenced                                176

Philip's Interest in it                           177

His Architectural Taste                           177

His Oversight of the Work                         177

He governs the World from the Escorial            178

The Edifice endangered by Fire                    178

Materials used in its Construction                179

Artists employed                                  179

Philip's Fondness for Art                         180

Completion of the Escorial                        180

The Architects                                    180

Character of the Structure                        181

Its Whimsical Design                              181

Its Magnitude                                     181

Interior Decorations                              182

Ravages it has undergone                          182

Its present Condition                             182

Anne of Austria                                   183

Her Reception in Spain                            183

Her Marriage with Philip                          184

Her Residence at the Escorial                     185

Her Character and Habits                          185

Her Death                                         185




HISTORY

OF

PHILIP THE SECOND.




BOOK V




CHAPTER I.

THE MOORS OF SPAIN.

Conquest of Spain by the Arabs.--Slow Recovery by the
Spaniards.--Efforts to convert the Moslems.--Their Homes in the
Alpujarras.--Their Treatment by the Government.--The Minister
Espinosa.--Edict against the Moriscoes.--Their ineffectual Remonstrance.

1566, 1567.


It was in the beginning of the eighth century, in the year 711, that the
Arabs, filled with the spirit of conquest which had been breathed into
them by their warlike apostle, after traversing the southern shores of
the Mediterranean, reached the borders of those straits that separate
Africa from Europe. Here they paused for a moment, before carrying their
banners into a strange and unknown quarter of the globe. It was but for
a moment, however, when, with accumulated strength, they descended on
the sunny fields of Andalusia, met the whole Gothic array on the banks
of the Guadalete, and, after that fatal battle, in which King Roderick
fell with the flower of his nobility, spread themselves, like an army of
locusts, over every part of the Peninsula. Three years sufficed for the
conquest of the country,--except that small corner in the north, where a
remnant of the Goths contrived to maintain a savage independence, and
where the rudeness of the soil held out to the Saracens no temptation to
follow them.

It was much the same story that was repeated, more than three centuries
later, by the Norman conquerors in England. The battle of Hastings was
to that kingdom what the battle of the Guadalete was to Spain; though
the Norman barons, as they rode over the prostrate land, dictated terms
to the vanquished of a sterner character than those granted by the
Saracens.

But whatever resemblance there may be in the general outlines of the two
conquests, there is none in the results that followed. In England the
Norman and the Saxon, sprung from a common stock, could not permanently
be kept asunder by the barrier which at first was naturally interposed
between the conqueror and the conquered; and in less, probably, than
three centuries after the invasion, the two nations had imperceptibly
melted into one; so that the Englishman of that day might trace the
current that flowed through his veins to both a Norman and a Saxon
origin.

It was far otherwise in Spain, where difference of race, of religion, of
national tradition, of moral and physical organization, placed a gulf
between the victors and the vanquished too wide to be overleaped. It is
true, indeed, that very many of the natives, accepting the liberal terms
offered by the Saracens, preferred remaining in the genial clime of the
south to sharing the rude independence of their brethren in the
Asturias, and that, in the course of time, intermarriages, to some
extent, took place between them and their Moslem conquerors. To what
extent cannot now be known. The intercourse was certainly far greater
than that between our New-England ancestors and the Indian race which
they found in possession of the soil,--that ill-fated race, which seems
to have shrunk from the touch of civilization, and to have passed away
before it like the leaves of the forest before the breath of winter. The
union was probably not so intimate as that which existed between the old
Spaniards and the semi-civilized tribes that occupied the plateau of
Mexico, whose descendants, at this day, are to be there seen filling the
highest places, both social and political, and whose especial boast it
is to have sprung from the countrymen of Montezuma.

The very anxiety shown by the modern Spaniard to prove that only the
_sangre azul_--"blue blood"--flows through his veins, uncontaminated by
any Moorish or Jewish taint, may be thought to afford some evidence of
the intimacy which once existed between his forefathers and the tribes
of Eastern origin. However this may be, it is certain that no length of
time ever served, in the eye of the Spaniard, to give the Moslem invader
a title to the soil; and after the lapse of nearly eight centuries,--as
long a period as that which has passed since the Norman conquest,--the
Arabs were still looked upon as intruders, whom it was the sacred duty
of the Spaniards to exterminate or to expel from the land.

This, then, was their mission. And it is interesting to see how
faithfully they fulfilled it; and during the long period of the Middle
Ages, when other nations were occupied with base feudal quarrels or
border warfare, it is curious to observe the Spaniard intent on the one
great object of reclaiming his country from the possession of the
infidel. It was a work of time; and his progress, at first almost
imperceptible, was to be measured by centuries. By the end of the ninth
century it had reached as far as the Ebro and the Douro. By the middle
of the eleventh, the victorious banner of the Cid had penetrated to the
Tagus. The fortunes of Christian Spain trembled in the balance on the
great day of Navas de Tolosa, which gave a permanent ascendancy to the
Castilian arms; and by the middle of the thirteenth century the
campaigns of James the First of Aragon, and of St. Ferdinand of Castile,
stripping the Moslems of the other southern provinces, had reduced them
to the petty kingdom of Granada. Yet on this narrow spot they still
continued to maintain a national existence, and to bid defiance for more
than two centuries longer to all the efforts of the Christians. The
final triumph of the latter was reserved for the glorious reign of
Ferdinand and Isabella. It was on the second of January, 1492, that,
after a war which rivalled that of Troy in its duration, and surpassed
it in the romantic character of its incidents, the august pair made
their solemn entry into Granada; while the large silver cross which had
served as their banner through the war, sparkling in the sunbeams on the
red towers of the Alhambra, announced to the Christian world that the
last rood of territory in the Peninsula had passed away for ever from
the Moslem.

[Sidenote: EFFORTS TO CONVERT THEM.]

The peculiar nature of the war in which the Spaniard for eight centuries
had thus been engaged, exercised an important influence on the national
character. Generation after generation had passed their lives in one
long uninterrupted crusade. It had something of the same effect on the
character of the nation that the wars for the recovery of Palestine had
on the Crusaders of the Middle Ages. Every man learned to regard himself
as in an especial manner the soldier of Heaven,--for ever fighting the
great battle of the Faith. With a mind exalted by this sublime
conviction, what wonder that he should have been ever ready to discern
the immediate interposition of Heaven in his behalf--that he should have
seen again and again the patron saint of his country, charging on his
milk-white steed at the head of his celestial chivalry, and restoring
the wavering fortunes of the fight? In this exalted state of feeling,
institutions that assumed elsewhere only a political or military aspect
wore here the garb of religion. Thus the orders of chivalry, of which
there were several in the Peninsula, were founded on the same principles
as those of Palestine, where the members were pledged to perpetual war
against the infidel.

As a consequence of these wars with the Moslems, the patriotic principle
became identified with the religious. In the enemies of his country the
Spaniard beheld also the enemies of God; and feelings of national
hostility were still further embittered by those of religious hatred. In
the palmy days of the Arabian empire, these feelings, it is true, were
tempered by those of respect for an enemy who, in the various forms of
civilization, surpassed not merely the Spaniards, but every nation in
Christendom. Nor was this respect wholly abated under the princes who
afterwards ruled with imperial sway over Granada, and who displayed, in
their little courts, such a union of the courtesies of Christian
chivalry with the magnificence of the East, as shed a ray of glory on
the declining days of the Moslem empire in the Peninsula.

But as the Arabs, shorn of their ancient opulence and power, descended
in the scale, the Spaniards became more arrogant. The feelings of
aversion with which they had hitherto regarded their enemies, were now
mingled with those of contempt. The latent fire of intolerance was
fanned into a blaze by the breath of the fanatical clergy, who naturally
possessed unbounded influence in a country where religious
considerations entered so largely into the motives of action as they did
in Spain. To crown the whole, the date of the fall of Granada coincided
with that of the establishment of the Inquisition,--as if the hideous
monster had waited the time when an inexhaustible supply of victims
might be afforded for its insatiable maw.

By the terms of the treaty of capitulation, the people of Granada were
allowed to remain in possession of their religion and to exercise its
rights; and it was especially stipulated that no inducements or menaces
should be held out to effect their conversion to Christianity.[1] For a
few years the conquerors respected these provisions. Under the good
Talavera, the first archbishop of Granada, no attempt was made to
convert the Moslems, except by the legitimate means of preaching to the
people and of expounding to them the truths of revelation. Under such a
course of instruction the work of proselytism, though steadily, went on
too slowly to satisfy the impatience of some of the clergy. Among
others, that extraordinary man, Cardinal Ximenes, archbishop of Toledo,
was eager to try his own hand in the labour of conversion. Having
received the royal assent, he set about the affair with characteristic
ardour, and with as little scruple as to the means to be employed as the
most zealous propagandist could have desired. When reasoning and
expostulation failed, he did not hesitate to resort to bribes, and, if
need were, to force. Under these combined influences the work of
proselytism went on apace. Thousands were added daily to the Christian
fold; and the more orthodox Mussulmans trembled, at the prospect of a
general defection of their countrymen. Exasperated by the unscrupulous
measures of the prelate, and the gross violation they involved of the
treaty, they broke out into an insurrection, which soon extended along
the mountain ranges in the neighbourhood of Granada.

Ferdinand and Isabella, alarmed at the consequences, were filled with
indignation at the high-handed conduct of Ximenes. But he replied, that
the state of things was precisely that which was most to be desired. By
placing themselves in an attitude of rebellion, the Moors had renounced
all the advantages secured by the treaty, and had, moreover, incurred
the penalties of death and confiscation of property! It would be an act
of grace in the sovereigns to overlook their offence, and grant an
amnesty for the past, on condition that every Moor should at once
receive baptism or leave the country.[2] This precious piece of
casuistry, hardly surpassed by anything in ecclesiastical annals, found
favour in the eyes of the sovereigns, who, after the insurrection had
been quelled, lost no time in proposing the terms suggested by their
minister as the only terms of reconciliation open to the Moors. And, as
but few of that unhappy people were prepared to renounce their country
and their worldly prospects for the sake of their faith, the result was,
that in a very short space of time, with but comparatively few
exceptions, every Moslem in the dominions of Castile consented to abjure
his own faith and receive that of his enemies.[3]

A similar course of proceeding was attended with similar results in
Valencia and other dominions of the crown of Aragon, in the earlier part
of Charles the Fifth's reign; and before that young monarch had been ten
years upon the throne, the whole Moorish population--_Moriscoes_, as
they were henceforth to be called--were brought within the pale of
Christianity,--or, to speak more correctly, within that of the
Inquisition.[4]

Such conversions, it may well be believed, had taken too little root in
the heart to bear fruit. It was not long before the agents of the Holy
Office detected, under the parade of outward conformity, as rank a
growth of infidelity as had existed before the conquest. The blame might
in part, indeed, be fairly imputed to the lukewarmness of the Christian
labourers employed in the work of conversion. To render this more
effectual, the government had caused churches to be built in the
principal towns and villages occupied by the Moriscoes, and sent
missionaries among them to wean them from their errors and unfold the
great truths of revelation. But an act of divine grace could alone work
an instantaneous change in the convictions of a nation. The difficulties
of the preachers were increased by their imperfect acquaintance with the
language of their hearers; and they had still further to overcome the
feelings of jealousy and aversion with which the Spaniard was naturally
regarded by the Mussulman. Discouraged by these obstacles, the
missionary became indifferent to the results. Instead of appealing to
the understanding, or touching the heart, of his hearer, he was willing
to accept his conformity to outward ceremony as the evidence of his
conversion. Even in his own performance of the sacred rites, the
ecclesiastic showed a careless indifference, that proved his heart was
little in the work; and he scattered the purifying waters of baptism in
so heedless a way over the multitude, that it was not uncommon for a
Morisco to assert that none of the consecrated drops had fallen upon
him.[5]

[Sidenote: THEIR HOMES IN THE ALPUJARRAS.]

The representations of the clergy at length drew the attention of the
government. It was decided that the best mode of effecting the
conversion of the Moslems was by breaking up those associations which
connected them with the past,--by compelling them, in short, to renounce
their ancient usages, their national dress, and even their language. An
extraordinary edict to that effect, designed for Granada, was
accordingly published by Charles in the summer of 1526; and all who did
not conform to it were to be arraigned before the Inquisition. The law
was at once met, as might have been expected, by remonstrances from the
men of most consideration among the Moriscoes, who, to give efficacy to
their petition, promised the round sum of eighty thousand gold ducats to
the emperor in case their prayers should be granted. Charles, who in his
early days did not always allow considerations of religion to supersede
those of a worldly policy, lent a favourable ear to the petitioners; and
the monstrous edict, notwithstanding some efforts to the contrary, was
never suffered to go into operation during his reign.[6]

Such was the state of things on the accession of Philip the Second.
Granada, Malaga, and the other principal cities of the south, were
filled with a mingled population of Spaniards and Moriscoes, the latter
of whom,--including many persons of wealth and consideration,--under the
influence of a more intimate contact with the Christians, gave evidence,
from time to time, of conversion to the faith of their conquerors. But
by far the larger part of the Moorish population was scattered over the
mountain-range of the Alpujarras, south-east of Granada, and among the
bold sierras that stretch along the southern shores of Spain. Here,
amidst those frosty peaks, rising to the height of near twelve thousand
feet above the level of the sea, and readily descried, from their great
elevation, by the distant voyager on the Mediterranean, was many a
green, sequestered valley, on which the Moorish peasant had exhausted
that elaborate culture which, in the palmy days of his nation, was
unrivalled in any part of Europe.[7] His patient toil had constructed
terraces from the rocky soil, and, planting them with vines, had clothed
the bald sides of the sierra with a delicious verdure. With the like
industry he had contrived a network of canals along the valleys and
lower levels, which, fed by the streams from the mountains, nourished
the land with perpetual moisture. The different elevations afforded so
many different latitudes for agricultural production; and the fig, the
pomegranate, and the orange grew almost side by side with the hemp of
the north and the grain of more temperate climates. The lower <DW72>s of
the sierra afforded extensive pastures for flocks of merino sheep;[8]
and the mulberry-tree was raised in great abundance for the manufacture
of silk, which formed an important article of export from the kingdom of
Granada.

Thus, gathered in their little hamlets among the mountains, the people
of the Alpujarras maintained the same sort of rugged independence which
belonged to the ancient Goth when he had taken shelter from the Saracen
invader in the fastnesses of the Asturias. Here the Moriscoes, formed
into communities which preserved their national associations, still
cherished the traditions of their fathers, and perpetuated those usages
and domestic institutions that kept alive the memory of ancient days. It
was from the Alpujarras that, in former times, the kings of Granada had
drawn the brave soldiery who enabled them for so many years to bid
defiance to their enemies. The trade of war was now at an end. But the
hardy life of the mountaineer gave robustness to his frame, and saved
him from the effeminacy and sloth which corrupted the inhabitants of the
capital. Secluded among his native hills, he cherished those sentiments
of independence which ill suited a conquered race; and, in default of a
country which he could call his own, he had that strong attachment to
the soil which is akin to patriotism, and which is most powerful among
the inhabitants of a mountain region.

The products of the husbandman furnished the staples of a gainful
commerce with the nations on the Mediterranean, and especially with the
kindred people on the Barbary shores. The treaty of Granada secured
certain commercial advantages to the Moors, beyond what were enjoyed by
the Spaniards.[9] This, it may be well believed, was looked upon with no
friendly eye by the latter, who had some ground, moreover, for
distrusting the policy of an intercourse between the Moslems of Spain
and those of Africa, bound together as they were by so many ties--above
all, by a common hatred of the Christians. With the feelings of
political distrust were mingled those of cupidity and envy, as the
Spaniard saw the fairest provinces of the south still in the hands of
the accursed race of Ishmael, while he was condemned to earn a scanty
subsistence from the comparatively ungenial soil of the north.

In this state of things, with the two races not merely dissimilar, but
essentially hostile to one another, it will readily be understood how
difficult it must have been to devise any system of legislation by which
they could be brought to act in harmony as members of the same political
body. That the endeavours of the Spanish government were not crowned
with success would hardly surprise us, even had its measures been more
uniformly wise and considerate.

[Sidenote: THEIR TREATMENT BY THE GOVERNMENT.]

The government caused the Alpujarras to be divided into districts, and
placed under the control of magistrates, who, with their families,
resided in the places assigned as the seats of their jurisdiction. There
seem to have been few other Christians who dwelt among the Moorish
settlements in the sierra, except, indeed, the priests who had charge of
the spiritual concerns of the natives. As the conversion of these
latter was the leading object of the government, they caused churches to
be erected in all the towns and hamlets; and the curates were instructed
to use every effort to enlighten the minds of their flocks, and to see
that they were punctual in attendance on the rites and ceremonies of the
Church. But it was soon too evident that attention to forms and
ceremonies was the only approach made to the conversion of the heathen;
and that below this icy crust of conformity the waters of infidelity lay
as dark and deep as ever. The result, no doubt, was to be partly charged
on the clergy themselves, many of whom grew languid in the execution of
a task which seemed to them to be hopeless.[10] And what task, in truth,
could be more hopeless than that of persuading a whole nation at once to
renounce their long-established convictions, to abjure the faith of
their fathers, associated in their minds with many a glorious
recollection, and to embrace the faith of the very men whom they
regarded with unmeasured hatred? It would be an act of humiliation not
to be expected even in a conquered race.

In accomplishing a work so much to be desired, the Spaniards, if they
cannot be acquitted of the charge of persecution, must be allowed not to
have urged persecution to anything like the extent which they had done
in the case of the Protestant Reformers. Whether from policy or from
some natural regard to the helplessness of these benighted heathen, the
bloodhounds of the Inquisition were not as yet allowed to run down their
game at will; and, if they did terrify the natives by displaying their
formidable fangs, the time had not yet come when they were to slip the
leash and spring upon their miserable victims. It is true there were
some exceptions to this more discreet policy. The Holy Office had its
agents abroad, who kept watch upon the Moriscoes; and occasionally the
more flagrant offenders were delivered up to its tender mercies.[11] But
a more frequent source of annoyance arose from the teasing ordinances
from time to time issued by the government, which could have answered no
other purpose than to irritate the temper and sharpen the animosity of
the Moriscoes. If the government had failed in the important work of
conversion, it was the more incumbent on it, by every show of confidence
and kindness, to conciliate the good-will of the conquered people, and
enable them to live in harmony with their conquerors, as members of the
same community. Such was not the policy of Philip, any more than it had
been that of his predecessors.

During the earlier years of his reign, the king's attention was too
closely occupied with foreign affairs to leave him much leisure for
those of the Moriscoes. It was certain, however, that they would not
long escape the notice of a prince who regarded uniformity of faith as
the corner-stone of his government. The first important act of
legislation bearing on these people was in 1560, when the Cortes of
Castile presented a remonstrance to the throne against the use of <DW64>
slaves by the Moriscoes, who were sure to instruct them in their
Mahometan tenets, and thus to multiply the number of infidels in the
land.[12] A royal _pragmatic_ was accordingly passed, interdicting the
use of African slaves by the Moslems of Granada. The prohibition caused
the greatest annoyance; for the wealthier classes were in the habit of
employing these slaves for domestic purposes, while in the country they
were extensively used for agricultural labour.

In 1563 another ordinance was published, reviving a law which had fallen
into disuse, and which prohibited the Moriscoes from having any arms in
their possession, but such as were duly licensed by the captain-general
and were stamped with his escutcheon.[13] The office of captain-general
of Granada was filled at this time by Don Inigo Lopez de Mendoza, count
of Tendilla, who soon after, on his father's death, succeeded to the
title of marquis of Mondejar. The important post which he held had been
hereditary in his family ever since the conquest of Granada. The present
nobleman was a worthy scion of the illustrious house from which he
sprung.[14] His manners were blunt, and not such as win popularity; but
he was a man of integrity, with a nice sense of humour and a humane
heart,--the last of not too common occurrence in the iron days of
chivalry. Though bred a soldier, he was inclined to peace. His life had
been passed much among the Moriscoes, so that he perfectly understood
their humours; and, as he was a person of prudence and moderation, it is
not improbable, had affairs been left to his direction, that the country
would have escaped many of those troubles which afterwards befell it.

It was singular, considering the character of Mendoza, that he should
have recommended so ill-advised a measure as that relating to the arms
of the Moriscoes. The ordinance excited a general indignation in
Granada. The people were offended by the distrust which such a law
implied of their loyalty. They felt it an indignity to be obliged to sue
for permission to do what they considered it was theirs of right to do.
Those of higher condition disdained to wear weapons displaying the
heraldic bearings of the Mendozas instead of their own. But the great
number, without regard to the edict provided themselves secretly with
arms, which, as it reached the ears of the authorities, led to frequent
prosecutions. Thus a fruitful source of irritation was opened; and many,
to escape punishment, fled to the mountains, and there too often joined
the brigands who haunted the passes of Alpujarras, and bade defiance to
the feeble police of the Spaniards.[15]

[Sidenote: THE MINISTER ESPINOSA.]

These impolitic edicts, as they were irritating to the Moriscoes, were
but preludes to an ordinance of so astounding a character as to throw
the whole country into a state of revolution. The apostasy of the
Moriscoes,--or, so to speak more correctly, the constancy with which
they adhered to the faith of their fathers,--gave great scandal to the
old Christians, especially to the clergy, and above all to its head, Don
Pedro Guerrero, archbishop of Granada. This prelate seems to have been a
man of an uneasy, meddlesome spirit, and possessed of a full share of
the bigotry of his time. While in Rome, shortly before this period, he
had made such a representation to Pope Pius the Fourth as drew from
that pontiff a remonstrance, addressed to the Spanish government, on the
spiritual condition of the Moriscoes. Soon after, in the year 1567, a
memorial was presented to the government, by Guerrero and the clergy of
his diocese, in which, after insisting on the manifold back-slidings of
the "New Christians," as the Moriscoes were termed, they loudly called
for some efficacious measures to arrest the evil. These people, they
said, whatever show of conformity they might make to the requisitions of
the Church, were infidels at heart. When their children were baptized,
they were careful, on returning home, to wash away the traces of
baptism, and, after circumcising them, to give them Moorish names. In
like manner, when their marriages had been solemnized with Christian
rites, they were sure to confirm them afterwards by their own
ceremonies, accompanied with the national songs and dances. They
continued to observe Friday as a holy day; and what was of graver
moment, they were known to kidnap the children of the Christians, and
sell them to their brethren on the coast of Barbary, where they were
circumcised, and nurtured in the Mahometan religion. This last
accusation, however improbable, found credit with the Spaniards, and
sharpened the feelings of jealousy and hatred with which they regarded
the unhappy race of Ishmael.[16]

The memorial of the clergy received prompt attention from the
government, at whose suggestion, very possibly, it had been prepared. A
commission was at once appointed to examine into the matter; and their
report was laid before a junta, consisting of both ecclesiastics and
laymen, and embracing names of the highest consideration for talent and
learning in the kingdom. Among its members we find the Duke of Alva, who
had not yet set out on his ominous mission to the Netherlands. At its
head was Diego de Espinosa, at that time the favourite minister of
Philip, or at least the one who had the largest share in the direction
of affairs. He was a man after the king's own heart, and, from the
humble station of _colegial mayor_ of the college of Cuenca in
Salamanca, had been advanced by successive steps to the high post of
president of the Council of Castile and of the Council of the Indies. He
was now also bishop of Siguenza, one of the richest sees in the kingdom.
He held an important office in the Inquisition, and was soon to succeed
Valdes in the unenviable post of grand inquisitor. To conclude the
catalogue of his honours, no long time was to elapse before, at his
master's suggestion, he was to receive from Rome a cardinal's hat. The
deference shown by Philip to his minister, increased as it was by this
new accession of spiritual dignity, far exceeded what he had ever shown
to any other of his subjects.

Espinosa was at this time in the morning, or rather, the meridian of his
power. His qualifications for business would have been extraordinary,
even in a layman. He was patient of toil, cheerfully doing the work of
others as well as his own. This was so far fortunate that it helped to
give him that control in the direction of affairs which was coveted by
his aspiring nature. He had a dignified and commanding presence, with
but few traces of that humility which would have been graceful in one
who had risen so high by his master's favour as much as by his own
deserts. His haughty bearing gave offence to the old nobility of
Castile, who scornfully looked from the minister's present elevation to
the humble level from which he had risen. It was regarded with less
displeasure, it is said, by the king, who was not unwilling to see the
pride of the ancient aristocracy rebuked by one whom he had himself
raised from the dust.[17] Their mortification, however, was to be
appeased ere long by the fall of the favourite--an event as signal and
unexpected by the world, and as tragical to the subject of it, as the
fall of Wolsey.

The man who was qualified for the place of grand inquisitor was not
likely to feel much sympathy for the race of unbelievers. It was
unfortunate for the Moriscoes that their destinies should be placed in
the hands of such a minister as Espinosa. After due deliberation, the
junta came to the decision that the only remedy for the present evil was
to lay the axe to the root of it; to cut off all those associations
which connected the Moriscoes with their earlier history, and which were
so many obstacles in the way of their present conversion. It was
recommended that they should be interdicted from employing the Arabic
either in speaking or writing, for which they were to use only the
Castilian. They were not even to be allowed to retain their family
names; but were to exchange them for Spanish ones. All written
instruments and legal documents, of whatever kind, were declared to be
void and of no effect unless in the Castilian. As time must be allowed
for a whole people to change its language, three years were assigned as
the period at the end of which this provision should take effect.

They were to be required to exchange their national dress for that of
the Spaniards; and, as the Oriental costume was highly ornamented, and
often very expensive, they were to be allowed to wear their present
clothes one year longer if of silk, and two years if of cotton, the
latter being the usual apparel of the poorer classes. The women,
moreover, both old and young, were to be required, from the passage of
the law, to go abroad with their faces uncovered,--a scandalous thing
among Mahometans.

Their weddings were to be conducted in public, after the Christian
forms; and the doors of their houses were to be left open during the day
of the ceremony, that any one might enter and see that they did not have
recourse to unhallowed rites. They were further to be interdicted from
the national songs and dances with which they were wont to celebrate
their domestic festivities. Finally, as rumours--most absurd ones--had
got abroad that the warm baths which the natives were in the habit of
using in their houses were perverted to licentious indulgences, they
were to be required to destroy the vessels in which they bathed, and to
use nothing of the kind thereafter.

These several provisions were to be enforced by penalties of the
sternest kind. For the first offence the convicted party was to be
punished with imprisonment for a month, with banishment from the country
for two years, and with a fine varying from six hundred to ten thousand
maravedis. For a second offence the penalties were to be doubled; and
for a third, the culprit, in addition to former penalties, was to be
banished for life. The ordinance was closely modelled on that of Charles
the Fifth, which, as we have seen, he was too politic to carry into
execution.[18]

[Sidenote: EDICT AGAINST THE MORISCOES.]

Such were the principal provisions of a law which, for cruelty and
absurdity, has scarcely a parallel in history. For what could be more
absurd than the attempt by an act of legislation to work such a change
in the long-established habits of a nation--to efface those
recollections of the past, to which men ever cling most closely under
the pressure of misfortune--to blot out by a single stroke of the pen,
as it were, not only the creed, but the nationality of a people--to
convert the Moslem, at once, both into a Christian and into a Castilian?
It would be difficult to imagine any greater outrage offered to a people
than the provision compelling women to lay aside their veils--associated
as these were in every Eastern mind with the obligations of modesty; or
that in regard to opening the doors of the houses, and exposing those
within to the insolent gaze of every passer; or that in relation to the
baths--so indispensable to cleanliness and comfort, especially in the
warm climate of the South.

But the masterpiece of absurdity, undoubtedly, is the stipulation in
regard to the Arabic language; as if by any human art a whole
population, in the space of three years, could be made to substitute a
foreign tongue for its own; and that, too, under circumstances of
peculiar difficulty, partly arising from the total want of affinity
between the Semitic and the European languages, and partly from the
insulated position of the Moriscoes, who, in the cities, had separate
quarters assigned to them, in the same manner as the Jews, which cut
them off from intimate intercourse with the Christians. We may well
doubt, from the character of this provision, whether the Government had
so much at heart the conversion of the Moslems as the desire to entangle
them in such violations of the law as should afford a plausible pretext
for driving them from the country altogether. One is strengthened in
this view of the subject by the significant reply of Otadin, professor
of theology at Alcala, who, when consulted by Philip on the expediency
of the ordinance, gave his hearty approbation of it, by quoting the
appalling Spanish proverb, "The fewer enemies, the better."[19] It was
reserved for the imbecile Philip the Third to crown the disasters of his
reign by the expulsion of the Moriscoes. Yet no one can doubt that it
was a consummation earnestly desired by the great body of the Spaniards,
who looked, as we have seen, with longing eyes to the fair territory
which they possessed, and who regarded them with the feelings of
distrust and aversion with which men regard those on whom they have
inflicted injuries too great to be forgiven.

Yet there were some in the junta with whom the proposed ordinance found
no favour. Among these, one who calls to mind his conduct in the
Netherlands may be surprised to find the duke of Alva. Here, as in that
country, his course was doubtless dictated less by considerations of
humanity than of policy. Whatever may have been his reasons, they had
little weight with Espinosa, who probably felt a secret satisfaction in
thwarting the man whom he regarded with all the jealousy of a rival.[20]

What was Philip's own opinion on the matter, we can but conjecture from
our general knowledge of his character. He professed to be guided by the
decision of the "wise and learned men" to whom he had committed the
subject. That this decision did no great violence to his own feelings,
we may infer from the promptness with which he signed the ordinance.
This he did on the 17th of November, 1566, when the pragmatic became a
law.

It was resolved, however, not to give publicity to it at once. It was
committed to the particular charge of one of the members of the junta,
Diego Deza, auditor of the Holy Office, and lately raised by Espinosa to
the important post of president of the chancery of Granada. This put him
at once at the head of the civil administration of the province, as the
Marquis of Mondejar was at the head of the military. The different views
of policy entertained by the two men led to a conflict of authority
which proved highly prejudicial to affairs. Deza, who afterwards rose to
the dignity of cardinal, was a man whose plausible manners covered an
inflexible will. He showed, notwithstanding, an entire subserviency to
the wishes of his patron, Espinosa, who committed to him the execution
of his plans.

The president resolved, with more policy than humanity, to defer the
publication of the edict till the ensuing first of January, 1667, the
day preceding that which the Spaniards commemorated as the anniversary
of the surrender of the capital. This humiliating event, brought home at
such a crisis to the Moriscoes, might help to break their spirits, and
dispose them to receive the obnoxious edict with less resistance.

On the appointed day the magistrates of the principal tribunals, with
the corregidor of Granada at their head, went in solemn procession to
the Albaicin, the quarter occupied by the Moriscoes. They marched to the
sound of kettle-drums, trumpets, and other instruments; and the
inhabitants, attracted by the noise, and fond of novelty, came running
from their houses to swell the ranks of the procession on its way to the
great square of _Bab el Bonat_. This was an open space, of large extent,
where the people of Granada, in ancient times, used to assemble to
celebrate the coronation of a new sovereign; and the towers were still
standing from which the Moslem banners waved, on those days, over the
heads of the shouting multitude. As the people now gathered tumultuously
around these ancient buildings, the public crier, from an elevated
place, read, in audible tones and in the Arabic language, the royal
ordinance. One may imagine the emotions of shame, sorrow, and
indignation with which the vast assembly, consisting of both sexes,
listened to the words of an instrument, every sentence of which seemed
to convey a personal indignity to the hearers--an outrage on all those
ideas of decorum and decency in which they had been nurtured from
infancy; which rudely rent asunder all the fond ties of country and
kindred; which violated the privacy of domestic life, deprived them of
the use of their own speech, and reduced them to a state of utter
humiliation unknown to the meanest of their slaves. Some of the weaker
sort gave way to piteous and passionate exclamations, wringing their
hands in an agony of grief. Others, of sterner temper, broke forth into
menaces and fierce invective, accompanied with the most furious
gesticulations. Others, again, listened with that dogged, determined air
which showed that the mood was not the less dangerous that it was a
silent one. The whole multitude was in a state of such agitation that an
accident might have readily produced an explosion which would have
shaken Granada to its foundations. Fortunately there were a few discreet
persons in the assembly, older and more temperate than the rest, who had
sufficient authority over their countrymen to prevent a tumult. They
reminded them that in their fathers' time the emperor Charles the Fifth
had consented to suspend the execution of a similar ordinance. At all
events, it was better to try first what could be done by argument and
persuasion. When these failed, it would be time enough to think of
vengeance.[21]

[Sidenote: THEIR INEFFECTUAL REMONSTRANCE.]

One of the older Moriscoes, a man of much consideration among his
countrymen, was accordingly chosen to wait on the president and explain
their views in regard to the edict. This he did at great length, and in
a manner which must have satisfied any fair mind of the groundlessness
of the charges brought against the Moslems, and the cruelty and
impracticability of the measures proposed by the government. The
president, having granted to the envoy a patient and courteous hearing,
made a short and not very successful attempt to vindicate the course of
the administration. He finally disposed of the whole question by
declaring that "the law was too just and holy, and had been made with
too much consideration, ever to be repealed; and that, in fine, regarded
as a question of interest, his majesty estimated the salvation of a
single soul as of greater price than all the revenues he drew from the
Moriscoes."[22] An answer like this must have effectually dispelled all
thoughts of a composition, such as had formerly been made with the
emperor.

Defeated in this quarter, the Moriscoes determined to lay their
remonstrance before the throne. They were fortunate in obtaining, for
this purpose, the services of Don Juan Henriquez, a nobleman of the
highest rank and consideration, who had large estates at Beza, in the
heart of Granada, and who felt a strong sympathy for the unfortunate
natives. Having consented, though with much reluctance, to undertake the
mission, he repaired to Madrid, obtained an audience of the king, and
presented to him a memorial on behalf of his unfortunate subjects.
Philip received him graciously, and promised to give all attention to
the paper. "What I have done in this matter," said the king, "has been
done by the advice of wise and conscientious men, who have given me to
understand that it was my duty."[23]

Shortly afterwards, Henriquez received an intimation that he was to look
for his answer to the president of Castille. Espinosa, after listening
to the memorial, expressed his surprise that a person of the high
condition of Don Juan Henriquez should have consented to take charge of
such a mission. "It was for that very reason I undertook it," replied
the nobleman, "as affording me a better opportunity to be of service to
the king." "It can be of no use," said the minister; "religious men have
represented to his majesty that at his door lies the salvation of these
Moors; and the ordinance which has been decreed, he has determined shall
be carried into effect."[24]

Baffled in this direction, the persevering envoy laid his memorial
before the councillors of state, and endeavoured to interest them in
behalf of his clients. In this he met with more success; and several of
that body, among whom may be mentioned the duke of Alva and Luis de
Avila, the grand commander of Alcantara, whom Charles the Fifth had
honoured with his friendship, entered heartily into his views. But it
availed little with the minister, who would not even consent to delay
the execution of the ordinance until time should have been given for
further inquiry, or to confine the operation of it, at the outset, to
one or two of the provisions, in order to ascertain what would probably
be the temper of the Moriscoes.[25] Nothing would suit the peremptory
humour of Espinosa but the instant execution of the law in all its
details.

Nor would he abate anything of this haughty tone in favour of the
captain-general, the marquis of Mondejar. That nobleman, with good
reason, had felt himself aggrieved that, in discussions so materially
affecting his own government, he should not have been invited to take a
part. From motives of expediency, as much as of humanity, he was
decidedly opposed to the passage of the ordinance. It was perhaps a
knowledge of this that had excluded him from a seat in the junta. His
representations made no impression on Espinosa; and when he urged that,
if the law were to be carried into effect, he ought to be provided with
such a force as would enable him to quell any attempt at resistance, the
minister made light of the danger, assuring him that three hundred
additional troops were as many as the occasion demanded. Espinosa then
peremptorily adjourned all further discussion, by telling the
captain-general that it would be well for him to return at once to
Granada, where his presence would be needed to enforce the execution of
the law.[26]

It was clear that no door was left open to further discussion, and that,
under the present government, no chance remained to the unfortunate
Moriscoes of buying off the law by the payment of a round sum, as in the
time of Charles the Fifth. All negotiations were at an end. They had
only to choose between implicit obedience and open rebellion. It was not
strange that they chose the latter.




CHAPTER II.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES.

Resistance of the Moriscoes--Night Assault on Granada--Rising in the
Alpujarras--Election of a King--Massacre of the Christians.

1568.


The same day on which the ordinance was published in the capital, it was
proclaimed in every part of the kingdom of Granada. Everywhere it was
received with the same feelings of shame, sorrow, and indignation.
Before giving way to these feelings by any precipitate action, the
Moriscoes of the Alpujarras were discreet enough to confer with their
countrymen in the Albaicin, who advised them to remain quiet until they
should learn the result of the conferences going on at Madrid.

Before these were concluded, the year expired after which it would be
penal for a Morisco to wear garments of silk. By the president's orders
it was proclaimed by the clergy, in the pulpits throughout the city,
that the law would be enforced to the letter. This was followed by more
than one edict relating to other matters, but yet tending to irritate
still further the minds of the Moriscoes.[27]

[Sidenote: RESISTANCE TO THE EDICT.]

All hope of relieving themselves of the detested ordinance having thus
vanished, the leaders of the Albaicin took counsel as to the best mode
of resisting the government. The first step seemed to be to get
possession of the capital. There was at this time in Granada a Morisco
named Farax Aben-Farax, who followed the trade of a dyer. But though he
was engaged in this humble calling, the best blood of the Abencerrages
flowed in his veins. He was a man of a fierce, indeed ferocious nature,
hating the Christians with his whole heart, and longing for the hour
when he could avenge on their heads the calamities of his countrymen. As
his occupation earned him frequently into the Alpujarras, he was
extensively acquainted with the inhabitants. He undertook to raise a
force there of eight thousand men, and bring them down secretly by night
into the _vega_, where, with the aid of his countrymen in the Albaicin,
he might effect an entrance into the city, overpower the garrison in the
Alhambra, put all who resisted to the sword, and make himself master of
the capital. The time fixed upon for the execution of the plan was Holy
Thursday, in the ensuing month of April, when the attention of the
Spaniards would be occupied with their religious solemnities.

A secret known to so many could not be so well kept, and for so long a
time, but that some information of it reached the ears of the
Christians. It seems to have given little uneasiness to Deza, who had
anticipated some such attempt from the turbulent spirit of the
Moriscoes. The captain-general, however, thought it prudent to take
additional precautions against it; and he accordingly distributed arms
among the citizens, strengthened the garrison of the Alhambra, and
visited several of the great towns on the frontiers, which he placed in
a better posture of defence. The Moriscoes, finding their purpose
exposed to the authorities, resolved to defer the execution of it for
the present. They even postponed it to as late a date as the beginning
of the following year, 1569. To this they were led, we are told, by a
prediction found in their religious books, that the year of their
liberation would be one that began on a Saturday. It is probable that
the wiser men of the Albaicin were less influenced by their own belief
in the truth of the prophecy, than by the influence it would exert over
the superstitious minds of the mountaineers, among whom it was
diligently circulated.[28]

Having settled on the first of January for the rising, the Moslems of
Granada strove, by every outward show of loyalty, to quiet the
suspicions of the government. But in this they were thwarted by the
information which the latter obtained through more trustworthy channels.
Still surer evidence of their intentions was found in a letter which
fell by accident into the hands of the marquis of Mondejar. It was
addressed by one of the leaders of the Albaicin to the Moslems of the
Barbary coast, invoking their aid by the ties of consanguinity and of a
common faith. "We are sorely beset," says the writer, "and our enemies
encompass us all around like a consuming fire. Our troubles are too
grievous to be endured. Written," concludes the passionate author of the
epistle, "in nights of tears and anguish, with hope yet lingering,--such
hope as still survives amidst all the bitterness of the soul."[29]

But the Barbary powers were too much occupied by their petty feuds to
give much more than fair words to their unfortunate brethren of Granada.
Perhaps they distrusted the efficacy of any aid they could render in so
unequal a contest as that against the Spanish monarchy. Yet they allowed
their subjects to embark as volunteers in the war; and some good service
was rendered by the Barbary corsairs, who infested the coasts of the
Mediterranean, as well as by the _monfis_,--as the African adventurers
were called,--who took part with their brethren in the Alpujarras,
where they made themselves conspicuous by their implacable ferocity
against the Christians.

Meanwhile the hot blood of the mountaineers was too much inflamed by the
prospect of regaining their independence to allow them to wait patiently
for the day fixed upon for the outbreak. Before that time arrived,
several acts of violence were perpetrated,--forerunners of the bloody
work that was at hand. In the month of December, 1568, a body of Spanish
alguazils, with some other officers of justice, were cut off in the
neighbourhood of Granada, on their way to that city. A party of fifty
soldiers, as they were bearing to the capital a considerable quantity of
muskets,--a tempting prize to the unarmed Moriscoes,--were all murdered,
most of them in their beds, in a little village among the mountains
where they had halted for the night.[30] After this outrage Aben-Farax,
the bold dyer of Granada, aware of the excitement it must create in the
capital, became convinced it would not be safe for him to postpone his
intended assault a day longer.

At the head of only a hundred and eighty followers, without waiting to
collect a larger force, he made his descent, on the night of the
twenty-sixth of December, a week before the appointed time, into the
_vega_ of Granada. It was a dreadful night. A snow-storm was raging
wildly among the mountains, and sweeping down in pitiless fury on the
plains below.[31] Favoured by the commotion of the elements, Aben-Farax
succeeded, without attracting observation, in forcing an entrance
through the dilapidated walls of the city, penetrated at once into the
Albaicin, and endeavoured to rouse the inhabitants from their slumbers.
Some few came to their windows, it is said, but, on learning the nature
of the summons, hastily closed the casements and withdrew, telling
Aben-Farax that "it was madness to undertake the enterprise with so
small a force, and that he had come before his time."[32] It was in vain
that the enraged chief poured forth imprecations on their perfidy and
cowardice, in vain that he marched through the deserted streets,
demolishing crucifixes and other symbols of Christian worship which he
found in his way, or that he shouted out the watchword of the faithful,
"There is but one God, and Mahomet is the prophet of God!" The uproar of
the tempest, fortunately for him, drowned every other noise; and no
alarm was given till he stumbled on a guard of some five or six
soldiers, who were huddled round a fire in one of the public squares.
One of these Farax despatched; the others made their escape, raising the
cry that the enemy was upon them. The great bell of St. Salvador rang
violently, calling the inhabitants to arms. Dawn was fast approaching;
and the Moorish chief, who felt himself unequal to an encounter in which
he was not to be supported by his brethren in the Albaicin, thought it
prudent to make his retreat. This he did with colours flying and music
playing, all in as cool and orderly a manner as if it had been only a
holiday parade.

[Sidenote: RISING IN THE ALPUJARRAS.]

Meantime the citizens, thus suddenly startled from their beds, gathered
together, with eager looks, and faces white with fear, to learn the
cause of the tumult; and their alarm was not diminished by finding that
the enemy had been prowling round their dwellings, like a troop of
mountain wolves, while they had been buried in slumber. The marquis of
Mondejar called his men to horse, and would have instantly given chase
to the invaders, but waited until he had learned the actual condition of
the Albaicin, where a population of ten thousand Moriscoes, had they
been mischievously inclined, might, notwithstanding the timely efforts
of the government to disarm them, have proved too strong for the slender
Spanish garrison in the Alhambra. All, however, was quiet in the Moorish
quarter; and, assured of this, the captain-general sallied out, at the
head of his cavalry and a small corps of foot, in quest of the enemy.
But he had struck into the mountain-passes south of Granada; and
Mendoza, after keeping on his track, as well as the blinding tempest
would permit, through the greater part of the day, at nightfall gave up
the pursuit as hopeless, and brought back his wayworn cavalcade to the
city.[33]

Aben-Farax and his troop, meanwhile, traversing the snowy skirts of the
Sierra Nevada, came out on the broad and populous valley of Lecrin,
spreading the tidings everywhere, as they went, that the insurrection
was begun, that the Albaicin was in movement, and calling on all true
believers to take up arms in defence of their faith. The summons did not
fall on deaf ears. A train had been fired which ran along the mountain
regions to the south of Granada, stretching from Almeria and the Murcian
borders on the east to the neighbourhood of Velez Malaga on the west. In
three days the whole country was in arms. Then burst forth the fierce
passions of the Arab,--all that unquenchable hate which seventy years of
oppression had nourished in his bosom, and which now showed itself in
one universal cry for vengeance. The bloody drama opened with the
massacre of nearly every Christian man within the Moorish borders,--and
that too with circumstances of a refined and deliberate cruelty, of
which, happily, few examples are to be found in history.

The first step, however, in the revolutionary movement had been a false
one, inasmuch as the insurgents had failed to secure possession of the
capital, which would have furnished so important a _point d'appui_ for
future operations. Yet, if contemporary chroniclers are correct, this
failure should rather be imputed to miscalculation than to cowardice.
According to them, the persons of most consideration in the Albaicin
were many of them wealthy citizens, accustomed to the easy, luxurious
way of life so well suited to the Moorish taste. They had never intended
to peril their fortunes by engaging personally in so formidable a
contest as that with the Castilian crown. They had only proposed to urge
their simple countrymen in the Alpujarras to such a show of resistance
as should intimidate the Spaniards, and lead them to mitigate, if not
indeed to rescind, the hated ordinance.[34] If such was their
calculation, as the result showed, it miserably failed.

As the Moriscoes had now proclaimed their independence, it became
necessary to choose a sovereign in place of the one whose authority they
had cast aside. The leaders in the Albaicin selected for this dangerous
pre-eminence a young man who was known to the Spaniards by his Castilian
name of Don Fernando de Valor. He was descended in a direct line from
the ancient house of the Omeyas,[35] who for nearly four centuries had
sat with glory on the throne of Cordova. He was but twenty-two years of
age at the time of his election, and, according to a contemporary who
had seen him, possessed a comely person and engaging manners. His
complexion was of a deep olive; his beard was thin; his eyes were large
and dark, with eyebrows well defined, and nearly approaching each other.
His deportment was truly royal; and his lofty sentiments were worthy of
the princely line from which he was descended.[36] Notwithstanding this
flattering portrait from the pen of a Castilian, his best
recommendation, to judge from his subsequent career, seems to have been
his descent from a line of kings. He had been so prodigal in his way of
life that, though so young, he had squandered his patrimony, and was at
this very time under arrest for debt. He had the fiery temperament of
his nation, and had given evidence of it by murdering, with his own
hand, a man who had borne testimony against his father in a criminal
prosecution. Amidst his luxurious self-indulgence he must be allowed to
have shown some energy of character and an unquestionable courage. He
was attached to the institutions of his country; and his ferocious
nature was veiled under a bland and plausible exterior, that won him
golden opinions from the multitude.[37]

Soon after his election, and just before the irruption of Aben-Farax,
the Morisco prince succeeded in making his escape from Granada, and,
flying to the mountains, took refuge among his own kindred, the powerful
family of the Valoris, in the village of Beznar. Here his countrymen
gathered round him, and confirmed by acclamation the choice of the
people of Granada. For this the young chieftain was greatly indebted to
the efforts of his uncle, Aben-Jahuar, commonly called El Zaguer, a man
of much authority among his tribe, who, waiving his own claims to the
sceptre, employed his influence in favour of his nephew.

The ceremony of the coronation was of a martial kind, well suited to the
rough fortunes of the adventurer. Four standards, emblazoned with the
Moslem crescent, were spread upon the ground, with their spear-heads
severally turned towards the four points of the compass. The Moorish
prince, who had been previously arrayed in a purple robe, with a crimson
scarf or shawl, the insignia of royalty, enveloping his shoulders, knelt
down on the banners, with his face turned towards Mecca, and, after a
brief prayer, solemnly swore to live and die in defence of his crown,
his faith, and his subjects. One of the principal attendants,
prostrating himself on the ground, kissed the footprints of the
newly-elected monarch, in token of the allegiance of the people. He was
then raised on the shoulders of four of the assistants, and borne aloft
amidst the waving of banners and the loud shouts of the multitude,
"Allah exalt Muley-Mohammed-Aben-Humeya, lord of Andalucia and
Granada!"[38]

[Sidenote: MASSACRE OF THE CHRISTIANS.]

Such were the simple forms practised in ancient times by the
Spanish-Arabian princes, when their empire, instead of being contracted
within the rocky girdle of the mountains, stretched over the fairest
portions of the Peninsula.[39]

The first act of Aben-Humeya was to make his appointments to the chief
military offices. El Zaguer, his uncle, he made captain-general of his
forces. Aben-Farax, who had himself aspired to the diadem, he removed to
a distance, by sending him on an expedition to collect such treasures as
could be gathered from the Christian churches in the Alpujarras. He
appointed officers to take charge of the different _tahas_, or
districts, into which the country was divided. Having completed these
arrangements, the new monarch--the _reyezuelo_, or "little king," of the
Alpujarras, as he was contemptuously styled by the
Spaniards--transferred his residence to the central part of his
dominions, where he repeated the ceremony of his coronation. He made a
rapid visit to the most important places in the sierra, everywhere
calling on the inhabitants to return to their ancient faith, and to
throw off the hated yoke of the Spaniards. He then established himself
in the wildest parts of the Alpujarras, where he endeavoured to draw his
forces to a head, and formed the plan of his campaign. It was such as
was naturally suggested by the character of the country, which, broken
and precipitous, intersected by many a deep ravine and dangerous pass,
afforded excellent opportunities for harassing an invading foe, and for
entangling him in those inextricable defiles, where a few mountaineers
acquainted with the ground would he more than a match for an enemy far
superior in discipline and numbers.

While Aben-Humeya was thus occupied in preparing for the struggle, the
work of death had already begun among the Spanish population of the
Alpujarras; and Spaniards were to be found, in greater or less numbers,
in all the Moorish towns and hamlets that dotted the dark sides of the
sierras, or nestled in the green valleys at their base. Here they dwelt
side by side with the Moriscoes, employed probably less in the labours
of the loom, for which the natives of this region had long been famous,
than in that careful husbandry which they might readily have learned
from their Moorish neighbours, and which, under their hands, had clothed
every spot with verdure, making the wilderness to blossom like the
rose.[40] Thus living in the midst of those who professed the same
religion with themselves, and in the occasional interchange, at least,
of the kind offices of social intercourse, which sometimes led to nearer
domestic ties, the Christians of the Alpujarras dwelt in blind security,
little dreaming of the mine beneath their feet.

But no sooner was the first note of insurrection sounded, than the scene
changed as if by magic. Every Morisco threw away his mask, and, turning
on the Christians, showed himself in his true aspect, as their avowed
and mortal enemy.

A simultaneous movement of this kind, through so wide an extent of
country, intimates a well-concerted plan of operations; and we may share
in the astonishment of the Castillan writers, that a secret of such a
nature, and known to so many individuals, should have been so long and
faithfully kept,--in the midst, too, of those who had the greatest
interest in detecting it,[41]--some of them, it may be added, spies of
the Inquisition, endowed, as they seem to have been, with almost
supernatural powers for scenting out the taint of heresy.[42] It argues
an intense feeling of hatred in the Morisco, that he could have been so
long proof against the garrulity that loosens the tongue, and against
the sympathy that so often, in similar situations, unlocks the heart, to
save some friend from the doom of his companions. But no such instance,
either of levity or lenity, occurred among this extraordinary people.
And when the hour arrived, and the Christians discerned their danger in
the menacing looks and gestures of their Moslem neighbours, they were as
much astounded by it as the unsuspecting traveller on whom, as he
heedlessly journeys through some pleasant country, the highwayman has
darted from his covert by the roadside.

The first impulse of the Christians seems to have been very generally to
take refuge in the churches; and every village, however small, had at
least one church, where the two races met together to join in the forms
of Christian worship. The fugitives thought to find protection in their
holy places and in the presence of their venerated pastors, whose
spiritual authority had extended over all the inhabitants. But the wild
animal of the forest, now that he had regained his freedom, gave little
heed to the call of his former keeper,--unless it were to turn and rend
him.

Here crowded together, like a herd of panic-stricken deer with the
hounds upon their track, the terrified people soon found the church was
no place of security, and they took refuge in the adjoining tower, as a
place of greater strength, and affording a better means of defence
against an enemy. The mob of their pursuers then broke into the church,
which they speedily despoiled of its ornaments, trampling the crucifixes
and other religious symbols under their feet, rolling the sacred images
in the dust, and desecrating the altars by the sacrifice of swine, or by
some other act denoting their scorn and hatred of the Christian
worship.[43]

They next assailed the towers, the entrances to which the Spaniards had
barricaded as strongly as they could; though, unprovided as they were
with means of defence, except such arms as they had snatched in the
hurry of their flight, they could have little hope of standing a siege.
Unfortunately, these towers were built more or less of wood, which the
assailants readily set on fire, and thus compelled the miserable inmates
either to surrender or to perish in the flames. In some instances they
chose the latter; and the little garrison--men, women, and
children--were consumed together on one common funeral pile. More
frequently they shrank from this fearful death, and surrendered at the
mercy of their conquerors,--such mercy as made them soon regret that
they had not stayed by the blazing rafters.

[Sidenote: MASSACRE OF THE CHRISTIANS]

The men were speedily separated from the women, and driven with blows
and imprecations, like so many cattle, to a place of confinement. From
this loathsome prison they were dragged out, three or four at a time,
day after day, the longer to protract their sufferings; then, with their
arms pinioned behind them, and stripped of their clothing, they were
thrown into the midst of an infuriated mob, consisting of both sexes,
who, armed with swords, hatchets, and bludgeons, soon felled their
victims to the ground, and completed the bloody work.

The mode of death was often varied to suit the capricious cruelty of the
executioners. At Guecija, where the olive grew abundantly, there was a
convent of Augustine monks, who were all murdered by being thrown into
caldrons of boiling oil.[44] Sometimes the death of the victim was
attended with circumstances of diabolical cruelty, not surpassed by
anything recorded of our North-American savages. At a place called
Pitres de Ferreyra, the priest of the village was raised by means of a
pulley to a beam that projected from the tower, and was then allowed to
drop from a great height upon the ground. The act was repeated more than
once in the presence of his aged mother, who, in an agony of grief,
embracing her dying son, besought him "to trust in God and the blessed
Virgin, who through these torments would bring him into eternal life."
The mangled carcase of the poor victim, broken and dislocated in every
limb, was then turned over to the Moorish women, who, with their
scissors, bodkins, and other feminine implements, speedily despatched
him.[45]

The women, indeed, throughout this persecution, seem to have had as
rabid a thirst for vengeance as the men. Even the children were
encouraged to play their part in the bloody drama; and many a miserable
captive was set up as a target to be shot at with the arrows of the
Moorish boys.

The rage of the barbarians was especially directed against the priests,
who had so often poured forth anathemas against the religion which the
Moslems loved, and who, as their spiritual directors, had so often
called them to account for offences against the religion which they
abhorred. At Coadba the priest was stretched out before a brazier of
live coals until his feet, which had been smeared with pitch and oil,
were burned to a cinder. His two sisters were compelled to witness the
agonies of their brother, which were still further heightened by the
brutal treatment which he saw them endure from their tormentors.[46]

Fire was employed as a common mode of torture, by way of retaliation, it
may be, for similar sufferings inflicted on the Infidel by the
Inquisition. Sometimes the punishments seemed to be contrived so as to
form a fiendish parody on the exercises of the Roman Catholic religion.
In the town of Filix the pastor was made to take his seat before the
altar, with his two sacristans, one on either side of him. The bell was
rung, as if to call the people together to worship. The sacristans were
each provided with a roll containing the names of the congregation,
which they were required to call over, as usual, before the services, in
order to see that no one was absent. As each Morisco answered to his
name, he passed before the priest, and dealt him a blow with his fist,
or the women plucked his beard and hair, accompanying the act with some
bitter taunt expressive of their mortal hate. When every one had thus
had the opportunity of gratifying his personal grudge against his
ancient pastor, the executioner stepped forward, armed with a razor,
with which he scored the face of the ecclesiastic in the detested form
of the cross, and then, beginning with the fingers, deliberately
proceeded to sever each of the joints of his wretched victim![47]

But it is unnecessary to shock the reader with more of these loathsome
details, enough of which have already been given, not merely to prove
the vindictive temper of the Morisco, but to suggest the inference that
it could only have been a long course of cruelty and oppression that
stimulated him to such an awful exhibition of it.[48] The whole number
of Christians who, in the course of a week, thus perished in these
massacres--if we are to receive the accounts of Castilian writers--was
not less than three thousand![49] Considering the social relations which
must to some extent have been established between those who had lived so
long in the neighbourhood of one another, it might be thought that, on
some occasions, sympathy would have been shown for the sufferers, or
that some protecting arm would have been stretched out to save a friend
or a companion from the general doom. But the nearest approach to such
an act of humanity was given by a Morisco, who plunged his sword in the
body of a Spaniard in order to save him from the lingering death that
otherwise would await him.[50]

Of the whole Christian population very few of the men who fell into the
hands of the Moslems escaped with life. The women were not always
spared. The Morisco women, especially, who had married Christian
husbands and embraced Christianity, which they refused to abjure, became
the objects of vengeance to their own sex. Sad to say, even the
innocence and helplessness of childhood proved no protection against the
fury of persecution. The historians record the names of several boys,
from ten to twelve or thirteen years of age, who were barbarously
murdered because they would not renounce the religion in which they had
been nurtured for that of Mahomet. If they were too young to give a
reason for their faith, they had at least learned the lesson that to
renounce it was a great sin; and, when led out like lambs to the
slaughter, their mothers, we are told, stifling the suggestions of
natural affection in obedience to a higher law, urged their children not
to shrink from the trial, nor to purchase a few years of life at the
price of their own souls.[51] It is a matter of no little gratulation to
a Catholic historian, that, amongst all those who perished in these
frightful massacres, there was not one of any age or either sex who
could be tempted to secure personal safety by the sacrifice of religious
convictions.[52] On the contrary, they employed the brief respite that
was left them in fortifying one another's courage, and in bearing
testimony to the truth in so earnest a manner that they might almost
seem to have courted the crown of martyrdom. Yet among these martyrs
there were more than one, it is admitted, whose previous way of life
showed but a dim perception of the value of that religion for which,
they were thus prepared to lay down their lives.[53]

[Sidenote: MASSACRE OF THE CHRISTIANS.]

The chief blame of these indiscriminate proscriptions has been laid on
Aben-Farax, the famous dyer of Granada, whose appetite for blood seems
to have been as insatiable as that of any wild beast in the Alpujarras.
In executing the commission assigned to him by Aben-Humeya, he was
obliged to visit all parts of the country. Wherever he came, impatient
of the slower movements of his countrymen in the work of destruction, he
caused the prisons to be emptied, and the wretched inmates to be
butchered before his eyes. At Ugijar he thus directed the execution of
no less than two hundred and forty Christians, laymen and
ecclesiastics.[54] His progress through the land was literally over the
dead bodies of his victims.

Fierce as he was, Aben-Humeya had some touches of humanity in his
nature, which made him revolt at the wholesale murders perpetrated by
his lieutenant. He was the more indignant when, on hastening to Ugijar
to save the lives of some of the captives, his friends, he found that he
had come too late, for the man of blood had been there before him. He
soon after summoned his officer into his presence, not with the
impolitic design of taxing him with his cruelties, but to call him to a
reckoning for the treasure he had pillaged from the churches; and
dissatisfied, or affecting to be so, with his report, he at once deposed
Aben-Farax from his command. The ferocious chief submitted without a
murmur. He descended into the common file, and no more appears on the
scene. He was one of those miscreants who are thrown on the surface by
the turmoil of a revolution, and, after floating there for a while,
disappear from sight, and the wave of history closes over them for
ever.




CHAPTER III.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES.

Panic in Granada--Muster of Troops--Mondejar takes the Field--Bold
Passage at Tablate--Retreat of the Moriscoes--Combat at
Alfajarali--Perilous March--Massacre at Jubiles--The Liberated
Christians.

1568, 1569.


As day after day brought tidings to the people of Granada of the
barbarities perpetrated in the Alpujarras, the whole city was filled
with grief and consternation. The men might be seen gathered together in
knots in the public squares; the women ran about from house to house,
telling the tale of horrors which could hardly be exaggerated in the
recital. They thronged to the churches, where the archbishop and the
clergy were all day long offering up prayers to avert the wrath of
heaven from Granada. The places of business were abandoned. The shops
and booths were closed.[55] As men called to mind the late irruption of
Aben-Farax, they were filled with apprehensions that the same thing
would be attempted again; and rumours went abroad that the mountaineers
were plotting another descent on the city, and, with the aid of their
countrymen in the Albaicin, would soon deluge the streets with the blood
of the Christians. Under the influence of these fears, some took refuge
in the fortress of the Alhambra; others fled into the country. Many kept
watch during the long night, while those who withdrew to rest started
from their slumbers at the least noise, supposing it to be the war-cry
of the Moslem, and that the enemy was at the gates.

Nor was the alarm less that was felt by the Moriscoes in the city, as it
was certainly better founded,--for the Moriscoes were the weaker party
of the two. They knew the apprehensions entertained of them by the
Christians, and that, when men have the power to relieve themselves of
their fears, they are not apt to be very scrupulous as to the means of
doing so. They were afraid to venture into the streets by day, and at
night they barricaded their houses as in a time of siege.[56] They well
knew that a single act of imprudence on their part, or even the merest
accident, might bring the Spaniards upon them, and lead to a general
massacre. They were like the traveller who sees the avalanche trembling
above him, which the least jar of elements, or his own unwary movements,
may dislodge from its slippery basis, and bring down in ruin on his
head. Thus the two races, inhabitants of the same city, were like two
hostile camps, looking on each other with watchful and malignant eyes,
and ready at any moment to come into deadly conflict.

In this stage of things the Moriscoes, anxious to allay the
apprehensions of the Spaniards, were profuse in their professions of
loyalty, and in their assurances that there was neither concert nor
sympathy between them and their countrymen in the Alpujarras. The
government, to give still greater confidence to the Christians, freely
distributed arms among them, thus enabling them, as far as possible, to
provide for their own security. The inhabitants enrolled themselves in
companies. The citizen was speedily converted into the soldier, and
every man, of whatever trade or profession,--the mechanic, the
merchant, the lawyer,--took his turn of military service. Even the
advocates, when attending the courts of justice, appeared with their
weapons by their side.[57]

[Sidenote: MUSTER OF TROOPS.]

But what contributed above all to revive the public confidence was the
care of the government to strengthen the garrison in the Alhambra by the
addition of five hundred regular troops. When, by these various means,
the marquis of Mondejar saw that tranquillity was restored to the
capital, he bestowed all his thoughts on an expedition into the
Alpujarras, desirous to crush the insurrection in its bud, and to rescue
the unfortunate captives, whose fate there excited the most dismal
apprehensions amongst their friends and relatives in Granada. He sent
forth his summons accordingly to the great lords and the cities of
Andalusia, to furnish him at once with their contingents for carrying on
the war. The feudal principle still obtained in this quarter, requiring
the several towns to do military service for their possessions, by
maintaining, when called upon, a certain number of troops in the field,
at their own expense for three months, and at the joint expense of
themselves and the government for six months longer.[58] The system
worked well enough in those ancient times, when a season rarely passed
without a foray against the Moslems. But since the fall of Granada, a
long period of inactivity had followed, and the citizen, rarely summoned
to the field, had lost all the essential attributes of the soldier. The
usual term of service was too short to supply the experience and the
discipline which he needed; and far from entering on a campaign with the
patriotic or the chivalrous feeling that gives dignity to the profession
of arms, he brought with him the mercenary spirit of a trader, intent
only on his personal gains, and eager, as soon as he had enriched
himself by a lucky foray, or the sack of some ill-fated city, to return
home, and give place to others, as inexperienced and possessed of as
little subordination as himself.[59]

But, however deficient this civic militia might be in tactics, the men
were well provided with arms and military accoutrements; and, as the
motley array of troops passed over the _vega_, they made a gallant show,
with their gay uniforms and bright weapons glancing in the sun, while
they proudly displayed the ancient banners of their cities, which had
waved over many a field of battle against the infidel.[60]

But no part of the warlike spectacle was so brilliant as that afforded
by the chivalry of the country; the nobles and cavaliers who, with their
retainers and household troops, had taken the field with as much
alacrity on the present occasion as their fathers had ever shown when
roused by the cry that the enemy was over the borders.[61] They were
much inferior in numbers to the militia of the towns. But inferiority
of numbers was more than compensated by excellence of discipline, by
their perfect appointments, and by that chivalrous feeling which made
them discard every mercenary consideration in the pursuit of glory. Such
was the feeling of Luis Paer de Castillego, the ancient regidor of
Cordova. When offered an independent command, with the emoluments
annexed to it, he proudly replied: "I want neither rank nor pay. I, my
sons, my kindred, my whole house, will always be found ready to serve
our God and our king. It is the title by which we hold our inheritance
and our patent of nobility."[62]

With such loyal and high-mettled cavaliers to support him, Mondejar
could not feel doubtful of the success of his arms. They had, however,
already met with one reverse; and he received tidings that his
advance-guard, sent to occupy a strong pass that led into the mountains,
had been driven from its position, and had sustained something like a
defeat. This would have been still more decisive, had it not been for
the courage of certain ecclesiastics, eight in number--four of them
Franciscans, and four of the Society of Jesus--who, as the troops gave
way, threw themselves into the thick of the fight, and by their example
shamed the soldiers into making a more determined resistance. The
present war took the form of a religious war; and many a valiant
churchman, armed with sword and crucifix, bore his part in it as in a
crusade.

Hastening his preparations, the captain-general, without waiting for
further reinforcements, marched out of Granada on the second of January,
1569, at the head of a small body, which did not exceed in all two
thousand foot and four hundred horse. He was speedily joined by levies
from the neighbouring towns--from Jaen, Loja, Alhama, Antequera, and
other places--which in a few days swelled his little army to double its
original size. The capital he left in the hands of his son, the count of
Tendilla; a man of less discretion than his father, of a sterner and
more impatient temper, and one who had little sympathy for the Morisco.
By his directions, the peasantry of the _vega_ were required to supply
the army with twenty thousand pounds of bread daily.[63] The additional
troops stationed in the city, as well as those who met there, as in a
place of rendezvous, on their way to the sierra, were all quartered on
the inhabitants of the Albaicin, where they freely indulged in the usual
habits of military licence. The Moriscoes still retained much of that
jealous sensibility which leads the natives of the East to seclude their
wives and daughters from the eye of the stranger. It was in vain,
however, that they urged their complaints in the most respectful and
deprecatory terms before the governor. The haughty Spaniard only
answered them with a stern rebuke, which made the Moriscoes too late
repent that they had not profited by the opportunity offered them by
Aben-Farax of regaining their independence.[64]

Leaving Granada, the captain-general took the most direct route, leading
along the western slant of the Sierra Nevada, that mountain-range which,
with its frosty peaks glistening in the sun like palisades of silver,
fences round the city on the south, and screens it in the summer from
the scorching winds of Africa. Thence he rapidly descended into the
beautiful vale of Lecrin, which spreads out, like a gay carpet
embroidered with many a wild flower, to the verge of the Alpujarras. It
was now, however, the dead of winter, when the bright colouring of the
landscape, even in this favoured region, watered as it was by numerous
fountains and running streams, had faded into the sombre tints more in
harmony with the rude scenes on which the Spaniards were about to enter.

[Sidenote: BOLD PASSAGE AT TABLATE.]

Halting a night at Padul to refresh his troops, Mondejar pressed forward
to Durcal, which he reached barely in time to save his advance-guard
from a more shameful discomfiture than it had before experienced; for
the enemy, pressing it on all sides, was in possession of the principal
avenues to the town. On the approach of the main body of the Spaniards,
however, he made a hasty retreat, and established himself in a strong
position at the pass of Tablate. The place was defended by a _barranca_,
or ravine, not formidable from its width, but its rocky side swept sheer
down to a depth that made the brain of the traveller giddy as he looked
into the frightful abyss. The chasm extended at least eight leagues in
length, thus serving, like a gigantic ditch scooped out by the hand of
Nature, to afford protection to the beautiful valley against the inroads
of the fierce tribes of the mountains.

Across this gulf a frail wooden bridge had been constructed, forming the
only means of access from this quarter to the country of the Alpujarras.
But this structure was now nearly demolished by the Moriscoes, who had
taken up the floor, and removed most of the supports, till the passage
of the tottering fabric could not safely be attempted by a single
individual, much less by an army.[65] That they did not destroy the
bridge altogether, probably arose from their desire to re-establish as
soon as possible their communications with their countrymen in the
valley.

Meanwhile the Moslems had taken up a position which commanded the
farther end of the bridge, where they calmly awaited the approach of the
Spaniards. Their army, which greatly fluctuated in its numbers at
different periods of the campaign, was a miscellaneous body, ill
disciplined and worse armed. Some of the men carried fire-arms, some
crossbows; others had only slings or javelins, or even sharp-pointed
stakes; any weapon, in short, however rude, which they had contrived to
secrete from the Spanish officials charged with enforcing the laws for
disarming the Moriscoes. But they were a bold and independent race,
inured to a life of peril and privation; and, however inferior to the
Christians in other respects, they had one obvious advantage, in their
familiarity with the mountain wilds in which they had been nurtured from
infancy.

As the Spaniards approached the ravine, they were saluted by the enemy,
from the other side, with a shower of balls, stones, and arrows, which,
falling at random, did little mischief. But as soon as the columns of
the Christians reached the brow of the _barranca_, and formed into line,
they opened a much more effective fire on their adversaries; and when
the heavy guns with which Mendoza was provided were got into position,
they did such execution on the enemy that he thought it prudent to
abandon the bridge, and take post behind a rising ground, which screened
him from the fire.

All thoughts were now turned on the mode of crossing the ravine; and
many a look of blank dismay was turned on the dilapidated bridge, which,
like a spider's web, trembling in every breeze, was stretched across the
formidable chasm. No one was bold enough to venture on this pass of
peril. At length a Franciscan monk, named Christoval de Molina, offered
himself for the emprise. It was again an ecclesiastic who was to lead
the way in the path of danger. Slinging his shield across his back, with
his robe tucked closely around him, grasping a crucifix in his left
hand, and with his right brandishing his sword, the valiant friar set
his foot upon the bridge.[66] All eyes were fastened upon him, as,
invoking the name of Jesus, he went courageously but cautiously forward,
picking his way along the skeleton fabric, which trembled under his
weight, as if about to fall in pieces and precipitate him into the gulf
below. But he was not so to perish; and his safe arrival on the farther
side was greeted with the shouts of the soldiery, who, ashamed of their
hesitation, now pressed forward to follow in his footsteps.

The first who ventured had the same good fortune as his predecessor. The
second, missing his step or becoming dizzy, lost his foothold, and,
tumbling headlong, was dashed to pieces on the bottom of the ravine. One
after another, the soldiers followed, and with fewer casualties than
might have been expected from the perilous nature of the passage. During
all this time they experienced no molestation from the enemy,
intimidated, perhaps, by the unexpected audacity of the Spaniards, and
not caring to come within the range of the deadly fire of their
artillery. No sooner had the arquebusiers crossed in sufficient
strength, than Mondejar, putting himself at their head, led them against
the Moslems. He was received with a spirited volley, which had well-nigh
proved fatal to him; and had it not been for his good cuirass, that
turned the ball of an arquebuse, his campaign would have been brought to
a close at its commencement. The skirmish lasted but a short time, as
the Moriscoes, already disheartened by the success of the assailants, or
in obedience to the plan of operations marked out by their leader,
abandoned their position, and drew off rapidly towards the mountains. It
was the intention of Aben-Humeya, as already noticed, to entangle his
enemies in the defiles of the sierra, where, independently of the
advantage he possessed from a knowledge of the country, the rugged
character of the ground, he conceived, would make it impracticable for
both cavalry and artillery, with neither of which he was provided.[67]

The Spanish commander, resuming his former station, employed the night
in restoring the bridge, on which his men laboured to such purpose, that
by morning it was in a condition for both his horse and his heavy guns
to cross in safety. Meanwhile he received tidings that a body of a
hundred and eighty Spaniards, in the neighbouring town of Orgiba, who
had thrown themselves into the tower of the church on the breaking out
of the insurrection, were still holding their position, and anxiously
looking for succour from their countrymen. Pushing forward, therefore,
without loss of time, he resumed his march across the valley, which was
here defended on either side by rugged hills, that, growing bolder as he
advanced, announced his entrance into the gorges of the Alpujarras. The
weather was tempestuous. The roads were rendered worse than usual by the
heavy rains, and by the torrents that descended from the hills. The
Spaniards, moreover, suffered much from straggling parties of the enemy,
who had possession of the heights, whence they rolled down huge rocks,
and hurled missiles of every kind on the heads of the invaders. To rid
himself of this annoyance, Mondejar ordered detachments of horse--one of
them under the command of his son, Don Antonio de Mendoza--to scour the
crests of the hills and dislodge the skirmishers. Pioneers were sent in
advance, to level the ground and render it practicable for cavalry. The
service was admirably performed; and the mountaineers, little acquainted
with the horse, which they seemed to have held in as much terror as did
the ancient Mexicans, were so astounded by seeing the light-footed
Andalusian steed scaling the rough sides of the sierra, along paths
where the sportsman would hardly venture, that, without waiting for the
charge, they speedily quitted the ground and fell back on the main body
of their army.

[Sidenote: RETREAT OF THE MORISCOES.]

This was posted at Lanjaron, a place but a few miles off, where the
Moriscoes had profited by a gentle eminence that commanded a narrow
defile, to throw up a breastwork of stone and earth, behind which they
were entrenched, prepared, as it would seem, to give battle to the
Spaniards.

The daylight had begun to fade, as the latter drew near the enemy's
encampment; and, as he was unacquainted with the ground, Mondejar
resolved to postpone his attack till the following morning. The night
set in dark and threatening. But a hundred watchfires blazing on the
hill-tops illumined the sky, and sent a feeble radiance into the gloom
of the valley. All night long the wild notes of the musical instruments
peculiar to the Moors, mingling with their shrill war-cries, sounded in
the ears of the Christians, keeping them under arms, and apprehensive
every moment of an attack.[68] But a night attack was contrary to the
usual tactics of the Moors. Nor, as it appeared, did they intend to join
battle with the Spaniards at all in this place. At least, if such had
been their design, they changed it. For at break of day, to the surprise
of the Spaniards, no vestige was to be seen of the Moriscoes, who,
abandoning their position, had taken flight, like their own birds of
prey, into the depths of the mountains.

Mondejar, not sorry to be spared the delay which an encounter must have
caused him at a time when every moment was so precious, now rapidly
pushed forward to Orgiba, where he happily arrived in season to relieve
the garrison, reduced almost to the last extremity, and to put to flight
the rabble who besieged it.

In the fulness of their hearts, and with the tears streaming from their
eyes, the poor prisoners came forth from their fortress to embrace the
deliverers who had rescued them from the most terrible of deaths. Their
apprehensions of such a fate had alone nerved their souls to so long and
heroic a resistance. Yet they must have sunk ere this from famine, had
it not been for their politic precaution of taking with them into the
tower several of the Morisco children whose parents secretly supplied
them with food, which served as the means of subsistence--scanty though
it was--for the garrison. But as the latter came forth into view, their
wasted forms and famine-stricken visages told a tale of woe that would
have softened a heart of flint.[69]

The situation of Orgiba pointed it out as suitable for a fortified post,
to cover the retreat of the army, if necessary, and to protect the
convoys of supplies to be regularly forwarded from Granada. Leaving a
small garrison there, the captain-general, without longer delay, resumed
his pursuit of the enemy.

Aben-Humeya had retreated into Poqueira, a rugged district of the
Alpujarras. Here he had posted himself, with an army amounting to more
than double its former numbers, at the extremity of a dangerous defile,
called the Pass of Alfajarali. Behind lay the town of Bubion, the
capital of the district, in which, considering it as a place of safety,
many of the wealthier Moriscoes had deposited their women and their
treasures.

Mondejar's line of march now took him into the heart of the wildest
regions of the Alpujarras, where the scenery assumed a character of
sublimity very different from what he had met with in the lower levels
of the country. Here mountain rose beyond mountain, till their hoary
heads, soaring above the clouds, entered far into the region of eternal
snow. The scene was as gloomy as it was grand. Instead of the
wide-spreading woods that usually hang round the skirts of lofty
mountains, covering up their nakedness from the eye, nothing here was to
be seen but masses of shattered rock, black as if scathed by volcanic
fires, and heaped one upon another in a sort of wild confusion, as if
some tremendous convulsion of nature had torn the hills from their
foundations, and thrown them into primitive chaos. Yet the industry of
the Moriscoes had contrived to relieve the savage features of the
landscape, by scooping out terraces wherever the rocky soil allowed it,
and raising there the vine and other plants, in bright patches of
variegated culture, that hung like a garland round the gaunt and swarthy
sierra.

The temperature was now greatly changed from what the army had
experienced in the valley. The wind, sweeping down the icy sides of the
mountains, found its way through the harness of the cavaliers and the
light covering of the soldiers, benumbing their limbs, and piercing them
to the very bone. Great difficulty was experienced in dragging the
cannon up the steep heights, and along roads and passes, which, however
easily traversed by the light-footed mountaineer, were but ill suited to
the movements of an army clad in the heavy panoply of war.

The march was conducted in perfect order, the arquebusiers occupying the
van, and the cavalry riding on either flank, while detachments of
infantry, the main body of which occupied the centre, were thrown out to
the right and left, on the higher grounds along the route of the army,
to save it from annoyance from the mountaineers.

On the thirteenth of January, Mondejar entered the narrow defile of
Alfajarali, at the farther end of which the motley multitude that had
gathered round the standard of Aben-Humeya were already drawn up in
battle-array. His right wing rested on the bold side of the sierra; the
left was defended by a deep ravine, and his position was strengthened by
more than one ambuscade, for which the nature of the ground was
eminently favourable.[70] Indeed, ambushes and surprises formed part of
the regular strategy of the Moorish warrior, who lost heart if he failed
in these,--like the lion, who, if balked in the first spring upon his
prey, is said rarely to attempt another.

[Sidenote: COMBAT AT ALFAJARALI.]

Putting these wily tactics into practice, the Morisco chief, as soon as
the Spaniards were fairly entangled in the defile, without waiting for
them to come into order of battle, gave the signal; and his men,
starting up from glen, thicket, and ravine, or bursting down the
hill-sides like their own winter-torrents, fell at once on the
Christians,--front, flank, and rear,--assailing them on every
quarter.[71] Astounded by the fiery suddenness of the assault, the
rear-guard retreated on the centre, while the arquebusiers in the van
were thrown into still greater disorder. For a few moments it seemed as
if the panic would become general. But the voice of the leader was heard
above the tumult, and by his prompt and sagacious measures he
fortunately succeeded in restoring order, and reviving the confidence of
his men. He detached one body of cavalry, under his son-in-law, to the
support of the rear, and another to the front under the command of his
son, Antonio de Mendoza. Both executed their commissions with spirit;
and Mendoza, outstripping his companions in the haste with which he
galloped to the front, threw himself into the thickest of the fight,
where he was struck from his horse by a heavy stone, and was speedily
surrounded by the enemy, from whose grasp he was with difficulty, and
not till after much hard fighting, rescued by his companions. His
friend, Don Alonso Portocarrero, the scion of a noble house in
Andalusia, whose sons had always claimed the front of battle against the
infidel, was twice wounded by poisoned arrows; for the Moors of the
Alpujarras tipped their weapons with a deadly poison distilled from a
weed that grew wild among the mountains.[72]

A fierce struggle now ensued; for the Morisco was spurred on by hate and
the recollection of a thousand wrongs. Ill provided with weapons for
attack, and destitute of defensive armour, he exposed himself to the
hottest of his enemy's fire, and endeavoured to drag the horsemen from
their saddles, while stones and arrows, with which some musket-balls
were intermingled, fell like rain on the well-tempered harness of the
Andalusian knights. The latter, now fully roused, plunged boldly into
the thickest of the Moorish multitude, trampling them under foot, and
hewing them down, right and left, with their sharp blades. The
arquebusiers, at the same time, delivered a well-directed fire on the
flank of the Moriscoes, who, after a brave struggle of an hour's
duration, in which they were baffled on every quarter, quitted the
field, covered with their slain, as precipitately as they had entered
it, and, vanishing among the mountains, were soon far beyond
pursuit.[73]

From the field of battle Mondejar marched at once upon Bubion, the
capital of the district, and now left wholly unprotected by the Moslems.
Yet many of their wives and daughters remained in it; and what rejoiced
the heart of Mondejar more than all, was the liberation of a hundred and
eighty Christian women, who came forth, frantic with joy and gratitude,
to embrace the knees of their deliverers. They had many a tale of horror
to tell their countrymen, who had now rescued them from a fate worse
than that of death itself; for arrangements had been made, it was said,
to send away those whose persons offered the greatest attractions, to
swell the harems of the fierce Barbary princes in alliance with the
Moriscoes. The town afforded a rich booty to the victorious troops, in
gold, silver, and jewels, together with the finest stuffs, especially of
silk, for the manufacture of which the people of the country were
celebrated. As the Spanish commander, unwilling to be encumbered with
unnecessary baggage, had made no provision for transporting the more
bulky articles, the greater part of them, in the usual exterminating
spirit of war, was consigned to the flames.[74] The soldiers would
willingly have appropriated to themselves the Moorish women whom they
found in the place, regarding them us the spoils of victory; but the
marquis, greatly to the disgust of his followers, humanely interfered
for their protection.

Mondejar now learned that Aben-Humeya, gathering the wreck of his forces
about him, had taken the route to Jubiles,--a place situated in the
wildest part of the country, where there was a fortress of much
strength, in which he proposed to make a final stand against his
enemies. Desirous to follow up the blow before the enemy had time to
recover from its effects, Mondejar resumed his march. He had not
advanced many leagues before he reached Pitres, the principal town in
the district of Ferreiras. It was a place of some importance, and was
rich in the commodities usually found in the great Moorish towns, where
the more wealthy of the inhabitants rivalled their brethren of Granada
in their taste for sumptuous dress and in the costly decorations of
their houses.

The conquerors had here the satisfaction of releasing a hundred and
fifty of their poor countrywomen from the captivity in which they had
been held, after witnessing the massacre of their friends and relatives.
The place was given up to pillage; but the marquis, true to his
principles, notwithstanding the murmurs, and even menaces, of his
soldiers, would allow no injury to be done to the Moorish women who
remained in it. In this he acted in obedience to the dictates of sound
policy, no less than of humanity, which indeed, happily for mankind, can
never be dissevered from each other. He had no desire to push the war to
extremities, or to exterminate a race whose ingenuity and industry were
a fruitful source of revenue to the country. He wished, therefore, to
leave the door of reconciliation still open; and while he carried fire
and sword into the enemy's territory, he held out the prospect of grace
to those who were willing to submit and return to their allegiance.

The route of the army lay through a wild and desolate region, which,
from its great elevation, was cool even in midsummer, and which now, in
the month of January, wore the dreary aspect of a polar winter. The
snow, which never melted on the highest peaks of the mountains, lay
heavily on their broad shoulders, and, sweeping far down their sides,
covered up the path of the Spaniards. It was with no little difficulty
that they could find a practicable passage, especially for the train of
heavy guns, which were dragged along with incredible toil by the united
efforts of men and horses. The soldiers, born and bred in the sunny
plains of Andalusia, were but ill provided against an intensity of cold
of which they had never formed a conception. The hands and feet of many
were frozen. Others, benumbed, and exhausted by excessive toil,
straggled in the rear, and sunk down in the snow-drifts, or disappeared
in the treacherous ravines and crevices, which, under their glittering
mantle, lay concealed from the eye. It fared still worse with the
Moriscoes, especially with the women and children, who, after hanging on
the skirts of the retreating army, had, the better to elude pursuit,
scaled the more inaccessible parts of the mountains, where, taking
refuge in caverns, they perished, in great numbers, of cold and
hunger.[75]

Meanwhile Aben-Humeya, disheartened by his late reverses, felt too
little confidence in the strength of his present position to abide there
the assault of the Spaniards. Quitting the place, therefore, and taking
with him his women and effects, he directed his course by rapid marches
towards Paterna, his principal residence, which had the advantage, by
its neighbourhood to the Sierra Nevada, of affording him, if necessary,
the means of escaping into its wild and mysterious recesses, where none
but a native would care to follow him. He left in the castle of Jubiles
a great number of Morisco women, who had accompanied the army in its
retreat, and three hundred men, who, from age or infirmity, would be
likely to embarrass his movements.

[Sidenote: MASSACRE AT JUBILES.]

On reaching Jubiles, therefore, the Spanish general met with no
resistance from the helpless garrison who occupied the fortress, which,
moreover, contained a rich booty in gold, pearls, and precious stones,
to gratify the cupidity of the soldiers.[76] Yet their discontent was
expressed in more audacious terms than usual at the protection afforded
by their commander to the Morisco women, of whom there were more than
two thousand in the place. Among the women found there was also a good
number of Christian captives, who roused the fierce passions of their
countrymen by their piteous recital of the horrors they had witnessed,
of the butchery of fathers, husbands, and brothers, and of the
persecutions to which they had themselves been subjected in order to
convert them to Islamism. They besought the captain-general to take pity
on their sufferings, and to avenge their wrongs by putting every man and
woman found in the place to the sword.[77] It is evident that, however
prepared they may have been to accept the crown of martyrdom rather than
abjure their faith, they gave little heed to the noblest of its
precepts, which enjoined the forgiveness of their enemies. In this
respect Mondejar proved himself decidedly the better Christian; for
while he listened with commiseration to their tale of woe, and did all
he could to comfort them in their affliction,[78] he would not abandon
the protection of his captives, male or female, nor resign them to the
brutality of his soldiers.

He provided for their safety during the night by allowing them to occupy
the church. But as this would not accommodate more than a thousand
persons, the remainder, including all the men, were quartered in an open
square in the neighbourhood of the building. The Spanish troops encamped
at no great distance from the spot.

In the course of the night one of the soldiers found his way into the
quarters of the captives, and attempted to take some freedoms with a
Morisco maiden. It so happened that her lover, disguised in woman's
attire, was at her side, having remained with her for her protection.
His Moorish blood fired at the insult, and he resented it by striking
his poniard into the body of the Spaniard. The cry of the latter soon
roused his comrades. Rushing to the place, they fell on the young
Morisco, who, now brandishing a sword which he had snatched from the
disabled man, laid about him so valiantly that several others were
wounded. The cry rose that there were armed men, disguised as women,
among the prisoners. More soldiers poured in to the support of their
comrades, and fell with fury on their helpless victims. The uproar was
universal. On the one side might be heard moans and petitions for mercy;
on the other, brutal imprecations, followed by deadly blows, that showed
how little prayers for mercy had availed. The hearts of the soldiers
were harder than the steel with which they struck; for they called to
mind the cruelties inflicted on their own countrymen by the Moriscoes.
Striking to the right and left, they hewed down men and women
indiscriminately,--both equally defenceless. In their blind fury they
even wounded one another; for it was not easy to discern friend from foe
in the obscurity, in which little light was to be had, says the
chronicler, except such as came from the sparks of clashing steel or the
flash of fire-arms.[79] It was in vain that the officers endeavoured to
call off the men from their work of butchery. The hot temper of the
Andalusian was fully roused; and it would have been as easy to stop the
explosion of the mine when the train has been fired, as to stay his
fury. It was not till the morning light showed the pavement swimming in
gore, and the corpses of the helpless victims lying in heaps on one
another, that his appetite for blood was satisfied. Great numbers of the
women, and nearly all the men, perished in this massacre.[80] Those in
the church succeeded in making fast the doors, and thus excluding their
enemies, who made repeated efforts to enter the building. The marquis of
Mondejar, indignant at this inhuman outrage perpetrated by his
followers, and at their flagrant disobedience of orders, caused an
inquiry into the affair to be instantly made; and the execution of three
of the most guilty proved a salutary warning to the Andalusian soldier
that there were limits beyond which it was not safe to try the patience
of his commander.[81]

Before leaving Jubiles, Mondejar sent off to Granada, under a strong
escort, the Christian captives who, since their liberation, had remained
with the army. There were eight hundred of them, women and children,--a
helpless multitude, whose wants were to be provided for, and whose
presence could not fail greatly to embarrass his movements. They were
obliged to perform that long and wearisome journey across the mountains
on foot, as there were no means of transportation. And piteous was the
spectacle which they presented when they reached the capital. As the
wayworn wanderers entered by the gate of Bib-arranbla, the citizens came
forth in crowds to welcome them. A body of cavalry was in the van,--each
of the troopers holding one or two children on the saddle before him,
with sometimes a third on the crupper clinging to his back. The infantry
brought up the rear; while the centre of the procession was occupied by
the women,--a forlorn and melancholy band, with their heads undefended
by any covering from the weather; their hair, bleached by the winter's
tempests, streaming wildly over their shoulders; their clothes scanty,
tattered, and soiled with travel; without stockings, without shoes, to
protect their feet against the cold and flinty roads; while in the lines
traced upon their countenances the dullest eye might read the story of
their unparalleled sufferings. Many of the company were persons who,
unaccustomed to toil, and delicately nurtured, were but poorly prepared
for the trials and privations of every kind to which they had been
subjected.[82]

[Sidenote: SITUATION OF ABEN-HUMEYA.]

As their friends and countrymen gathered round them, to testify their
sympathy and listen to the story of their misfortunes, the voices of the
poor wanderers were choked with sobs and lamentations. The grief was
contagious; and the sorrowing and sympathetic multitude accompanied the
procession like a train of mourners to the monastery of Our Lady of
Victory, in the opposite quarter of the city, where services were
performed with much solemnity, and thanks were offered up for their
deliverance from captivity. From the church they proceeded to the
Alhambra, where they were graciously received by the marchioness of
Mondejar, the wife of the captain-general, who did what she could to
alleviate the miseries of their condition. Those who had friends and
relations in the city, found shelter in their houses; while the rest
were kindly welcomed by the archbishop of Granada, and by the
charitable people of the town, who provided them with raiment and
whatever was necessary for their comfort.[83] The stories which the
fugitives had to tell of the horrid scenes they had witnessed in the
Alpujarras, roused a deeper feeling of hatred in the Spaniards towards
the Moriscoes, that boded ill for the security of the inhabitants of the
Albaicin.




CHAPTER IV.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES.

Situation of Haben-Humeya--Fate of the Moorish Prisoners--Storming of
Guajaras--Escape of Haben-Humeya--Operations of Los Velez--Cabal against
Mondejar--Licence of the Soldiers--Massacre in Granada--The Insurrection
rekindled.

1569.


Before the marquis of Mondejar quitted Jubiles, he received a visit from
seventeen of the principal Moriscoes in that part of the country, who
came to tender their submission, exculpating themselves, at the same
time, from any share in the insurrection, and humbly suing for the
captain-general's protection. This, agreeably to his policy, he promptly
accorded, granting them a safe-conduct, with instructions to tell their
countrymen what he had done, and persuade them, if possible, to return
to their allegiance, as the only way of averting the ruin that else
would speedily overtake them. This act of clemency, so repugnant to the
feelings of the Spaniards, was a new cause of disgust to his soldiers,
who felt that the fair terms thus secured by the rebels were little less
than a victory over themselves.[84] Yet the good effects of this policy
were soon made visible, when the marquis resumed his march; for, as his
favourable dispositions became more generally known, numbers of the
Moriscoes, and several places on the route, eagerly tendered their
submission, imploring his mercy, and protection against his followers.

Aben-Humeya, meanwhile, who lay at Paterna, with his wives and his
warriors gathered around, saw with dismay that his mountain throne was
fast sliding away from beneath him. The spirit of distrust and
disaffection had crept into his camp. It was divided into two parties;
one of these, despairing of further resistance, would have come
instantly to terms with the enemy; the other still adhered to a bolder
policy; but its leaders, if we may trust the Castilian writers, were
less influenced by patriotic than by personal motives, being for the
most part men who had borne so conspicuous a part in the insurrection,
that they could scarcely hope to be included in any amnesty granted by
the Spaniards. Such, in particular, were the African adventurers, who
had distinguished themselves above all others by their ferocious
persecution of the Christians. They directed, at this time, the counsels
of the Moorish prince, filling his mind with suspicions of the loyalty
of some of his followers, especially of the father of one of his
wives,--a person of much authority among the Moriscoes. To suspect and
to slay were words of much the same import with Aben-Humeya. He sent for
his relative, and, on his entering the apartment, caused him to be
despatched before his eyes.[85] He would have followed this up by the
murder of some others of the family, if they had not eluded his grasp;
thus establishing his title to a descent from those despots of the East
with whom the lives of their kindred were of as little account as the
vermin in their path.[86]

He was still at the head of a numerous army; its number, indeed,
amounting to six thousand men, constituted its greatest strength; for,
without discipline, almost without arms, it was made up of such rude,
incongruous materials, that, as he already had experience, it could
never abide the shock of battle from the militia of Castile. The Moorish
prince had other causes for discouragement in the tidings he was hourly
receiving of the defection of his subjects. The clemency shown by the
conqueror was doing more for him than his arms,--as the snow which the
blasts of winter have only bound more closely to the hill-side loosens
its hold and falls away under the soft touch of spring. Notwithstanding
his late display of audacity, the unhappy young man now lost all
confidence in his own fortunes and in his followers. Sorely perplexed,
he knew not where to turn. He had little of the constancy or courage of
the patriot who has perilled his life in a great cause; and he now had
recourse to the same expedient which he had so lately punished with
death in his father-in-law.

He sent a message to the marquis of Mondejar, offering to surrender,
and, if time were given, to persuade his people to follow his example.
Meanwhile he requested the Spanish commander to stay his march, and thus
prevent a collision with his troops. Mondejar, though he would not
consent to this, advanced more leisurely, while he opened a negotiation
with his enemy. He had already come in sight of the rebel forces, when
he consented, at the request of Aben-Humeya, to halt for a night in the
neighbouring village of Iniza, in order to give time for a personal
interview. This required the troops, some of whom had now advanced
within musket-range of the enemy, to fall back, and take up ground in
the rear of their present position. In executing this manoeuvre, they
came almost in contact with a detachment of the Moorish army, who, in
their ignorance of its real object, regarding the movement as a hostile
demonstration, sent a shower of arrows and other missiles among the
Spaniards, which they returned, with hearty goodwill, by a volley of
musketry. The engagement soon became general. Aben-Humeya at the time
was reading a letter, which he had just received from one of Mondejar's
staff, arranging the place for the interview, when he was startled by
the firing, and saw with consternation his own men warmly engaged with
the enemy. Supposing he had been deceived by the Spaniards, he flung the
letter on the ground, and throwing himself into the saddle, without so
much as attempting to rally his forces, which were now flying over the
field in all directions, he took the road to the Sierra Nevada, followed
by only five or six of his attendants.[87] His horse was fleet, and he
soon gained the defiles of the mountains. But he was hotly pursued; and,
thinking it safer to trust to himself than to his horse, he dismounted,
cut the hamstrings of the animal, to prevent his being of service to his
pursuers, and disappeared in the obscure depths of the sierra, where it
would have been fruitless to follow him.

[Sidenote: THE FALL OF JUBILES.]

The rout of his army was complete; and the victors might have inflicted
an incalculable loss on the fugitives, had not the marquis of Mondejar
called off his troops, and put a stop to the work of death. He wished to
keep open as widely as possible the door of reconciliation. His conduct,
which was not understood, and could not have been appreciated by his
men, was stigmatized by them as treachery. They found some amends for
their disappointment in the pillage of Paterna, the residence of
Aben-Humeya, which well provided with the costly finery so much loved by
the Moriscoes, furnished a welcome booty to the conquerors.[88]

Among the Moorish captives were Aben-Humeya's mother, two of his
sisters, and one of his wives, to whom, as usual, Mondejar extended his
protection.

Yet the disposal of his prisoners was a subject of perplexity to the
Spanish commander. His soldiers, as we have seen, would have settled it
at once, had their captain consented, by appropriating them all as the
spoils of victory. There were many persons, higher in authority than
these soldiers, who were of the same way of thinking on the subject with
them. The question was one of sufficient importance to come before the
government. Philip referred it to the council of state; and, regarding
it as a case of conscience, in which the interests of religion were
concerned, he asked the opinion of the Royal Audience of Granada, over
which Deza presided. The final decision was what might have been
expected from tribunals with inquisitors at their head. The Moriscoes,
men and women, were declared to have incurred by their rebellion the
doom of slavery. What is more remarkable is the precedent cited for this
judgment, it being no other than a decision of the Council of Toledo, as
far back as the time of the Visigoths, when certain rebellious Jews were
held to have forfeited their liberty by an act of rebellion.[89] The
Morisco, it was said, should fare no better than the Jew, since he was
not only, like him, a rebel and an infidel, but an apostate to boot. The
decision, it was understood, was very satisfactory to Philip, who,
however, "with the pious moderation that distinguished so just and
considerate a prince,"[90] so far mitigated the severity of the
sentence, in the pragmatic which he published, as to exempt from its
operation boys under ten years of age and girls under eleven. These were
to be placed in the care of responsible persons, who would give them the
benefits of a Christian education. Unhappily, there is reason to think
that the good intentions of the government were not very conscientiously
carried out in respect to this provision by those intrusted with the
execution of it.[91]

While the question was pending, Jubiles fell into the hands of the
victors; and Mondejar, not feeling himself at liberty to release his
female captives, of whom more than a thousand, by this event, had come
into his possession, delivered them in charge to three of the principal
Moriscoes, to whom, it may be remembered, he had given letters of
safe-conduct. They were allowed to restore the women to their families,
on condition that they should all be surrendered on the demand of the
government. Such an act, it must be admitted, implies great confidence
in the good faith of the Moslems,--a confidence fully justified by the
result. When, in obedience to the pragmatic, they were claimed by the
government, they were delivered up by their families,--with the
exception of some who had died in the meantime,--and the greater part of
them were sold by public auction in Granada.[92]

The only place of any importance which now held out against Mondejar was
Las Guajaras, situated in the plains of Salobrena, in the direction of
Velez Malaga. This was a rocky, precipitous hill, on the summit of
which, nature, with little assistance from art, had constructed a sort
of rude fortress. It was held by a fierce band of Moriscoes, who,
descending from the heights, swept over the plains, carrying on
devastating forays, that made them the terror of the surrounding
country. Mondejar, moved by the complaints of the inhabitants, left
Ugijar on the fifth of February, at the head of his whole array, now
much augmented by the arrival of recent levies, and marched rapidly on
Guajaras. He met with a more formidable resistance than he had expected.
His first attempt to carry the place was repulsed with a heavy loss on
the part of the assailants. The Moorish garrison, from its elevated
position, poured a storm of missiles on their heads, and, what was
worse, rolled down huge masses of rock, which, ploughing through the
Castilian ranks, overthrew men and horses, and did as great execution as
would have been done by artillery. Eight hundred Spaniards were left
dead on the field: and many a noble house in Andalusia had to go into
mourning for that day's disaster.

Mondejar, stung by this repulse,--the first reverse his arms had
experienced,--determined to lead the attack in person on the following
day. His approaches were made with greater caution than before; and,
without much injury, he succeeded in bringing his arquebusiers on a
higher level, where their fire swept the enemy's intrenchments and
inflicted on him a terrible loss. Still the sun went down, and the place
had not surrendered. But El Zamar, its brave defender, without
ammunition, almost without arms, felt that there was no longer hope for
his little garrison. Silently evacuating the place, therefore, at dead
of night, the Moriscoes, among whom were both women and children,
scrambled down the precipice with the fearlessness of the mountain goat,
and made their escape without attracting the notice of the Spaniards.
They left behind only such as, from age or infirmity, were unable to
follow them in their perilous descent.

On the next day, when the Spanish general prepared to renew the assault,
great was his astonishment to find that the enemy had vanished, except
only a few wretched beings incapable of making any resistance. All the
evil passions of Mondejar's nature had been roused by the obstinate
defence of the place, and the lives it had cost him. In the heat of his
wrath, he ordered the helpless garrison to be put to the sword. No
prayer for mercy was heeded. No regard was had to age or to sex. All
were cut down in the presence of the general, who is even said to have
stimulated the faltering soldiers to go through with their bloody
work.[93] An act so hard to be reconciled with his previous conduct has
been referred by some to the annoyance which he felt at being so
frequently taxed with excessive lenity to the Moriscoes, an accusation
which was carried, indeed, before the crown, and which the present
occasion afforded him the means of effectually disproving. However this
may be, the historian must lament the tarnished honour of a brave and
generous chief, whose character up to this time had been sullied by
none of those acts of cruelty which distinguished this sanguinary
war.[94]

[Sidenote: CAPTURE AND DEATH OF EL ZAMAR.]

But even this cruelty was surpassed by that of his son, the count of
Tendilla. El Zamar, the gallant defender of the fortress, wandered about
among the crags with his little daughter, whom he carried in his arms.
Famished and fainting from fatigue, he was at length overtaken by his
enemies, and sent off as a prisoner to Granada, where the fierce
Tendilla caused the flesh to be torn from his bones with red-hot
pincers, and his mangled carcase, yet palpitating with life, to be
afterwards quartered. The crime of El Zamar was that he had fought too
bravely for the independence of his nation.

Having razed the walls of Guajaras to the ground, Mondejar returned with
his blood-stained laurels to his head-quarters at Orgiba. Tower and town
had gone down before him. On every side his arms had proved victorious.
But one thing was wanting--the capture of Aben-Humeya, the "little king"
of the Alpujarras. So long as he lived, the insurrection, now smothered,
might be rekindled at any time. He had taken refuge, it was known, in
the wilds of the Sierra Nevada, where, as the captain-general wrote, he
was wandering from rock to rock with only a handful of followers.[95]
Mondejar sent two detachments of soldiers into the sierra, to discover
his haunts, if possible, and seize upon his person.

The commander of one of these parties, named Maldonado, ascertained that
Aben-Humeya, secreting himself among the fastnesses of the mountains by
day, would steal forth at night, and repair, with a few of his
followers, to a place called Mecina, on the skirts of the sierra. Here
he found shelter in the house of his kinsman, Aben-Aboo, one of those
Moriscoes who, after the affair of Jubiles, had obtained a safe-conduct
from Mondejar. Having gained this intelligence, and learned the
situation of the house, the Spanish captain marched, with his little
band of two hundred soldiers, in that direction. He made his approach
with the greatest secrecy. Travelling by night, he reached undiscovered
the neighbourhood of Aben-Aboo's residence. Advancing under cover of the
darkness, he had arrived within gunshot of the dwelling, when, at this
critical moment, all his precautions were defeated by the carelessness
of one of his company, whose arquebuse was accidentally discharged. The
report, reverberating from the hills in the silence of night, roused the
inmates of the house, who slept as the wearied mariner sleeps when his
ship is in danger of foundering. One of them, El Zaguer, the uncle of
Aben-Humeya, and the person who had been mainly instrumental in securing
him his crown--a crown of thorns--was the first roused, and, springing
to the window, he threw himself down, though the height was
considerable, and made his way to the mountains.

His nephew, who lay in another part of the building, was not so
fortunate. When he reached the window, he saw with dismay the ground in
front occupied by a body of Castilian troops. Hastening to another
window, he found it still the same; his enemies were everywhere around
the house. Bewildered and sorely distressed, he knew not where to turn.
Thus entrapped, and without the means of making any terms with his
enemies, he knew he had as little to hope from their mercy as the wolf
has from the hunters who have caught him in his lair. The Spaniards,
meanwhile, were thundering at the door of the building for admittance.
Fortunately it was well secured. A sudden thought occurred to
Aben-Humeya, which he instantly put in execution. Hastening down stairs,
he took his station behind the door, and gently drew the bolts. The
noise was not heard amidst the din made by the assailants, who, finding
the door give way, supposed they had forced the fastenings, and pouring
in, soon spread themselves in every direction over the house in search
of the fugitive. Aben-Humeya, ensconced behind the door, escaped
observation; and, when his enemies had disappeared, stole out into the
darkness, and, under its friendly mantle, succeeded in finding his way
to the mountains.

It was in vain that the Spaniards, enraged at the loss of the quarry,
questioned Aben-Aboo as to the haunts of his kinsman, and of El Zaguer,
his uncle, in the sierra. Nor could the most excruciating tortures shake
his constancy. "I may die," said the brave Morisco, "but my friends will
live." Leaving him for dead, the soldiers returned to the camp, taking
with them a number of prisoners, his companions. There was no one of
them, however, that was not provided with a safe-conduct from the
marquis, who accordingly set them at liberty; showing a respect for his
engagements, in which unhappily, as we shall see hereafter, he was not
too well imitated by his soldiers. The heroic Aben-Aboo, though left for
dead, did not die, but lived to head another insurrection, and to take
ample vengeance on his enemies.[96]

While the arms of the marquis of Mondejar were thus crowned with
success, the war raged yet more fiercely on the eastern <DW72>s of the
Alpujarras, where a martial race of mountaineers threatened a descent on
Almeria and the neighbouring places, keeping the inhabitants in
perpetual alarm. They accordingly implored the government at Granada to
take some effectual measures for their relief. The president, Deza, in
consequence, desired the marquis of Los Velez, who held the office of
_adelantado_ of the adjoining province of Murcia, to muster a force and
provide for the defence of the frontier. This proceeding was regarded by
Mondejar's friends as an insult to that nobleman, whose military
authority extended over the country menaced by the Moriscoes. The act
was the more annoying, that the person invited to assume the command was
a rival, between whose house and that of the Mendozas there existed an
ancient feud. Yet the king sanctioned the proceeding, thinking perhaps
that Mondejar was not in sufficient force to protect the whole region of
the Alpujarras. However this may be, Philip, by this act, brought two
commanders of equal authority on the theatre of action; men who, in
their characters and habitual policy, were so opposed to each other,
that little concert could 'be expected between them.

Don Luis Fajardo, marquis of Los Velez, was a nobleman somewhat advanced
in years, most of which had been passed in the active duties of military
life. He had studied the art of war under the great emperor, and had
acquired the reputation of a prompt and resolute soldier, bold in
action, haughty, indeed overbearing, in his deportment, and with an
inflexible will, not to be shaken by friend or foe. The severity of his
nature had not been softened under the stern training of the camp; and,
as his conduct in the present expedition showed, he was troubled with
none of those scruples on the score of humanity which so often turned
the edge of Mondejar's sword from the defenceless and the weak. The
Moriscoes, who understood his character well, held him in terror, as
they proved by the familiar _sobriquet_ which they gave him of the
"iron-headed devil."[97]

[Sidenote: OPERATIONS OF LOS VELEZ.]

The marquis, on receiving the invitation of Deza, lost no time in
gathering his kindred and numerous vassals around him; and they came
with an alacrity which showed how willingly they obeyed the summons to a
foray over the border. His own family was a warlike race, reared from
the cradle amidst the din of arms. In the present expedition he was
attended by three of his sons, the youngest of whom a boy of thirteen,
had the proud distinction of carrying his father's banner.[98] With the
levies promptly furnished from the neighbouring places, Los Velez soon
found himself supported by a force of greater strength than that which
followed the standard of Mondejar. At the head of this valiant but
ill-disciplined array, he struck into the gloomy gorges of the
mountains, resolved on bringing the enemy at once to battle.

Our limits will not allow room for the details of a campaign which in
its general features bears so close a resemblance to that already
described. Indeed the contest was too unequal to afford a subject of
much interest to the general reader, while the details are of still less
importance in a military view, from the total ignorance shown by the
Moriscoes of the art of war.

The fate of the campaign was decided by three battles, fought
successively at Huecija, Filix, and Ohanez, places all lying in the
eastern ranges of the Alpujarras. That of Filix was the most sanguinary.
A great number of stragglers hung on the skirts of the Morisco army; and
besides six thousand--many of them women[99]--left dead upon the field,
there were two thousand children, we are told, butchered by the
Spaniards.[100] Some fled for refuge to the caves and thickets; but they
were speedily dragged from their hiding-places, and massacred by the
soldiers in cold blood. Others, to escape death from the hands of their
enemies, threw themselves headlong down the precipices,--some of them
with their infants in their arms,--and thus miserably perished. "The
cruelties committed by the troops," says one of the army, who chronicled
its achievements, "were such as the pen refuses to record.[101] I
myself," he adds, "saw the corpse of a Morisco woman, covered with
wounds, stretched upon the ground, with six of her children lying dead
around her. She had succeeded in protecting a seventh, still an infant,
with her body, and though the lances which pierced her had passed
through its clothes, it had marvellously escaped any injury. It was
clinging," he continues, "to its dead mother's bosom, from which it drew
milk that was mingled with blood. I carried it away and saved it."[102]
For the credit of human nature he records some other instances of the
like kind, showing that a spark of humanity might occasionally be struck
out from the flinty breasts of these marauders.

The field of battle afforded a rich harvest for the victors, who
stripped the dead, and rifled the bodies of the women of collars,
bracelets, ornaments of gold and silver, and costly jewels, with which
the Moorish female loved to decorate her person. Sated with plunder, the
soldiers took the first occasion to leave their colours and return to
their homes. Their places were soon supplied, as the display of their
riches sharpened the appetites of their countrymen, who eagerly floaked
to the banner of a chief that was sure to lead them on to victory and
plunder. But that chief, with all his stern authority, was no match for
the spirit of insubordination that reigned among his troops; and, when
he attempted to punish one of their number for a gross act of
disobedience, he was made to understand that there were three thousand
in the camp ready to stand by their comrade and protect him from
injury.[103]

The wild excesses of the soldiery were strangely mingled with a respect
for the forms of religion, that intimated the nature of the war in which
they were engaged. Before entering into action the whole army knelt down
in prayer, solemnly invoking the protection of Heaven on its champions.
After the battle of Ohanez, where the mountain streams were so polluted
with the gore that the Spaniards found it difficult to slake their
thirst, they proceeded to celebrate the _fete_ of the Purification of
the Virgin.[104] A procession was formed to the church, which was headed
by the marquis of Los Velez and his chivalry, clad in complete mail, and
bearing white tapers in their hands. Then came the Christian women, who
had been rescued from captivity, dressed, by the general's command, in
robes of blue and white, as the appropriate colours of the Virgin.[105]
The rear was brought up by a body of friars and other ecclesiastics, who
had taken part in the crusade. The procession passed slowly between the
files of the soldiery, who saluted it with volleys of musketry as it
entered the church, where _Te Deum_ was chanted, and the whole company
prostrated themselves in adoration of the Lord of Hosts, who had given
his enemies into their hands.

[Sidenote: CABAL AGAINST MONDEJAR.]

From this solemn act of devotion the troops proceeded to the work of
pillage, in which the commander, unlike his rival, the marquis of
Mondejar, joined as heartily as the meanest of his followers. The
Moorish captives, to the number of sixteen hundred, among whom, we are
told, were many young and beautiful maidens, instead of meeting with the
protection they had received from the more generous Mondejar, were
delivered up to the licentious soldiery; and for a fortnight there
reigned throughout the camp a carnival of the wildest riot and
debauchery.[106] In this strange confusion of the religious sentiment
and of crimes most revolting to humanity, we see the characteristic
features of the crusade. Nowhere do we find such a free range given to
the worst passions of our nature as in the wars of religion,--where each
party considers itself as arrayed against the enemies of God, and where
the sanctity of the cause throws a veil over the foulest transgressions
that hides their enormity from the eye of the transgressor.

While the Moriscoes were stunned by the fierce blows thus dealt in rapid
succession by the iron-hearted marquis, the mild and liberal policy of
his rival was still more effectually reducing his enemies to obedience.
Disheartened by their reverses, exhausted by fatigue and hunger, as they
roved among the mountains, without raiment to clothe or a home to
shelter them, the wretched wanderers came in one after another to sue
for pardon. Nearly all the towns and villages in the district assigned
to Mondejar, oppressed with like feelings of despondency, sent
deputations to the Spanish quarters, to tender their submission and to
sue for his protection. While these were graciously received, the
general provided for the future security of his conquests, by
establishing garrisons in the principal places, and by sending small
detachments to different parts, to act as a sort of armed police for the
maintenance of order. In this way, says a contemporary, the tranquillity
of the country was so well established, that small parties of ten or a
dozen soldiers wandered unmolested from one end of it to the other.[107]

Mondejar, at the same time, wrote to the king, to acquaint him with the
actual state of things. He besought his master to deal mercifully with
the conquered people, and thus afford him the means of redeeming the
pledges he had given for the favourable dispositions of the
government.[108] He made another communication to the marquis of Los
Velez, urging that nobleman to co-operate with him in the same humane
policy, as the one best suited to the interests of the country. But his
rival took a very different view of the matter; and he plainly told the
marquis of Mondejar, that it would require more than one pitched battle
yet to break the spirit of the Moriscoes; and that, since they thought
so differently on the subject, the only way left was for each commander
to take the course he judged best.[109]

Unfortunately, there were others--men, too, of influence at the
court--who were of the same stern way of thinking as the marquis of Los
Velez; men acting under the impulse of religious bigotry, of implacable
hatred of the Moslems, and of a keen remembrance of the outrages they
had committed. There were others who, more basely, thought only of
themselves and of the profit they should derive from the continuance of
the war.

Among those of the former class was the president Deza, with the members
of the Audience and the civil authorities in Granada. Always viewing
the proceedings of the captain-general with an unfriendly eye, they
loudly denounced his policy to the king, condemning his ill-timed lenity
to a crafty race, who would profit by it to rally from their late
disasters and to form new plans of rebellion. It was not right, they
said, that outrages like those perpetrated against both _divine and
human majesty_ should go unpunished.[110] Mondejar's enemies did not
stop here, but accused him of defrauding the exchequer of its dues, the
fifth of the spoils of war gained in battle from the infidel. Finally,
they charged him with having shown want of respect for the civil
authorities of Granada, in omitting to communicate to them his plan of
operations.

The marquis, advised by his friends at court of these malicious attempts
to ruin his credit with the government, despatched a confidential envoy
to Madrid, to present his case before his sovereign and to refute the
accusations of his enemies. The charge of peculation seems to have made
no impression on the mind of a prince who would not have been slow to
suspect, had there been any ground for suspicion. There may have been
stronger grounds for the complaint of want of deference to the civil
authorities of Granada. The best vindication of his conduct in this
particular must be found in the character and conduct of his
adversaries. From the first, Deza and the municipality had regarded him
with jealousy, and done all in their power to thwart his plans and
circumscribe his authority. It is only confidence that begets
confidence. Mondejar, early accustomed to command, was probably too
impatient of opposition.[111] He chafed under the obstacles and
annoyances thrown in his way by his narrow-minded rivals. We have not
the means before us of coming to a conclusive judgment on the merits of
the controversy, but from what we know of the marquis's accusers, with
the wily inquisitor at their head, we shall hardly err by casting our
sympathies into the scale of the frank and generous-hearted soldier,
who, while those that thus censured him were living at ease in the
capital, had been fighting and following up the enemy, amidst the
winter's tempests and across mountains covered with snow; and who, in
little more than a month, without other aid than the disorderly levies
of the cities, had quelled a dangerous revolt, and restored tranquillity
to the land.

Philip was greatly perplexed by the different accounts sent to him of
the posture of affairs in Granada. Mondejar's agent suggested to the
council of state that it would be well if his majesty would do as his
father, Charles the Fifth, would have done in the like case--repair
himself to the scene of action, and observe the actual state of things
with his own eyes. But the suggestion found no favour with the minister,
Espinosa, who affected to hold the Moriscoes in such contempt, that a
measure of this kind, he declared, would be derogatory to the royal
dignity. A better course would be for his majesty to send some one as
his representative, clothed with full powers to take charge of the war,
and of a rank so manifestly pre-eminent, that neither of the two
commanders now in the field could take umbrage at his appointment over
their heads.

This suggestion, as the politic minister doubtless had foreseen, was
much more to Philip's taste than that of his going in person to the
scene of strife; for, however little he might shrink from any amount of
labour in the closet, he had, as we have seen, a sluggish temperament,
that indisposed him to much bodily exertion. The plan of sending some
one to represent the monarch at the seat of war was accordingly
approved; and the person selected for this responsible office was
Philip's bastard brother, Don John of Austria.[112]

[Sidenote: LICENCE OF THE SOLDIERS.]

Rumours of what was going on in the cabinet at Madrid, reaching Granada
from time to time, were followed by the most mischievous consequences.
The troops, in particular, had no sooner learned that the marquis of
Mondejar was about to be superseded in the command, than they threw off
the little restraint he had been hitherto able to impose on them, and
abandoned themselves to the violence and rapine to which they were so
well disposed, and which seemed now to be countenanced by the president
and the authorities in Granada. The very patrols whom Mondejar had
commissioned to keep the peace were the first to set the example of
violating it. They invaded the hamlets and houses they were sent to
protect, plundered them of their contents, and committed the foulest
outrages on their inmates. The garrisons in the principal towns imitated
their example, carrying on their depredations, indeed, on a still larger
scale. Even the capital, under the very eyes of the count of Tendilla,
sent out detachments of soldiers, who with ruthless violence trampled
down the green plantations in the valleys, sacked the villages, and
dragged away the inhabitants from the midst of their blazing dwellings
into captivity.[113]

It was with the deepest indignation that the marquis of Mondejar saw the
fine web of policy he had been so busily contriving thus wantonly rent
asunder by the very hands that should have protected it. He now longed
as ardently as any in the province for the coming of some one entrusted
with authority to enforce obedience from the turbulent soldiery; a task
of still greater difficulty than the conquest of the enemy. While such
was the state of things, an event occurred in Granada which, in its
general character, may remind one of some of the most atrocious scenes
of the French Revolution.

In the beginning of the troubles, the president had caused a number of
Moriscoes, amounting to not less than a hundred and fifty, it is said,
to be arrested and thrown into the prison of the Chancery. Certain
treasonable designs, of which they had been suspected for a long time,
furnished the feeble pretext for this violent proceeding. Some few,
indeed, were imprisoned for debt. But the greater number were wealthy
men, who enjoyed the highest consideration among their countrymen. They
had been suffered to remain in confinement during the whole of the
campaign; thus serving, in some sort, as hostages for the good behaviour
of the people of the Albaicin.

Early in March, a rumour was circulated that the mountaineers, headed by
Aben-Humeya, whose father and brother were among the prisoners, were
prepared to make a descent on the city by night, and, with the
assistance of the inhabitants of the Albaicin, to begin the work of
destruction by assaulting the prison of the Chancery and liberating
their countrymen. This report, readily believed, caused the greatest
alarm among the citizens, boding no good to the unhappy prisoners. On
the evening of the seventeenth, Deza received intelligence that lights
had been seen on some of the neighbouring mountains, which seemed to be
of the nature of signals, as they were answered by corresponding lights
in some of the houses in the Albaicin. The assault, it was said, would
doubtless be made that very night. The president appears to have taken
no measures for the protection of the city, but, on receiving the
information, he at once communicated it to the alcayde of the prison,
and directed him to provide for the security of his prisoners. The
alcayde lost no time in gathering his friends about him, and caused arms
to be distributed among a body of Spaniards, of whom there appears to
have been a considerable number confined in the place at this time. Thus
prepared, they all remained, as in silent expectation of some great
event.

At length, some time before midnight, the guard posted in the Campana,
one of the towers of the Alhambra, struck the bell with a succession of
rapid strokes, such as were used to give an alarm. In a moment every
Spaniard in the prison was on his feet; and, the alcayde throwing open
the doors and leading the way, they fell at once on their defenceless
victims, confined in another quarter of the building. As many of these
were old and infirm, and most of them inoffensive citizens, whose quiet
way of life had little fitted them for brawl or battle, and who were now
destitute of arms of any kind, they seemed to be as easy victims as the
sheep into whose fold the famishing wolves have broken in the absence of
the shepherd. Yet they did not give up their lives without an effort to
save them. Despair lent them strength, and snatching up chairs, benches,
or any other article of furniture in their cells, they endeavoured to
make good their defence against the assailants. Some, exerting a vigour
which despair only could have given, succeeded in wrenching stones from
the walls or iron bars from the windows, and thus supplied themselves
with the means, not merely of defence, but of doing some mischief to the
assailants in their turn. They fought, in short, like men who are
fighting for their lives. Some, however, losing all hope of escape,
piled together a heap of mats, bedding, and other combustibles, and,
kindling them with their torches, threw themselves into the flames,
intending in this way to set fire to the building, and to perish in one
general conflagration with their murderers.[114] But the flames they had
kindled were soon extinguished in their own blood, and their mangled
remains were left to blacken among the cinders of their funeral pile.

For two hours the deadly conflict between parties so unequally matched
had continued; the one shouting its old war-cry of "Saint Iago," as if
fighting on an open field; the other, if we may take the Castilian
account, calling on their prophet to come to their assistance. But no
power, divine or human, interposed in their behalf; and, notwithstanding
the wild uproar caused by men engaged in a mortal struggle, by the sound
of heavy blows and falling missiles, by the yells of the victors and the
dying moans and agonies of the vanquished, no noise to give token of
what was going on--if we are to credit the chroniclers--found its way
beyond the walls of the prison. Even the guard stationed in the
court-yard, we are assured, were not roused from their slumbers.[115]

At length some rumour of what was passing reached the city, where the
story ran that the Moriscoes were in arms against their keepers, and
would soon probably get possession of the gaol. This report was enough
for the people, who, roused by the alarm-bell, were now in a state of
excitement that disposed them to any deed of violence. Snatching up
their weapons, they rushed, or rather flew, like vultures snuffing the
carrion from afar, to the scene of slaughter. Strengthened by this
reinforcement, the assailants in the prison soon completed the work of
death; and, when the morning light broke through the grated windows, it
disclosed the full extent of the tragedy. Of all the Moriscoes only two
had escaped,--the father and brother of Aben-Humeya, over whom a guard
had been especially set. Five Spaniards were slain, and seventeen
wounded; showing the fierce resistance made by the Moslems, though
destitute of arms.[116]

[Sidenote: THE INSURRECTION REKINDLED.]

Such was the massacre in the prison of the Chancery of Granada, which,
as already intimated, nowhere finds a more fitting parallel than in the
murders perpetrated on a still larger scale during the French
Revolution, in the famous massacres of September. But the miscreants who
perpetrated these enormities were the tools of a sanguinary faction,
that was regarded with horror by every friend of humanity in the
country. In Granada, on the other hand, it was the government itself, or
at least those of highest authority in it, who were responsible for the
deed. For who can doubt that a proceeding, the success of which depended
on the concurrence of so many circumstances as to preclude the idea of
accident, must have been countenanced, if not contrived, by those who
had the direction of affairs?

Another feature, not the least striking in the case, is the apathy shown
by contemporary writers,--men who on more than one occasion have been
willing to testify their sympathy for the sufferings of the Moriscoes.
One of these chroniclers, after telling the piteous tale, coolly remarks
that it was a good thing for the alcayde of the prison, who pocketed a
large sum of money which had been found on the persons of the wealthy
Moors. Another, after noticing the imputation of an intended rising on
the part of the prisoners as in the highest degree absurd, dismisses the
subject by telling us that "the Moriscoes were a weak, scatter-brained
race, with just wit enough to bring on themselves such a _mishap_,"--as
he pleasantly terms the massacre.[117] The government of Madrid received
the largest share of the price of blood. For when the wives and families
of the deceased claimed the inheritance of their estates, in some cases
very large, their claims were rejected--on what grounds we are not
told--by the alcaldes of the Court of Audience in Granada, and the
estates were confiscated to the use of the crown. Such a decision,
remarks a chronicler, may lead one to infer that the prisoners had been
guilty of even more heinous offences than those commonly imputed to
them.[118] The impartial reader will probably come to a very different
conclusion; and since it was the opulent burghers who were thus marked
out for destruction, he may naturally infer that the baser passion of
avarice mingled with the feelings of fear and hatred in bringing about
the massacre.

However this may be, so foul a deed placed an impassable gulf between
the Spaniards and the Moriscoes. It taught the latter that they could no
longer rely on their perfidious enemy, who, while he was holding out to
them one hand in token of reconciliation, was raising the other to smite
them to the ground. A cry of vengeance ran through all the borders of
the Alpujarras. Again the mountaineers rose in arms. They cut off
stragglers, waylaid the patrols whom Mondejar had distributed throughout
the country, and even menaced the military posts of the Spaniards. On
some occasions, they encountered the latter with success in the open
field, and in one instance defeated and slew a large body of Christians,
as they were returning from a foray laden with plunder. Finally they
invited Aben-Humeya to return and resume the command, promising to stand
by him to the last. The chief obeyed the call and, leaving his retreat
in the Sierra Nevada, again took possession of his domains, and,
planting his blood-red flag on his native hills,[119] soon gathered
around him a more formidable host than before. He even affected a
greater pomp than he had before displayed. He surrounded himself with a
body-guard of four hundred arquebusiers.[120] He divided his army into
battalions and companies, and endeavoured to introduce into it something
of the organization and tactics of the Spaniards.[121] He sent his
brother Abdallah to Constantinople, to represent his condition to the
Sultan, and to implore him to make common cause with his Moslem brethren
in the Peninsula. In short, rebellion assumed a more audacious front
than at any time during the previous campaign; and the Christians of
Andalusia and Granada looked with the greatest anxiety for the coming of
a commander possessed of sufficient authority to infuse harmony into the
counsels of the rival chiefs, to enforce obedience from the turbulent
soldiery, and to bring the war to a speedy conclusion.




CHAPTER V.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES.

Early life of Don John of Austria--Acknowledged by Philip--His Thirst
for Distinction--His Cruise in the Mediterranean--Made
Commander-in-chief--The War renewed--Removal of the Moriscoes.

1569.


As Don John of Austria is to occupy an important place, not only in the
war with the Moriscoes, but in some of the most memorable scenes in the
remainder of this history, it will be proper to acquaint the reader with
what is known of the earlier part of his career. Yet it is precisely
over this part of it that a veil of mystery hangs, which no industry of
the historian has been able wholly to remove.

It seems probable that he was born in the year 1547.[122] The
twenty-fourth of February is assigned by common consent--I hardly know
on what ground--as the day of his birth. It was also, it may be
remembered, the birthday of his father, Charles the Fifth. His mother,
Barbara Blomberg, was an inhabitant of Ratisbon, in Germany. She is
described as a beautiful young girl, who attracted the emperor's notice
several years after the death of the empress Isabella.[123] The Spanish
chroniclers claim a noble descent for Barbara.[124] Indeed, it would go
hard but a Spaniard could make out a pedigree for his hero. Yet there
are several circumstances which suggest the idea that the mother of Don
John must have occupied a very humble position.

[Sidenote: DON JOHN OF AUSTRIA.]

Subsequently to her connexion with Charles she married a German named
Kegell, on whom the emperor bestowed the office of commissary.[125] The
only other notice, so far as I am aware, which Charles took of his
former mistress was the settlement on her of a yearly pension of two
hundred florins, which he made the day before his death.[126] It was
certainly not a princely legacy, and infers that the object of it must
have been in a humble condition in life to have rendered it important to
her comfort. We are led to the same conclusion by the mystery thrown
around the birth of the child, forming so strong a contrast to the
publicity given to the birth of the emperor's natural daughter, Margaret
of Parma, whose mother could boast that in her veins flowed some of the
best blood of the Netherlands.

For three years the boy, who received the name of Geronimo, remained
under his mother's roof, when, by Charles's order, he was placed in the
hands of a Fleming, named Maffi, a musician in the imperial band. This
man transferred his residence to Leganes, a village in Castile, not far
from Madrid. The instrument still exists that contains the agreement by
which Maffi, after acknowledging the receipt of a hundred florins,
engages for fifty florins annually, to bring up the child with as much
care as if he were his own.[127] It was a moderate allowance, certainly,
for the nurture of one who was some day to come before the world as the
son of an emperor. It showed that Charles was fond of a bargain, though
at the expense of his own offspring.

No instruction was provided for the child except such as he could pick
up from the parish priest, who, as he knew as little as Maffi did of the
secret of Geronimo's birth, probably bestowed no more attention on him
than on the other lads of the village. And we cannot doubt that a boy of
his lively temper must have preferred passing his days in the open
fields, to confinement in the house and listening to the homilies of his
teacher. As he grew in years, he distinguished himself above his young
companions by his courage. He took the lead in all their rustic sports,
and gave token of his belligerent propensities by making war on the
birds in the orchards, on whom he did great execution with his little
crossbow.[128]

Four years were passed in this hardy way of life, which, if it did
nothing else for the boy, had the advantage of strengthening his
constitution for the serious trials of manhood, when the emperor thought
it was time to place him in a situation where he would receive a better
training than could be found in the cottage of a peasant. He was
accordingly transferred to the protection of Luis Quixada, Charles's
trusty major-domo, who received the child into his family at
Villagarcia, in the neighbourhood of Valladolid. The emperor showed his
usual discernment in the selection of a guardian for his son. Quixada,
with his zeal for the faith, his loyalty, his nice sentiment of honour,
was the very type of the Castilian hidalgo in his best form; while he
possessed all those knightly qualities which made him the perfect mirror
of the antique chivalry. His wife, Dona Magdalena de Ulloa, sister of
the marquis of Mota, was a lady yet more illustrious for her virtues
than for her rank. She had naturally the most to do with the training of
the boy's earlier years; and under her discipline it was scarcely
possible that one of so generous a nature should fail to acquire the
courtly breeding and refinement of taste which shed a lustre over the
stern character of the soldier.

However much Quixada may have reposed on his wife's discretion, he did
not think proper to try it, in the present instance, by communicating to
her the secret of Geronimo's birth. He spoke of him as the son of a
great man, his dear friend, expressing his desire that his wife would
receive him as her own child. This was the less difficult, as Magdalena
had no children of her own. The solicitude shown by her lord may
possibly have suggested to her the idea that the boy was more nearly
related to him than he chose to acknowledge,--in short, that he was the
offspring of some intrigue of Quixada previous to his marriage.[129] But
an event which took place not long after the child's introduction into
the family, is said to have awakened in her suspicions of an origin more
in accordance with the truth. The house at Villagarcia took fire; and,
as it was in the night, the flames gained such head that they were not
discovered till they burst through the windows. The noise in the street
roused the sleeping inmates; and Quixada, thinking first of his charge,
sprang from his bed, and, rushing into Geronimo's apartment, snatched up
the affrighted child, and bore him in his arms to a place of safety. He
then reentered the house, and, forcing his way through the smoke and
flames, succeeded in extricating his wife from her perilous situation.
This sacrifice of love to loyalty is panegyrized by a Castilian
chronicler as "a rare achievement, far transcending any act of heroism
of which antiquity could boast."[130] Whether Magdalena looked with the
same complacency on the proceeding we are not informed. Certain it is,
however, that the interest shown by her husband in the child had no
power to excite any feeling of jealousy in her bosom. On the contrary,
it seemed rather to strengthen her own interest in the boy, whose
uncommon beauty and affectionate disposition soon called forth all the
tenderness of her nature. She took him to her heart, and treated him
with all the fondness of a mother,--a feeling warmly reciprocated by the
object of it, who, to the day of his death, regarded her with the truest
feelings of filial love and reverence.

In 1558, the year after his retirement to Yuste, Charles the Fifth,
whether from a wish to see his son, or, as is quite as probable, in the
hope of making Quixada more contented with his situation, desired his
major-domo to bring his family to the adjoining village of Cuacos. While
there, the young Geronimo must doubtless sometimes have accompanied his
mother, as he called Dona Magdalena, in her visits to the monastery.
Indeed, his biographer assures us that the sight of him operated like a
panacea on the emperor's health.[131] We find no allusion to him,
however, in any of the letters from Yuste; and, if he did go there, we
may be sure that Charles had sufficient control over himself not to
betray, by any indiscreet show of fondness, his relationship to the
child.[132] One tradition respecting him lingered to a late period
among the people of Cuacos, where the peasants, it is said, pelted him
with stones as he was robbing their orchards. It was the first lesson in
war of the future hero of Lepanto.

[Sidenote: DON JOHN OF AUSTRIA.]

There is no reason to doubt that the boy witnessed the obsequies of the
emperor. One who was present tells us that he saw him there, dressed in
full mourning, and standing by the side of Quixada, for whose page he
passed among the brethren of the convent.[133] We may well believe that
a spectacle so solemn and affecting as these funeral ceremonies must
have sunk deep into his young mind, and heightened the feelings of
veneration with which he always regarded the memory of his father. It
was, perhaps, the appearance of Geronimo as one of the mourners that
first suggested the idea of his relationship to the emperor. We find a
letter from Quixada to Philip, dated soon after, in which he speaks of
rumours on the subject as current in the neighbourhood.[134]

Among the testamentary papers of Charles was found one in an envelope
sealed with his private seal, and addressed to his son Philip, or in
case of his death, to his grandson Carlos, or whoever might be in
possession of the crown. It was dated in 1554, before his retirement to
Yuste. It acknowledged his connexion with a German maiden, and the birth
of a son named Geronimo. The mother's name was not given. He pointed out
the quarter where information could be got respecting the child, who was
then living with the violin-player at Leganes. He expressed the wish
that he should be trained up for the ecclesiastical profession, and
that, when old enough, he should enter a convent of one of the reformed
orders. Charles would not, however, have any constraint put on the
inclinations of the boy, and in case of his preferring a secular life,
he would have a suitable estate settled on him in the kingdom of Naples,
with an annual income of between thirty and forty thousand ducats.
Whatever course Geronimo might take, the emperor requested that he
should receive all the honour and consideration due to him as his son.
His letter concluded by saying that, although for obvious reasons he had
not inserted these directions in his will, he wished them to be held of
the same validity as if he had.[135] Philip seems from the first to have
so regarded them, though, as he was then in Flanders, he resolved to
postpone the public acknowledgment of his brother till his return to
Spain.

Meanwhile, the rumours in regard to Geronimo's birth had reached the
ears of the regent, Joanna. With natural curiosity, she ordered her
secretary to write to Quixada and ascertain the truth of the report. The
trusty hidalgo endeavoured to evade the question, by saying that some
years since a friend of his had entrusted a boy to his care; but as no
allusion whatever was made to the child in the emperor's will, the story
of their relationship to each other should be treated as idle
gossip.[136] The reply did not satisfy Joanna, who seems to have settled
it in her own mind that the story was well founded. She took an
occasion soon after to write to Dona Magdalena, during her husband's
absence from home, expressing her wish that the lady would bring the boy
where she could see him. The place selected was at an _auto de fe_ about
to be celebrated in Valladolid. Dona Magdalena, reluctant as she was,
felt herself compelled to receive the request from such a source as a
command, which she had no right to disobey. One might have thought that
a ceremony so heartrending and appalling in its character as an _auto de
fe_ would be the last to be selected for the indulgence of any feeling
of a light and joyous nature. But the Spaniard of that and of a much
later age regarded this as the sweetest sacrifice that could be offered
to the Almighty; and he went to it with the same indifference to the
sufferings of the victim--probably with the same love of
excitement--which he would have felt in going to a bull-fight.

On the day which had been named, Magdalena and her charge took their
seats on the carpeted platform reserved for persons of rank, in full
view of the scaffold appropriated to the martyrs who were to suffer for
conscience' sake. It was in the midst of the august company here
assembled, that the son of Charles the Fifth was to receive his first
lesson in the school of persecution; that he was to learn to steel his
heart against sympathy with human suffering; to learn, above all, that
compassion for the heretic was a crime of the deepest dye. It was a
terrible lesson for one so young--of an age when the mind is most open
to impressions; and the bitter fruits of it were to be discerned ere
long in the war with the Moriscoes.

As the royal train approached the place occupied by Dona Magdalena, the
regent paused and looked around for the boy. Magdalena had thrown her
mantle about him, to conceal him as much as possible from the public
eye. She now drew it aside; and Joanna looked so long and earnestly on
the child, that he shrunk abashed from her gaze. It was not, however,
before she had recognized in his bright blue eyes, his ample forehead,
and the rich yellow locks that clustered round his head, some of the
peculiarities of the Austrian line, though happily without the deformity
of the protruding lip, which was no less its characteristic. Her heart
yearned with the tenderness of a sister, as she felt convinced that the
same blood flowed in his veins as in her own; and, stooping down, she
threw her arms around his neck, and, kissing him, called him by the
endearing name of brother.[137] She would have persuaded him to go with
her and sit by her side, but the boy, clinging closely to his
foster-mother, refused to leave her for the stranger lady.

This curious scene attracted the attention of the surrounding
spectators, which was hardly diverted from the child by the appearance
of the prisoners on the scaffold to receive their sentences. When these
had been pronounced, and the wretched victims led away to execution, the
multitude pressed so eagerly round Magdalena and the boy, that it was
with difficulty the guards could keep them back, till the regent, seeing
the awkwardness of their situation, sent one of her train, the count of
Osorno, to their relief; and that nobleman, forcing his way through the
crowd, carried off Geronimo in his arms to the royal carriage.[138]

[Sidenote: DON JOHN ACKNOWLEDGED BY PHILIP.]

It was not long before all mystery was dispelled by the public
acknowledgment of the child as the son of the emperor. One of the first
acts of Philip, after his return to Spain in 1559, was to arrange an
interview with his brother. The place assigned for the meeting was an
extensive park, not far from Valladolid, in the neighbourhood of the
convent of _La Espina_, a spot much resorted to by the Castilian princes
of the older time for the pleasures of the chase.

On the appointed day, Quixada, richly dressed, and mounted on the best
horse in his stables, rode forth, at the head of his vassals, to meet
the king, with the little Geronimo, simply attired, and on a common
palfrey, by his side. They had gone but a few miles when they heard,
through the woods, the sound of horses' hoofs, announcing the approach
of the royal cavalcade. Quixada halted, and alighting, drew near to
Geronimo, with much deference in his manner, and, dropping on one knee,
begged permission to kiss his hand. At the same time he desired his ward
to dismount, and take the charger which he had himself been riding.
Geronimo was sorely bewildered by what he would have thought a merry
jest on the part of his guardian, had not his sedate and dignified
character forbidden the supposition. Recovering from his astonishment,
he complied with his guardian's directions; and the vision of future
greatness must have flashed on his mind, if, as we are told, when
preparing to mount, he turned round to Quixada, and with an affected air
of dignity, told him that, "since things were so, he might hold the
stirrup for him."[139]

They had not proceeded far when they came in sight of the royal party.
Quixada pointed out the king to his ward, adding that his majesty had
something of importance to communicate to him. They then dismounted; and
the boy, by his guardian's instructions, drawing near to Philip, knelt
down and begged leave to kiss his majesty's hand. The king, graciously
extending it, looked intently on the youth; and at length broke silence
by asking "if he knew who was his father." Geronimo, disconcerted by the
abruptness of the question, and, indeed, if the reports of his origin
had ever reached his ears, ignorant of their truth, cast his eyes on the
ground and made no answer. Philip, not displeased with his
embarrassment, was well satisfied, doubtless, to read in his intelligent
countenance and noble mien an assurance that he would do no discredit to
his birth. Alighting from his horse, he embraced Geronimo, exclaiming,
"Take courage, my child, you are descended from a great man. The emperor
Charles the Fifth, now in glory, is your father as well as mine."[140]
Then, turning to the lords who stood around, he presented the boy to
them as the son of their late sovereign, and his own brother. The
courtiers, with the ready instinct of their tribe, ever prompt to
worship the rising sun, pressed eagerly forward to pay their obeisance
to Geronimo. The scene was concluded by the king's buckling a sword on
his brother's side, and throwing around his neck the sparkling collar of
the Golden Fleece.

The tidings of this strange event soon spread over the neighbourhood,
for there were many more witnesses of the ceremony than those who took
part in it; and the king and his retinue found, on their return, a
multitude of people gathering along the route, eager to get a glimpse of
this newly discovered gem of royalty. The sight of the handsome youth
called forth a burst of noisy enthusiasm from the populace, and the air
rang with their tumultuous _vivas_ as the royal party rode through the
streets of the ancient city of Valladolid. Philip expressed his
satisfaction at the events of the day, by declaring that "he had never
met better sport in his life, or brought back game so much to his
mind."[141]

Having thus publicly acknowledged his brother, the king determined to
provide for him an establishment suited to his condition. He assigned
him for his residence one of the best mansions in Madrid. He was
furnished with a numerous band of retainers, and as great state was
maintained in his household as in that of a prince of the blood. The
count of Priego acted as his chief major-domo; Don Luis Carrillo, the
eldest son of that noble, was made captain of the guard; and Don Luis de
Cordova master of the horse. In short, nobles and cavaliers of the best
blood in Castile did not disdain to hold offices in the service of the
peasant boy. With one or two exceptions, of little importance, he
enjoyed all the privileges that belonged to the royal _infantes_. He did
not, like them, have apartments in the palace; and he was to be
addressed by the title of "Excellency," instead of "Highness," which was
their peculiar prerogative. The distinction was not always scrupulously
observed.[142]

A more important change took place in his name, which from _Geronimo_
was now converted into _John of Austria_,--a lofty name, which intimated
his descent from the imperial house of Hapsburg, and on which his deeds
in after-life shed a lustre greater than the proudest title that
sovereignty could confer.

Luis Quixada kept the same place after his pupil's elevation as before.
He continued to be his _ayo_, or governor, and removed with Dona
Magdalena to Madrid, where he took up his residence in the house of Don
John. Thus living in the most intimate personal relations with him,
Quixada maintained his influence unimpaired till the hour of his own
death.

Philip fully appreciated the worth of the faithful hidalgo, who was
fortunate in thus enjoying the favour of the son in as great a degree as
he had done that of the father,--and, as it would seem, with a larger
recompense for his services. He was master of the horse to Don Carlos,
the heir to the crown; he held the important post of president of the
Council of the Indies; and he possessed several lucrative benefices in
the military order of Calatrava. In one of his letters to the king, we
find Quixada remarking that he had endeavoured to supply the
deficiencies of his pupil's early education by training him in a manner
better suited to his destinies in after-life.[143] We cannot doubt that,
in the good knight's estimate of what was essential to such a training,
the exercises of chivalry must have found more favour than the monastic
discipline recommended by the emperor. However this may have been,
Philip resolved to give his brother the best advantages for a liberal
education by sending him to the University of Alcala, which, founded by
the great Ximenes, a little more than a century before, now shared with
the older school of Salamanca the glory of being the most famous seat of
science in the Peninsula. Don John had for his companions his two
nephews, Don Carlos and Alexander Farnese, the son of Margaret of Parma.
They formed a triumvirate, each member of which was to fill a large
space in the pages of history; Don Carlos from his errors and
misfortunes, and the two others from their military achievements. They
were all of nearly the same age. Don John, according to a writer of the
time, stood foremost among the three for the comeliness, or rather
beauty of his person, no less than for the charm of his manners;[144]
while the soul was filled with those nobler qualities which gave promise
of the highest excellence.[145]

[Sidenote: DON JOHN'S THIRST FOR DISTINCTION.]

His biographers tell us that Don John gave due attention to his studies,
but the studies which found most favour in his eyes were those connected
with the art of war. He was perfect in all chivalrous accomplishments;
and he sighed for some field on which he could display them. The
knowledge of his real parentage filled his soul with a generous
ambition, and he longed by some heroic achievement to vindicate his
claim to his illustrious descent.

At the end of three years, in 1564, he left the university. The
following year was that of the famous siege of Malta; and all
Christendom hung in suspense on the issue of the desperate conflict,
which a handful of warriors, on their lonely isle, were waging against
the whole strength of the Ottoman empire. The sympathies of Don John
were roused in behalf of the Christian knights; and he resolved to cast
his own fortunes into the scale with theirs, and win his maiden laurels
under the banner of the Cross. He did not ask the permission of his
brother. That he knew would be refused to him. He withdrew secretly from
the court, and with only a few attendants took his way to Barcelona,
whence an armament was speedily to sail, to carry succour to the
besieged. Everywhere on the route he was received with the respect due
to his rank. At Saragossa he was lodged with the archbishop, under whose
roof he was detained by illness. While there he received a letter from
the king, who had learned the cause of his departure, commanding him to
return, as he was altogether too young to take part in this desperate
strife. Don John gave little heed to the royal orders. He pushed on to
Barcelona, where he had the mortification to find that the fleet had
sailed. He resolved to cross the mountains and take ship at Marseilles.
The viceroy of Catalonia could not dissuade the hot-headed youth from
his purpose, when another despatch came from court, in which Philip, in
a more peremptory tone than before, repeated his orders for his brother
to return, under pain of his severe displeasure. A letter from Quixada
had warned him of the certain disgrace which awaited him, if he
continued to trifle with the royal commands. Nothing remained but to
obey; and Don John, disappointed in his scheme of ambition, returned to
the capital.[146]

This adventure caused a great sensation throughout the country. The
young nobles and cavaliers about the court, fired by Don John's example,
which seemed like a rebuke on their own sluggishness, had hastened to
buckle on their armour, and follow him to the war.[147] The common
people, peculiarly sensible in Spain to deeds of romantic daring, were
delighted with the adventurous spirit of the young prince, which gave
promise that he was one day to take his place among the heroes of the
nation. This was the beginning of the popularity of John of Austria with
his countrymen, who in time came to regard him with feelings little
short of idolatry. Even Philip, however necessary he may have thought it
to rebuke the insubordination of his brother, must in his heart have
been pleased with the generous spirit he had exhibited. At least, the
favour with which he continued to regard the offender showed that the
royal displeasure was of no long continuance.

The sudden change in the condition of Don John might remind one of some
fairy tale, where the poor peasant boy finds himself all at once
converted by enchantment into a great prince. A wiser man than he might
well have had his head turned by such a rapid revolution of the wheel of
fortune; and Philip may naturally have feared that the idle dalliance of
a court, to which his brother was now exposed, might corrupt his simple
nature and seduce him from the honourable path of duty. Great,
therefore, must have been his satisfaction, when he saw that, far from
this, the elevation of the youth had only served to give a wider
expansion to his views, and to fill his bosom with still higher and
nobler aspirations.

The discreet conduct of Don John in regard to his nephew, Don Carlos,
when the latter would have engaged him in his wild and impracticable
schemes, established him still more firmly in the royal favour.[148]

In the spring of the year 1568, an opportunity occurred for Philip to
gratify his brother's ambition, by entrusting him with the command of a
fleet then fitting out, in the port of Carthagena, against the Barbary
corsairs, who had been making alarming depredations of late on the
Spanish commerce. But, while giving him this appointment, the king was
careful to supply the lack of experience in his brother by naming as
second in command an officer in whose abilities he perfectly confided.
This was Antonio de Zuniga y Requesens, grand commander of St. James, an
eminent personage, who will come frequently before the reader in the
progress of the narrative. Requesens, who at this time filled the post
of ambassador at Rome, was possessed of the versatility of talent so
important in an age when the same individual was often required to
exchange the duties of the cabinet for those of the camp. While Don John
appeared before the public as the captain of the fleet, the actual
responsibility for the conduct of the expedition rested on his
lieutenant.

On the third of June, Don John sailed out of port, at the head of as
brave an armament as ever floated on the waters of the Mediterranean.
The prince's own vessel was a stately galley, gorgeously fitted up, and
decorated with a profusion of paintings, the subjects of which, drawn
chiefly from ancient history and mythology, were of didactic import,
intended to convey some useful lesson to the young commander. The moral
of each picture was expressed by some pithy maxim inscribed beneath it
in Latin. Thus, to whatever quarter Don John turned his eyes, they were
sure to fall on some homily for his instruction; so that his galley
might be compared to a volume richly filled with illustrations, that
serve to impress the contents on the reader's memory.[149]

The cruise was perfectly successful; and Don John, on his return to
port, some eight months later, might boast that, in more than one
engagement, he had humbled the pride of the corsairs, and so far
crippled them that it would be long before they could resume their
depredations; that, in fine, he had vindicated the honour of his
country's flag throughout the Mediterranean.

His return to Madrid was welcomed with the honours of a triumph.
Courtier and commoner, men of all classes, in short, vied with each
other in offering up the sweet incense of adulation, filling his young
mind with lofty visions of the future, that beckoned him forward in the
path of glory.

[Sidenote: DON JOHN MADE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF.]

When the insurrection of the Moriscoes broke out in 1568, the eyes of
men naturally turned on Don John of Austria, as the person who would
most likely be sent to suppress it. But Philip thought it would be
safer to trust the command to those who, from their long residence in
the neighbourhood, were better acquainted with the character of the
country and of its inhabitants. When, however, the dissensions of the
rival chiefs made it necessary to send some one invested with such
powers as might enable him to overawe this factious spirit and enforce
greater concert of action, the council of state recommended Don John to
the command. Their recommendation was approved by the king, if, indeed,
it was not originally made at his suggestion.

Still the "prudent" monarch was careful not to invest his brother with
that independent command which the public supposed him to possess. On
the contrary, his authority was restricted within limits almost as
narrow as those which had curbed it in the Mediterranean. A council of
war was appointed, by whose opinions Don John was to be guided in every
question of moment. In case of a division of opinion, the question was
to be referred to the decision of Philip.[150]

The chief members of this body, in whom the supreme power was virtually
lodged, were the marquis of Mondejar, who from this time does not appear
to have taken the field in person; the duke of Sessa, grandson of the
great captain, Gonsalvo de Cordova, and endowed with no small portion of
the military talent of his ancestor; the archbishop of Granada, a
prelate possessed of as large a measure of bigotry as ever fell to the
lot of a Spanish ecclesiastic; Deza, president of the Audience, who
hated the Moriscoes with the fierce hatred of an inquisitor; and,
finally, Don John's faithful _ayo_, Quixada, who had more influence over
him than was enjoyed by any other, and who had come to witness the first
of his pupil's campaigns, destined, alas! to be the closing one of his
own.[151]

There could hardly have been a more unfortunate device than the
contrivance of so cumbrous a machinery as this council, opposed as it
was, from its very nature, to the despatch so indispensable to the
success of military operations. The mischief was increased by the
necessity of referring every disputed point to the decision of the king.
As this was a contingency that often occurred, the young prince soon
found almost as many embarrassments thrown in his way by his friends as
by his foes,--embarrassments which nothing but an uncommon spirit of
determination on his own part could have overcome.

On the sixth of April, 1569, Don John took leave of the king, then at
Aranjuez, and hastened towards the south. His coming was eagerly
expected by the inhabitants of Granada; by the Christians, from their
hopes that it would remedy the disorders in the army and bring the war
to a speedy conclusion; by the Moriscoes, from the protection they
anticipated he would afford them against the violence of the Spaniards.
Preparations were made in the capital for giving him a splendid
reception. The programme of the ceremonies was furnished by Philip
himself.[152] At some miles from the city, Don John was met by the count
of Tendilla, at the head of a small detachment of infantry, wearing
uniforms partly of the Castilian fashion, partly of the
Morisco,--presenting altogether a strange and picturesque spectacle, in
which silks, velvets, and rich embroidery floated gaily amidst the iron
mail and burnished weapons of the warrior.[153] As the prince proceeded
along his route, he was met by a long train of ecclesiastical and civic
functionaries, followed by the principal cavaliers and citizens of
Granada. At their head were the archbishop and the president, the latter
of whom was careful to assert his rank by walking on the right of the
prelate. Don John showed them both the greatest deference; and as they
drew near, he dismounted from his horse, and, embracing the two
churchmen, stood with hat in hand, for some moments, while conversing
with them.[154] As their train came up, the president presented the most
eminent persons to the prince, who received them with that frank and
graceful courtesy which won the hearts of all who approached him. He
then resumed his route, escorted on either side by the president and the
archbishop. The neighbouring fields were covered with spectators, and on
the plains of Beyro he found a large body of troops, not less than ten
thousand, drawn up to receive him. As he approached, they greeted him
with salvoes of musketry, delivered with admirable precision. As Don
John glanced over their beautiful array, and beheld their perfect
discipline and appointments, his eyes brightened and his cheek flushed
with a soldier's pride.

Hardly had he entered the gates of Granada, when he was surrounded by a
throng of women, who gathered about him in an attitude of supplication.
They were the widows, the mothers, and the daughters of those who had so
miserably perished in the massacres of the Alpujarras. They were clad in
mourning, some of them so scantily as too plainly to reveal their
poverty. Falling on their knees, with tears streaming from their eyes,
and their words rendered almost inarticulate by their sobs, they
demanded justice,--justice on the murderers of their kindred. They had
seen their friends fall, they said, beneath the blows of their
executioners; but the pain with which their hearts were then rent was
not so great as what they now felt on learning that the cruel acts of
these miscreants were to go unpunished.[155] Don John endeavoured to
calm their agitation by expressions of the deepest sympathy for their
misfortunes,--expressions of which none who saw his countenance could
doubt the truth; and he promised that he would do all in his power to
secure them justice.

A livelier scene awaited him as the procession held its way along the
streets of the ancient capital. Everywhere the houses were gaily
decorated with tapestries of cloth of gold. The multitude who thronged
the avenues filled the air with their loyal acclamations. Bright eyes
glanced from balconies and windows, where the noblest matrons and
maidens of Granada, in rich attire, were gathered to look upon the
splendid pageant, and the young hero who was the object of it.[156] In
this state he moved along until he reached the palace of the Royal
Audience, where, by the king's command, apartments had been sumptuously
fitted up for his accommodation.[157]

[Sidenote: DISCUSSIONS OF THE COUNCIL.]

The following day, a deputation waited on Don John from the principal
Moriscoes of the city, claiming his protection against the injuries and
insults to which they were exposed whenever they went abroad. They
complained especially of the Spanish troops quartered on them, and of
the manner in which they violated the sanctity of their dwellings by the
foulest outrages. Don John replied in a tone that expressed little of
the commiseration which he had shown to the female petitioners on the
preceding day. He told the Moriscoes that he had been sent to restore
order to Granada, and that those who had proved loyal would find
themselves protected in all their rights. Those, on the contrary, who
had taken part in the late rebellion, would be chastised with unsparing
rigour.[158] He directed them to state their grievances in a memorial,
with a caution to set down nothing which they could not prove, or it
would go hard with them. The unfortunate Moriscoes found that they were
to expect such justice only as comes from the hand of an enemy.

The first session of the council showed how defective was the system for
conducting the war. In the discussions that ensued, Mondejar remarked
that the contest, in his opinion, was virtually at an end; that the
Moriscoes, for the most part, were in so favourable a mood, that he
would undertake, if the affair were placed in his hands, to bring them
all to submission in a very short time. This proposal was treated with
contempt by the haughty president, who denounced them as a false-hearted
race, on whose promises no one could rely. The war, he said, would never
be ended so long as the Moriscoes of the capital were allowed to
communicate with their countrymen in the mountains, and to furnish them
with secret intelligence respecting what was passing in the Christian
camp. The first step was to remove them all from Granada into the
interior; the second, to make such an example of the miscreants who had
perpetrated the massacres in the Alpujarras as should strike terror into
the hearts of the infidels, and deter them from any further resistance
to authority. In this division of opinion the members took different
sides, according to the difference of their tempers. The
commander-in-chief and Quixada both leaned to Mondejar's opinion. After
a protracted discussion, it became necessary to refer the question to
the king, who was by no means distinguished for the promptness with
which he came to his conclusions. All this required much time, during
which active operations could not be resumed.[159]

Yet Don John did not pass it idly. He examined the state of the works in
Granada and its neighbourhood; he endeavoured to improve the condition
of the army, and to quell the spirit of insubordination which had risen
in some portions of it; finally, he sent his commands for enforcing
levies, not merely in Andalusia and the adjoining provinces, but in
Castile. The appeal was successful; and the great lords in the south,
more particularly, gathering their retainers, hastened to Granada, to
draw their swords under this popular chieftain.[160]

Meanwhile the delay was attended with most mischievous consequences, as
it gave the enemy time to recover from the disasters of the previous
campaign. Aben-Humeya had returned, as we have seen in the former
chapter, to his mountain throne, where he soon found himself in greater
strength than before. Even the "Moriscoes of the peace," as they were
called, who had resumed their allegiance to the crown, exasperated by
the outrages of the Spanish soldiery, and the contempt which they showed
for the safe-conduct of the marquis of Mondejar, now came in great
numbers to Aben-Humeya's camp, offering their services, and promising to
stand by him to the last. Other levies he drew from Africa. The Moslem
princes to whom he had applied for succour, though refusing to embark
openly in his cause, as he had desired, allowed such of their subjects
as chose to join his standard. In consequence a considerable body of
Barbary Moors crossed the sea, and entered into the service of the
Morisco chief. They were a fierce, intrepid race, accustomed to a life
of wild adventure, and possessing a better acquaintance with military
tactics than belonged to the Spanish mountaineers.[161]

While strengthened by these recruits, Aben-Humeya drew a much larger
revenue than formerly from his more extended domains.[162] Though showy
and expensive in his tastes, he did not waste it all on the maintenance
of the greater state which he now assumed in his way of living. He
employed it freely in the pay of foreign levies, and in procuring arms
and munitions for his own troops; and he profited by his experience in
the last campaign, and by the example of his African mercenaries, to
introduce a better system of tactics among his Morisco warriors. The
policy he adopted, as before, was to avoid pitched battles, and to
confine himself chiefly to the _guerilla_ warfare, better suited to the
genius of the mountaineer. He fell on small detachments of Spaniards,
who were patrolling the country, cut off the convoys, and thus greatly
straitened the garrisons in their supplies. He made forays into the
Christian territories, penetrating even into the _vega_, and boldly
carried the war up to the walls of Granada.

His ravages in this quarter, it is true, did not continue long after the
arrival of Don John, who took effectual measures for protecting the
capital from insult. But the prince was greatly chagrined by seeing the
rapid extension of the Morisco domain. Yet he could take no decisive
measures to check it until the council had determined on some plan of
operations. He was moreover fettered by the king's orders not to take
the field in person, but to remain and represent him in Granada, where
he would find enough to do in regulating the affairs and providing for
the safety of the city.[163] Philip seems to have feared that Don John's
adventurous spirit would lead him to some rash act that might
unnecessarily expose him to danger. He appears, indeed, as we may gather
from numerous passages in his letters, to have been more concerned for
the safety of his brother than for the success of the campaign.[164] He
may have thought, too, that it was better to trust the war to the hands
of the veteran chief, the marquis of Los Velez, who could boast so much
larger experience than Don John, and who had possessed the king with a
high idea of his military talents.

[Sidenote: THE WAR RENEWED.]

This nobleman still held the command of the country east of the
Alpujarras, in which lay his own large property. He had, as we have
seen, a hard and arrogant nature, which could ill brook the paramount
authority of the young commander-in-chief, to whom he rarely
condescended to write, preferring to make his communications directly to
the king.[165] Philip, prompted by his appetite for power, winked at
this irregular proceeding, which enabled him to take a more direct part
in the management of affairs than he could otherwise have done. It was a
most injudicious step, and was followed, as we shall see, by disastrous
consequences.

The marquis, without waiting for orders, resolved to open the campaign
by penetrating into the Alpujarras with the small force he had under his
command. But a body of some four hundred troops, which he had caused to
occupy the pass of Ravaha, was cut off by the enemy, and the haughty
chieftain reluctantly obeyed the orders of Don John to abandon his
design. Aben-Humeya's success encouraged him to attack the marquis in
his new quarters at Verja. It was a well-concerted enterprise, but
unfortunately, before the time arrived for its execution, it was
betrayed by a prisoner to the Spanish commander. It consequently failed.
Aben-Humeya penetrated into the heart of the town, where he found
himself in the midst of an ambuscade, and with difficulty, after a heavy
loss, effected his retreat. But if the victory remained with the
Spaniards, the fruits of it fell to the Moriscoes. The spirit shown by
the Moslem prince gave new life to his countrymen, and more than
counterbalanced the effects of his defeat. The rich and populous country
of the Rio de Almanzora rose in arms. The marquis of Los Velez found it
expedient to abandon his present position, and to transfer his quarters
to Adra, a seaport on the Mediterranean, which would afford him greater
facilities for receiving reinforcements and supplies.[166]

The spirit of insurrection now spread rapidly over other parts of the
Alpujarras, and especially along the sierra of Bentomiz, which stretches
from the neighbourhood of Alhama towards the south. Here the
mountaineers, who had hitherto taken no part in the troubles of the
country, ranging themselves under the crimson banner of Aben-Humeya,
broke forth into open rebellion. The inhabitants of Velez and of the
more important city of Malaga were filled with consternation, trembling
lest the enemy should descend on them from the mountains and deluge
their streets with blood. They hastily mustered the militia of the
country, and made preparations for their defence.

Fortunately, at this conjuncture, they were gladdened by the sight of
the grand-commander, Requesens, who sailed into the harbour of
Velez-Malaga with a squadron from Italy, having on board several
battalions of Spanish veterans, who had been ordered home by the
government to reinforce the army of the Alpujarras. There were no better
troops in the service, seasoned as they were by many a hard campaign,
and all under the most perfect discipline. The first step of
Requesens,--the same officer, it will be remembered, who had acted as
the lieutenant of Don John of Austria in his cruise in the
Mediterranean,--was to request of his young general the command of the
expedition against the rebels of Bentomiz. These were now gathered in
great force on the lofty table-land of Fraxiliana, where they had
strengthened the natural defences of the ground by such works as
rendered the approach to it nearly impracticable. The request was
readily granted; and the grand-commander of St. James, without loss of
time, led his battalions into the heart of the sierra.

We have not space for the details. It is enough to say that the
expedition was one of the best-conducted in the war. The enemy made a
desperate resistance; and, had it not been for the timely arrival of the
bold burghers of Malaga, the grand-commander would have been driven from
the field. The Morisco women fought by the side of their husbands; and
when all was lost, many threw themselves headlong from the precipices
rather than fall into the hands of the Spaniards.[167] Two thousand of
the enemy were slain, and three thousand captives, with an immense booty
of gold, silver, jewels, and precious stuffs, became the spoil of the
victors. The spirit of rebellion was effectually crushed in the sierra
of Bentomiz.

Yet it was not a bloodless victory. Full six hundred of the Christians
fell on the field of battle. The loss bore most heavily on the troops
from Italy. Nearly every captain in this valiant corps was wounded.[168]
The bloody roll displayed, moreover, the name of more than one cavalier
as distinguished for his birth as for his bravery. Two thousand
Moriscoes succeeded in making their escape to the camp of Aben-Humeya.
They proved a seasonable reinforcement, for that chief was meditating an
assault on Seron.[169]

This was a strongly-fortified place, perched like an eagle's eyry on the
summit of a bold cliff that looked down on the Rio de Almanzora, and
commanded its formidable passes. It was consequently a most important
post, and at this time was held by a Spanish garrison under an officer
named Mirones. Aben-Humeya sent a strong detachment against it,
intending to carry it by storm. But the Moriscoes had no battering
train, and, as it soon appeared, were little skilled in the art of
conducting a siege. It was resolved, therefore, to abandon the present
plan of operations, and to reduce the place by the slower but surer way
of blockade. Five thousand men, accordingly, sat down before the town on
the 18th of June, and effectually cut off all communication from abroad.

The garrison succeeded in conveying intelligence of their condition to
Don John, who lost no time in ordering Alonso de Carbajal to march with
a body of troops and a good supply of provisions to their relief. But,
just after his departure, Don John received information that the king
had entrusted the marquis of Los Velez with the defence of Seron. He,
therefore, by Quixada's advice, countermanded his orders to Carbajal,
and directed him to return. That officer, who had approached within a
short distance of the place, reluctantly obeyed, and left Seron to its
fate. The marquis of Los Velez, notwithstanding the jealousy he
displayed of the interference of Don John in the affair, showed so
little alacrity in providing for the safety of the beleaguered fortress,
that the garrison, reduced to extremity, on the eleventh of July,
surrendered on honourable terms. But no sooner had they given up the
place, than the victors, regardless of the terms of capitulation,
murdered in cold blood every male over twelve years of age, and made
slaves of the women and children. This foul act was said to have been
perpetrated by the secret command of Aben-Humeya. The Morisca chief
might allege, in vindication of his perfidy, that he had but followed
the lesson set him by the Spaniards.[170]

[Sidenote: REMOVAL OF THE MORISCOES.]

The loss of Seron caused deep regret to the army. Nor could this regret
be mitigated by the reflection, that its loss was to be attributed not
so much to the valour of the Moslems as to the misconduct of their own
commanders, or rather to the miserable system adopted for carrying on
the war. The triumph of the Moriscoes, however, was greatly damped by
the intelligence which they had received, shortly before the surrender
of Seron, of disasters that had befallen their countrymen in Granada.

Philip, after much hesitation, had given his sanction to Deza's project
for the removal of the Moriscoes from the capital into the interior of
the country. The day appointed for carrying the measure into effect was
the twenty-third of June. A large body of troops, with the principal
commanders, was secretly assembled in the capital to enforce the
execution of the plan. Meanwhile, rumours were current that the
Moriscoes in the city were carrying on a secret communication with their
countrymen in the Alpujarras; that they supplied the mountaineers with
arms and money; that the young men were leaving Granada to join their
ranks; finally, that a conspiracy had been planned for an assault on the
city, and even that the names of the leaders were given. It is
impossible, at this time, to say what foundation there was for these
charges; but the reader may recollect that similar ones had been
circulated previous to the barbarous massacre in the prison of the
Chancery.

On the twenty-third of the month, on the eve of St John's, an edict was
published, commanding all the Morisco males in Granada between ten and
sixty years of age, to repair to the parish churches to which they
respectively belonged, where they were to learn their fate. The women
were to remain some time longer in the city, to dispose of the most
valuable effects, such as could not easily be transported. This was not
difficult, at the low prices for which, in their extremity, they were
obliged to part with their property. We are left in ignorance of the
fate of the children, who, no doubt, remained in the hands of the
government, to be nurtured in the Roman Catholic faith.[171]

Nothing could exceed the consternation of the Moriscoes on the
publication of this decree, for which, though so long suspended by a
thread, as it were, over their heads, they were wholly unprepared. It is
not strange, as they recalled the atrocious murders perpetrated in the
prison of the Chancery, that they should have been led to believe that
nothing less than a massacre of the whole Moorish population was now
designed. It was in vain that the marquis of Mondejar endeavoured to
allay their fears. They were somewhat comforted by the assurance of the
President Deza, given under his own hand, that their lives were in no
danger. But their apprehensions on this point were not wholly quieted
till Don John had pledged his royal word that no harm should come to
their persons; that, in short, the great object of the government was to
secure their safety. They then submitted without any attempt at
resistance. Resistance, indeed, would have been hardly possible,
destitute as they were of weapons or other means of defence, and
surrounded on all quarters by the well-armed soldiery of Castile. They
accordingly entered the churches assigned to them, at the doors of which
strong guards were stationed during the night.

On the following morning the Moriscoes were marched out and formed into
a procession, which was to take its way to the great hospital in the
suburbs. This was a noble building, erected by the good Queen Isabella
the Catholic, not long after the Conquest. Here they were to stay till
the arrangements were completed for forming them into divisions
according to their several places of destination. It was a sad and
solemn spectacle, that of this company of exiles, as they moved with
slow and uncertain step, bound together by cords,[172] and escorted, or
rather driven along like a gang of convicts, by the fierce soldiery.
There they were, the old and the young, the rich and the poor, now,
alas! brought to the same level, the forms of most of them bowed down,
less by the weight of years than of sorrow, their hands meekly folded on
their breasts, their cheeks wet with tears, as they gazed for the last
time on their beautiful city, the sweet home of their infancy, the proud
seat of ancient empire, endeared to them by so many tender and glorious
recollections.[173]

The march was conducted in an orderly manner, with but a single
interruption, which, however, was near being attended by the most
disastrous consequences. A Spanish alguazil, offended at some words that
fell from one of the prisoners--for so they might be called--requited
him with a blow from his staff. But the youth whom he struck had the
fiery blood of the Arab in his veins. Snatching up a broken tile, he
dealt such a blow on the offender's head as nearly severed his ear from
it. The act cost him his life. He was speedily cut down by the
Spaniards, who rushed to the assistance of their wounded comrade. A
rumour now went round that the Moriscoes had attempted the life of Don
John, whose dress resembled in its colour that of the alguazil. The
passions of the soldiery were roused. They flocked to the scene of
violence, uttering the most dreadful imprecations. Their swords and
lances glittered in the air, and in a few moments would have been
sheathed in the bodies of their terrified victims.

Fortunately, the quick eye of Don John discerned the confusion.
Surrounded by a body-guard of arquebusiers, he was there in person to
superintend the removal of the Moriscoes. Spurring his horse forward
into the midst of the tumult, and showing himself to the troops, he
exclaimed that no one had offered him any harm. He called on them to
return to their duty, and not to dishonour him as well as themselves, by
offering violence to innocent men, for whose protection he had so
solemnly pledged his word. The soldiers, abashed by the rebuke of their
young chief, and satisfied with the vengeance they had taken on the
offender, fell back into their ranks. The trembling Moriscoes gradually
recovered from their panic, the procession resumed its march, and
without further interruption reached the hospital of Isabella.[174]

[Sidenote: REMOVAL OF THE MORISCOES.]

There the royal _contadores_ were not long in ascertaining the number of
the exiles. It amounted to thirty-five hundred. That of the women, who
were soon to follow, was much greater.[175] The names, the ages, and the
occupations of the men were all carefully registered. The following day
they were marched into the great square before the hospital, where they
were distributed into companies, each under a strong escort, to be
conducted to their various places of destination. These, far from being
confined to Andalusia, reached into New Castile. In this arrangement we
may trust that so much respect was paid to the dictates of humanity, as
not to separate those of the same kindred from one another. But the
chroniclers give no information on the subject; probably regarding
details of this sort, in regard to the fallen race, as below the dignity
of history.

It was on the twenty-fifth of June, 1569, that, bidding a sad farewell
to the friends and companions of their youth, from whom they were now to
be for ever parted, they set forth on their doleful pilgrimage. The
morning light had broken on the red towers of the Alhambra, as the bands
of exiles, issuing from the gates of their beloved capital, the spot
dearest to them upon earth, turned their faces towards their new
homes,--homes which many of them were destined never to behold. The
government, with shameful indifference, had neglected to provide for the
poor wanderers the most common necessaries of life. Some actually
perished of hunger by the way. Others, especially those accustomed from
infancy to a delicate nurture, sank down and died of fatigue. Some were
seized by the soldiers, whose cupidity was roused by the sight of their
helplessness, and were sold as slaves. Others were murdered by their
guards in cold blood.[176] Thus reduced far below their original number,
they reached their appointed places, there to linger out the remainder
of their days in the midst of a population who held them in that
abhorrence with which a good Catholic of the sixteenth century regarded
"the enemies of God."[177]

But the evils which grew out of this stern policy of the government were
not wholly confined to the Moriscoes. This ingenious people were so far
superior to the Spaniards in the knowledge of husbandry, and in the
various mechanical arts, that they formed the most important part of the
population of Granada. The only art in which their rivals excelled them
was that which thrives at the expense of every other--the art of war.
Aware of this, the government had excepted some of the best artisans in
the capital from the doom of exile which had fallen on their countrymen,
and they had accordingly remained in the city. But their number was too
small to produce the result desired; and it was not long before the
quarter of the town which had been occupied by the Moriscoes exhibited a
scene of woeful desolation. The light and airy edifices, which displayed
in their forms the fantastic graces of Arabian architecture, fell
speedily into decay. The parterres and pleasure-grounds, filled with
exotics, and glowing in all the exuberance of southern vegetation,
became a wilderness of weeds; and the court-yards and public squares,
where tanks and sparkling fountains, fed by the streams of the Sierra
Nevada, shed a refreshing coolness over the atmosphere in the sultriest
months of summer, were soon converted into a melancholy heap of rubbish.

The mischiefs growing out of the removal of the Moriscoes fell sorely on
the army. The men had been quartered, as we have seen, in the houses of
the Moriscoes. From the present occupants, for the most part needy and
thriftless speculators, they met with very different fare from what they
had enjoyed under the former wealthy and luxurious proprietors. The
troops supplied the deficiency, as far as they could, by plundering the
citizens. Hence incessant feuds arose between the people and the army,
and a spirit of insubordination rapidly grew up in the latter, which
made it more formidable to its friends than to its foes.[178]

An eyewitness of these troubles closes his narrative of the removal of
the Moriscoes by remarking that it was a sad spectacle to one who
reflected on the former policy and prosperity of this ill-starred race;
who had seen their sumptuous mansions in the day of their glory, their
gardens and pleasure-grounds, the scene of many a gay revel and jocund
holiday, and who now contrasted all this with the ruin into which
everything had fallen.[179] "It seems," he concludes, "as if Providence
had intended to show, by the fate of this beautiful city, that the
fairest things in this world are the most subject to decay."[180] To the
philosopher of the present age it may seem rather the natural result of
that system of religious intolerance which had converted enemies those
who, under a beneficent rule, would have been true and loyal subjects,
and who by their industry and skill would have added incalculably to the
resources of the country.




CHAPTER VI.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES.

Operations of Los Velez--Conspiracy against Aben-Humeya--His
Assassination--Election of Aben-Aboo--Vigorous Prosecution of the
War--Fierce Combats in the Vega--Impetuous Spirit of Don John--Surprise
of Guejar.

1569.


While the events related in the preceding chapter were occurring, the
marquis of Los Velez lay, with a considerable force, at Adra, a port on
the Mediterranean, at the foot of the Alpujarras, which he had selected
chiefly from the facilities it would afford him for getting supplies for
his army. In this he was disappointed. Before the month of June had
expired, his troops had begun to be straitened for provisions. The evil
went on increasing from day to day. His levies, composed chiefly of raw
recruits from Andalusia, were full of that independent, and indeed
turbulent spirit, which belongs to an ill-disciplined militia. There was
no lack of courage in the soldiery. But the same men who had fearlessly
braved the dangers of the campaign, now growing impatient under the
pinch of hunger, abandoned their colours in great numbers.

There were various causes for the deficiency of supplies. The principal
one of these may probably be found in the remissness of the council of
war, several of whose members regarded the marquis with an evil eye, and
were not sorry to see his embarrassments.

[Sidenote: OPERATIONS OF LOS VELEZ.]

Some vigorous measures were instantly to be taken, or the army, it was
evident, would soon altogether melt away. By the king's command, orders
were despatched to Requesens, who lay with his squadron off the port of
Velez-Malaga, to supply the camp with provisions, while it received
reinforcements, as before, principally from the Andalusian militia. The
army received a still more important accession in the well-disciplined
veterans who had followed the grand-commander from Italy. Thus
strengthened, and provisioned for a week or more, Los Velez, at the head
of twelve thousand men, set forth on the twenty-sixth of July, and
struck at once into the Alpujarras. He had been directed by the council
to establish himself at Ugibar, which, by its central position, would
enable him to watch the movements of Aben-Humeya, and act on any point
as occasion required.

The marquis, without difficulty, defeated a force of some five or six
thousand men, who had been stationed to oppose his entrance into the
mountain country. He then pressed forward, and on the high lands beyond
Ugibar--which place he had already occupied--he came in sight of
Aben-Humeya, with the flower of his troops drawn up to receive him.

The two chiefs, in their characters, their persons, and their
equipments, might be considered as no bad types of the European and the
Arab chivalry. The marquis, sheathed in complete mail, of a sable
colour, and mounted on his heavy war-horse, also covered with armour,
was to be seen brandishing a lance which, short and thick, seemed rather
like a truncheon, as he led his men boldly on, prepared to plunge at
once into the thick of the fight.[181] He was the very emblem of brute
force. Aben-Humeya, on the other hand, gracefully managing his
swift-footed, snow-white Andalusian, with his Morisco mantle of crimson
floating lightly from his shoulders, and his Turkish turban wreathed
around his head,[182] instead of force, suggested the opposite ideas of
agility and adroitness, so characteristic of the children of the East.

Riding along his lines, the Morisco prince exhorted his followers not to
fear the name of Los Velez: for, in the hour of danger, God would aid
His own; and better was it, at any rate, to die like brave men in the
field, than to live dishonoured.[183] Notwithstanding these magnanimous
words, it was far from Aben-Humeya's wish to meet his enemy in a fair
field of fight. It was contrary to the genius and the habit of his
warfare, which was of the guerilla kind, abounding in sallies and
surprises, in which, seeking some vulnerable point, he could deal his
blow and retreat precipitately among the mountains.

Yet his followers, though greatly inferior in numbers to the enemy,
behaved with spirit; and the field was well contested, till a body of
Andalusian horse, making a _detour_ under cover of some rising ground,
fell unexpectedly on the rear of the Moriscoes, and threw them into
confusion. The marquis pressing them at the same time vigorously in
front, they broke, and soon gave way on all sides. Aben-Humeya,
perceiving the day lost, gave the rein to his high-mettled genet, who
swiftly bore him from the field; and, though hotly pursued, he soon left
his enemies behind. On reaching the foot of the Sierra Nevada, the chief
dismounted, and hamstringing his noble animal, plunged into the depths
of the mountains, which again opened their friendly arms to receive
him.[184] Yet he did not remain there long before he was joined by his
followers; and no sooner was he in sufficient strength, than he showed
himself on the eastern skirts of the sierra, whence, like an eagle
stooping on his prey, he rushed down upon the plains below, sweeping
through the rich valley of the Rio de Almanzora, and carrying fire and
sword to the very borders of Murcia. Here he revenged himself on Los
Velez by falling on his town of Las Cuevas, firing his dwellings,
ravaging his estates, and rousing his Morisco vassals to rebellion.[185]

Meanwhile the marquis, instead of following up his victory, remained
torpid within the walls of Calahorra. Here he had desired the council to
provide stores for the subsistence of his army. To his dismay, none had
been provided; and as his own attempts to procure them were
unsuccessful, he soon found himself in the same condition as at Adra.
The famine-stricken troops, with little pay and less plunder, first
became discontented, then mutinous, and at length deserted in great
numbers. It was in vain that the irascible old chief poured out his
wrath in menaces and imprecations. His arrogant temper had made him
hated even more than he was feared by his soldiers. They now went off,
not stealthily and by night, but in the open day, whole companies at a
time, their arquebuses on their shoulders, and their matches
lighted.[186] When Don Diego Fajardo, the marquis's son, endeavoured to
stay them, one, more audacious than the rest, lodged a musket-ball in
his body. It was not long before the gallant array with which the
marquis had so proudly entered the Alpujarras, was reduced to less than
three thousand men. Among them were the Italian veterans, who refused to
tarnish their well-earned laurels by thus basely abandoning their
commander.

The council of war complained loudly to the king of the fatal inactivity
of the marquis, and of his neglect to follow up the advantages he had
gained. Los Velez angrily retorted by throwing the blame on that body,
for neglecting to furnish him with the supplies which would have enabled
him to do so. Philip, alarmed, with reason, at the critical aspect of
affairs, ordered the marquis of Mondejar to repair to court, that he
might confer with him on the state of the country. This was the avowed
motive for his recall. But, in truth, it seems probable that the king,
aware of that nobleman's leaning to a pacific policy, and of his
personal hostility to Los Velez, deemed it best to remove him altogether
from any share in the conduct of the war. This he did most effectually,
by sending him into honourable exile, first appointing him Viceroy of
Valentia, and afterwards raising him to the important post of Viceroy of
Naples. From this period the name of Mondejar no more appears on the
theatre of the Morisco war.[187]

[Sidenote: DECLINE OF ABEN-HUMEYA'S POPULARITY.]

The marquis did not win the favour to which he was entitled by his
deserts. He seems to have possessed some of the best qualities of a good
captain. Bold in action, he was circumspect in council. Slow and
sagacious in the formation of his plans, he carried them out with
singular perseverance. He knew the country well which was the seat of
the insurrection, and perfectly understood the character of its
inhabitants. What was more rare, he made allowance for the excesses into
which they had been drawn by a long course of insult and oppression. The
humanity of his disposition combined with his views of policy to make
him rely more on conciliatory measures than on fear, for the reduction
of the enemy. How well this worked we have seen. Had he been properly
supported by those engaged with him in the direction of affairs, we can
hardly doubt of his ultimate success. But, unhappily, the two most
prominent of these, the President Deza and the Marquis of Los Velez,
were narrow-minded, implacable bigots, who, far from feeling compassion
for the Moriscoes, looked on the whole race as "God's enemies."
Unfortunately, these views found favour with the government; and
Philip, who rightly thought that the marquis of Mondejar would only
prove a hindrance to carrying on hostilities with vigour, acted
consistently in sending him from the country. Yet, while he was thus
removed from the conduct of the war, it may be thought an unequivocal
acknowledgment of Mondejar's deserts, that he was transferred to the
most considerable post in the gift of the crown.

Before the marquis's departure, Philip had transferred his court to
Cordova, in order to facilitate his communication with the seat of war.
He hoped, too, that the knowledge of his being so near would place some
check on the disorderly temper of the soldiery, and animate them with
more loyal and patriotic feelings. In this way of proceeding he
considered himself as imitating the example of his great ancestors,
Ferdinand and Isabella, who, during the war of Granada, usually
transferred their court to one of the capitals of the South. He did not,
however, think it necessary, like them, to lead his armies in person,
and share in the toils of the campaign.

On the nineteenth of October, Philip published an edict, which intimated
his design of following up the war with vigour. It commanded that such
of the Moriscoes as had hitherto been allowed to remain in Granada
should now be removed from it, in order that no means of communication
might be left to them with their brethren in the mountains. It was
further proclaimed, that the war henceforth was to be carried on with
"fire and blood;"[188] in other words, that no mercy was to be shown the
insurgents. This was the first occasion on which this fierce
denunciation had been made by the government. To reconcile the militia
of the towns to the service, their pay was to be raised to a level with
that of the Italian volunteers; and to relieve the towns, the greater
part of the expense was to be borne by the crown. Before the publication
of this ordinance the king had received intelligence of an event
unexpected alike by Christian and by Moslem--the death of Aben-Humeya,
and that by the hands of some of his own followers.

The Morisco prince, after carrying the war up to the borders of Murcia,
laid siege to two or three places of strength in that quarter. As might
have been expected, he failed in these attempts, from his want of
battering artillery. Thus foiled, he led back his forces into the
Alpujarras, and established his quarters in the ancient Moorish palace
of Lanjaron, on the <DW72>s of the mountains commanding the beautiful
valley of Lecrin. Here the torpid condition of the Spaniards under Los
Velez allowed the young monarch to remain, and give himself up to those
sensual indulgences with which the Moslem princes of the East were apt
to solace their leisure in the intervals of war. His harem rivalled that
of any Oriental satrap in the number of its inmates. This was strange to
the Moriscoes, who, since their nominal conversion to Christianity, had
of course repudiated polygamy. In the eyes of the Moslems, it might pass
for good evidence of their prince's orthodoxy.

Ever since Aben-Humeya's ascent to the throne he had been declining in
popularity. His handsome person, the courtesy of his manners, his
chivalrous spirit, and his devotion to the cause, had easily won him the
affections of his subjects. But a too sudden elevation had unfortunately
that effect on him which it is wont to have on weak minds, without any
settled principles or lofty aim to guide them. Possessed of power, he
became tyrannical in the use of it.[189] His arbitrary acts created
enemies, not the less dangerous that they were concealed. The
consciousness of the wrongs he had committed made him suspicious. He
surrounded himself with a body-guard of four hundred men. Sixteen
hundred more were quartered in the place where he was residing; and the
principal avenues to it, we are told, were defended by barricades.[190]
Those whom he suspected he treated with particular kindness. He drew
them around his person, overwhelmed them with favours, and, when he had
won them by a show of confidence, he struck the fatal blow.[191] During
the short period of his reign, no less than three hundred and fifty
persons, we are assured, fell victims to his jealousy or his
revenge.[192]

Among Aben-Humeya's officers was one named Diego Alguazil, who had a
beautiful kinswoman, with whom he lived, it is said, on terms of greater
intimacy than was justified by the relationship of the parties. As he
was one day imprudently speaking of her to Aben-Humeya in the glowing
language of a lover, the curiosity of the king was so much inflamed by
it that he desired to see her. In addition to her personal charms, the
fair Zahara was mistress of many accomplishments which rendered her
still more attractive. She had a sweet voice, which she accompanied
bewitchingly on the lute, and in her dancing displayed all the soft and
voluptuous movements of the dark-eyed beauties of Andalusia.[193] When
brought before the king, she did her best to please him; for though
attached, as it seems, to her kinsman, the ambitious coquette had no
objection to having a royal suitor in her chains. In this she perfectly
succeeded; and the enamoured prince intimated his desire to Alguazil
that he would resign to him the possession of his mistress. But the
Morisco loved her too well; and neither threats nor promises of the most
extravagant kind were able to extort his consent. Thus baffled, the
reckless Aben-Humeya, consulting only his passion, caused the perhaps
not reluctant Zahara to be taken by force and lodged in his harem. By
this act he made a mortal enemy of Alguazil.

Nor did he long enjoy the favour of his new mistress, who, come of an
ancient lineage in Granada,[194] had hoped to share the throne of the
Morisco monarch. But Aben-Humeya's passion did not carry him to this
extent of complaisance; and Zahara, indignant at finding herself
degraded to the rank and file of the seraglio, soon breathed only a
desire for vengeance. In this state of things she found the means of
communicating with her kinsman, and arranged with him a plan for
carrying their murderous intent into execution.

[Sidenote: CONSPIRACY AGAINST ABEN-HUMEYA.]

The most important corps in the Morisco army was that of the Turkish
mercenaries. But they were so fierce and turbulent a race that
Aben-Humeya paid dear for their services. A strong body of these troops
lay on the frontiers of Orgiba, under the command of Aben-Aboo--a near
relative of the Morisco prince, whose life, it may be remembered, he had
once saved by submitting to every extremity of torture rather than
betray his lurking-place. To this commander Aben-Humeya despatched a
messenger, directing him to engage the Turks in a certain expedition,
which would serve both to give them employment, and to satisfy their
appetite for plunder.

The time named for the messenger's departure was communicated by Zahara
to her kinsman, who caused him to be waylaid and murdered, and his
despatches to be secured. He then had a letter written to Aben-Aboo,
which bore apparently the royal signature. This was counterfeited by his
nephew, a young man then holding the post of secretary to Aben-Humeya,
with whom he had lately conceived some cause of disgust. The letter
stated that the insubordination of the Turks made them dangerous to the
state; and that in some way or other they must be removed, and that
speedily. With this view, Aben-Aboo was directed to march them to
Mecina, on the frontiers of the Sierra Nevada, where he would be joined
by Diego Alguazil, with a party of soldiers, to assist him in carrying
the plan into execution. The best mode, it was suggested, of getting rid
of the Turks, would be by poison.

This letter was despatched by a courier, who was speedily followed by
Alguazil and a hundred soldiers, as the cunning conspirator desired to
present himself before Aben-Aboo without leaving him time for
consideration.

He found that commander in a state of the utmost perplexity and
consternation. Alguazil declared that he had come in consequence of
certain instructions he had received from the king, of too atrocious a
nature for him to execute. Aben-Aboo had as little mind to perform the
bloody work assigned to him. He had no distrust of the genuineness of
the letter. Hosceyn, the commander of the Turks, happening to pass the
house at that time, was called in, and the despatches were shown to him.
The fiery chief insisted on communicating them to some of his comrades.
The greatest indignation prevailed among the Turkish leaders, outraged
by this base treachery of the very man whom they had come to serve at
the peril of their lives. They one and all demanded, not his deposition,
but his death. Diego Alguazil saw that his scheme was working well. He
artfully fanned the flame, and professed to share deeply in the
indignation of the Moslems. It was at length agreed to put the tyrant to
death, and to offer the crown to Aben-Aboo.

This chieftain enjoyed a high reputation for sagacity and prudence. His
passions, unlike those of Aben-Humeya, seemed ever under the control of
his reason; and, far from indulging an ill-regulated ambition, he had
been always faithful to his trust. But the present temptation was too
strong for his virtue. He may have thought that, since the throne was to
be vacant, the descendant of the Omeyas had a better claim to it than
any other. Whatever may have been the sophistry to which he yielded, he
knew that those who now promised him the crown had the power to make
their promise good. He gave his assent on condition that, in the course
of three months, his election should be confirmed by the dey of Algiers,
as the representative of the Turkish sultan.

Having arranged their plans, the conspirators lost no time in putting
them in execution. They set out that very hour, on the evening of the
third of October, for Lanjaron, with a body of four hundred troops--one
half being Turks, the other Moriscoes. By midnight they reached their
place of destination. Diego Alguazil and the Turkish captains were too
well known as enjoying the confidence of Aben-Humeya to meet with any
opposition to their entrance into the town. Nor, though the Morisco king
had retired to rest, did the guard oppose any difficulty to their
passing into his dwelling. Proceeding to his chamber, they found the
doors secured, but speedily forced an entrance. Neither arm nor voice
was raised in his defence.[195]

Aben-Humeya, roused from sleep by the tumult, would have sprung from his
couch; but the faithless Zahara held him fast in her embrace, until
Diego Alguazil and some others of the conspirators, rushing in, bound
his arms together with a Moorish veil.[196] Indeed, he was so much
bewildered as scarcely to attempt resistance.

The Turkish commander then showed him the letter. Aben-Humeya recognized
the writing of his secretary, but declared that he had never dictated
such a letter, nor was the signature his. How far his assertion gained
credit we are not informed. But the conspirators had already gone too
far to be forgiven. To recede was death. Either Aben-Humeya or they must
be sacrificed. It was in vain that he protested his innocence, and that
he offered to leave the question to the sultan, or to the dey of
Algiers, or to any person competent to decide it. But little heed was
given to his protestations, as the conspirators dragged him into an
adjoining apartment. The unhappy young man perceived that his hour was
come--that there was no one of all his friends or menials to interpose
between him and his fate. From that moment he changed his tone, and
assumed a bearing more worthy of his station. "They are mistaken," he
said, "who suppose me to be a follower of the Prophet. I die, as I have
lived, in the Christian faith. I accepted the post of head of the
rebellion that I might the better avenge the wrongs heaped on me and my
family by the Spaniards. They have been avenged in full measure, and I
am now ready to die. Neither," said he, turning to Aben-Aboo, his
destined successor, "do I envy you. It will not be long before you will
follow me." He then, with his own hands, coolly arranged around his neck
the cord with which he was to be strangled, adjusted his robes, and,
covering his face with his mantle, submitted himself without a struggle
to his executioners.[197]

His body was thrown into a neighbouring sewer, with as little concern as
if it had been that of a dog. There it continued, till Don John of
Austria, hearing that Aben-Humeya had died a Christian, caused his
remains to be removed to Guadix, and laid in the ground with the
solemnities of Christian burial.[198]

That Aben-Humeya should have come to so miserable an end is not strange.
The recklessness with which he sacrificed all who came between him and
the gratification of his passions, surrounded him with enemies, the more
dangerous in a climate where the blood is hot, and the feeling of
revenge is easily kindled in the bosom. At the beginning of his reign
his showy qualities won him a popularity which, however, took no root in
the affections of the people, and which faded away altogether when the
defects of his character were more fully brought to light by the
exigencies of his situation; for he was then found to possess neither
the military skill necessary to insure success in the field, nor those
higher moral attributes which command respect and obedience at home.

[Sidenote: CHARACTER OF ABEN-ABOO.]

Very different was the character of his successor, Aben-Aboo. Instead
of displaying the frivolous and licentious tastes of Aben-Humeya, his
private life was without reproach. He was much older than his
predecessor; and if he had not the same fiery enthusiasm and dashing
spirit of adventure which belonged to Aben-Humeya, he discovered both
forecast in the formation of his plans, and singular courage in carrying
them into execution. All confided in his integrity; while the decorum
and gravity of his demeanour combined with the more substantial
qualities of his character to inspire a general feeling of reverence in
the people.[199] It was not till the time of his proposed elevation to
the supreme power, that the lustre of these qualities was darkened by
the perpetration of one foul deed,--his connivance at the conspiracy
against his sovereign. But if he were really the dupe, as we are told,
of Alguazil's plot, he might plead, to some extent, the necessity of
self-preservation; for he may well have believed that, if he refused to
aid Aben-Humeya in the execution of his bloody purpose in reference to
the Turks, the tyrant would not long suffer him to live in possession of
a secret so perilous to himself. At all events, the part he had taken in
the conspiracy seems to have given no disgust to the people, who, weary
of the despotism under which they had been living, welcomed with
enthusiasm the accession of the new sovereign. Many places which had
hitherto taken no part in the struggle for independence, now sent in
their adhesion to Aben-Aboo, who soon found himself the ruler over a
wider extent of territory than, at any time, had acknowledged the sway
of his predecessor.

It was not long before the confirmation of his election arrived from
Algiers; and Aben-Aboo, assuming the regal name of Muley Abdallah
Mohammed as a prefix to his own, went through the usual simple forms of
a coronation of a king of Granada. In his right hand on this occasion,
he bore a banner inscribed with the legend, "More I could not
desire--less would not have contented me."[200] Such an inscription
maybe thought to intimate that a more aspiring temper lurked within his
bosom than the world had given him credit for.

The new sovereign did not, like his predecessor, waste his time in
effeminate sloth. He busied himself with various important reforms,
giving especially a new organization to the army, and importing a large
quantity of arms and munitions from Barbary. He determined not to allow
his men time for discontent, but to engage them at once in active
service. The first object he proposed was the capture of Orgiba, a
fortified place, which commanded the route to Granada, and which served
as a point of communication between that capital and remoter parts of
the country.

Aben-Aboo got everything in readiness with such despatch, that on the
twenty-sixth of October, a few weeks only after the death of
Aben-Humeya, he set out on his expedition at the head of a
well-appointed army, consisting of more than ten thousand men, partly
foreign mercenaries and partly natives. Hastening his march, he soon
presented himself before Orgiba, and laid siege to the place. He pushed
matters forward so vigorously, that in a few days he was prepared to
storm the works. Four times he brought his men to the assault; but
though, on the fourth, he succeeded in throwing himself, with a small
body of troops, on the ramparts, he was met with such determined
resistance by the garrison and their brave commander, Francisco de
Molina, that he was obliged to fall back with loss into his trenches.
Thus repulsed, and wholly destitute of battering ordnance, the Morisco
chief found it expedient to convert the siege into a blockade.

The time thus consumed gave opportunity to Don John of Austria to send a
strong force, under the duke of Sesa, to the relief of the garrison.
Aben-Aboo, desirous to intercept his enemy's march, and occupy one of
those defiles that would give him the advantage of position, silently
broke up his encampment, under cover of the night, and took the
direction of Lanjaron. Here he came so suddenly on the advanced guard of
the Christians, that, taken by surprise, it gave way, and falling back,
after considerable loss, on the main body of the army, threw the whole
into confusion. Happily the duke of Sesa, though labouring at the time
under a sharp attack of gout, by extraordinary exertions was enabled to
rally his men, and inspire them with courage to repulse the enemy, thus
retrieving his own honour and the fortunes of the day.

Meanwhile, the brave Molina and his soldiers no sooner learned that the
besiegers had abandoned their works, than, eager to profit by their
temporary absence, the cause of which they suspected, they dismantled
the fortress, and, burying their guns in the ground, hastily evacuated
the place. The duke of Sesa, finding that the great object of his
expedition--the safety of the garrison--was now accomplished, and not
feeling himself in sufficient strength to cope with the Morisco chief,
instantly began his retreat on Granada. In this he was not molested by
Aben-Aboo, who was only too glad to be allowed without interruption to
follow up the siege of Orgiba. But, finding this place, to his surprise,
abandoned by the enemy, he entered it without bloodshed, and with
colours flying, as a conqueror.[201]

These successes in the commencement of his reign furnished a brilliant
augury for the future. The fame of Aben-Aboo spread far and wide through
the country; and the warlike peasantry thronged from all quarters to his
standard. Tidings now arrived that several of the principal places on
the eastern skirts of the Alpujarras had proclaimed their adherence to
the Morisco cause; and it was expected that the flame of insurrection
would soon spread to the adjoining provinces of Murcia and Valencia. So
widely, indeed, had it already spread, that, of all the Morisco
territory south of Granada, the country around Malaga and the sierra of
Ronda, on the extreme west, were the only portions that still
acknowledged the authority of Castile.[202]

The war now took the same romantic aspect that it wore in the days of
the conquest of Granada. Beacon-fires were to be seen along the highest
peaks of the sierra, throwing their ominous glare around for many a
league, and calling the bold mountaineers to the foray. Then came the
gathering of the wild militia of the country, which, pouring down on the
lower levels, now in the faded green of autumn, swept away herds and
flocks, and bore them off in triumph to their fastnesses.

Sometimes marauders penetrated into the _vega_, the beautiful _vega_,
every inch of whose soil was fertilized with human blood, and which now,
as in ancient times, became the battle-ground of Christian and Moslem
cavaliers. Almost always it was the former who had the advantage, as was
intimated by the gory trophies,--the heads and hands of the vanquished,
which they bore on the points of their lances, when, amidst the shouts
of the populace, they came thundering on through the gates of the
capital.[203]

[Sidenote: IMPETUOUS SPIRIT OF DON JUAN.]

Yet sometimes fortune lay in the opposite scale. The bold infidels,
after scouring the _vega_, would burst into the suburbs, or even into
the city of Granada, filling the place with consternation. Then might be
seen the terror-stricken citizens hurrying to and fro, while the great
alarm-bell of the Alhambra sent forth its summons, and the chivalry,
mounting in haste, shouted the old war-cry of _Saint Jago_, and threw
themselves on the invaders, who, after a short but bloody fray, were
sure to be driven in confusion across the _vega_, and far over the
borders.

Don John, on these occasions, was always to be descried in the front of
battle, as if rejoicing in his element, and courting danger like some
paladin of romance. Indeed, Philip was obliged, again and again, to
rebuke his brother for thus wantonly exposing his life, in a manner, the
king intimated, wholly unbecoming his rank.[204] But it would have been
as easy to rein in the war-horse when the trumpet was sounding in his
ears, as to curb the spirits of the high-mettled young chieftain when
his followers were mustering to the charge. In truth, it was precisely
these occasions that filled him with the greatest glee; for they opened
to him the only glimpses he was allowed of that career of glory for
which his soul had so long panted. Every detachment that sallied forth
from Granada on a warlike adventure was an object of his envy; and as he
gazed on the blue mountains that rose as an impassable barrier around
him, he was like the bird vainly beating its plumage against the gilded
wires of its prison-house, and longing to be free.

He wrote to the king in the most earnest terms, representing the forlorn
condition of affairs,--the Spaniards losing ground day after day, and
the army under the marquis of Los Velez wasting away its energies in
sloth, or exerting them in unprofitable enterprises. He implored his
brother not to compel him to remain thus cooped up within the walls of
Granada, but to allow him to have a real as well as nominal command, and
to conduct the war in person.[205]

The views presented by Don John were warmly supported by Requesens, who
wrote to Philip, denouncing, in unqualified terms, the incapacity of Los
Velez.

Philip had no objection to receive complaints, even against those whom
he most favoured. He could not shut his eyes to the truth of the charges
now brought against the hot-headed old chief, who had so long enjoyed
his confidence, but whose campaigns of late had been a series of
blunders. He saw the critical aspect of affairs, and the danger that the
rebellion, which had struck so deep root in Granada, unless speedily
crushed, would spread over the adjoining provinces. Mondejar's removal
from the scene of action had not brought the remedy that Philip had
expected.

Yet it was with reluctance that he yielded to his brother's wishes;
whether distrusting the capacity of one so young for an independent
command, or, as might be inferred from his letters, apprehending the
dangers in which Don John's impetuous spirit would probably involve him.
Having formed his plans, he lost no time in communicating them to his
brother. The young warrior was to succeed Los Velez in the command of
the eastern army, which was to be strengthened by reinforcements, while
the duke of Sesa, under the direction of Don John, was to establish
himself, with an efficient corps, in the Alpujarras, in such a position
as to cover the approaches to Granada.

A summons was then sent to the principal towns of Andalusia, requiring
them to raise fresh levies for the war, who were to be encouraged by
promises of better pay than had before been given. But these promises
did not weigh so much with the soldiers as the knowledge that Don John
of Austria was to take charge of the expedition; and nobles and
cavaliers came thronging to the war, with their well-armed retainers, in
such numbers that the king felt it necessary to publish another
ordinance, prohibiting any, without express permission, from joining the
service.[206]

All now was bustle and excitement in Granada, as the new levies came in,
and the old ones were receiving a better organization. Indeed, Don John
had been closely occupied for some time with introducing reforms among
the troops quartered in the city, who, from causes already mentioned,
had fallen into a state of the most alarming insubordination. A similar
spirit had infected the officers, and to such an extent, that it was
deemed necessary to suspend no less than thirty-seven out of forty-five
captains from their commands.[207] Such were the difficulties under
which the youthful hero was to enter on his first campaign.

Fortunately, in the retainers of the great lords and cavaliers, he had a
body of well-appointed and well-disciplined troops, who were actuated by
higher motives than the mere love of plunder.[208] His labours,
moreover, did much to restore the ancient discipline of the regiments
quartered in Granada. But the zeal with which he had devoted himself to
the work of reform had impaired his health. This drew forth a kind
remonstrance from Philip, who wrote to his brother not thus to overtask
his strength, but to remember that he had need of his services; telling
him to remind Quixada that he must watch over him more carefully. "And
God grant," he concluded, "that your health may be soon re-established."
The affectionate solicitude constantly shown for his brother's welfare
in the king's letters, was hardly to have been expected in one of so
phlegmatic a temperament, and who was usually so little demonstrative in
the expression of his feelings.

Before entering on his great expedition, Don John resolved to secure the
safety of Granada, in his absence, by the reduction of "the robber's
nest," as the Spaniards called it, of Guejar. This was a fortified
place, near the confines of the Alpujarras, held by a warlike garrison,
that frequently sallied out over the neighbouring country, sometimes
carrying their forays into the _vega_ of Granada, and causing a panic in
the capital. Don John formed his force into two divisions, one of which
he gave to the duke of Sesa, while the other he proposed to lead in
person. They were to proceed by different routes, and, meeting before
the place, to attack it simultaneously from opposite quarters.

[Sidenote: CAPTURE OF GUEJAR.]

The duke, marching by the most direct road across the mountains,
reached Guejar first, and was not a little surprised to find that the
inhabitants, who had received notice of the preparations of the
Spaniards, were already evacuating the town; while the garrison was
formed in order of battle to cover their retreat. After a short skirmish
with the rear-guard, in which some lives were lost on both sides, the
victorious Spaniards, without following up their advantage, marched into
the town, and took possession of the works abandoned by the enemy.

Great was the surprise of Don John, on arriving some hours later before
Guejar, to see the Castilian flag floating from its ramparts; and his
indignation was roused as he found that the laurels he had designed for
his own brow had been thus unceremoniously snatched from him by another.
"With eyes," says the chronicler, "glowing like coals of fire,"[209] he
turned on the duke of Sesa, and demanded an explanation of the affair.
But he soon found that the blame, if blame there were, was to be laid on
one whom he felt that he had not the power to rebuke. This was Luis
Quixada, who, in his solicitude for the safety of his ward, had caused
the army to be conducted by a circuitous route, that brought it thus
late upon the field. But though Don John uttered no word of rebuke, he
maintained a moody silence, that plainly showed his vexation; and, as
the soldiers remarked, not a morsel of food passed his lips until he had
reached Granada.[210]

The constant supervision maintained over him by Quixada, which, as we
have seen, was encouraged by the king, was a subject of frequent remark
among the troops. It must have afforded no little embarrassment and
mortification to Don John, alike ill-suited, as it was, to his age, his
aspiring temper, and his station. For his station as commander-in-chief
of the army made him responsible, in the eyes of the world, for the
measures of the campaign. Yet, in his dependent situation, he had the
power neither to decide on the plan of operations, nor to carry it into
execution. Not many days were to elapse before the death of his
kind-hearted monitor was to relieve him from the jealous oversight that
so much chafed his spirit, and to open to him an independent career of
glory, such as might satisfy the utmost cravings of his ambition.

     One of the authorities of the greatest importance, and most
     frequently cited in this book, as the reader may have noticed, is
     Diego Hurtado de Mendoza. He belonged to one of the most
     illustrious houses in Castile--a house not more prominent for its
     rank than for the great abilities displayed by its members in the
     various walks of civil and military life, as well as for their rare
     intellectual culture. No one of the great families of Spain has
     furnished so fruitful a theme for the pen of both the chronicler
     and the bard.

     He was the fifth son of the marquis of Mondejar, and was born in
     the year 1503, at Granada, where his father filled the office held
     by his ancestors, of captain-general of the province. At an early
     age he was sent to Salamanca, and passed with credit through the
     course of studies taught in its venerable university. While there
     he wrote--for, though printed anonymously, there seems no good
     reason to distrust the authorship--his famous "Lazarillo de
     Tormes," the origin of that class of _picaresco_ novels, as they
     are styled, which constitutes an important branch of Castilian
     literature, and the best specimen of which, strange to say, was
     furnished by the hand of a foreigner,--the "Gil Blas" of Le Sage.

     Mendoza had been destined to the Church, for which the extensive
     patronage of his family offered obvious advantages. But the taste
     of the young man, as might be inferred from his novel, took another
     direction, and he persuaded his father to allow him to enter the
     army, and take service under the banner of Charles the Fifth.
     Mendoza's love of letters did not desert him in the camp; and he
     availed himself of such intervals as occurred between the
     campaigns to continue his studies, especially in the ancient
     languages, in the principal universities of Italy.

     It was impossible that a person of such remarkable endowments as
     Mendoza, the more conspicuous from his social position, should
     escape the penetrating eye of Charles the Fifth, who, independently
     of his scholarship, recognized in the young noble a decided talent
     for political affairs. In 1538 the emperor appointed him ambassador
     to Venice, a capital for which the literary enterprises of the Aldi
     were every day winning a higher reputation in the republic of
     letters. Here Mendoza had the best opportunity of accomplishing a
     work which he had much at heart,--the formation of a library. It
     was a work of no small difficulty in that day, when books and
     manuscripts were to be gathered from obscure, often remote sources,
     and at the large cost paid for objects of _virtu_. A good office
     which he had the means of rendering the sultan, by the redemption
     from captivity of a Turkish prisoner of rank, was requited by a
     magnificent present of Greek manuscripts, worth more than gold in
     the eyes of Mendoza. It was from his collection that the first
     edition of Josephus was given to the world. While freely indulging
     his taste for literary occupations in his intervals of leisure, he
     performed the duties of his mission with an ability that fully
     vindicated his appointment as minister to the wily republic. On the
     opening of the Council of Trent, he was one of the delegates sent
     to represent the emperor in that body. He joined freely in the
     discussions of the conclave, and enforced the views of his
     sovereign with a strength of reasoning and a fervid eloquence that
     produced a powerful impression on his audience. The independence he
     displayed recommended him for the delicate task of presenting the
     remonstrances of Charles the Fifth to the papal court against the
     removal of the council to Bologna. This he did with a degree of
     frankness to which the pontifical ear was but little accustomed,
     and which, if it failed to bend the proud spirit of Paul the Third,
     had its effect on his successor.

     Mendoza, from whatever cause, does not seem to have stood so high
     in the favour of Philip the Second as in that of his father.
     Perhaps he had too lofty a nature to stoop to that implicit
     deference which Philip exacted from the highest as well as the
     humblest who approached him. At length, in 1568, Mendoza's own
     misconduct brought him, with good reason, into disgrace with his
     master. He engaged in a brawl with another courtier in the palace;
     and the scandalous scene, of which the reader will find an account
     in the preceding volume, took place when the prince of Asturias,
     Don Carlos, was breathing his last. The offending parties were
     punished first by imprisonment, and then by banishment from Madrid.
     Mendoza, who was sixty-five years of age at this time, withdrew to
     Granada, his native place. But he had passed too much of his life
     in the atmosphere of a court to be content with a provincial
     residence. He accordingly made repeated efforts to soften his
     sovereign's displeasure, and to obtain some mitigation of his
     sentence. These efforts, as may be believed, were unavailing; and
     the illustrious exile took at length the wiser course of submitting
     to his fate and seeking consolation in the companionship of his
     books,--steady friends, whose worth he now fully proved in the hour
     of adversity. He devoted himself to the study of Arabic, to which
     he was naturally led by his residence in a capital filled with the
     monuments of Arabic art. He also amused his leisure by writing
     verses, and his labours combined with those of Boscan and
     Garcilasso de la Vega to naturalize in Castile those more refined
     forms of Italian versification that made an important epoch in the
     national literature.

     But the great work to which he devoted himself was the history of
     the insurrection of the Moriscoes, which, occurring during his
     residence in Granada, may be said to have passed before his eyes.
     For this he had, moreover, obvious facilities, for he was the near
     kinsman of the captain-general, and was personally acquainted with
     those who had the direction of affairs. The result of his labours
     was a work of inestimable value, though of no great bulk--being
     less a history of events than a commentary on such a history. The
     author explores the causes of these events. He introduces the
     reader into the cabinet of Madrid, makes him acquainted with the
     intrigues of the different factions, both in the court and in the
     camp, unfolds the policy of the government and the plans of the
     campaigns--in short, enables him to penetrate into the interior,
     and see the secret working of the machinery, so carefully shrouded
     from the vulgar eye.

     The value which the work derived from the author's access to these
     recondite sources of information is much enhanced by its
     independent spirit. In a country where few dared even think for
     themselves, Mendoza both thought with freedom and freely expressed
     his thoughts. Proof of this is afforded by the caustic tone of his
     criticism on the conduct of the government, and by the candour
     which he sometimes ventures to display when noticing the wrongs of
     the Moriscoes. This independence of the historian, we may well
     believe, could have found little favour with the administration.
     It may have been the cause that the book was not published till
     after the reign of Philip the Second, and many years after its
     author's death.

     [Sidenote: MENDOZA.]

     The literary execution of the work is not its least remarkable
     feature. Instead of the desultory and gossiping style of the
     Castilian chronicler, every page is instinct with the spirit of the
     ancient classics. Indeed, Mendoza is commonly thought to have
     deliberately formed his style on that of Sallust; but I agree with
     my friend Mr. Ticknor, who, in a luminous criticism on Mendoza, in
     his great work on Spanish Literature, expresses the opinion that
     the Castilian historian formed his style quite as much on that of
     Tacitus as of Sallust. Indeed, some of Mendoza's most celebrated
     passages are obvious imitations of the former historian, of whom he
     constantly reminds us by the singular compactness and energy of his
     diction, by his power of delineating a portrait by a single stroke
     of the pencil, and by his free criticism on the chief actors of the
     drama, conveyed in language full of that practical wisdom which, in
     Mendoza's case, was the result of a large acquaintance with public
     affairs. We recognize also the defects incident to the style he has
     chosen--rigidity and constraint, with a frequent use of ellipsis,
     in a way that does violence to the national idiom, and, worst of
     all, that obscurity which arises from the effort to be brief.
     Mendoza hurts his book, moreover, by an unseasonable display of
     learning, which, however it may be pardoned by the antiquary, comes
     like an impertinent episode to break the thread of the narrative.
     But, with all its defects, the work is a remarkable production for
     the time, and, appearing in the midst of the _romantic_ literature
     of Spain, we regard it with the same feeling of surprise which the
     traveller might experience who should meet with a classic Doric
     temple in the midst of the fantastic structures of China or
     Hindostan.

     Not long after Mendoza had completed his history, he obtained
     permission to visit Madrid, not to reside there, but to attend to
     some personal affairs. He had hardly reached the capital when he
     was attacked by a mortal illness, which carried him off in April,
     1575, in the seventy-third year of his age. Shortly before his
     death he gave his rich collection of books and manuscripts to his
     obdurate master, who placed them, agreeably to the donor's desire,
     in the Escorial, where they still form an interesting portion of a
     library of which so much has been said, and so little is really
     known by the world.

     The most copious notice with which I am acquainted, of the life of
     Mendoza, is that attributed to the pen of Inigo Lopez de Avila, and
     prefixed to the Valencian edition of the "Guerra de Granada,"
     published in 1776. But his countrymen have been ever ready to do
     honour to the memory of one who, by the brilliant success which he
     achieved as a statesman, a diplomatist, a novelist, a poet, and an
     historian, has established a reputation for versatility of genius
     second to none in the literature of Spain.




CHAPTER VII.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES.

Don John takes the Field--Investment of Galera--Fierce
Assaults--Preparations for a last Attack--Explosion of the
Mines--Desperation of the Moriscoes--Cruel Massacre--Galera demolished.

1570.


Don John lost no time in completing the arrangements for his expedition.
The troops, as they reached Granada, were for the most part sent forward
to join the army under Los Velez, on the east of the Alpujarras, where
that commander was occupied with the siege of Galera, though with but
little prospect of reducing the place. He was soon, however, to be
superseded by Don John.

Philip, unable to close his ears against the representations of his
brother, as well as those of more experienced captains in the service,
had at length reluctantly come to a conviction of the unfitness of Los
Velez for the command. Yet he had a partiality for the veteran; and he
was willing to spare him, as far as possible, the mortification of
seeing himself supplanted by his young rival. In his letters, the king
repeatedly enjoined it on his brother to treat the marquis with the
utmost deference, and to countenance no reports circulated to his
prejudice. In an epistle filled with instructions for the campaign,
dated the twenty-sixth of November, the king told Don John to be
directed on all occasions by the counsels of Quixada and Requesens. He
was to show the greatest respect for the marquis, and to give him to
understand that he should be governed by his opinions. "But, in point of
fact," said Philip, "should his opinion clash at any time with that of
the two other counsellors, you are to be governed by theirs."[211]

On Quixada and Requesens he was indeed always to rely, never setting up
his own judgment in opposition to theirs. He was to move with caution,
and, instead of the impatient spirit of a boy, to show the
circumspection of one possessed of military experience. "In this way,"
concluded his royal monitor, "you will not only secure the favour of
your sovereign, but establish your reputation with the world."[212] It
is evident that Philip had discerned traits in the character of Don John
which led him to distrust somewhat his capacity for the high station in
which he was placed. Perhaps it may be thought that the hesitating and
timid policy of Philip was less favourable to success in military
operations than the bold spirit of enterprise which belonged to his
brother. However this may be, Don John, notwithstanding his repeated
protestations to the contrary, was of too ardent a temperament to be
readily affected by these admonitions of his prudent adviser.

The military command in Granada was lodged by the prince in the hands of
the duke of Sesa, who, as soon as he had gathered a sufficient force,
was to march into the western district of the Alpujarras, and there
create a diversion in favour of Don John. A body of four thousand troops
was to remain in Granada; and the commander-in-chief, having thus
completed his dispositions for the protection of the capital, set forth
on his expedition on the twenty-ninth of December, at the head of a
force amounting only to three thousand foot and four hundred horse. With
these troops went a numerous body of volunteers, the flower of the
Andalusian chivalry, who had come to win renown under the banner of the
young leader.

He took the route through Guadix, and on the third day reached the
ancient city of Baza, memorable for the siege it had sustained under his
victorious ancestors, Ferdinand and Isabella. Here he was met by
Requesens, who, besides a reinforcement of troops, brought with him a
train of heavy ordnance and a large supply of ammunition. The guns were
sent forward, under a strong escort, to Galera; but, on leaving Baza,
Don John received the astounding tidings that the marquis of Los Velez
had already abandoned the siege, and drawn off his whole force to the
neighbouring town of Guescar.

[Sidenote: LOS VELEZ RESIGNS HIS COMMAND.]

In fact, the rumour had no sooner reached the ears of the testy old
chief, that Don John was speedily coming to take charge of the war, than
he swore in his wrath that if the report were true, he would abandon the
siege and throw up his command. Yet those who knew him best did not
think him capable of so mad an act. He kept his word, however; and when
he learned that Don John was on the way, he broke up his encampment and
withdrew, as above stated, to Guescar. By this course he left the
adjacent country open to the incursions of the Moriscoes of Galera;
while no care was taken to provide even for the safety of the convoys
which, from time to time, came laden with supplies for the besieging
army.

This extraordinary conduct gave no dissatisfaction to his troops, who,
long since disgusted with the fiery yet imbecile character of their
general, looked with pleasure to the prospect of joining the standard of
so popular a chieftain as John of Austria. Even the indignation felt by
the latter at the senseless proceeding of the marquis was forgotten in
the satisfaction he experienced, at being thus relieved from the
embarrassments which his rival's overweening pretensions could not have
failed to cause him in the campaign. Don John might now, with a good
grace, and without any cost to himself, make all the concessions to the
veteran so strenuously demanded by Philip. It was in this amiable mood
that the prince pushed forward his march, eager to prevent the
disastrous consequences which might arise from the marquis's abandonment
of his post.

As he drew near to Guescar, he beheld the old nobleman riding towards
him at the head of his retainers, with a stiff and stately port, like
one who had no concessions or explanations to make for himself. Without
alighting from his horse, as he drew near the prince, he tendered him
obeisance by kissing the hand which the latter graciously extended
towards him. "Noble marquis," said Don John, "your great deeds have shed
a lustre over your name. I consider myself fortunate in having the
opportunity of becoming personally acquainted with you. Fear not that
your authority will be in the least abridged by mine. The soldiers under
my command will obey you as implicitly as myself. I pray you to look on
me as a son, filled with feelings of reverence for your valour and your
experience, and designing on all occasions to lean on your counsels for
support."[213]

The courteous and respectful tone of the prince seems to have had its
effect on the iron nature of the marquis, as he replied, "There is no
Spaniard living who has a stronger desire than I have to be personally
acquainted with the distinguished brother of my sovereign, or who would
probably be a greater gainer by serving under his banner. But to speak
with my usual plainness, I wish to withdraw to my own house; for it
would never do for me, old as I am, to hold the post of a
subaltern."[214] He then accompanied Don John back to the town, giving
him, as they rode along, some account of the siege and of the strength
of the place. On reaching the quarters reserved for the
commander-in-chief, Los Velez took leave of the prince; and, without
further ceremony, gathering his knights and followers about him, and
escorted by a company of horse, he rode off in the direction of his town
of Velez Blanco, which was situated at no great distance, amidst the
wild scenery stretching toward the frontiers of Murcia. Here among the
mountains he lived in a retirement that would have been more honourable
had it not been purchased by so flagrant a breach of duty.[215]

The whole story is singularly characteristic, not merely of the man, but
of the times in which he lived. Had so high-handed and audacious a
proceeding occurred in our day, no rank, however exalted, could have
screened the offender from punishment. As it was, it does not appear
that any attempt was made at an inquiry into the marquis's conduct. This
is the more remarkable, considering that it involved such disrespect to
a sovereign little disposed to treat with lenity any want of deference
to himself. The explanation of the lenity shown by him on the present
occasion may perhaps be found, not in any tenderness for the reputation
of his favorite, but in Philip's perceiving that the further prosecution
of the affair would only serve to give greater publicity to his own
egregious error in retaining Los Velez in the command, when his conduct
and the warnings of others should long ago have been regarded as proof
of his incapacity.

On the marquis's departure, Don John lost no time in resuming his march
at the head of a force which now amounted to twelve thousand foot and
eight hundred horse, besides a brilliant array of chivalry, who, as we
have seen, had come to seek their fortunes in the war. A few hours
brought the troops before Galera; and Don John proceeded at once to
reconnoitre the ground. In this survey he was attended by Quixada,
Requesens, and the greater part of the cavalry. Having completed his
observations, he made his arrangements for investing the place.

The town of Galera occupied a site singularly picturesque. This,
however, had been selected, certainly not from any regard to its
romantic beauty, still less for purposes of convenience, but for those
of defence against an enemy,--a circumstance of the first importance in
a mountain country so wild and warlike as that in which Galera stood.
The singular shape of the rocky eminence which it covered was supposed,
with its convex summit, to bear some resemblance to that of a galley
with its keel uppermost. From this resemblance the town had derived its
name.[216]

The summit was crowned by a castle, which in the style of its
architecture bore evident marks of antiquity. It was defended by a wall,
much of it in so ruinous a condition as to be little better than a mass
of stones loosely put together. At a few paces from the fortress stood a
ravelin. But neither this outwork nor the castle itself could boast of
any other piece of artillery than two falconets, captured from Los Velez
during his recent siege of the place, and now mounted on the principal
edifice. Even these had been so injudiciously placed as to give little
annoyance to an enemy.

The houses of the inhabitants stretched along the remainder of the
summit, and descended by a bold declivity the north-western side of the
hill to a broad plain known as the _Eras_, or "Gardens." Through this
plain flowed a stream of considerable depth, which, as it washed the
base of the town on its northern side, formed a sort of moat for its
protection on that quarter. On the side towards the Gardens, the town
was defended by a ditch and a wall now somewhat dilapidated. The most
remarkable feature of this quarter was a church with its belfry or
tower, now converted into a fortress, which, in default of cannon, had
been pierced with loopholes and filled with musketeers,--forming
altogether an outwork of considerable strength, and commanding the
approaches to the town.

[Sidenote: INVESTMENT OF GALERA.]

On two of its sides, the rock on which Galera rested descended almost
perpendicularly, forming the walls of a ravine fenced in on the opposite
quarter by precipitous hills, and thus presenting a sort of natural
ditch on a gigantic scale for the protection of the place. The houses
rose one above another, on a succession of terraces, so steep that in
many instances the roof of one building scarcely reached the foundation
of the one above it. The houses which occupied the same terrace, and
stood therefore on the same level, might be regarded as so many
fortresses. Their walls, which, after the Moorish fashion, were
ill-provided with lattices, were pierced with loopholes, that gave the
marksmen within the command of the streets on which they fronted; and
these streets were still further protected by barricades thrown across
them at only fifty paces' distance from each other.[217] Thus the whole
place bristled over with fortifications, or rather seemed like one great
fortification itself, which nature had combined with art to make
impregnable.

It was well victualled for a siege, at least with grain, of which there
was enough in the magazines for two years' consumption. Water was
supplied by the neighbouring river, to which access had been obtained by
a subterranean gallery, lately excavated in the rock. These necessaries
of life the Moriscoes could command. But they were miserably deficient
in what, in their condition, was scarcely less important,--fire-arms and
ammunition. They had no artillery except the two falconets before
noticed; and they were so poorly provided with muskets as to be mainly
dependent on arrows, stones, and other missiles, such as had filled the
armories of their ancestors. To these might be added swords, and some
other weapons for hand-to-hand combat. Of defensive armour they were
almost wholly destitute. But they were animated by an heroic spirit, of
more worth than breastplate or helmet, and to a man they were prepared
to die rather than surrender.

The fighting men of the place amounted to three thousand, not including
four hundred mercenaries, chiefly Turks and adventurers from the Barbary
shore. The town was, moreover, encumbered with some four thousand women
and children; though, as far as the women were concerned, they should
not be termed an incumbrance in a place where there was no scarcity of
food; for they showed all the constancy and contempt of danger possessed
by the men, whom they aided not only by tending the sick and wounded,
but by the efficient services they rendered them in action. The story of
this siege records several examples of these Morisco heroines, whose
ferocious valour emulated the doughtiest achievements of the other sex.
It is not strange that a place so strong in itself, where the women were
animated by as brave a spirit as the men, should have bid defiance to
all the efforts of an enemy like Los Velez, though backed by an army in
the outset at least as formidable in point of numbers as that which now
sat down before it under the command of John of Austria.[218]

Having concluded his survey of the ground, the Spanish general gave
orders for the construction of three batteries, to operate at the same
time on different quarters of the town. The first and largest of these
batteries, mounting ten pieces of ordnance, was raised on an eminence on
the eastern side of the ravine. Though at a greater distance than was
desirable, the position was sufficiently elevated to enable the guns to
command the castle and the highest parts of the town.

The second battery, consisting of six heavy cannon, was established
lower down the ravine, towards the south, at the distance of hardly more
than seventy paces from the perpendicular face of the rock. The
remaining battery, composed of only three guns of smaller calibre, was
erected in the Gardens, and so placed as to operate against the tower
which, as already noticed, was attached to the church.

The whole number of pieces of artillery belonging to the besiegers did
not exceed twenty. But they were hourly expecting a reinforcement of
thirteen more from Cartagena. The great body of the forces was disposed
behind some high ground on the east, which effectually sheltered the men
from the fire of the besieged. The corps of Italian veterans, the flower
of the army, was stationed in the Gardens, under command of a gallant
officer named Pedro de Padilla. Thus the investment of Galera was
complete.

The first object of attack was the tower in the Gardens, from which the
Moorish garrison kept up a teasing fire on the Spaniards, as they were
employed in the construction of the battery, as well as in digging a
trench, in that quarter. No sooner were the guns in position than they
delivered their fire, with such effect that an opening was speedily made
in the flimsy masonry of the fortress. Padilla, to whom the assault was
committed, led forward his men gallantly to the breach, where he was met
by the defenders with a spirit equal to his own. A fierce combat ensued.
It was not a long one; for the foremost assailants were soon reinforced
by others, until they overpowered the little garrison by numbers, and
such as escaped the sword took refuge in the defences of the town that
adjoined the church.

Flushed with his success in thus easily carrying the tower, which he
garrisoned with a strong body of arquebusiers, Don John now determined
to make a regular assault on the town, and from this same quarter of the
Gardens, as affording the best point of attack. The execution of the
affair he entrusted, as before, to Juan de Padilla and his Italian
regiment. The guns were then turned against the rampart and the
adjoining buildings. Don John pushed forward the siege with vigour,
stimulating the men by his own example, carrying fagots on his shoulders
for constructing the trenches, and, in short, performing the labours of
a common soldier.[219]

By the twenty-fourth of January, practicable breaches had been effected
in the ancient wall; and at the appointed signal, Padilla and his
veterans moved swiftly forward to the attack. They met with little
difficulty from the ditch or from the wall, which, never formidable from
its height, now presented more than one opening to the assailants. They
experienced as little resistance from the garrison. But they had not
penetrated far into the town before the aspect of things changed. Their
progress was checked by one of those barricades already mentioned as
stretched across the streets, behind which a body of musketeers poured
well-directed volleys into the ranks of the Christians. At the same
time, from the loopholes in the walls of the buildings, came incessant
showers of musket-balls, arrows, stones, and other missiles, which swept
the exposed files of the Spaniards, soon covering the streets with the
bodies of the slain and the wounded. It was in vain that the assailants
stormed the houses, and carried one entrenchment after another. Each
house was a separate fortress; and each succeeding barricade, as the
ascent became steeper, gave additional advantage to its defenders, by
placing them on a greater elevation above their enemy.

[Sidenote: FIERCE ASSAULTS.]

Thus beset in front, flank, and rear, the soldiers were completely
blinded and bewildered by the pitiless storm which poured on them from
their invisible foe. Huddled together, in their confusion they presented
an easy mark to the enemy, who shot at random, knowing that every
missile would carry its errand of death. It seemed that the besieged had
purposely drawn their foes into the snare, by allowing them to enter the
town without resistance, until, hemmed in on all sides, they were
slaughtered like cattle in the shambles.

The fight had lasted an hour, when Padilla, seeing his best and bravest
falling around him, and being himself nearly disabled by a wound, gave
the order to retreat; an order obeyed with such alacrity, that the
Spaniards left numbers of their wounded comrades lying in the street,
vainly imploring not to be abandoned to the mercy of their enemies. A
greater number than usual of officers and men of rank perished in the
assault, their rich arms making them a conspicuous mark amidst the
throng of assailants. Among others was a soldier of distinction named
Juan de Pacheco. He was a knight of the order of St. James. He had
joined the army only a few minutes before the attack, having just
crossed the seas from Africa. He at once requested Padilla, who was his
kinsman, to allow him to share in the glory of the day. In the heat of
the struggle, Padilla lost sight of his gallant relative, whose
insignia, proclaiming him a soldier of the Cross, made him a peculiar
object of detestation to the Moslems; and he soon fell, under a
multitude of wounds.[220]

The disasters of the day, however mortifying, were not a bad lesson to
the young commander-in-chief, who saw the necessity of more careful
preparation before renewing his attempt on the place. He acknowledged
the value of his brother's counsel, to make free use of artillery and
mines before coming to close quarters with the enemy.[221] He determined
to open a mine in the perpendicular side of the rock, towards the east,
and to run it below the castle and the neighbouring houses on the
summit. For this he employed the services of Francesco de Molina, who
had so stoutly defended Orgiba, and who was aided in the present work by
a skilful Venetian engineer. The rock, consisting of a light and brittle
sandstone, was worked with even less difficulty than had been expected.
In a short time the gallery was completed, and forty-five barrels of
powder were lodged in it. Meanwhile the batteries continued to play with
great vivacity on the different quarters of the town and castle. A small
breach was opened in the latter, and many buildings on the summit of the
rock were overthrown. By the twenty-seventh of January all was ready for
the assault.

It was Don John's purpose to assail the place on opposite quarters.
Padilla, who still smarted from his wound, was to attack the town, as
before, on the side towards the Gardens. The chief object of this
manoeuvre was to create a diversion in favour of the principal
assault, which was to be made on the other side of the rock, where the
springing of the mine, it was expected, would open a ready access to the
castle. The command on this quarter was given to a brave officer named
Antonio Moreno. Don John, at the head of four thousand men, occupied a
position which enabled him to overlook the scene of action.

On the twenty-seventh, at eight in the morning, the signal was given by
the firing of a cannon; and Padilla, at the head of his veterans, moved
forward to the attack. They effected their entrance into the town with
even less opposition than before; for the cannonade from the Gardens had
blown away most of the houses, garrisoned by the Moslems, near the wall.
But as the assailants pushed on, they soon became entangled, as before,
in the long and narrow defiles. The enemy, entrenched behind their
redoubts thrown across the streets, poured down their murderous volleys
into the close ranks of the Spaniards, who were overwhelmed, as on the
former occasion, with deadly missiles of all kinds from the occupants of
the houses. But experience had prepared them for this; and they had come
provided with mantelets, to shelter them from the tempest. Yet, when the
annoyance became intolerable, they would storm the dwellings; and a
bloody struggle usually ended in putting their inmates to the sword.
Each barricade, too, as the Spaniards advanced, became the scene of a
desperate combat, where the musket was cast aside, and men fought hand
to hand with sword and dagger. Now rose the fierce battle-cries of the
combatants, one party calling on St. Jago, the other on Mahomet, thus
intimating that it was still the same war of the Cross and the Crescent
which had been carried on for more than eight centuries in the
Peninsula.[222] The shouts of the combatants, the clash of weapons, the
report of musketry from the adjoining houses, the sounds of falling
missiles, filled the air with an unearthly din, that was reverberated
and prolonged in countless echoes through the narrow streets, converting
the once peaceful city into a Pandemonium. Still the Spaniards, though
slowly winning their way through every obstacle, were far from the
table-land on the summit, where they hoped to join their countrymen from
the other quarter of the town. At this crisis a sound arose which
overpowered every other sound in this wild uproar, and for a few moments
suspended the conflict.

This was the bursting of the mine, which Don John, seeing Padilla well
advanced in his assault, had now given the order to fire. In an instant
came the terrible explosion, shaking Galera to its centre, rending the
portion of the rock above the gallery into fragments, toppling down the
houses on its summit, and burying more than six hundred Moriscoes in the
ruins. As the smoke and dust of the falling buildings cleared away, and
the Spaniards from below beheld the miserable survivors crawling forth,
as well as their mangled limbs would allow, they set up a fierce yell of
triumph. The mine, however, had done but half the mischief intended; for
by a miscalculation in the direction, it had passed somewhat to the
right of the castle, which, as well as the ravelin, remained uninjured.
Yet a small breach had been opened by the artillery in the former; and
what was more important, through the shattered sides of the rock itself
a passage had been made, which, though strewn with the fallen rubbish,
might afford a practicable entrance to the storming party.

[Sidenote: FIERCE ASSAULTS.]

The soldiers, seeing the chasm, now loudly called to be led to the
assault. Besides the thirst for vengeance on the rebels who had so long
set them at defiance, they were stimulated by the desire of plunder; for
Galera, from its great strength, had been selected as a place of deposit
for the jewels, rich stuffs, and other articles of value belonging to
the people in the neighbourhood. The officers, before making the attack,
were anxious to examine the breach and have the rubbish cleared away, so
as to make the ascent easier for the troops. But the fierce and
ill-disciplined levies were too impatient for this. Without heeding the
commands or remonstrances of their leaders, one after another they broke
their ranks, and, crying the old national war-cries, "_San Jago!_"
"_Cierra Espana!_" "St. James!" and "Close up Spain!" they rushed madly
forward, and, springing lightly over the ruins in their pathway, soon
planted themselves on the summit. The officers, thus deserted, were not
long in following, resolved to avail themselves of the enthusiasm of the
men.

Fortunately the Moriscoes, astounded by the explosion, had taken refuge
in the town, and thus left undefended a position which might have given
great annoyance to the Spaniards. Yet the cry no sooner rose, that the
enemy had scaled the heights, than, recovering from their panic, they
hurried back to man the defences. When the assailants, therefore, had
been brought into order and formed into column for the attack, they were
received with a well-directed fire from the falconets, and with volleys
of musketry from the ravelin, that for a moment checked their advance.
But then rallying, they gallantly pushed forward through the fiery
sleet, and soon found themselves in face of the breach which had been
made in the castle by their artillery. The opening, scarcely wide enough
to allow two to pass abreast, was defended by men as strong and
stout-hearted as their assailants. A desperate struggle ensued, in which
the besieged bravely held their ground, though a Castilian ensign, named
Zapata, succeeded in forcing his way into the place, and even in
planting his standard on the battlements. But it was speedily torn down
by the enemy, while the brave cavalier, pierced with wounds, was thrown
headlong on the rocky ground below, still clutching the standard with
his dying grasp.

Meanwhile the defenders of the ravelin kept up a plunging fire of
musketry on the assailants; while stones, arrows, javelins, fell thick
as rain-drops on their heads, rattling on the harness of the cavaliers,
and inflicting many a wound on the ill-protected bodies of the soldiery.
The Morisco women bore a brave part in the fight, showing the same
indifference to danger as their husbands and brothers, and rolling down
heavy weights on the ranks of the besiegers. These women had a sort of
military organization, being formed into companies. Sometimes they even
joined in hand-to-hand combats with their enemies, wielding their swords
and displaying a prowess worthy of the stronger sex. One of these
Amazons, whose name became famous in the siege, was seen on this
occasion to kill her antagonist, and bear away his armour as the spoils
of victory. It was said that, before she received her mortal wound,
several Spaniards fell by her hand.[223]

Thus, while the besieged, secure within their defences, suffered
comparatively little, the attacking column was thrown into disorder.
Most of its leaders were killed or wounded. Its ranks were thinned by
the incessant fire from the ravelin and castle; and, though it still
maintained a brave spirit, its strength was fast ebbing away. Don John,
who from his commanding position had watched the field, saw the
necessity of sending to the support of his troops six companies of the
reserve, which were soon followed by two others. Thus reinforced, they
were enabled to keep their ground.

Meanwhile the Italian regiment under Padilla had penetrated far into the
town. But they had won their way inch by inch, and it had cost them
dear. There was not an officer, it was said, that had not been wounded.
Four captains had fallen. Padilla, who had not recovered from his former
wound, had now received another, still more severe. His men, though
showing a bold front, had been so roughly handled, that it was clear
they could never fight through the obstacles in their way, and join
their comrades on the heights. While little mindful of his own wounds,
Padilla saw with anguish the blood of his brave followers thus poured
out in vain; and, however reluctantly, he gave the order to retreat.
This command was the signal for a fresh storm of missiles from the
enemy. But the veterans of Naples, closing up their ranks as a comrade
fell, effected their retreat in the same cool and orderly manner in
which they had advanced, and, though wofully crippled, regained their
position in the trenches.

Thus disengaged from the conflict on this quarter, the victorious
Moslems hastened to the support of their countrymen in the castle, where
they served to counterbalance the reinforcement received by the
assailants. They fell at once on the rear of the Christians, whose front
ranks were galled by the guns from the enemy's battery--though clumsily
served--while their flanks were sorely scathed by the storm of musketry
that swept down from the ravelin. Thus hemmed in on all sides, they were
indeed in a perilous situation. Several of the captains were killed. All
the officers were either killed or wounded; and the narrow ground on
which they struggled for mastery was heaped with the bodies of the
slain. Yet their spirits were not broken; and the tide of battle, after
three hours' duration, still continued to rage with impotent fury around
the fortress. They still strove, with desperate energy, to scale the
walls of the ravelin, and to force a way through the narrow breach in
the castle. But the besieged succeeded in closing up the opening with
heavy masses of stone and timber, which defied the failing strength of
the assailants.

Another hour had now elapsed, and Don John, as from his station he
watched the current of the fight, saw that to prolong the contest would
only be to bring wider ruin on his followers. He accordingly gave the
order to retreat. But the men who had so impetuously rushed to the
attack, in defiance of the commands of their officers, now showed the
same spirit of insubordination when commanded to leave it; like the
mastiff who, maddened by the wounds he has received in the conflict,
refuses to loosen his hold on his antagonist, in spite of the chiding of
his master. Seeing his orders thus unheeded, Don John, accompanied by
his staff, resolved to go in person to the scene of action, and enforce
obedience by his presence. But on reaching the spot, he was hit on his
cuirass by a musket-ball, which, although it glanced from the
well-tempered metal, came with sufficient force to bring him to the
ground. The watchful Quixada, not far distant, sprang to his aid; but it
appeared he had received no injury. His conduct, however, brought down
an affectionate remonstrance from his guardian, who, reminding him of
the king's injunctions besought him to retire, and not thus expose a
life so precious as that of the commander-in-chief to the hazards of a
common soldier.

The account of the accident soon spread, with the usual exaggerations,
among the troops, who, after the prince's departure, yielded a slow and
sullen obedience to his commands. Thus for a second time the field of
battle remained in possession of the Moslems; and the banner of the
crescent still waved triumphantly from the battlements of Galera.[224]

[Sidenote: PREPARATIONS FOR A LAST ATTACK.]

The loss was a heavy one to the Spaniards, amounting, according to their
own accounts--which will not be suspected of exaggeration--to not less
than four hundred killed and five hundred wounded. That of the enemy,
screened by his defences, must have been comparatively light. The loss
fell most severely on the Spanish chivalry, whose showy dress naturally
drew the attention of the well-trained Morisco marksmen. The bloody roll
is inscribed with the names of many a noble house in both Andalusia and
Castile.

This second reverse of his arms stung Don John to the quick. The eyes of
his countrymen were upon him; and he well knew the sanguine
anticipations they had formed of his campaign, and that they would hold
him responsible for its success. His heart was filled with mourning for
the loss of his brave companions in arms. Yet he did not give vent to
unmanly lamentation; but he showed his feelings in another form, which
did little honour to his heart. Turning to his officers, he exclaimed:
"The infidels shall pay dear for the Christian blood they have spilt
this day. The next assault will place Galera in our power; and every
soul within its walls--man, woman, and child--shall be put to the sword.
Not one shall be spared. The houses shall be razed to the ground, and
the ground they covered shall be sown with salt."[225] This inhuman
speech was received with general acclamations. As the event proved, it
was not an empty menace.

The result of his operations showed Don John the prudence of his
brother's recommendation,--to make good use of his batteries and his
mines before coming to close quarters with the enemy. Philip, in a
letter written some time after this defeat, alluding to the low state of
discipline in the camp, urged his brother to give greater attention to
the morals of the soldiers,--to guard especially against profanity and
other offences to religion, that by so doing he might secure the favour
of the Almighty.[226] Don John had intimated to Philip, that, under some
circumstances, it might be necessary to encourage his men by leading
them in person to the attack. But the king rebuked the spirit of the
knight-errant, as not suited to the commander, and admonished his
brother that the place for him was in the rear; that there he might be
of service in stimulating the ardour of the remiss; adding, that those
who went forward promptly in the fight, had no need of his presence to
encourage them.[227]

Don John lost no time in making his preparations for a third and last
assault. He caused two new mines to be opened in the rock on either side
of the former one, and at some thirty paces' distance from it. While
this was going on, he directed that all the artillery should play
without intermission on the town and castle. His battering-train,
meantime, was reinforced by the arrival of fourteen additional pieces of
heavy ordnance from Cartagena.

The besieged were no less busy in preparing for their defence. The women
and children toiled equally with the men in repairing the damages in the
works. The breaches were closed with heavy stones and timber. The old
barricades were strengthened, and new ones thrown across the streets.
The magazines were filled with fresh supplies of stones and arrows. Long
practice had made the former missile a more formidable weapon than usual
in the hands of the Moriscoes. They were amply provided with water, and,
as we have seen, were well victualled for a siege longer than this was
likely to prove. But, in one respect, and that of the last importance,
they were miserably deficient. Their powder was nearly all expended.
They endeavoured to obtain supplies of ammunition, as well as
reinforcements of men, from Aben-Aboo. But the Morisco prince was fully
occupied at this time with maintaining his ground against the duke of
Sesa, in the west. His general, El Habaqui, who had charge of the
eastern army, encouraged the people of Galera to remain firm, assuring
them that before long he should be able to come to their assistance. But
time was precious to the besieged.[228]

The Turkish auxiliaries in the garrison greatly doubted the possibility
of maintaining themselves, with no better ammunition than stones and
arrows, against the well-served artillery of the Spaniards. Their
leaders accordingly, in a council of war, proposed that the troops
should sally forth and cut their way through the lines of the besiegers,
while the women and children might pass out by the subterranean avenue
which conducted to the river, the existence of which, we are told, was
unknown to the Christians. The Turks, mere soldiers of fortune, had no
local attachment or patriotic feeling to bind them to the soil. But when
their proposal was laid before the inhabitants, they all, women as well
as men, treated the proposition with disdain, showing their
determination to defend the city to the last, and to perish amidst its
ruins rather than surrender.

Still sustained by the hope of succour, the besieged did what they could
to keep off the day of the assault. They did not, indeed, attempt to
counter-mine; for, if they had possessed the skill for this, they had
neither tools nor powder. But they had made sorties on the miners, and,
though always repulsed with loss, they contrived to hold the camp of the
besiegers in a constant state of alarm.

On the sixth of February, the engineers who had charge of the mines gave
notice that their work was completed. The following morning was named
for the assault. The orders of the day prescribed that a general
cannonade should open on the town at six in the morning. It was to
continue an hour, when the mines were to be sprung. The artillery would
then play for another hour, after which the signal for the attack would
be given. The signal was to be the firing of one gun from each of the
batteries, to be followed by a simultaneous discharge of all. The orders
directed the troops to show no quarter to man, woman, or child.

[Sidenote: EXPLOSION OF THE MINES.]

On the seventh of February, the last day of the Carnival, the besiegers
were under arms with the earliest dawn. Their young commander attracted
every eye by the splendour of his person and appointments. He was armed
_cap-a-pie_, and wore a suit of burnished steel, richly inlaid with
gold. His casque, overshadowed by brilliant plumes, was ornamented with
a medallion displaying the image of the Virgin.[229] In his hand he
carried the baton of command; and as he rode along the lines addressing
a few words of encouragement to the soldiers, his perfect horsemanship,
his princely bearing, and the courtesy of his manners reminded the
veterans of the happier days of his father, the emperor. The cavaliers
by whom he was surrounded emulated their chief in the richness of their
appointments; and the Murcian chronicler, present on that day, dwells
with complacency on the beautiful array of southern chivalry gathered
together for the final assault upon Galera.[230]

From six o'clock till seven, a furious cannonade was kept up from the
whole circle of batteries on the devoted town. Then came the order to
fire the mines. The deafening roar of ordnance was at once hushed into a
silence profound as that of death, while every soldier in the trenches
waited, with nervous suspense, for the explosion. At length it came,
overturning houses, shaking down a fragment of the castle, rending wider
the breach in the perpendicular side of the rock, and throwing off the
fragments with the force of a volcano. Only one mine, however, exploded.
It was soon followed by the other, which, though it did less damage,
spread such consternation among the garrison, that, fearing there might
still be a third in reserve, the men abandoned their works, and took
refuge in the town.

When the smoke and dust had cleared away, an officer with a few soldiers
was sent to reconnoitre the breach. They soon returned with the tidings
that the garrison had fled, and left the works wholly unprotected. On
hearing this, the troops, with furious shouts, called out to be led at
once to the assault. It was in vain that the officers remonstrated,
enforcing their remonstrances, in some instances, by blows with the flat
of their sabres. The blood of the soldiery was up; and, like an
ill-disciplined rabble, they sprang from their trenches in wild
disorder, as before, and, hurrying their officers along with them, soon
scaled the perilous ascent, and crowned the heights without opposition
from the enemy. Hurrying over the _debris_ that strewed the ground, they
speedily made themselves masters of the deserted fortress and its
outworks,--filling the air with shouts of victory.

The fugitives saw their mistake, as they beheld the enemy occupying the
position they had abandoned. There was no more apprehension of mines.
Eager to retrieve their error, they rushed back, as by a common impulse,
to dispute the possession of the ground with the Spaniards. It was too
late. The guns were turned on them from their own battery. The
arquebusiers who lined the ravelin showered down on their heads missiles
more formidable than stones and arrows. But, though their powder was
nearly gone, the Moriscoes could still make fight with sword and dagger,
and they boldly closed, in a hand-to-hand contest with their enemy. It
was a deadly struggle, calling out--as close personal contest is sure to
do--the fiercest passions of the combatants. No quarter was given; none
was asked. The Spaniard was nerved by the confidence of victory, the
Morisco by the energy of despair. Both fought like men who knew that on
the issue of this conflict depended the fate of Galera. Again the
war-cries of the two religions rose above the din of battle, as the one
party invoked their military apostle, and the other called on Mahomet.
It was the same war-cry which for more than eight centuries had sounded
over hill and valley in unhappy Spain. These were its dying notes, soon
to expire with the exile or extermination of the conquered race.

The conflict was at length terminated by the arrival of a fresh body of
troops on the field with Padilla. That chief had attacked the town by
the same avenue as before; everywhere he had met with the same spirit of
resistance. But the means of successful resistance were gone. Many of
the houses on the streets had been laid in rains by the fire of the
artillery. Such as still held out were defended by men armed with no
better weapons than stones and arrows. One after another, most of them
were stormed and fired by the Spaniards; and those within were put to
the sword, or perished in the flames.

It fared no better with the defenders of the barricades. Galled by the
volleys of the Christians, against whom their own rude missiles did
comparatively little execution, they were driven from one position to
another; as each redoubt was successively carried, a shout of triumph
went up from the victors, which fell cheerily on the ears of their
countrymen on the heights; and when Padilla and his veterans burst on
the scene of action, it decided the fortunes of the day.

There was still a detachment of Turks, whose ammunition had not been
exhausted, and who were maintaining a desperate struggle with a body of
Spanish infantry, in which the latter had been driven back to the very
verge of the precipice. But the appearance of their friends under
Padilla gave the Spaniards new heart; and Turk and Morisco, overwhelmed
alike by the superiority of the numbers and of the weapons of their
antagonists, gave way in all directions. Some fled down the long avenues
which led from the summit of the rock. They were hotly pursued by the
Spaniards. Others threw themselves into the houses, and prepared to make
a last defence. The Spaniards scrambled along the terraces, letting
themselves down from one level to another by means of the Moorish
ladders used for that purpose. They hewed openings in the wooden roofs
of the buildings, through which they fired on those within. The helpless
Moriscoes, driven out by the pitiless volleys, sought refuge in the
street. But the fierce hunters were there, waiting for their miserable
game, which they shot down without mercy,--men, women, and children;
none were spared. Yet they did not fall unavenged; and the corpse of
many a Spaniard might be seen stretched on the bloody pavement, lying
side by side with that of his Moslem enemy.

More than one instance is recorded of the desperate courage to which the
women as well as the men were roused in their extremity. A Morisco girl,
whose father had perished in the first assault in the Gardens, after
firing her dwelling, is said to have dragged her two little brothers
along with one hand, and, wielding a scimitar with the other, to have
rushed against the foe, by whom they were all speedily cut to pieces.
Another instance is told, of a man who, after killing his wife and his
two daughters, sallied forth, and calling out, "There is nothing more to
lose; let us die together!" threw himself madly into the thick of the
enemy.[231] Some fell by their own weapons, others by those of their
friends, preferring to receive death from any hands but those of the
Spaniards.

Some two thousand Moriscoes were huddled together in a square not far
from the gate, where a strong body of Castilian infantry cut off the
means of escape. Spent with toil and loss of blood, without ammunition,
without arms, or with such only as were too much battered or broken for
service, the wretched fugitives would gladly have made some terms with
their pursuers, who now closed darkly around them. But the stag at bay
might as easily have made terms with his hunters and the fierce hounds
that were already on his haunches. Their prayers were answered by volley
after volley, until not a man was left alive.

More than four hundred women and children were gathered together without
the walls, and the soldiers, mindful of the value of such a booty, were
willing to spare their lives. This was remarked by Don John, and no
sooner did he observe the symptoms of lenity in the troops, than the
flinty-hearted chief rebuked their remissness, and sternly reminded them
of the orders of the day. He even sent the halberdiers of his guard and
the cavaliers about his person to assist the soldiers in their bloody
work; while he sat a calm spectator, on his horse, as immovable as a
marble statue, and as insensible to the agonizing screams of his victims
and their heart-breaking prayers for mercy.[232]

[Sidenote: CRUEL MASSACRE.]

While this was going on without the town, the work of death was no less
active within. Every square and enclosure that had afforded a temporary
refuge to the fugitives was heaped with the bodies of the slain. Blood
ran down the kennels like water after a heavy shower. The dwellings were
fired, some by the conquerors, others by the inmates, who threw
themselves madly into the flames rather than fall into the hands of
their enemies. The gathering shadows of evening--for the fight had
lasted nearly nine hours[233]--were dispelled by the light of the
conflagration, which threw an ominous glare for many a league over the
country, proclaiming far and wide the downfall of Galera.

At length Don John was so far moved from his original purpose as to
consent that the women, and the children under twelve years of age,
should be spared. This he did, not from any feeling of compunction, but
from deference to the murmurs of his followers, whose discontent at
seeing their customary booty snatched from them began to show itself in
a way not to be disregarded.[234] Some fifteen hundred women and
children, in consequence of this, are said to have escaped the general
doom of their countrymen.[235] All the rest, soldiers and citizens,
Turks, Africans, and Moriscoes, were mercilessly butchered. Not one man,
if we may trust the Spaniards themselves, escaped alive! It would not be
easy, even in that age of blood, to find a parallel to so wholesale and
indiscriminate a massacre.

Yet, to borrow the words of the Castilian proverb, "If Africa had cause
to weep, Spain had little reason to rejoice."[236] No success during the
war was purchased at so high a price as the capture of Galera. The loss
fell as heavily on the officers and men of rank as on the common file.
We have seen the eagerness with which they had flocked to the standard
of John of Austria. They showed the same eagerness to distinguish
themselves under the eye of their leader. The Spanish chivalry were sure
to be found in the post of danger. Dearly did they pay for that
pre-eminence; and many a noble house in Spain wept bitter tears when the
tidings came of the conquest of Galera.[237]

Don John himself was so much exasperated, says the chronicler, by the
thought of the grievous loss which he had sustained through the
obstinate resistance of the heretics,[238] that he resolved to carry at
once into effect his menace of demolishing the town, so that not one
stone should be left on another. Every house was accordingly burnt or
levelled to the ground, which was then strewed with salt, as an accursed
spot, on which no man was to build thereafter. A royal decree to that
effect was soon afterwards published; and the village of straggling
houses, which, undefended by a wall, still clusters round the base of a
hill, in the Gardens occupied by Padilla, is all that now serves to
remind the traveller of the once flourishing and strongly fortified city
of Galera.

In the work of demolition Don John was somewhat retarded by a furious
tempest of sleet and rain, which set in the day after the place was
taken. It was no uncommon thing at that season of the year. Had it come
on a few days earlier, the mountain torrents would infallibly have
broken up the camp of the besiegers, and compelled them to suspend
operations. That the storm was so long delayed, was regarded by the
Spaniards as a special interposition of Heaven.

The booty was great which fell into the hands of the victors; for
Galera, from its great strength, had been selected by the inhabitants of
the neighbouring country as a safe place of deposit for their
effects,--especially their more valuable treasures of gold, pearls,
jewels, and precious stuffs. Besides these, there was a great quantity
of wheat, barley, and other grain, stored in the magazines, which
afforded a seasonable supply to the army.

No sooner was Don John master of Galera, than he sent tidings of his
success to his brother. The king was at that time paying his devotions
at the shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe. The tidings were received with
exultation by the court,--by Philip with the stolid composure with which
he usually received accounts either of the success or the discomfiture
of his arms. He would allow no public rejoicings of any kind. The only
way in which he testified his satisfaction was by offering up thanks to
God and the Blessed Virgin, "to whom," says the chronicler, "he thought
the cause should be especially commended, as one in which more glory was
to be derived from peace than from a bloody victory."[239] With such
humane and rational sentiments, it is marvellous that he did not
communicate them to his brother, and thus spare the atrocious massacre
of his Morisco vassals at Galera.

[Sidenote: DISASTER AT SERON.]

But, however revolting this massacre may appear in our eyes, it seems to
have left no stain on the reputation of John of Austria in the eyes of
his contemporaries. In reviewing this campaign, we cannot too often call
to mind that it was regarded not so much as a war with rebellious
vassals, as a war with the enemies of the Faith. It was the last link in
that long chain of hostilities which the Spaniard for so many centuries
had been waging for the recovery of his soil from the infidel. The
sympathies of Christendom were not the less on his side, that now, when
the trumpet of the crusader had ceased to send forth its notes in other
lands, they should still be heard among the hills of Granada. The
Moriscoes were everywhere regarded as infidels and apostates; and there
were few Christian nations whose codes would not at that day have
punished infidelity and apostasy with death. It was no harder for them
that they should be exterminated by the sword than by the fagot. So far
from the massacre of the Moriscoes tarnishing the reputation of their
conqueror, it threw a gloomy _eclat_ over his achievement, which may
have rather served to add to its celebrity. His own countrymen, thinking
only of the extraordinary difficulties which he had overcome, with pride
beheld him entering on a splendid career, that would place his name
among those of the great paladins of the nation. In Rome he was hailed
as the champion of Christendom; and it was determined to offer him the
baton of generalissimo of the formidable league which the pope was at
this time organizing against the Ottoman empire.[240]




CHAPTER VIII.

REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES.

Disaster at Seron--Death of Quixada--Rapid Successes of Don
John--Submission of the Moriscoes--Fate of El Habaqui--Stern Temper of
Aben-Aboo--Renewal of the War--Expulsion of the Moors--Don Juan returns
to Madrid--Murder of Aben-Aboo--Fortunes of the Moriscoes.

1570, 1571.


Don John was detained some days before Galera by the condition of the
roads, which the storm had rendered impassable for heavy waggons and
artillery. When the weather improved he began his march, moving south,
in the direction of Baza. Passing through that ancient town, the scene
of one of the most glorious triumphs of the good Queen Isabella the
Catholic, he halted at Caniles. Here he left the main body of his army,
and, putting himself at the head of a detachment of three thousand foot
and two hundred horse, hastened forward to reconnoitre Seron, which he
purposed next to attack.

Seron was a town of some strength, situated on the <DW72> of the sierra,
and defended by a castle held by a Morisco garrison. On his approach,
most of the inhabitants, and many of the soldiers, evacuated the place,
and sought refuge among the mountains. Don John formed his force into
two divisions, one of which he placed under Quixada, the other under
Requesens. He took up a position himself, with a few cavaliers and a
small body of arquebusiers, on a neighbouring eminence, which commanded
a view of the whole ground.

The two captains were directed to reconnoitre the environs, by making a
circuit from opposite sides of the town. Quixada, as he pressed forward
with his column, drove the Morisco fugitives before him, until they
vanished in the recesses of the mountains. In the meantime, the
beacon-fires, which for some hours had been blazing from the topmost
peaks of the sierra, had spread intelligence far and wide of the coming
of the enemy. The whole country was in arms; and it was not long before
the native warriors, mustering to the number of six thousand, under the
Morisco chief, El Habaqui, who held command in that quarter, came
pouring through the defiles of the mountains, and fell with fury on the
front and flank of the astonished Spaniards. The assailants were soon
joined by the fugitives from Seron; and the Christians, unable to
withstand this accumulated force, gave way, though slowly, and in good
order, before the enemy.

Meanwhile, a detachment of Spanish infantry, under command of Lope de
Figueroa, _maestro del campo_, had broken into the town, where they were
busily occupied in plundering the deserted houses. This was a part of
the military profession which the rude levies of Andalusia well
understood. While they were thus occupied, the advancing Moriscoes,
burning for revenge, burst into the streets of the town, and, shouting
their horrid war-cries, set furiously on the marauders. The Spaniards,
taken by surprise, and encumbered with their booty, offered little
resistance. They were seized with a panic, and fled in all directions.
They were soon mingled with their retreating comrades under Quixada,
everywhere communicating their own terror, till the confusion became
general. It was in vain that Quixada and Figueroa, with the other
captains, endeavoured to restore order. The panic-stricken soldiers
heard nothing, saw nothing, but the enemy.

At this crisis, Don John, who from his elevated post had watched the
impending ruin, called his handful of brave followers around him, and at
once threw himself into the midst of the tumult. "What means this,
Spaniards?" he exclaimed. "From whom are you flying? Where is the honour
of Spain? Have you not John of Austria, your commander, with you? At
least, if you retreat, do it like brave men, with your front to the
enemy."[241] It was in vain. His entreaties, his menaces, even his
blows, which he dealt with the flat of his sabre, were ineffectual to
rouse anything like a feeling of shame in the cowardly troops. The
efforts of his captains were equally fruitless, though in making them
they exposed their lives with a recklessness which cost some of them
dear. Figueroa was disabled by a wound in the leg. Quixada was hit by a
musket-ball on the left shoulder, and struck from his saddle. Don John,
who was near, sprang to his assistance, and placed him in the hands of
some troopers, with directions to bear him at once to Caniles. In doing
this the young commander himself had a narrow escape; for he was struck
on his helmet by a ball, which, however, fortunately glanced off without
doing him injury.[242] He was now hurried along by the tide of
fugitives, who made no attempt to rally for the distance of half a
league, when the enemy ceased his pursuit. Six hundred Spaniards were
left dead on the field. A great number threw themselves into the houses,
prepared to make good their defence. But they were speedily enveloped by
the Moriscoes, the houses were stormed or set on fire, and the inmates
perished to a man.[243]

Don John, in a letter dated the nineteenth of February, two days after
this disgraceful affair, gave an account of it to the king, declaring
that the dastardly conduct of the troops exceeded anything he had ever
witnessed, or indeed could have believed, had he not seen it with his
own eyes. "They have so little heart in the service," he adds, "that no
effort that I can make, not even the fear of the galleys or the gibbet,
can prevent them from deserting. Would to Heaven I could think that they
are moved to this by the desire to return to their families, and not by
fear of the enemy."[244] He gave the particulars of Quixada's accident,
stating that the surgeons had made six incisions before they could
ascertain where the ball, which had penetrated the shoulder, was lodged;
and that, with all their efforts, they had as yet been unable to extract
it. "I now deeply feel," he says, "how much I have been indebted to his
military experience, his diligence, and care and how important his
preservation is to the service of your majesty. I trust in God he may be
permitted to regain his health, which is now in a critical
condition."[245]

[Sidenote: DEATH OF QUIXADA.]

In his reply to this letter, the king expressed his sense of the great
loss which both he and his brother would sustain by the death of
Quixada. "You will keep me constantly advised of the state of his
health," he says. "I know well it is unnecessary for me to impress upon
you the necessity of watching carefully over him." Philip did not let
the occasion pass for administering a gentle rebuke to Don John for so
lightly holding the promise he had made to him from Galera, not again to
expose himself heedlessly to danger. "When I think of your narrow escape
at Seron, I cannot express the pain I have felt at your rashly incurring
such a risk. In war, every one should confine himself to the duties of
his own station; nor should the general affect to play the part of the
soldier, anymore than the soldier that of the general."[246]

It seems to have been a common opinion, that Don John was more fond of
displaying his personal prowess than became one of his high rank; in
short, that he showed more the qualities of a knight-errant, than those
of a great commander.[247]

Meanwhile, Quixada's wound, which from the first had been attended with
alarming symptoms, grew so much worse as to baffle all the skill of the
surgeons. His sufferings were great, and every hour he grew weaker.
Before a week had elapsed, it became evident that his days were
numbered.

The good knight received the intelligence with composure,--for he did
not fear death. He had not the happiness in this solemn hour to have her
near him on whose conjugal love and tenderness he had reposed for so
many years.[248] But the person whom he cherished next to his wife, Don
John of Austria, was by his bedside, watching over him with the
affectionate solicitude of a son, and ministering those kind offices
which soften the bitterness of death. The dying man retained his
faculties to the last, and dictated, though he had not the strength to
sign, a letter to the king, requesting some favour for his widow, in
consideration of his long services. He then gave himself up wholly to
his spiritual concerns; and on the twenty-fourth of February, 1570, he
gently expired, in the arms of his foster-son.

Quixada received a soldier's funeral. His obsequies were celebrated with
the military pomp suited to his station. His remains, accompanied by the
whole army, with arms reversed, and banners trailing in the dust, were
borne in solemn procession to the church of the Jeronymites in Caniles;
and "we may piously trust," says the chronicler, "that the soul of Don
Luis rose up to heaven with the sweet incense which burned on the altars
of St. Jerome; for he spent his life, and finally lost it, in fighting
like a valiant soldier the battles of the faith."[249]

Quixada was austere in his manners, and a martinet in enforcing
discipline. He was loyal in his nature, of spotless integrity, and
possessed so many generous and knightly qualities, that he commanded the
respect of his comrades; and the regret for his loss was universal.
Philip, writing to Don John, a few days after the event, remarks: "I did
not think that any letter from you could have given me so much pain as
that acquainting me with the death of Quixada. I fully comprehend the
importance of his loss, both to myself and to you, and cannot wonder you
should feel it so keenly. It is impossible to allude to it without
sorrow. Yet we may be consoled by the reflection that, living and dying
as he did, he cannot fail to have exchanged this world for a
better."[250]

Quixada's remains were removed, the year following, to his estate at
Villagarcia, where his disconsolate widow continued to reside.
Immediately after her lord's decease, Don John wrote to Dona Magdalena,
from the camp, a letter of affectionate condolence, which came from the
fulness of his heart: "Luis died as became him, fighting for the glory
and safety of his son, and covered with immortal honour. Whatever I am,
whatever I shall be, I owe to him, by whom I was formed, or rather
begotten in a nobler birth. Dear sorrowing widowed mother! I only am
left to you; and to you, indeed, do I of right belong, for whose sake
Luis died, and you have been stricken with this woe. Moderate your grief
with your wonted wisdom. Would that I were near you now, to dry your
tears, or mingle mine with them! Farewell, dearest and most honoured
mother! and pray to God to send, back your son from these wars to your
bosom."[251]

Dona Magdalena survived her husband many years, employing her time in
acts of charity and devotion. From Don John she ever experienced the
same filial tenderness which he evinces in the letter above quoted.
Never did he leave the country or return to it without first paying his
respects to his mother, as he always called her. She watched with
maternal pride his brilliant career; and when that was closed by an
early death, the last link which had bound her to this world was snapped
for ever. Yet she continued to live on till near the close of the
century, dying in 1598, and leaving behind her a reputation for goodness
and piety little less than that of a saint.

Don John, having paid the last tribute of respect to the memory of his
guardian, collected his whole strength, and marched at once against
Seron. But the enemy, shrinking from an encounter with so formidable a
force, had abandoned the place before the approach of the Spaniards. The
Spanish commander soon after encountered El Habaqui in the
neighbourhood, and defeated him. He then marched on Tijola, a town
perched on a bold cliff, which a resolute garrison might have easily
held against an enemy. But the Moriscoes, availing themselves of the
darkness of the night, stole out of the place, and succeeded, without
much loss, in escaping through the lines of the besiegers.[252] The fall
of Tijola was followed by that of Purchena. In a short time the whole
Rio de Almanzora was overrun, and the victorious general, crossing the
south-eastern borders of the Alpujarras, established his quarters, on
the second of May, at Padules, about two leagues from Andarax.

[Sidenote: NEGOTIATIONS WITH EL HABAQUI.]

These rapid successes are not to be explained simply by Don John's
superiority over the enemy in strength or military science. Philip had
turned a favourable ear to the pope's invitation to join the league
against the Turk, in which he was complimented by having the post of
commander-in-chief offered to his brother, John of Austria. But before
engaging in a new war, it was most desirable for him to be released from
that in which he was involved with the Moriscoes. He had already seen
enough of the sturdy spirit of that race to be satisfied that to
accomplish his object by force would be a work of greater time than he
could well afford. The only alternative, therefore, was to have recourse
to the conciliatory policy which had been so much condemned in the
marquis of Mondejar. Instructions to that effect were accordingly sent
to Don John, who, heartily weary of this domestic contest, and longing
for a wider theatre of action, entered warmly into his brother's views.
Secret negotiations were soon opened with El Habaqui, the Morisco chief,
who received the offer of such terms for himself and his countrymen as
left him in no doubt, at least, as to the side on which his own interest
lay. As a preliminary step, he was to withdraw his support from the
places in the Rio de Almanzora; and thus the war, brought within the
narrower range of the Alpujarras, might be more easily disposed of. This
part of his agreement had been faithfully executed; and the rebellious
district on the eastern borders of the Alpujarras had, as we have seen,
been brought into subjection, with little cost of life to the Spaniards.

Don John followed this up by a royal proclamation, promising an entire
amnesty for the past to all who within twenty days should tender their
submission. They were to be allowed to state the grievances which had
moved them to take up arms, with an assurance that these should be
redressed. All who refused to profit by this act of grace, with the
exception of the women, and of children under fourteen years of age,
would be put to the sword without mercy.

What was the effect of the proclamation we are not informed. It was
probably not such as had been anticipated. The Moriscoes, distressed as
they were, did not trust the promises of the Spaniards. At least we find
Don John, who had now received a reinforcement of two thousand men,
distributing his army into detachments, with orders to scour the country
and deal with the inhabitants in a way that should compel them to
submit. Such of the wretched peasantry as had taken refuge in their
fastnesses were assailed with shot and shell, and slaughtered by
hundreds. Some, who had hidden with their families in the caves in which
the country abounded, were hunted out by their pursuers, or suffocated
by the smoke of burning fagots at the entrance of their retreats.
Everywhere the land was laid waste, so as to afford sustenance for no
living thing. Such were the conciliatory measures employed by the
government for the reduction of the rebels.[253]

Meanwhile the duke of Sesa had taken the field on the northern border of
the Alpujarras, with an army of ten thousand foot and two thousand
horse. He was opposed by Aben-Aboo with a force which in point of
numbers was not inferior to his own. The two commanders adopted the same
policy; avoiding pitched battles, and confining themselves to the
desultory tactics of _guerilla_ warfare, to skirmishes and surprises;
while each endeavoured to distress his adversary by cutting off his
convoys and by wasting the territory with fire and sword. The Morisco
chief had an advantage in the familiarity of his men with this wild
mountain fighting, and in their better knowledge of the intricacies of
the country. But this was far more than counterbalanced by the
superiority of the Spaniards in military organization, and by their
possession of cavalry, artillery, and muskets, in all of which the
Moslems were lamentably deficient. Thus, although no great battle was
won by the Christians, although they were sorely annoyed, and their
convoys of provisions frequently cut off, by the skirmishing parties of
the enemy, they continued steadily to advance, driving the Moriscoes
before them, and securing the permanency of their conquests by planting
a line of forts, well garrisoned, along the wasted territory in their
rear. By the beginning of May, the duke of Sesa had reached the borders
of the Mediterranean, and soon after united his forces, greatly
diminished by desertion, to those of Don John of Austria at
Padules.[254]

Negotiations, during this time, had been resumed with El Habaqui, who
with the knowledge, if not the avowed sanction, of Aben-Aboo, had come
to a place called Fondon de Andarax, not far distant from the
head-quarters of the Spanish commander-in-chief. He was accompanied by
several of the principal Moriscoes, who were to take part in the
discussions. On the thirteenth of May they were met by the deputies from
the Castilian camp, and the conference was opened. It soon appeared that
the demands of the Moriscoes were wholly inadmissible. They insisted,
not only on a general amnesty, but that things should be restored to the
situation in which they were before the edicts of Philip the Second had
given rise to the rebellion. The Moorish commissioners were made to
understand that they were to negotiate only on the footing of a
conquered race. They were advised to prepare a memorial preferring such
requests as might be reasonably granted; and they were offered the
services of Juan de Soto, Don John's secretary, to aid them in drafting
the document. They were counselled, moreover, to see their master,
Aben-Aboo, and obtain full powers from him to conclude a definitive
treaty.

Aben-Aboo, ever since his elevation to the stormy sovereignty of the
Alpujarras, had maintained his part with a spirit worthy of his cause.
But as he beheld town after town fall away from his little empire, his
people butchered or swept into slavery, his lands burned and wasted,
until the fairest portions were converted into a wilderness,--above all,
when he saw that his cause excited no sympathy in the bosoms of the
Moslem princes, on whose support he had mainly relied,--he felt more and
more satisfied of the hopelessness of a contest with the Spanish
monarchy. His officers, and indeed the people at large, had come to the
same conviction; and nothing but an intense hatred of the Spaniards, and
a distrust of their good faith, had prevented the Moriscoes from
throwing down their arms and accepting the promises of grace which had
been held out to them. The disastrous result of the recent campaign
against the duke of Sesa tended still further to the discouragement of
the Morisco chief; and El Habaqui and his associates returned with
authority from their master to arrange terms of accommodation with the
Spaniards.

On the nineteenth of May, the commissioners from each side again met at
Fondon de Andarax. A memorial, drafted by Juan de Soto, was laid before
Don John, whose quarters, as we have seen, were in the immediate
neighbourhood. No copy of the instrument has been preserved, or at least
none has been published. From the gracious answer returned by the
prince, we may infer that it contained nothing deemed objectionable by
the conquerors.

[Sidenote: SUBMISSION OF THE MORISCOES.]

The deputies were not long in agreeing on terms of accommodation--or
rather of submission. It was settled that the Morisco captain should
proceed to the Christian camp, and there presenting himself before the
commander-in-chief, should humbly crave forgiveness, and tender
submission on behalf of his nation; that, in return for this act of
humiliation, a general amnesty should be granted to his countrymen, who,
though they were no longer to be allowed to occupy the Alpujarras, would
be protected by the government wherever they might be removed. More
important concessions were made to Aben-Aboo and El Habaqui. The
last-mentioned chief, as the chronicler tells us, obtained all that he
asked for his master, as well as for himself and his friends.[255] Such
politic concessions by the Spaniards had doubtless their influence in
opening the eyes of the Morisco leaders to the folly of protracting the
war in their present desperate circumstances.

The same evening on which the arrangement was concluded, El Habaqui
proceeded to his interview with the Spanish commander. He was
accompanied by one only of the Morisco deputies. The others declined to
witness the spectacle of their nation's humiliation. He was attended,
however, by a body of three hundred arquebusiers. On entering the
Christian lines, his little company was surrounded by four regiments of
Castilian infantry, and escorted to the presence of John of Austria, who
stood before his tent, attended by his officers, from whom his princely
bearing made him easily distinguished.

El Habaqui, alighting from his horse, and prostrating himself before the
prince, exclaimed, "Mercy! We implore your highness, in the name of his
majesty, to show us mercy, and to pardon our transgressions, which we
acknowledge have been great!"[256] Then unsheathing his scimitar, he
presented it to Don John, saying that he surrendered his arms to his
majesty in the name of Aben-Aboo and the rebel chiefs for whom he was
empowered to act. At the same time the secretary, Juan de Soto, who had
borne the Moorish banner, given him by El Habaqui, on the point of his
lance, cast it on the ground before the feet of the prince. The whole
scene made a striking picture, in which the proud conqueror, standing
with the trophies of victory around him, looked down on the
representative of the conquered race as he crouched in abject submission
at his feet. Don John, the predominant figure in the _tableau_, by his
stately demeanour tempered with a truly royal courtesy, reminded the old
soldiers of his father the emperor, and they exclaimed, "This is the
true son of Charles the Fifth!"

Stooping forward, he graciously raised the Morisco chief from the
ground, and, returning him his sword, bade him employ it henceforth in
the service of the king. The ceremony was closed by flourishes of
trumpets and salvoes of musketry, as if in honour of some great victory.

El Habaqui remained some time after his followers had left the camp,
where he met with every attention, was feasted and caressed by the
principal officers, and was even entertained at a banquet by the bishop
of Guadix. He received however, as we have seen, something more
substantial than compliments. Under these circumstances, it was natural
that he should become an object of jealousy and suspicion to the
Moriscoes. It was soon whispered that El Habaqui, in his negotiations
with the Christians, had been more mindful of his own interests than of
those of his countrymen.[257]

Indeed, the Moriscoes had little reason to congratulate themselves on
the result of a treaty which left them in the same forlorn and degraded
condition as before the breaking out of the rebellion,--which in one
important respect, indeed, left them in a worse condition, since they
were henceforth to become exiles from the homes of their fathers. Yet,
cruel and pitiable in the extreme as was the situation of the Moriscoes,
the Spanish monks, as Don John complains to his brother, inveighed
openly in their pulpits against the benignity and mercy of the
king;[258] and this too, he adds, when it should rather have been their
duty to intercede for poor wretches who, for the most part, had sinned
through ignorance.[259] The ecclesiastic on whom his censure most
heavily falls, is the President Deza,--a man held in such abhorrence by
the Moriscoes as to have been one principal cause of their insurrection;
and he beseeches the king to consult the interests of Granada by
bestowing on him a bishopric, or some other dignity, which may remove
him from the present scene of his labours.[260]

Among those disappointed at the terms of the treaty, as it soon
appeared, was Aben-Aboo himself. At first he affected to sanction it,
and promised to all he could to enforce its execution. But he soon
cooled, and, throwing the blame on El Habaqui, declared that this
officer had exceeded his powers, made a false report to him of his
negotiations, and sacrificed the interests of the nation to his own
ambition.[261] The attentions lavished on that chief by the Spaniards,
his early correspondence with them, and the liberal concessions secured
to him by the treaty, furnished plausible grounds for such an
accusation.

According to the Spanish accounts, however, Aben-Aboo at this time
received a reinforcement of two hundred soldiers from Barbary, with the
assurance that he would soon have more effectual aid from Africa. This,
we are told, changed his views. Nor is it impossible that the Morisco
chief, as the hour approached, found it a more difficult matter than he
had anticipated to resign his royal state and descend into the common
rank-and-file of the vassals of Castile,--the degraded caste of Moorish
vassals, whose condition was little above that of serfs.

However this maybe, the Spanish camp was much disquieted by the rumours
which came in of Aben-Aboo's vacillation. It was even reported that, far
from endeavouring to enforce the execution of the treaty, he was
secretly encouraging his people to further resistance. No one felt more
indignant at his conduct than El Habaqui, who had now become as loyal a
subject as any other in Philip's dominions. Not a little personal
resentment was mingled with his feeling towards Aben-Aboo; and he
offered, if Don John would place him at the head of a detachment, to go
himself, brave the Morisco prince in his own quarters, and bring him as
a prisoner to the camp. Don John, though putting entire confidence in El
Habaqui's fidelity,[262] preferred, instead of men, to give him money;
and he placed eight hundred gold ducats in his hands, to enable him to
raise the necessary levies among his countrymen.

[Sidenote: FATE OF EL HABAQUI.]

Thus fortified, El Habaqui set out for the head-quarters of Aben-Aboo,
at his ancient residence in Mecina de Bombaron. On the second day the
Morisco captain fell in with a party of his countrymen lingering idly by
the way, and he inquired, with an air of authority, why they did not go
and tender their submission to the Spanish authorities, as others had
done. They replied, they were waiting for their master's orders. To this
El Habaqui rejoined, "All are bound to submit: and if Aben-Aboo, on his
part, shows unwillingness to do so, I will arrest him at once, and drag
him at my horse's tail to the Christian camp."[263] This foolish vaunt
cost the braggart his life.

One of the party instantly repaired to Mecina and reported the words to
Aben-Aboo. The Morisco prince, overjoyed at the prospect of having his
enemy in his power, immediately sent a detachment of a hundred and fifty
Turks to seize the offender and bring him to Mecina. They found El
Habaqui at Burchal, where his family were living. The night had set in,
when the chieftain received tidings of the approach of the Turks; and
under cover of the darkness he succeeded in making his escape into the
neighbouring mountains. The ensuing morning the soldiers followed
closely on his track; and it was not long before they descried a person
skulking among the rocks, whose white mantle and crimson turban proved
him to be the object of their pursuit. He was immediately arrested and
carried to Mecina. His sentence was already passed. Aben-Aboo,
upbraiding him with his treachery, ordered him to be removed to an
adjoining room, where he was soon after strangled. His corpse, denied
the rights of burial, having been first rolled in a mat of reeds, was
ignominiously thrown into a sewer; and the fate of the unhappy man was
kept a secret for more than a month.[264]

His absence, after some time, naturally excited suspicions in the
Spanish camp. A cavalier, known to Aben-Aboo, wrote to him to obtain
information respecting El Habaqui, and was told, in answer, by the wily
prince, that he had been arrested and placed in custody for his
treacherous conduct, but that his family and friends need be under no
alarm, as he was perfectly safe. Aben-Aboo hinted, moreover, that it
would be well to send to him some confidential person with whom he might
arrange the particulars of the treaty,--as if these had not been already
settled. After some further delay, Don John resolved to despatch an
agent to ascertain the real dispositions of the Moriscoes towards the
Christians, and to penetrate, if possible, the mystery that hung round
the fate of El Habaqui.

The envoy selected was Hernan Valle de Palacios, a cavalier possessed of
a courageous heart, yet tempered by a caution that well fitted him for
the delicate and perilous office. On the thirteenth of July he set out
on his mission. On the way he encountered a Morisco, a kinsman of the
late monarch, Aben-Humeya, and naturally no friend to Aben-Aboo. He was
acquainted with the particulars of El Habaqui's murder, of which he gave
full details to Palacios. He added, that the Morisco prince, far from
acquiescing in the recent treaty, was doing all in his power to prevent
its execution. He could readily muster, at short notice, said the
informer, a force of five thousand men, well armed, and provisioned for
three months; and he was using all his efforts to obtain further
reinforcements from Algiers.

Instructed in these particulars, the envoy resumed his journey. He was
careful, however, first to obtain a safe-conduct from Aben-Aboo, which
was promptly sent to him. On reaching Mecina, he found the place
occupied by a body of five hundred arquebusiers; but by the royal order
he was allowed to pass unmolested. Before entering the presence of "the
little king of the Alpujarras," as Aben-Aboo, like his predecessor, was
familiarly styled by the Spaniards, Palacios was carefully searched, and
such weapons as he carried about him were taken away.

He found Aben-Aboo stretched on a divan, and three or four Moorish girls
entertaining him with their national songs and dances. He did not rise,
or indeed change his position, at the approach of the envoy, but gave
him audience with the lofty bearing of an independent sovereign.

Palacios did not think it prudent to touch on the fate of El Habaqui.
After expatiating on the liberal promises which he was empowered by Don
John of Austria to make, he expressed the hope that Aben-Aboo would
execute the treaty, and not rekindle a war which must lead to the total
destruction of his country. The chief listened in silence; and it was
not till he had called some of his principal captains around him, that
he condescended to reply. He then said, that God and the whole world
knew it was not by his own desire, but by the will of the people, that
he had been placed on the throne. "I shall not attempt," he said, "to
prevent any of my subjects from submitting that prefer to do so. But
tell your master," he added, "that, while I have a single shirt to my
back, I shall not follow their example. Though no other man should hold
out in the Alpujarras, I would rather live and die a Mussulman than
possess all the favours which King Philip can heap on me. At no time,
and in no manner, will I ever consent to place myself in his
power."[265] He concluded this spirited declaration by adding, that, if
driven to it by necessity, he could bury himself in a cavern, which he
had stowed with supplies for six years to come, during which it would go
hard but he would find some means of making his way to Barbary. The
desperate tone of these remarks effectually closed the audience.
Palacios was permitted to return unmolested, and to report to his
commander the failure of his mission.

The war, which Don John had flattered himself he had so happily brought
to a close, now, like a fire smothered, but not quenched, burst forth
again with redoubled fury. The note of defiance was heard loudest among
the hills of Ronda, a wild sierra on the western skirts of the
Alpujarras, inhabited by a bold and untamed race, more formidable than
the mountaineers of any other district of Granada. Aben-Aboo did all he
could to fan the flame of insurrection in this quarter, and sent his own
brother, El Galipe, to take the command.

The Spanish government, now fully aroused, made more vigorous efforts to
crush the spirit of rebellion than at any time during the war. Don John
was ordered to occupy Guadix, and thence to scour the country in a
northerly direction. Another army, under the Grand-Commander Requesens,
marching from Granada, was to enter the Alpujarras from the north, and
taking a route different from that of the duke of Sesa, in the previous
campaign, was to carry a war of extermination into the heart of the
mountains. Finally, the duke of Arcos, the worthy descendant of the
great marquis of Cadiz, whose name was so famous in the first war of
Granada, and whose large estates in this quarter he had inherited, was
entrusted with the operations against the rebels of the Serrania de
Ronda.

[Sidenote: RENEWAL OF THE WAR.]

The grand-commander executed his commission in the same remorseless
spirit in which it had been dictated. Early in September, quitting
Granada, he took the field at the head of five thousand men. He struck
at once into the heart of the country. All the evils of war in its most
horrid form followed in his train. All along his track, it seemed as if
the land had been swept by a conflagration. The dwellings were sacked
and burned to the ground. The mulberry and olive groves were cut down;
the vines were torn up by the roots; and the ripening harvests were
trampled in the dust. The country was converted into a wilderness.
Occasionally small bodies of the Moriscoes made a desperate stand. But
for the most part, without homes to shelter or food to nourish them,
they were driven, like unresisting cattle, to seek a refuge in the
depths of the mountains, and in the caves in which this part of the
country abounded. Their pursuers followed up the chase with the fierce
glee with which the hunter tracks the wild animal of the forest to his
lair. There they were huddled together, one or two hundred frequently in
the same cavern. It was not easy to detect the hiding-place amidst the
rocks and thickets which covered up and concealed the entrance. But when
it was detected, it was no difficult matter to destroy the inmates. The
green bushes furnished the materials for a smouldering fire, and those
within were soon suffocated by the smoke, or, rushing out, threw
themselves on the mercy of their pursuers. Some were butchered on the
spot; others were sent to the gibbet or the galleys; while the greater
part, with a fate scarcely less terrible, were given up as the booty of
the soldiers, and sold into slavery.[266]

Aben-Aboo had a narrow escape in one of these caverns, not far from
Berchul, where he had secreted himself with a wife and two of his
daughters. The women were suffocated, with about seventy other persons.
The Morisco chief succeeded in making his escape through an aperture at
the farther end, which was unknown to his enemies.[267]

Small forts were erected at short intervals along the ruined country. No
less than eighty-four of these towers were raised in different parts of
the land, twenty-nine of which were to be seen in the Alpujarras and the
vale of Lecrin alone.[268] There they stood, crowning every peak and
eminence in the sierra, frowning over the horrid waste, the sad
memorials of the conquest. This was the stern policy of the victors.
Within this rocky girdle, long held as it was by the iron soldiery of
Castile, it was impossible that rebellion should again gather to a head.

The months of September and October were consumed in these operations.
Meanwhile the duke of Arcos had mustered his Andalusian levies, to the
number of four thousand men, including a thousand of his own vassals. He
took with him his son, a boy of not more than thirteen years of
age,--following in this, says the chronicler, the ancient usage of the
valiant house of Ponce de Leon.[269] About the middle of September he
began his expedition into the Sierra Vermeja, or Red Sierra. It was a
spot memorable in Spanish history for the defeat and death of Alonso de
Aguilar, in the time of Ferdinand and Isabella, and has furnished the
theme of many a plaintive _romance_ in the beautiful minstrelsy of the
South. The wife of the duke of Arcos was descended from Alonso de
Aguilar, as he himself was the grandson of the good count of Urena, who,
with better fortune than his friend, survived the disasters of that day.
The route of the army led directly across the fatal field. As they
traversed the elevated plain of Calaluz, the soldiers saw everywhere
around the traces of the fight. The ground was still covered with
fragments of rusty armour, bits of broken sword-blades, and heads of
spears. More touching evidence was afforded by the bones of men and
horses, which, in this solitary region, had been whitening in the blasts
of seventy winters. The Spaniards knew well the localities, with which
they had become familiar from boyhood in the legends and traditions of
the country. Here was the spot where the vanguard, under its brave
commander, had made its halt in the obscurity of the night. There were
the faint remains of the enemy's entrenchments, which time had nearly
levelled with the dust; and there, too, the rocks still threw their dark
shadows over the plain, as on the day when the valiant Alonso da Aguilar
fell at their base in combat with the renowned Feri de Ben Estepar. The
whole scene was brought home to the hearts of the Spaniards. As they
gazed on the unburied relics lying around them, the tears, says the
eloquent historian who records the incident, fell fast down their iron
cheeks; and they breathed a soldier's prayer for the repose of the noble
dead. But these holier feelings were soon succeeded by others of a
fierce nature, and they loudly clamoured to be led against the
enemy.[270]

The duke of Arcos, profiting by the errors of Alonso de Aguilar, had
made his arrangements with great circumspection. He soon came in sight
of the Moriscoes, full three thousand strong. But, though well posted,
they made a defence little worthy of their ancient reputation, or of the
notes of defiance which they had so boldly sounded at the opening of the
campaign. They indeed showed mettle at first, and inflicted some loss on
the Christians. But the frequent reverses of their countrymen seemed to
have broken their spirits; and they were soon thrown into disorder, and
fled in various directions into the more inaccessible tracts of the
sierra. The Spaniards followed up the fugitives, who did not attempt to
rally. Nor did they ever again assemble in any strength, so effectual
were the dispositions made by the victorious general. The insurrection
of the Sierra Vermeja was at an end.[271]

The rebellion, indeed, might be said to be everywhere crushed within the
borders of Granada. The more stout-hearted of the insurgents still held
out among the caves and fastnesses of the Alpujarras, supporting a
precarious existence until they were hunted down by detachments of the
Spaniards, who were urged to the pursuit by the promise from government
of twenty ducats a head for every Morisco. But nearly all felt the
impracticability of further resistance. Some succeeded in making their
escape to Barbary. The rest, broken in spirit, and driven to extremity
by want of food in a country now turned into a desert, consented at
length to accept the amnesty offered them, and tendered their
submission.

[Sidenote: EXPULSION OF THE MOORS.]

On the twenty-eighth of October Don John received advices of a final
edict of Philip, commanding that all the Moriscoes in the kingdom of
Granada should be at once removed into the interior of the country. None
were to be excepted from this decree, not even the _Moriscos de la
Paz_, as those were called who had loyally refused to take part in the
rebellion.[272] The arrangements for this important and difficult step
were made with singular prudence, and, under the general direction of
Don John of Austria, the Grand-Commander Requesens, and the dukes of
Sesa and Arcos, were carried into effect with promptness and energy.

By the terms of the edict, the lands and houses of the exiles were to be
forfeited to the crown. But their personal effects--their flocks, their
herds, and their grain--would be taken, if they desired it, at a fixed
valuation by the government. Every regard was to be paid to their
personal conveniences and security; and it was forbidden, in the
removal, to separate parents from children, husbands from wives; in
short, to divide the members of a family from one another;--"an act of
clemency," says a humane chronicler, "which they little deserved; but
his majesty was willing in this to content them."[273]

The country was divided into districts, the inhabitants of which were to
be conducted, under the protection of a strong military escort, to their
several places of destination. These seem to have been the territory of
La Mancha, the northern borders of Andalusia, the Castiles, Estremadura,
and even the remote province of Galicia. Care was taken that no
settlement should be made near the borders of Murcia or Valencia, where
large numbers of the Moriscoes were living in comparative quiet on the
estates of the great nobles, who were exceedingly jealous of any
interference with their vassals.

The first of November, All-Saints' Day, was appointed for the removal of
the Moriscoes throughout Granada. On that day they were gathered in the
principal churches of their districts, and after being formed into their
respective divisions, began their march. The grand-commander had
occupied the passes of the Alpujarras with strong detachments of the
military. The different columns of emigrants were placed under the
directions of persons of authority and character. The whole movement was
conducted with singular order,--resistance being attempted in one or two
places only, where the blame, it may be added, as intimated by a
Castilian chronicler, was to be charged on the brutality of the
soldiers.[274] Still, the removal of the Moriscoes on the present
occasion was attended with fewer acts of violence and rapacity than the
former removal, from Granada. At least this would seem to be inferred by
the silence of the chroniclers; though it is true such silence is far
from being conclusive, as the chroniclers, for the most part, felt too
little interest in the sufferings of the Moriscoes to make a notice of
them indispensable. However this may be, it cannot be doubted that,
whatever precautions may have been taken to spare the exiles any
unnecessary suffering, the simple fact of their being expelled from
their native soil is one that suggests an amount of misery not to be
estimated. For what could be more dreadful than to be thus torn from
their pleasant homes, the scenes of their childhood, where every
mountain, valley, and stream were as familiar friends,--a part of their
own existence,--to be rudely thrust into a land of strangers, of a race
differing from themselves in faith, language, and institutions, with no
sentiment in common but that of a deadly hatred? That the removal of a
whole nation should have been so quietly accomplished, proves how
entirely the strength and spirit of the Moriscoes must have been broken
by their reverses.[275]

The war thus terminated, there seemed no reason for John of Austria to
prolong his stay in the province. For some time he had been desirous to
obtain the king's consent to his return. His ambitious spirit, impatient
of playing a part on what now seemed to him an obscure field of action,
pent up within the mountain barrier of the Alpujarras, longed to display
itself on a bolder theatre before the world. He aspired, too, to a more
independent command. He addressed repeated letters to the king's
ministers,--to the Cardinal Espinosa and Gomez de Silva in
particular,--to solicit their influence in his behalf. "I should be
glad," he wrote to the latter, "to serve his majesty, if I might be
allowed, on some business of importance. I wish he may understand that I
am no longer a boy. Thank God, I can begin to fly without the aid of
others' wings, and it is full time, as I believe, that I was out of
swaddling-clothes."[276] In another letter he expresses his desire to
have some place more fitting the brother of such a monarch as Philip,
and the son of such a father as Charles the Fifth.[277] On more than one
occasion he alludes to the command against the Turk as the great object
of his ambition.

His importunity to be allowed to resign his present office had continued
from the beginning of summer, some months before the proper close of the
campaign. It may be thought to argue an instability of character, of
which a more memorable example was afforded by him at a later period of
life. At length he was rejoiced by obtaining the royal consent to resign
his command and return to court.

[Sidenote: MURDER OF ABEN-ABOO.]

On the eleventh of November, Don John repaired to Granada. Till the
close of the month he was occupied with making the necessary
arrangements preparatory to his departure. The greater part of the army
was paid off and disbanded. A sufficient number was reserved to garrison
the fortresses and to furnish detachments which were to scour the
country and hunt down such Moriscoes as still held out in the mountains.
As Requesens was to take part in the expedition against the Ottomans,
the office of captain-general was placed in the hands of the valiant
duke of Arcos. On the twenty-ninth of November, Don John, having
completed his preparations, quitted Granada and set forth on his
journey to Madrid, where the popular chieftain was welcomed with
enthusiasm by the citizens, as a conqueror returned from a victorious
campaign. By Philip and his newly-married bride, Anne of Austria, he was
no less kindly greeted; and it was not long before the king gave a
substantial proof of his contentment with his brother, by placing in his
hands the baton, offered by the allies, of generalissimo in the war
against the Turks.

There was still one Morisco insurgent who refused to submit, and who had
hitherto eluded every attempt to capture him, but whose capture was of
more importance than that of any other of his nation. This was
Aben-Aboo, the "little king" of the Alpujarras. His force of five
thousand men had dwindled to scarcely more than four hundred. But they
were men devoted to his person, and seemed prepared to endure every
extremity rather than surrender. Like the rest of his nation, the
Morisco chief took refuge in the mountain caves, in such remote and
inaccessible districts as had hitherto baffled every attempt to detect
his retreat. In March, 1571, an opportunity presented itself for making
the discovery.

Granada was at this time the scene of almost daily executions. As the
miserable insurgents were taken, they were brought before Deza's
tribunal, where they were at once sentenced by the inexorable president
to the galleys or the gibbet, or the more horrible doom of being torn in
pieces with red-hot pincers. Among the prisoners sentenced to death, was
one Zatahari, who was so fortunate as to obtain a respite of his
punishment at the intercession of a goldsmith named Barredo, a person of
much consideration in Granada. From gratitude for this service, or
perhaps as the price of it, Zatahari made some important revelations to
his benefactor respecting Aben-Aboo. He disclosed the place of his
retirement and the number of his followers, adding, that the two persons
on whom he most relied were his secretary, Abou-Amer, and a Moorish
captain named El Senix. The former of these persons was known to
Barredo, who, in the course of his business, had frequent occasion to
make journeys into the Alpujarras. He resolved to open a correspondence
with the secretary, and, if possible, win him over to the Spanish
interests. Zatahari consented to bear the letter, on condition of a
pardon. This was readily granted by the president, who approved the
plan, and who authorized the most liberal promises to Abou-Amer in case
of his co-operation with Barredo.

Unfortunately--or, rather, fortunately for Zatahari, as it proved,--he
was intercepted by El Senix, who, getting possession of the letter,
carried it to Abou-Amer. The loyal secretary was outraged by this
attempt to corrupt him. He would have put the messenger to death, had
not El Senix represented that the poor wretch had undertaken the mission
only to save his life.

Privately the Moorish captain assured the messenger that Barredo should
have sought a conference with him, as he was ready to enter into
negotiations with the Christians. In fact, El Senix had a grudge against
his master, and had already made an attempt to leave his service and
escape to Barbary.

A place of meeting was accordingly appointed in the Alpujarras, to which
Barredo secretly repaired. El Senix was furnished with an assurance,
under the president's own hand, of a pardon for himself and his friends,
and of an annual pension of a hundred thousand maravedis, in case he
should bring Aben-Aboo, dead or alive, to Granada.

The interview could not be conducted so secretly but that an intimation
of it reached the ears of Aben-Aboo, who resolved to repair at once to
the quarters of El Senix, and ascertain the truth for himself. That
chief had secreted himself in a cabin in the neighbourhood. Aben-Aboo
took with him his faithful secretary and a small body of soldiers. On
reaching the cave, he left his followers without, and, placing two men
at the entrance, he, with less prudence than was usual with him, passed
alone into the interior.

There he found El Senix, surrounded by several of his friends and
kinsmen. Aben-Aboo, in a peremptory tone, charged him with having held
a secret correspondence with the enemy, and demanded the object of his
late interview with Barredo. Senix did not attempt to deny the charge,
but explained his motives by saying that he had been prompted only by a
desire to serve his master. He had succeeded so well, he said, as to
obtain from the president an assurance that, if the Morisco would lay
down his arms, he should receive an amnesty for the past, and a liberal
provision for the future.

Aben-Aboo listened scornfully to this explanation; then, muttering the
word, "Treachery!" he turned on his heel, and moved towards the mouth of
the cave, where he had left his soldiers, intending probably to command
the arrest of his perfidious officer. But he had not given them, it
appears, any intimation of the hostile object of his visit to El Senix;
and the men, supposing it to be on some matter of ordinary business, had
left the spot to see some of their friends in the neighbourhood. El
Senix saw that no time was to be lost. On a signal which he gave, his
followers attacked the two guards at the door, one of whom was killed on
the spot, while the other made his escape. They then all fell upon the
unfortunate Aben-Aboo. He made a desperate defence. But though the
struggle was fierce, the odds were too great for it to be long. It was
soon terminated by the dastard Senix coming behind his master, and with
the butt-end of his musket dealing him a blow on the back, of his head
that brought him to the ground, where he was quickly despatched by a
multitude of wounds.[278]

The corpse was thrown out of the cavern. His followers, soon learning
their master's fate, dispersed in different directions. The faithful
secretary fell shortly after into the hands of the Spaniards, who, with
their usual humanity in this war, caused him to be drawn and quartered.

The body of Aben-Aboo was transported to the neighbourhood of Granada,
where preparations were made for giving the dead chief a public entrance
into the city, as if he had been still alive. The corpse was set astride
on a mule, and supported erect in the saddle by a wooden frame, which
was concealed beneath ample robes. On one side of the body rode Barredo;
on the other, El Senix, bearing the scimitar and arquebuse of his
murdered master. Then followed the kinsmen and friends of the Morisco
prince, with their arms by their side. A regiment of Castilian infantry
and a troop of horse brought up the rear. As the procession defiled
along the street of Zacatin, it was saluted by salvoes of musketry,
accompanied by peals of artillery from the ancient towers of the
Alhambra, while the population of Granada, with eager though silent
curiosity, hurried out to gaze on the strange and ghastly spectacle.

In this way the company reached the great square of Vivarambla, where
were assembled the president, the duke of Arcos, and the principal
cavaliers and magistrates of the city. On coming into their presence, El
Senix dismounted, and, kneeling before Deza, delivered to him the arms
of Aben-Aboo. He was graciously received by the president, who confirmed
the assurance which had been given him of the royal favour. The
miserable ceremony of public execution was then gone through with. The
head of the dead man was struck off. His body was given to the boys of
the city, who, after dragging it through the streets with scoffs and
imprecations, committed it to the flames. Such was one of the lessons by
which the Spaniards early stamped on the minds of their children an
indelible hatred of the Morisco.

[Sidenote: CHARACTER OF ABEN-ABOO.]

The head of Aben-Aboo, enclosed in a cage, was set up over the gate
which opened on the Alpujarras. There, with the face turned towards his
native hills, which he had loved so well, and which had witnessed his
brief and disastrous reign, it remained for many a year. None ventured,
by removing it, to incur the doom which an inscription on the cage
denounced on the offender: "This is the head of the traitor Aben-Aboo.
Let no one take it down, under penalty of death."[279]

Such was the sad end of Aben-Aboo, the last of the royal line of the
Omeyades who ever ruled in the Peninsula. Had he lived in the peaceful
and prosperous times of the Arabian empire in Spain, he might have
swayed the sceptre with as much renown as the best of his dynasty.
Though the blood of the Moor flowed in his veins, he seems to have been
remarkably free from some of the greatest defects in the Moorish
character. He was temperate in his appetites, presenting in this respect
a contrast to the gross sensuality of his predecessor. He had a lofty
spirit, was cool and circumspect in his judgments, and, if he could not
boast that fiery energy of character which belonged to some of his
house, he had a firmness of purpose not to be intimidated by suffering
or danger. Of this he gave signal proof when, as the reader may
remember, the most inhuman tortures could not extort from him the
disclosure of the lurking-place of his friends.[280] His qualities, as I
have intimated, were such as peculiarly adapted him to a time of
prosperity and peace. Unhappily, he had fallen upon evil times, when his
country lay a wreck at his feet; when the people, depressed by long
servitude, were broken down by the recent calamities of war; when, in
short, it would not have been possible for the wisest and most warlike
of his predecessors to animate them to a successful resistance against
odds so overwhelming as those presented by the Spanish monarchy in the
zenith of its power.

The Castilian chroniclers have endeavoured to fix a deep stain on his
memory, by charging him with the murder of El Habaqui, and with the
refusal to execute the treaty to which he had given his sanction. But,
in criticising the conduct of Aben-Aboo, we must not forget the race
from which he sprung, or the nature of its institutions. He was a
despot, and a despot of the Oriental type. He was placed in a
situation--much against his will, it may be added--which gave him
absolute control over the lives and fortunes of his people. His word was
their law. He passed the sentence, and enforced its execution. El
Habaqui he adjudged to be a traitor; and, in sentencing him to the
bowstring, he inflicted on him only a traitor's doom.

With regard to the treaty, he spoke of himself as betrayed, saying that
its provisions were not such as he had intended. And when we consider
that the instrument was written in the Spanish tongue; that it was
drafted by a Spaniard; finally, that the principal Morisco agent who
subscribed the treaty was altogether in the Spanish interest, as the
favours heaped on him without measure too plainly proved, it can hardly
be doubted that there were good grounds for the assertion of Aben-Aboo.
From the hour of his accession, he seems to have devoted himself to the
great work of securing the independence of his people. He could scarcely
have agreed to a treaty which was to leave that people in even a worse
state than before the rebellion. From what we know of his character, we
may more reasonably conclude that he was sincere when he told the
Spanish envoy, Palacios, who had come to press the execution of the
treaty, and to remind him of the royal promises of grace, that "his
people might do as they listed, but, for himself, he would rather live
and die a Mussulman than possess all the favours which the king of Spain
could heap on him." His deeds corresponded with his words; and,
desperate as was his condition, he still continued to bid defiance to
the Spanish government, until he was cut off by the hand of a traitor.

The death of Aben-Aboo severed the last bond which held the remnant of
the Moriscoes together. In a few years the sword, famine, and the
gallows had exterminated the outcasts who still lurked in the fastnesses
of the mountains. Their places were gradually occupied by Christians,
drawn thither by the favourable terms which the government offered to
settlers. But it was long before the wasted and famine-stricken
territory could make a suitable return to the labours of the colonists.
They were ignorant of the country, and were altogether deficient in the
agricultural skill necessary for turning its unpromising places to the
best account. The Spaniard, adventurous as he was, and reckless of
danger and difficulty in the pursuit of gain, was impatient of the
humble drudgery required for the tillage of the soil; and many a valley
and hill-side which, under the Moriscoes, had bloomed with all the rich
embroidery of cultivation, now relapsed into its primitive barrenness.

The exiles carried their superior skill and industry into the various
provinces where they were sent. Scattered as they were, and wide apart,
the presence of the Moriscoes was sure to be revealed by the more minute
and elaborate culture of the soil, as the secret course of the
mountain-stream is betrayed by the brighter green of the meadow. With
their skill in husbandry they combined a familiarity with various kinds
of handicraft, especially those requiring dexterity and fineness of
execution, that was unknown to the Spaniards. As the natural result of
this superiority, the products of their labour were more abundant, and
could be afforded at a cheaper rate than those of their neighbours. Yet
this industry was exerted under every disadvantage which a most cruel
legislation could impose on it. It would be hard to find in the pages of
history a more flagrant example of the oppression of a conquered race,
than that afforded by the laws of this period in reference to the
Moriscoes. The odious law of 1566, which led to the insurrection, was
put in full force. By this the national songs and dances, the peculiar
baths of the Moriscoes, the _fetes_ and ceremonies which had come down
to them from their ancestors, were interdicted under heavy penalties. By
another ordinance, dated October 6, 1572, still more cruel and absurd,
they were forbidden to speak or to write the Arabic, under penalty of
thirty days' imprisonment in irons for the first offence, double that
term for the second, and for the third a hundred lashes and four years'
confinement in the galleys. By another monstrous provision in the same
edict, whoever read, or even had in his possession, a work written or
printed in the Arabic, was to be punished with a hundred stripes and
four years in the galleys. Any contract or public instrument made in
that tongue was to be void, and the parties to it were condemned to
receive two hundred lashes and to tug at the oar for six years.[281]

[Sidenote: FORTUNES OF THE MORISCOES.]

But the most oppressive part of this terrible ordinance related to the
residence of the Moriscoes. No one was allowed to change his abode, or
to leave the parish or district assigned to him, without permission from
the regular authorities. Whoever did so, and was apprehended beyond
these limits, was to be punished with a hundred lashes and four years'
imprisonment in the galleys. Should he be found within ten leagues of
Granada, he was condemned, if between ten and seventeen years of age, to
toil as a galley-slave the rest of his days; if above seventeen, he was
sentenced to death![282] On the escape of a Morisco from his limits, the
hue and cry was to be raised, as for the pursuit of a criminal. Even his
own family were required to report his absence to the magistrate; and
in case of their failure to do this, although it should be his wife or
his children, says the law, they incurred the penalty of a whipping and
a month's imprisonment in the common gaol.[283]

Yet, in the face of these atrocious enactments, we find the Moriscoes
occasionally making their escape into the province of Valencia, where
numbers of their countrymen were living as serfs on the estates of the
great nobles, under whose powerful protection they enjoyed a degree of
comfort, if not of independence, unknown to their race in other parts of
the country. Some few, also, finding their way to the coast, succeeded
in crossing the sea to Barbary. The very severity of the law served in
some measure to defeat its execution. Indeed, Philip, in more than one
instance in which he deemed that the edicts pressed too heavily on his
Moorish vassals, judged it expedient to mitigate the penalty, or even to
dispense with it altogether,--an act of leniency which seems to have
found little favour with his Castilian subjects.[284]

Yet, strange to say, under this iron system, the spirit of the
Moriscoes, which had been crushed by their long sufferings in the war of
the rebellion, gradually rose again as they found a shelter in their new
homes, and resumed their former habits of quiet industry. Though
deprived of their customary amusements, their _fetes_, their songs, and
their dances,--though debarred from the use of the language which they
had lisped from the cradle, which embodied their national traditions,
and was associated with their fondest recollections,--they were said to
be cheerful, and even gay. They lived to a good age, and examples of
longevity were found among them, to which it was not easy to find a
parallel among the Spaniards. The Moorish stock, like the Jewish, seems
to have thriven under persecution.[285]

One would be glad to find any authentic data for an account of the
actual population at the time of their expulsion from Granada. But I
have met with none. They must have been sorely thinned by the war of the
insurrection and the countless woes it brought upon the country. One
fact is mentioned by the chroniclers, which shows that the number of the
exiles must have been very considerable. The small remnant still left in
Granada, with its lovely _vega_ and the valley of Lecrin, alone
furnished, we are told, over six thousand.[286] In the places to which
they were transported they continued to multiply to such an extent that
the Cortes of Castile, in the latter part of the century, petitioned the
king not to allow the census to be taken, lest it might disclose to the
Moriscoes the alarming secret of their increase of numbers.[287] Such a
petition shows, as strongly as language can show, the terror in which
the Spaniards still stood of this persecuted race.

Yet the Moriscoes were scattered over the country in small and isolated
masses, hemmed in all around by the Spaniards. They were transplanted to
the interior, where, at a distance from the coast, they had no means of
communicating with their brethren of Africa. They were without weapons
of any kind; and, confined to their several districts, they had not the
power of acting in concert together. There would seem to have been
little to fear from a people so situated. But the weakest individual,
who feels that his wrongs are too great to be forgiven, may well become
an object of dread to the person who has wronged him.

The course of the government in reference to the Moriscoes was clearly a
failure. It was as impolitic as it was barbarous. Nothing but the
blindest fanaticism could have prevented the Spaniards from perceiving
this. The object of the government had been to destroy every vestige of
nationality in the conquered race. They were compelled to repudiate
their ancient usages, their festivals, their religion, their
language,--all that gave them a separate existence as a nation. But this
served only to strengthen in secret the sentiment of nationality. They
were to be divorced for ever from the past. But it was the mistake of
the government that it opened to them no future. Having destroyed their
independence as a nation, it should have offered them the rights of
citizenship, and raised them to an equality with the rest of the
community. Such was the policy of ancient Rome towards the nations which
she conquered; and such has been that of our own country towards the
countless emigrants who have thronged to our shores from so many distant
lands. The Moriscoes, on the contrary, under the policy of Spain, were
condemned to exist as foreigners in the country,--as enemies in the
midst of the community into which they were thrown. Experience had
taught them prudence and dissimulation; and in all outward observances
they conformed to the exactions of the law. But in secret they were as
much attached to their national institutions as were their ancestors
when the caliphs of Cordova ruled over half the Peninsula. The
Inquisition rarely gleaned an apostate from among them to swell the
horrors of an _auto da fe_; but whoever recalls the facility with which,
in the late rebellion, the whole population had relapsed into their
ancient faith, will hardly doubt that they must have still continued to
be Mahometans at heart.

Thus the gulf which separated the two races grew wider and wider every
day. The Moriscoes hated the Spaniards for the wrongs which they had
received from them. The Spaniards hated the Moriscoes the more, that
they had themselves inflicted these wrongs. Their hatred was further
embittered by the feeling of jealousy caused by the successful
competition of their rivals in the various pursuits of gain,--a
circumstance which forms a fruitful theme of complaint in the petition
of the Cortes above noticed.[288] The feeling of hate became in time
mingled with that of fear, as the Moriscoes increased in opulence and
numbers; and men are not apt to be over scrupulous in their policy
towards those whom they both hate and fear.

With these evil passions rankling in their bosoms, the Spaniards were
gradually prepared for the consummation of their long train of
persecutions by that last act, reserved for the reign of the imbecile
Philip the Third,--the expulsion of the Moriscoes from the
Peninsula,--an act which deprived Spain of the most industrious and
ingenious portion of her population, and which must be regarded as one
of the principal causes of the subsequent decline of the monarchy.

[Sidenote: MARMOL--CIRCOURT.]

     An historian less renowned than Mendoza, but of more importance to
     one who would acquaint himself with the story of the Morisco
     rebellion, is Luis del Marmol Carbajal. Little is known of him but
     what is to be gathered from brief notices of himself in his works.
     He was a native of Granada, but we are not informed of the date of
     his birth. He was of a good family, and followed the profession of
     arms. When a mere youth, as he tells us, he was present at the
     famous siege of Tunis, in 1535. He continued in the imperial
     service two-and-twenty years. Seven years he was a captive, and
     followed the victorious banner of Mohammed, Scherif of Morocco, in
     his campaigns in the west of Africa. His various fortunes and his
     long residence in different parts of the African continent,
     especially in Barbary and Egypt, supplied him with abundant
     information in respect to the subjects of his historical inquiries;
     and, as he knew the Arabic, he made himself acquainted with such
     facts as were to be gleaned from books in that language. The fruits
     of his study and observation he gave to the world in his
     "_Descripcion General de Africa_," a work in three volumes folio,
     the first part of which appeared at Granada in 1573. The remainder
     was not published till the close of the century.

     The book obtained a high reputation for its author, who was much
     commended for the fidelity and diligence with which he had pushed
     his researches in a field of letters into which the European
     scholar had as yet rarely ventured to penetrate.

     In the year 1600 appeared, at Malaga, his second work, the
     "_Historia del Rebelion y Castigo de los Moriscos del Reyno de
     Granada_," in one volume, folio. For the composition of this
     history the author was admirably qualified, not only by his
     familiarity with all that related to the character and condition of
     the Moriscoes, but by the part which he had personally taken in the
     war of the insurrection. He held the office of commissary in the
     royal army, and served in that capacity from the commencement of
     the war to its close. In the warm colouring of the narrative, and
     in the minuteness of its details, we feel that we are reading the
     report of one who has himself beheld the scenes which he describes.
     Indeed, the interest which, as an actor, he naturally takes in the
     operations of the war, leads to an amount of detail which may well
     be condemned as a blemish by those who do not feel a similar
     interest in the particulars of the struggle. But if his style have
     somewhat of the rambling, discursive manner of the old Castilian
     chronicler, it has a certain elegance in the execution, which
     brings it much nearer to the standard of a classic author. Far from
     being chargeable with the obscurity of Mendoza, Marmol is
     uncommonly perspicuous. With a general facility of expression, his
     language takes the varied character suited to the theme, sometimes
     kindled into eloquence and occasionally softened into pathos, for
     which the melancholy character of his story afforded too many
     occasions. Though loyal to his country and his faith, yet he shows
     but few gleams of the fiery intolerance that belonged to his
     nation, and especially to that portion of it which came into
     collision with the Moslems. Indeed, in more than one passage of his
     work we may discern gleams of that Christian charity which, in
     Castile was the rarest, as it was, unhappily, the least precious of
     virtues, in the age in which he lived.

     In the extensive plan adopted by Marmol, his history of the
     rebellion embraces a preliminary notice of the conquest of Granada,
     and of that cruel policy of the conquerors which led to the
     insurrection. The narrative, thus complete, supplied a most
     important hiatus in the annals of the country. Yet notwithstanding
     its importance in this view, and its acknowledged merit as a
     literary composition, such was the indifference of the Spaniards to
     their national history, that it was not till the close of the last
     century, in 1797, that a second edition of Marmol's work was
     permitted to appear. This was in two volumes, octavo, from the
     press of Sancha, at Madrid,--the edition used in the preparation of
     these pages.

     The most comprehensive, and by far the most able history of the
     Moors of Spain with which I am acquainted, is that of the Count
     Albert de Circourt,--"_Histoire des Arabes en Espagne_." Beginning
     with the beginning, the author opens his narrative with the
     conquest of the Peninsula by the Moslems. He paints in glowing
     colours the magnificent empire of the Spanish caliphs. He dwells
     with sufficient minuteness on those interminable feuds which,
     growing out of a diversity of races and tribes, baffled every
     attempt at a permanent consolidation under one government. Then
     comes the famous war of Granada, with the conquest of the country
     by the "Catholic Kings;" and the work closes with the sad tale of
     the subsequent fortunes of the conquered races until their final
     expulsion from the Peninsula. Thus the rapidly shifting scenes of
     this most picturesque drama, sketched by a master's hand, are
     brought in regular succession before the eye of the reader.

     In conducting his long story, the author, far from confining
     himself to a dry record of events, diligently explores the causes
     of these events. He scrutinizes with care every inch of debateable
     ground which lies in his path. He enriches his narrative with
     copious disquisitions on the condition of the arts, and the
     progress made by the Spanish Arabs in science and letters; thus
     presenting a complete view of that peculiar civilization which so
     curiously blended together the characteristic elements of European
     and Oriental culture.

     If, in pursuing his speculations, M. de Circourt may be sometimes
     thought to refine too much, it cannot be denied that they are
     distinguished by candour and by a philosophical spirit. Even when
     we may differ from his conclusions, we must allow that they are the
     result of careful study, and display an independent way of
     thinking. I may regret that in one important instance--the policy
     of the government of Ferdinand and Isabella--he should have been
     led to dissent from the opinions which I had expressed in my
     history of those sovereigns. It is possible that the predilection
     which the writer, whether historian or novelist, naturally feels
     for his hero when his conduct affords any ground for it, may have
     sometimes seduced me from the strict line of impartiality in my
     estimate of character and motives of action. I see, however, no
     reason to change the conclusions at which I had arrived after a
     careful study of the subject. Yet I cannot deny that the labours of
     the French historian have shed a light upon more than one obscure
     passage in the administration of Ferdinand and Isabella, for which
     the student of Spanish history owes him a debt of gratitude.




CHAPTER IX.

WAR WITH THE TURKS.

League against the Turks--Preparations for the War--Don John
Commander-in-Chief--His Reception at Naples--His Departure from Messina.

1570-1571.


While Philip was occupied with the Morisco insurrection, his attention
was called to another quarter, where a storm was gathering that menaced
Spain in common with the rest of Christendom. In 1566, Solyman the
Magnificent closed his long and prosperous reign. His son and successor,
Selim the Second, possessed few of the qualities of his great father.
Bred in the seraglio, he showed the fruits of his education in his
indolent way of life, and in the free indulgence of the most licentious
appetites. With these effeminate tastes, he inherited the passion for
conquest which belonged not only to his father, but to the whole of his
warlike dynasty. Not that, like them, he headed his armies in the field.
These were led by valiant commanders, who had learned the art of war
under Solyman. Selim was, above all, fortunate in possessing for his
grand vizier a minister whose untiring industry and remarkable talents
for business enabled him to bear on his own shoulders the whole burden
of government. It was fortunate for the state, as well as for the
sultan, that Mahomet had the art to win the confidence of his master,
and to maintain it unshaken through the whole of his reign.

The scheme which most occupied the thoughts of Selim was the conquest of
Cyprus. This island, to which nature had been so prodigal of her gifts,
belonged to Venice. Yet, placed at the extremity of the Mediterranean,
it seemed in a manner to command the approaches to the Dardanelles,
while its line of coast furnished convenient ports, from which swarms of
cruisers might sally forth in time of war, and plunder the Turkish
commerce.

Selim, resolved on the acquisition of Cyprus, was not slow in devising a
pretext for claiming it from Venice as a part of the Ottoman empire. The
republic, though willing to make almost any concession rather than come
to a rupture with the colossal power under whose shadow she lay, was not
prepared to surrender without a struggle the richest gem in her colonial
diadem. War was accordingly declared against her by the Porte, and vast
preparations were made for fitting out an armament against Cyprus.
Venice, in her turn, showed her usual alacrity in providing for the
encounter. She strained her resources to the utmost. In a very short
time she equipped a powerful fleet, and took measures to place the
fortifications of Cyprus in a proper state of defence. But Venice no
longer boasted a navy such as in earlier days had enabled her to humble
the pride of Genoa, and to ride the unquestioned mistress of the
Mediterranean. The defences of her colonies, moreover, during her long
repose, had gradually fallen into decay. In her extremity, she turned to
the Christian powers of Europe, and besought them to make common cause
with her against the enemy of Christendom.

[Sidenote: LEAGUE AGAINST THE TURKS.]

Fortunately the chair of St. Peter was occupied, at this crisis, by Pius
the Fifth, one of those pontiffs who seem to have been called forth by
the exigencies of the time, to uphold the pillars of Catholicism, as
they were yet trembling under the assaults of Luther. Though he was near
seventy years of age, the fire of youth still glowed in his veins. He
possessed all that impetuous eloquence which, had he lived in the days
of Peter the Hermit, would have enabled him, like that enthusiast, to
rouse the nations of Europe to a crusade against the infidel. But the
days of the crusades were past; and a summons from the Vatican had no
longer the power to stir the souls of men like a voice from heaven. The
great potentates of Europe were too intent on their own selfish schemes
to be turned from these by the apprehension of a danger so remote as
that which menaced them from the East. The forlorn condition of Venice
had still less power to move them; and that haughty republic was now
made to feel, in the hour of her distress, how completely her perfidious
and unscrupulous policy had estranged from her the sympathies of her
neighbours.

There was one monarch, however, who did not close his ears against the
appeal of Venice,--and that monarch, one of more importance to her cause
than any other, perhaps all others united. In the spring of 1570, Luigi
Torres, clerk of the apostolic chamber, was sent to Spain by Pius the
Fifth, to plead the cause of the republic. He found the king at Ecija,
on the route from Cordova, where he had been for some time presiding
over a meeting of the Cortes. The legate was graciously received by
Philip, to whom he presented a letter from his holiness, urging the
monarch, in the most earnest and eloquent language, to give succour to
Venice, and to unite with her in a league against the infidel. Philip
did not hesitate to promise his assistance in the present emergency; but
he had natural doubts as to the expediency of binding himself by a
league with a power on whose good faith he had little reliance. He
postponed his decision until his arrival at Seville. Accompanied by the
legate, on the first of May, he made his solemn entry into the great
commercial capital of the South. It was his first visit there, and he
was received with tumultuous joy by the loyal inhabitants. Loyalty to
their monarchs has ever been a predominant trait of the Spaniards; and
to none of their princes did they ever show it in larger measure than to
Philip the Second. No one of them, certainly, was more thoroughly
Spanish in his own nature, or more deeply attached to Spain.

After swearing to respect the privileges of the city, the king received
the homage of the authorities. He then rode through the streets under a
gorgeous canopy, upheld by the principal magistrates, and visited the
churches and monasteries, hearing _Te Deum_, and offering up his prayers
in the cathedral. He was attended by a gay procession of nobles and
cavaliers, while the streets of the populous city were thronged with
multitudes, filled with enthusiasm at the presence of their sovereign.
By this loyal escort Philip was accompanied to the place of his
residence, the royal alcazar of Seville. Here he prolonged his stay for
a fortnight, witnessing the shows and festivals which had been prepared
for his entertainment. At his departure he received a more substantial
proof of the attachment of the citizens, in a donation of six hundred
thousand ducats. The object of this magnificent present was to defray,
in part, the expenses of the king's approaching marriage with his fourth
wife, Anne of Austria, the daughter of his cousin, the emperor
Maximilian. The fair young bride had left her father's court, and was
already on her way to Madrid, where her nuptials were to be celebrated,
and where she was to take the place of the lovely Isabella, whose death,
not two years since, had plunged the nation in mourning.[289]

While at Seville, Philip laid the subject of the league before his
ministers. Some of these, and among the number Espinosa, president of
the council of Castile, entertained great doubts as to the policy of
binding Spain by a formal treaty with the Venetian republic. But, with
all his distrust of that power, Philip took a broader view of the matter
than his ministers. Independently of his willingness to present himself
before the world as the great champion of the Faith, he felt that such
an alliance offered the best opportunity for crippling the maritime
power of Turkey, and thus providing for the safety of his own colonial
possessions in the Mediterranean. After much deliberation, he dismissed
the legate with the assurance that, notwithstanding the troubles which
pressed on him both in the Low Countries and in Granada, he would
furnish immediate succours to Venice, and would send commissioners to
Rome, with full powers to unite with those of the pope and the republic
in forming a treaty of alliance against the Ottoman Porte. The papal
envoy was charged with a letter to the same effect, addressed by Philip
to his holiness.

The ensuing summer, the royal admiral, the famous John Andrew Doria, who
was lying with a strong squadron off Sicily, put to sea by the king's
orders. He was soon after reinforced by a few galleys which were
furnished by his holiness, and placed under the command of Mark Antonio
Colonna, the representative of one of the most ancient and illustrious
houses in Rome. On the last of August, 1570, the combined fleet effected
its junction with the Venetians at Candia, and a plan of operations was
immediately arranged. It was not long before the startling intelligence
arrived that Nicosia, the capital of Cyprus, had been taken and sacked
by the Turks, with all the circumstances of cruelty which distinguish
wars in which the feeling of national hostility is embittered by
religious hatred. The plan was now to be changed. A dispute arose among
the commanders as to the course to be pursued. No one had authority
enough to enforce compliance with his own opinion. The dispute ended in
a rupture. The expedition was abandoned; and the several commanders
returned home with their squadrons, without having struck a blow for the
cause. It was a bad omen for the success of the league.[290]

Still the stout-hearted pontiff was not discouraged. On the contrary, he
endeavoured to infuse his own heroic spirit into the hearts of his
allies, giving them the most cheering assurances for the future, if they
would but be true to themselves. Philip did not need this encouragement.
Once resolved, his was not a mind lightly to be turned from its purpose.
Venice, on the other hand, soon showed that the Catholic king had good
reason for distrusting her fidelity. Appalled by the loss of Nicosia,
with her usual inconstancy, she despatched a secret agent to
Constantinople, to see if some terms might not yet be made with the
Sultan. The negotiation could not be managed so secretly, however, but
that notice of it reached the ears of Pius the Fifth. He forthwith
despatched an envoy to the republic to counteract this measure, and to
persuade the Venetians to trust to their Christian allies rather than to
the Turks, the enemies of their country and their religion. The person
selected for this mission was Colonna, who was quite as much
distinguished for his address as for his valour. He performed his task
well. He represented so forcibly to the government that the course he
recommended was the one dictated not less by interest than by honour,
that they finally acquiesced, and recalled their agent from
Constantinople. It must be acknowledged that Colonna's arguments were
greatly strengthened by the cold reception given to the Venetian envoy
at Constantinople, where it was soon seen that the conquest of the
capital had by no means tended to make the sultan relax his hold on
Cyprus.[291]

[Sidenote: LEAGUE AGAINST THE TURKS.]

Towards the close of 1570, the deputies from the three powers met in
Rome to arrange the terms of the league. Spain was represented by the
cardinals Granvelle and Pacheco, together with the ambassador, Juan de
Zuniga, all three at that time being resident in Rome. It will readily
be believed that the interests of Spain would not suffer in the hands of
a commission with so skilful a tactician as Granvelle to direct it.

Yet though the parties seemed to be embarked in a common cause, there
was found much difficulty in reconciling their different pretensions.
The deputies from Venice, in the usual spirit of her diplomacy, regarded
the league as exclusively designed for her benefit; in other words, for
the protection of Cyprus against the Turks. The Spanish commissioners
took a wider view, and talked of the war as one waged by the Christian
against the Infidel; against the Moors no less than the Turks. In this
politic view of the matter, the Catholic king was entitled to the same
protection for his colonies on the coast of Africa as Venice claimed for
Cyprus.

Another cause of disagreement was the claim of each of the parties to
select a commander-in-chief for the expedition from its own nation. This
pre-eminence was finally conceded to Spain, as the power that was to
bear the largest share of the expenses.

It was agreed that the treaty should be permanent in its duration, and
should be directed against the Moors of Tunis, Tripoli, and Algiers, as
well as against the Turks; that the contracting parties should furnish
two hundred galleys, one hundred transports and smaller vessels, fifty
thousand foot, and four thousand five hundred horse, with the requisite
artillery and munitions; that by April, at farthest, of every succeeding
year, a similar force should be held in readiness by the allies for
expeditions to the Levant; and that any year in which there was no
expedition in common, and either Spain or the republic should desire to
engage in one on her own account against the Infidel, the other
confederates should furnish fifty galleys towards it; that if the enemy
should invade the dominions of any of the three powers, the others
should be bound to come to the aid of their ally; that three-sixths of
the expenses of the war should be borne by the Catholic king, two-sixths
by the republic, the remaining sixth by the Holy See; that the Venetians
should lend his holiness twelve galleys, which he was to man and equip
at his own charge, as his contribution towards the armament; that each
power should appoint a captain-general; that the united voices of the
three commanders should regulate the plan of operations; that the
execution of this plan should be entrusted to the captain-general of the
league, and that this high office should be given to Don John of
Austria; that, finally, no one of the parties should make peace, or
enter into a truce with the enemy, without the knowledge and consent of
the others.[292]

Such were the principal provisions of the famous treaty of the Holy
League. The very first article declares this treaty perpetual in its
nature. Yet we should be slow to believe that the shrewd and politic
statesmen who directed the affairs of Spain and the republic could for a
moment believe in the perpetuity of a contract which imposed such
burdensome obligations on the parties. In fact, the league did not hold
together two years. But it held together long enough to accomplish a
great result, and as such occupies an important place in the history of
the times.

Although a draft of the treaty had been prepared in the latter part of
the preceding year, it was not ratified till 1571.[293] On the
twenty-fourth of May, the pope caused it to be read aloud in full
consistory. He then, laying his hand on his breast, solemnly swore to
the observance of it. The ambassadors of Spain and Venice made oath to
the same effect, on behalf of their governments, placing their hands on
a missal with a copy of the Gospels beneath it. On the day following,
after mass had been performed, the treaty was publicly proclaimed in the
church of St. Peter.[294]

The tidings of the alliance of the three powers caused a great sensation
throughout Christendom. Far from dismaying the sultan, however, it only
stimulated him to greater exertions. Availing himself of the resources
of his vast empire, he soon got together a powerful fleet, partly drawn
from his own dominions, and in part from those of the Moslem powers on
the Mediterranean, who acknowledged allegiance to the Porte. The armada
was placed under the command of Selim's brother-in-law, the Pacha Piali,
a man of an intrepid spirit, who had given many proofs of a humane and
generous nature; qualities more rare among the Turks, perhaps among all
nations, than mere physical courage.

Early in the spring of 1571, the Ottoman admiral sailed out of the
Golden Horn, and directed his course towards Candia. Here he remained
until joined by a strong Algerine force under the redoubtable corsair
Uluch Ali,--a Calabrian renegade, who had risen from the humblest
condition to the post of dey of Algiers. Early in the season the
combined fleets sailed for the Adriatic; and Piali, after landing and
laying waste the territory belonging to the republic, detached Uluch
with his squadron to penetrate higher up the gulf. The Algerine, in
executing these orders, advanced so near to Venice as to throw the
inhabitants of that capital into a consternation such as they had not
felt since the cannon of the Genoese, two centuries before, had
resounded over their waters. But it was not the dey's purpose to engage
in so formidable an enterprise as an assault upon Venice; and soon
drawing off, he joined the commander-in-chief at Corfu, where they
waited for tidings of the Christian fleet.[295]

The indefatigable Pius, even before the treaty was signed, had
despatched his nephew, Cardinal Alessandrino, to the different courts,
to rouse the drooping spirits of the allies, and to persuade other
princes of Christendom to join the league. In the middle of May, the
legate, attended by a stately train of ecclesiastics, appeared at
Madrid. Philip gave him a reception that fully testified his devotion to
the Holy See. The king's brother, Don John, and his favourite minister,
Ruy Gomez de Silva, with some of the principal nobles, waited at once on
the cardinal who had taken up his quarters in the suburbs, at the
Dominican monastery of Atocha, tenanted by brethren of his own order. On
the following morning the papal envoy made his entrance, in great state,
into the capital. He was mounted on a mule, gorgeously caparisoned, the
gift of the city. John of Austria rode on his right; and he was escorted
by a pompous array of prelates and grandees, who seemed to vie with one
another in the splendour of their costumes. On the way he was met by the
royal cavalcade. As the legate paid his obeisance to the monarch, he
remained with his head uncovered; and Philip, with a similar act of
courtesy, while he addressed a few remarks to the churchman, held his
hat in his hand.[296] He then joined the procession, riding between the
legate on the right and his brother on the left, who was observed, from
time to time, to take part in the conversation,--a circumstance
occasioning some surprise, says an historian, as altogether contrary to
the established etiquette of the punctilious Castilian court.[297]

[Sidenote: PREPARATIONS FOR THE WAR.]

The ceremonies were concluded by religious services in the church of
Santa Maria, where the legate, after preaching a discourse, granted all
present a full remission of the pains of purgatory for two hundred
years.[298] A gift of more worth, in a temporal view, was the grant to
the king of the _cruzada_, the _excusada_, and other concessions of
ecclesiastical revenue, which the Roman see knows so well how to bestow
on the champions of the Faith. These concessions came in good time to
supply the royal coffers, sorely drained by the costly preparations for
the war.

Meanwhile, the Venetians were pushing forward their own preparations
with their wonted alacrity,--indeed, with more alacrity than
thoroughness. They were prompt in furnishing their quota of vessels, but
discreditably remiss in their manner of equipping them. The fleet was
placed under the charge of Sebastian Veniero, a noble who had grown grey
in the service of his country. Zanne, who had had the command of the
fleet in the preceding summer, was superseded on the charge of
incapacity, shown especially in his neglect to bring the enemy to
action. His process continued for two years, without any opportunity
being allowed to the accused of appearing in his own vindication. It was
finally brought to a close by his death,--the consequence, as it is
said, of a broken heart. If it were so, it would not be a solitary
instance of such a fate in the annals of the stern republic. Before
midsummer the new admiral sailed with his fleet, or as much of it as was
then ready, for the port of Messina, appointed as the place of
rendezvous for the allies. Here he was soon joined by Colonna, the papal
commander, with the little squadron furnished by his holiness; and the
two fleets lay at anchor, side by side, in the capacious harbour,
waiting the arrival of the rest of the confederates and of John of
Austria.

Preparations for the war were now going actively forward in Spain.
Preparations on so large a scale had not been seen since the war with
Paul the Fourth and Henry the Third, which ushered in Philip's
accession. All the great ports in the Peninsula, as well as in the
kingdom of Naples, in Sicily, in the Balearic Isles, in every part of
the empire in short, swarmed with artisans, busily engaged in fitting
out the fleet which was to form Philip's contingent to the armament. By
the terms of the treaty, he was to bear one-half of the charges of the
expedition. In his naval preparations he spared neither cost nor care.
Ninety royal galleys, and more than seventy ships of small dimensions,
were got in readiness in the course of the summer. They were built and
equipped in that thorough manner which vindicated the pre-eminence in
naval architecture claimed by Spain, and formed a strong contrast to the
slovenly execution of the Venetians.[299]

Levies of troops were at the same time diligently enforced in all parts
of the monarchy. Even a corps of three thousand German mercenaries was
subsidized for the campaign. Troops were drawn from the veteran
garrisons in Lombardy and the kingdom of Naples. As the Morisco
insurrection was fortunately quelled, the forces engaged in it, among
whom were the brave Neapolitan battalion and its commander, Padilla,
could now be employed in the war against the Turk.

But it can hardly be said to have required extraordinary efforts to fill
the ranks on the present occasion; for seldom had a war been so popular
with the nation. Indeed, the Spaniards entered into it with an alacrity
which might well have suggested the idea that their master had engaged
in it on his own account, rather than as an ally. It was, in truth, a
war that appealed in a peculiar manner to the sensibilities of the
Castilian, familiar from his cradle with the sound of the battle-cry
against the Infidel. The whole number of infantry raised by the
confederates amounted to twenty-nine thousand. Of this number Spain
alone sent over nineteen thousand well-appointed troops, comprehending
numerous volunteers, many of whom belonged to the noblest houses of the
Peninsula.[300]

On the sixth of June, Don John, after receiving the last instructions of
his brother, set out from Madrid on his journey to the south. Besides
his own private establishment, making a numerous train, he was escorted
by a splendid company of lords and cavaliers, eager to share with him in
the triumphs of the Cross. Anxious to reach the goal, he pushed forward
at a more rapid rate than was altogether relished by the rest of the
cavalcade. Yet, notwithstanding this speed on the road, there were
matters that claimed his attention in the towns through which he passed
that occasioned some delay. His journey had the appearance of a royal
progress. The castles of the great lords were thrown open with princely
hospitality to receive him and his suite. In the chief cities, as
Saragossa and Barcelona, he was entertained by the viceroys with all the
pomp and ceremony that could have been shown to the king himself. He
remained some days in the busy capital of Catalonia, and found there
much to engage his attention in the arsenals and dockyards, now alive
with the bustle of preparation. He then made a brief pilgrimage to the
neighbouring hermitage of our Lady of Montserrat, where he paid his
devotions, and conversed with the holy fathers, whom he had always
deeply reverenced, and had before visited in their romantic solitudes.

[Sidenote: DON JOHN'S RECEPTION AT NAPLES.]

Embarking at Barcelona, he set sail with a squadron of more than thirty
galleys,--a force strong enough to guard against the Moslem corsairs in
the Mediterranean, and landed, on the twenty-fifth, at Genoa. The doge
and the senate came out to welcome him, and he was lodged during his
stay in the palace of Andrew Doria. Here he received embassies and
congratulatory addresses from the different princes of Italy. He had
already been greeted with an autograph letter, couched in the most
benignant terms, from the sovereign pontiff. To all these communications
Don John was careful to reply. He acquainted his holiness, in
particular, with the whole course of his proceedings. While on the way,
he had received a letter from his brother, giving him a full catalogue
of the appropriate titles by which each one of his correspondents should
be addressed. Nor was this list confined to crowned heads, but
comprehended nobles and cavaliers, of every degree.[301] In no country
has the perilous code of etiquette been more diligently studied than in
Spain, and no Spaniard was better versed in it than Philip.

Pursuing his route by water, Don John, in the month of August, dropped
anchor in the beautiful bay of Naples. Arrangements had been made in
that city for his reception on a more magnificent scale than any he had
witnessed on his journey. Granvelle, who had lately been raised to the
post of viceroy, came forth, at the head of a long and brilliant
procession, to welcome his royal guest. The houses that lined the
streets were hung with richly-tinted tapestries, and gaily festooned
with flowers. The windows and verandahs were graced with the beauty and
fashion of that pleasure-loving capital; and many a dark eye sparkled as
it gazed on the fine form and features of the youthful hero, who at the
age of twenty-four had come to Italy to assume the baton of command, and
lead the crusade against the Moslems. His splendid dress of white velvet
and cloth of gold set off his graceful person to advantage. A crimson
scarf floated loosely over his breast; and his snow-white plumes,
drooping from his cap, mingled with the yellow curls that fell in
profusion over his shoulders. It was a picture which the Italian maiden
might love to look on. It was certainly not the picture of the warrior
sheathed in the iron panoply of war. But the young prince, in his
general aspect, might be relieved from the charge of effeminacy, by his
truly chivalrous bearing and the dauntless spirit which beamed from his
clear blue eye. In his own lineaments he seemed to combine all that was
most comely in the lineaments of his race. Fortunately he had escaped
the deformity of the heavy Burgundian lip, which he might perhaps have
excused, as establishing his claims to a descent from the imperial house
of Hapsburg.[302]

Don John had found no place more busy with preparations for the campaign
than Naples. A fleet was riding at anchor in her bay, ready to sail
under the command of Don Alvaro Bazan, first marquis of Santa Cruz, a
nobleman who had distinguished himself by more than one gallant
achievement in the Mediterranean, and who was rapidly laying the
foundations of a fame that was one day to eclipse that of every other
admiral in Castile.

Ten days Don John remained at Naples, detained by contrary winds. Though
impatient to reach Messina, his time passed lightly amidst the _fetes_
and brilliant spectacles which his friendly hosts had provided for his
entertainment. He entered gaily into the revels; for he was well skilled
in the courtly and chivalrous exercises of the day. Few danced better
than he, or rode, or fenced, or played at tennis with more spirit and
skill, or carried off more frequently the prizes of the tourney. Indeed,
he showed as much ambition to excel in the mimic game of war as on the
field of battle. With his accomplishments and personal attractions, we
may well believe that Don John had little reason to complain of coldness
in the fair dames of Italy. But he seems to have been no less a
favourite with the men. The young cavaliers, in particular, regarded him
as the very mirror of chivalry, and studiously formed themselves on him
as their model. His hair clustered thickly round his temples, and he was
in the habit of throwing it back, so as to display his fine forehead to
advantage. This suited his physiognomy. It soon became the mode with
the gallants of the court; and even those whose physiognomies it did not
suit were no less careful to arrange their hair in the same manner.

While at Naples he took part in a ceremony of an interesting and
significant character. It was on the occasion of the presentation of a
standard sent by Pius the Fifth for the Holy War. The ceremony took
place in the church of the Franciscan convent of Santa Chiara. Granvelle
officiated on the occasion. Mass was performed by the cardinal-viceroy
in his pontificals. _Te Deum_ was then chanted, after which Don John,
approaching the altar with a slow and dignified step, gracefully knelt
before the prelate, who, first delivering to him the baton of
generalissimo, in the name of his holiness, next placed in his hands the
consecrated standard. It was of azure damask. A crucifix was embroidered
on the upper part of the banner, while below were the arms of the
Church, with those of Spain on the right, and of Venice on the left,
united by a chain, from which were suspended the arms of John of
Austria. The prelate concluded the ceremony by invoking the blessing of
Heaven on its champion, and beseeching that he might be permitted to
carry the banner of the Cross victorious over its enemies. The choir of
the convent then burst forth into a triumphant peal, and the people from
every quarter of the vast edifice shouted "Amen!"[303]

It was a striking scene, pregnant with matter for meditation to those
who gazed on it. For what could be more striking than the contrast
afforded by these two individuals,--the one in the morning of life, his
eye kindling with hope and generous ambition, as he looked into the
future and prepared to tread the path of glory under auspices as
brilliant as ever attended any mortal; the other drawing near to the
evening of his day, looking to the past rather than the future, with
pale and thoughtful brow, as of one who, after many a toilsome day and
sleepless night, had achieved the proud eminence for which his companion
was panting,--and had found it barren!

The wind having become more favourable, Don John took leave of the gay
capital of the South, and embarked for Messina, which he reached on the
twenty-fifth of August. If in other places he had seen preparations for
war, here he seemed to be brought on the very theatre of war. As he
entered the noble port, he was saluted with the thunders of hundreds of
pieces of ordnance from the combined fleets of Rome and Venice, which
lay side by side awaiting his arrival. He landed beneath a triumphal
arch of colossal dimensions, embossed with rich plates of silver, and
curiously sculptured with emblematical bas-reliefs, and with
complimentary legends in Latin verse, furnished by the classical poets
of Italy.[304] He passed under two other arches of similar rich and
elaborate construction, as he rode into the town amidst the ringing of
bells, the cheers of the multitude, the waving of scarfs and
handkerchiefs from the balconies, and other lively demonstrations of the
public joy, such as might have intoxicated the brain of a less ambitious
soldier than John of Austria. The festivities were closed in the evening
by a general illumination of the city, and by a display of fireworks
that threw a light far and wide over the beautiful harbour and the
countless ships that floated on its waters.

[Sidenote: THE ARMADA OF THE ALLIES.]

Nothing could be finer, indeed, whether by day or by night, than the
spectacle presented by the port of Messina. Every day a fresh
reinforcement of squadrons, or of single galleys or brigantines, under
some brave adventurer, entered the harbour to swell the numbers of the
great armada. Many of these vessels, especially the galleys, were richly
carved and gilt, after the fashion of the time, and with their
many- streamers, and their flags displaying the arms of their
several states, made a magnificent show as they glanced over the waters.
None, in the splendour of their decorations, exceeded the _Real_, as the
galley of the commander-in-chief was termed. It was of great size, and
had been built in Barcelona, famous for its naval architecture all the
world over. The stern of the vessel was profusely decorated with emblems
and devices drawn from history. The interior was furnished in a style of
luxury that seemed to be designed for pleasure, rather than for the
rough duties of war. But the galley was remarkable for both strength and
speed,--the two most essential qualities in the construction of a ship.
Of this she gave ample evidence in her contest with the Turk.[305]

The whole number of vessels in the armada, great and small, amounted to
something more than three hundred. Of these full two-thirds were "royal
galleys." Venice alone contributed one hundred and six, besides six
_galeazzas_. These were ships of enormous bulk, and, as it would seem,
of clumsy construction, carrying each more than forty pieces of
artillery. The Spaniards counted a score of galleys less than their
Venetian confederates. But they far exceeded them in the number of their
frigates, brigantines, and vessels of smaller size. They boasted a still
greater superiority in the equipment of their navy. Indeed, the Venetian
squadron was found so indifferently manned, that Don John ordered
several thousand hands to be drafted from the ships of the other Italian
powers, and from the Spanish, to make up the necessary complement. This
proceeding conveyed so direct a censure on the remissness of his
countrymen, as to give great disgust to the admiral, Veniero. But in the
present emergency he had neither the power to resist nor to resent
it.[306]

The number of persons on board of the fleet, soldiers and seamen, was
estimated at eighty thousand. The galleys, impelled by oars more than by
sails, required a large number of hands to navigate them. The soldiers,
as we have seen, did not exceed twenty-nine thousand; of which number
more than nineteen thousand were furnished by Spain. They were
well-appointed troops, most of them familiar with war, and officered by
men, many of whom had already established a high reputation in the
service. On surveying the muster-roll of cavaliers who embarked in this
expedition, one may well believe that Spain had never before sent forth
a fleet in which were to be found the names of so many of her sons
illustrious for rank and military achievement. If the same can be said
of Venice, we must consider that the present war was one in which the
prosperity, perhaps the very existence, of the republic was involved.
The Spaniard was animated by the true spirit of the Crusades, when,
instead of mercenary motives, the guerdon for which men fought was glory
in this world and paradise in the next.

Sebastian Veniero, trembling for the possessions of the republic in the
Adriatic, would have put to sea without further delay, and sought out
the enemy. But Don John, with a prudence hardly to have been expected,
declined moving until he had been strengthened by all his
reinforcements. He knew the resources of the Ottoman empire; he could
not doubt that in the present emergency they would be strained to the
utmost to equip a formidable armament; and he resolved not to expose
himself unnecessarily to the chances of defeat, by neglecting any means
in his power to prepare for the encounter. It was a discreet
determination, which must have met the entire approbation of his
brother.

While he was thus detained at Messina, a papal nuncio, Odescalco, bishop
of Pena, arrived there. He was the bearer of sundry spiritual favours
from the pontiff, whose real object, no doubt, was to quicken the
movements of John of Austria. The nuncio proclaimed a jubilee; and every
man in the armada, from the captain-general downwards, having fasted
three days, confessed and partook of the communion. The prelate, in the
name of his holiness, then proclaimed a full remission of their sins;
and he conceded to them the same indulgences as had been granted to the
deliverers of the Holy Sepulchre. To Don John the pope communicated
certain revelations and two cheering prophecies from St. Isadore, which
his holiness declared had undoubted reference to the prince. It is
further stated, that Pius appealed to more worldly feelings, by
intimating to the young commander that success could not fail to open
the way to the acquisition of some independent sovereignty for
himself.[307] Whether this suggestion first awakened so pleasing an idea
in Don John's mind, or whether the wary pontiff was aware that it
already existed there, it is certain that it became the spectre which
from this time forward continued to haunt the imagination of the
aspiring chieftain, and to beckon him onward in the path of perilous
ambition to its melancholy close.

All being now in readiness, orders were given to weigh anchor; and on
the sixteenth of September the magnificent armament--unrivalled by any
which had rode upon these waters since the days of imperial Rome--stood
out to sea. The papal nuncio, dressed in his pontificals, took a
prominent station on the mole; and as each vessel passed successively
before him, he bestowed on it his apostolic benediction. Then, without
postponing a moment longer his return, he left Messina and hastened back
to Rome to announce the joyful tidings to his master.[308]




CHAPTER X.

WAR WITH THE TURKS.

Plan of Operations--Tidings of the Enemy--Preparations for
Combat--Battle of Lepanto--Rout of the Turkish Armada.

1571.


[Sidenote: PLAN OF OPERATIONS.]

As the allied fleet coasted along the Calabrian shore, it was so much
baffled by rough seas and contrary winds that its progress was slow. Not
long before his departure Don John had sent a small squadron under a
Spanish captain, Gil de Andrada, to collect tidings of the enemy. On his
return that commander met the Christian fleet, and reported that the
Turks, with a powerful armament, were still in the Adriatic, where they
had committed fearful ravages on the Venetian territories. Don John now
steered his course for Corfu, which, however, he did not reach till the
twenty-sixth of September. He soon had ample opportunities of seeing for
himself the traces of the enemy, in the smoking hamlets and desolated
fields along the coast. The allies were welcomed with joy by the
islanders, who furnished them with whatever supplies they needed. Here
Don John learned that the Ottoman fleet had been standing into the Gulf
of Lepanto, where it lay as if waiting the coming of the Christians.

The young commander-in-chief had now no hesitation as to the course he
ought to pursue. But he chose to call a council of his principal
captains before deciding. The treaty of alliance, indeed, required him
to consult with the other commanders before taking any decisive step in
matters of importance; and this had been strenuously urged on him by the
king, ever afraid of his brother's impetuosity.

The opinions of the council were divided. Some who had had personal
experience of the naval prowess of the Turks appeared to shrink from
encountering so formidable an armament, and would have confined the
operations of the fleet to the siege of some place belonging to the
Moslems. Even Doria, whose life had been spent in fighting with the
infidel, thought it was not advisable to attack the enemy in his present
position, surrounded by friendly shores, whence he might easily obtain
succour. It would be better, he urged, to attack some neighbouring
place, like Navarino, which might have the effect of drawing him from
the gulf, and thus compel him to give battle in some quarter more
advantageous to the allies.

But the majority of the council took a very different view of the
matter. To them it appeared that the great object of the expedition was
to destroy the Ottoman fleet, and that a better opportunity could not be
offered than the present one, while the enemy was shut up in the gulf,
from which, if defeated, he would find no means of escape. Fortunately,
this was the opinion, not only of the majority, but of most of those
whose opinions were entitled to the greatest deference. Among these were
the gallant marquis of Santa Cruz, the Grand-Commander Requesens, who
still remained near the person of Don John, and had command of a galley
in his rear, Cardona, general of the Sicilian squadron, Barbarigo, the
Venetian _provveditore_, next in authority to the captain-general of his
nation, the Roman Colonna, and Alexander Farnese, the young prince of
Parma, Don John's nephew, who had come, on this memorable occasion, to
take his first lesson in the art of war,--an art in which he was
destined to remain without a rival.

The commander-in-chief, with no little satisfaction, saw himself so well
supported in his own judgment; and he resolved, without any unnecessary
delay, to give the Turks battle in the position they had chosen. He was
desirous, however, to be joined by part of his fleet, which, baffled by
the winds, and without oars, still lagged far behind. For the galley,
with its numerous oars in addition to its sails, had somewhat of the
properties of a modern steamer, which so gallantly defies both wind and
wave. As Don John wished also to review his fleet before coming into
action, he determined to cross over to Comenizza, a capacious and
well-protected port on the opposite coast of Albania.

This he did on the thirtieth of September. Here the vessels were got in
readiness for immediate action. They passed in review before the
commander-in-chief, and went through their various evolutions, while the
artillerymen and musketeers showed excellent practice. Don John looked
with increased confidence to the approaching combat. An event, however,
occurred at this time, which might have been attended with the worst
consequences.

A Roman officer, named Tortona, one of those who had been drafted to
make up the complement of the Venetian galleys, engaged in a brawl with
some of his crew. This reached the ears of Veniero, the Venetian
captain-general. The old man, naturally of a choleric temper, and still
smarting from the insult which he fancied he had received by the
introduction of the allies on board of his vessels, instantly ordered
the arrest of the offender. Tortona for a long while resisted the
execution of these orders; and when finally seized, with some of his
companions, they were all sentenced by the vindictive Veniero to be hung
at the yardarm. Such a high-handed proceeding caused the deepest
indignation in Don John, who regarded it, moreover, as an insult to
himself. In the first moments of his wrath he talked of retaliating on
the Venetian admiral by a similar punishment. But, happily, the
remonstrances of Colonna--who, as the papal commander, had in truth the
most reason to complain--and the entreaties of other friends, prevailed
on the angry chief to abstain from any violent act. He insisted,
however, that Veniero should never again take his place at the
council-board, but should be there represented by the _provveditore_
Barbarigo, next in command,--a man, fortunately, possessed of a better
control over his temper than was shown by his superior. Thus the cloud
passed away, which threatened for a moment to break up the harmony of
the allies, and to bring ruin on the enterprise.[309]

On the third of October, Don John, without waiting longer for the
missing vessels, again put to sea, and stood for the Gulf of Lepanto. As
the fleet swept down the Ionian Sea, it passed many a spot famous in
ancient story. None, we may imagine, would be so likely to excite an
interest at this time as Actium, on whose waters was fought the greatest
naval battle of antiquity. But the mariner probably gave little thought
to the past, as he dwelt on the conflict that awaited him at Lepanto. On
the fifth, a thick fog enveloped the armada, and shut out every object
from sight. Fortunately, the vessels met with no injury, and, passing by
Ithaca, the ancient home of Ulysses, they safely anchored off the
eastern coast of Cephalonia. For two days their progress was thwarted by
headwinds. But on the seventh, Don John, impatient of delay, again put
to sea, though wind and weather were still unfavourable.

While lying off Cephalonia he had received tidings that Famagosta, the
second city of Cyprus, had fallen into the hands of the enemy, and this
under circumstances of unparalleled perfidy and cruelty. The place,
after a defence that had cost hecatombs of lives to the besiegers, was
allowed to capitulate on honourable terms. Mustapha, the Moslem
commander, the same fierce chief who had conducted the siege of Malta,
requested an interview at his quarters with four of the principal
Venetian captains. After a short and angry conference, he ordered them
all to execution. Three were beheaded. The other, a noble named
Bragadino, who had held the supreme command, he caused to be flayed
alive in the market-place of the city. The skin of the wretched victim
was then stuffed; and with this ghastly trophy dangling from the yardarm
of his galley, the brutal monster sailed back to Constantinople, to
receive the reward of his services from Selim.[310] These services were
great. The fall of Famagosta secured the fall of Cyprus, which thus
became permanently incorporated in the Ottoman empire.[311]

[Sidenote: PREPARATIONS FOR COMBAT.]

The tidings of these shocking events filled the breast of every Venetian
with an inextinguishable thirst for vengeance. The confederates entered
heartily into these feelings; and all on board of the armada were
impatient for the hour that was to bring them hand to hand with the
enemies of the Faith.

It was two hours before dawn, on Sunday, the memorable seventh of
October, when the fleet weighed anchor. The wind had become lighter; but
it was still contrary, and the galleys were indebted for their progress
much more to their oars than their sails. By sunrise they were abreast
of the Curzolari,--a cluster of huge rocks, or rocky islets, which on
the north defends the entrance of the Gulf of Lepanto. The fleet moved
laboriously along, while every eye was strained to catch the first
glimpse of the hostile navy. At length the watch on the fore-top of the
_Real_ called out "A sail!" and soon after declared that the whole
Ottoman fleet was in sight. Several others, climbing up the rigging,
confirmed his report; and in a few moments more, word was sent to the
same effect by Andrew Doria, who commanded on the right. There was no
longer any doubt; and Don John, ordering his pennon to be displayed at
the mizen-peak, unfurled the great standard of the League, given by the
pope, and directed a gun to be fired, the signal for battle. The report,
as it ran along the rocky shores, fell cheerily on the ears of the
confederates, who, raising their eyes towards the consecrated banner,
filled the air with their shouts.[312]

The principal captains now came on board the _Real_, to receive the last
orders of the commander-in-chief. Even at this late hour, there were
some who ventured to intimate their doubts of the expediency of engaging
the enemy in a position where he had a decided advantage. But Don John
cut short the discussion. "Gentlemen," he said, "this is the time for
combat, not for counsel." He then continued the dispositions he was
making for the attack.

He had already given to each commander of a galley written instructions
as to the manner in which the line of battle was to be formed in case of
meeting the enemy. The armada was now disposed in that order. It
extended on a front of three miles. Far on the right, a squadron of
sixty-four galleys was commanded by the Genoese admiral, Andrew
Doria,--a name of terror to the Moslems. The centre, or _battle_, as it
was called, consisting of sixty-three galleys, was led by John of
Austria, who was supported on the one side by Colonna, the
captain-general of the pope, and on the other by the Venetian
captain-general, Veniero. Immediately in the rear was the galley of the
Grand-Commander Requesens, who still remained near the person of his
former pupil; though a difference which arose between them on the
voyage, fortunately now healed, showed that the young commander-in-chief
was wholly independent of his teacher in the art of war.

The left wing was commanded by the noble Venetian, Barbarigo, whose
vessels stretched along the AEtolian shore, to which he approached as
near as, in his ignorance of the coast, he dared to venture, so as to
prevent his being turned by the enemy. Finally, the reserve, consisting
of thirty-five galleys, was given to the brave marquis of Santa Cruz,
with directions to act in any quarter where he thought his presence most
needed. The smaller craft, some of which had now arrived, seem to have
taken little part in the action, which was thus left to the galleys.

Each commander was to occupy so much space with his galley as to allow
room for manoeuvring it to advantage, and yet not enough to allow the
enemy to break the line. He was directed to single out his adversary, to
close with him at once, and board as soon as possible. The beaks of the
galleys were pronounced to be a hindrance rather than a help in action.
They were rarely strong enough to resist a shock from an antagonist, and
they much interfered with the working and firing of the guns. Don John
had the beak of his vessel cut away. The example was followed
throughout the fleet, and, as it is said, with eminently good effect. It
may seem strange that this discovery should have been reserved for the
crisis of a battle.[313]

When the officers had received their last instructions, they returned to
their respective vessels; and Don John, going on board of a light
frigate, passed rapidly through the part of the armada lying on his
right, while he commanded Requesens to do the same with the vessels on
his left. His object was to feel the temper of his men, and to rouse
their mettle by a few words of encouragement. The Venetians he reminded
of their recent injuries. The hour for vengeance, he told them, had
arrived. To the Spaniards and other confederates he said--"You have come
to fight the battle of the Cross; to conquer or to die. But whether you
are to die or conquer, do your duty this day, and you will secure a
glorious immortality." His words were received with a burst of
enthusiasm which went to the heart of the commander, and assured him
that he could rely on his men in the hour of trial. On returning to his
vessel, he saw Veniero on his quarter-deck; and they exchanged
salutations in as friendly a manner as if no difference had existed
between them. At this solemn hour both these brave men were willing to
forget all personal animosity in a common feeling of devotion to the
great cause in which they were engaged.[314]

The Ottoman fleet came on slowly and with difficulty. For, strange to
say, the wind, which had hitherto been adverse to the Christians, after
lulling for a time, suddenly shifted to the opposite quarter, and blew
in the face of the enemy.[315] As the day advanced, moreover, the sun,
which had shone in the eyes of the confederates, gradually shot its rays
into those of the Moslems. Both circumstances were of good omen to the
Christians, and the first was regarded as nothing short of a direct
interposition of Heaven. Thus ploughing its way along, the Turkish
armament, as it came more into view, showed itself in greater strength
than had been anticipated by the allies. It consisted of nearly two
hundred and fifty royal galleys, most of them of the largest class,
besides a number of smaller vessels in the rear, which, like those of
the allies, appear scarcely to have come into action. The men on board
of every description were computed at not less than a hundred and twenty
thousand.[316] The galleys spread out, as usual with the Turks, in the
form of a regular halfmoon, covering a wider extent of surface than the
combined fleets, which they somewhat exceeded in number. They presented,
indeed, as they drew nearer, a magnificent array, with their gilded and
gaudily-painted prows, and their myriads of pennons and streamers,
fluttering gaily in the breeze; while the rays of the morning sun
glanced on the polished scimitars of Damascus and on the superb
aigrettes of jewels which sparkled in the turbans of the Ottoman chiefs.

[Sidenote: PREPARATIONS FOR COMBAT.]

In the centre of the extended line, and directly opposite to the station
occupied by the captain-general of the League, was the huge galley of
Ali Pasha. The right of the armada was commanded by Mahomet Sirocco,
viceroy of Egypt, a circumspect as well as courageous leader; the left,
by Uluch Ali, dey of Algiers, the redoubtable corsair of the
Mediterranean. Ali Pasha had experienced a difficulty like that of Don
John, as several of his officers had strongly urged the inexpediency of
engaging so formidable an armament as that of the allies. But Ali, like
his rival, was young and ambitious. He had been sent by his master to
fight the enemy; and no remonstrances, not even those of Mahomet
Sirocco, for whom he had great respect, could turn him from his purpose.

He had, moreover, received intelligence that the allied fleet was much
inferior in strength to what it proved. In this error he was fortified
by the first appearance of the Christians; for the extremity of their
left wing, commanded by Barbarigo, stretching behind the AEtolian shore,
was hidden from his view. As he drew nearer, and saw the whole extent of
the Christian lines, it is said his countenance fell. If so, he still
did not abate one jot of his resolution. He spoke to those around him
with the same confidence as before, of the result of the battle. He
urged his rowers to strain every nerve. Ali was a man of more humanity
in his nature than often belonged to his nation. His galley-slaves were
all, or nearly all, Christian captives; and he addressed them in this
brief and pithy manner: "If your countrymen are to win this day, Allah
give you the benefit of it; yet if I win it, you shall certainly have
your freedom. If you feel that I do well by you, do then the like by
me."[317]

As the Turkish admiral drew nearer, he made a change in his order of
battle, by separating his wings further from his centre; thus conforming
to the dispositions of the allies. Before he had come within
cannon-shot, he fired a gun by way of challenge to his enemy. It was
answered by another from the galley of John of Austria. A second gun
discharged by Ali was as promptly replied to by the Christian commander.
The distance between the two fleets was now rapidly diminishing. At this
solemn moment a deathlike silence reigned throughout the armament of the
confederates. Men seemed to hold their breath, as if absorbed in the
expectation of some great catastrophe. The day was magnificent. A light
breeze, still adverse to the Turks, played on the waters, somewhat
fretted by the contrary winds. It was nearly noon; and as the sun,
mounting through a cloudless sky, rose to the zenith, he seemed to
pause, as if to look down on the beautiful scene, where the multitude of
galleys, moving over the water, showed like a holiday spectacle rather
than a preparation for mortal combat.

The illusion was soon dispelled by the fierce yells which rose on the
air from the Turkish armada. It was the customary war-cry with which the
Moslems entered into battle. Very different was the scene on board of
the Christian galleys. Don John might be there seen, armed _cap-a-pie_,
standing on the prow of the _Real_, anxiously awaiting the conflict. In
this conspicuous position, kneeling down, he raised his eyes to heaven,
and humbly prayed that the Almighty would be with His people on that
day. His example was followed by the whole fleet. Officers and men, all
prostrating themselves on their knees, and turning their eyes to the
consecrated banner which floated from the _Real_, put up a petition like
that of their commander. They then received absolution from the priests,
of whom there were some in every vessel; and each man, as he rose to his
feet, gathered new strength, as he felt assured that the Lord of Hosts
would fight on his side.[318]

When the foremost vessels of the Turks had come within cannon-shot, they
opened their fire on the Christians. The firing soon ran along the whole
of the Turkish line, and was kept up without interruption as it
advanced. Don John gave orders for trumpet and atabal to sound the
signal for action; which was followed by the simultaneous discharge of
such of the guns in the combined fleet as could be brought to bear on
the enemy. The Spanish commander had caused the _galeazzas_, those
mammoth war-ships of which some account has been already given, to be
towed half a mile ahead of the fleet, where they might intercept the
advance of the Turks. As the latter came abreast of them, the huge
galleys delivered their broadsides right and left; and their heavy
ordnance produced a startling effect. Ali Pasha gave orders for his
galleys to open their line and pass on either side, without engaging
these monsters of the deep, of which he had had no experience. Even so,
their heavy guns did considerable damage to several of the nearest
vessels, and created some confusion in the pacha's line of battle. They
were, however, but unwieldy craft, and, having accomplished their
object, seem to have taken no further part in the combat.

The action began on the left wing of the allies, which Mahomet Sirocco
was desirous of turning. This had been anticipated by Barbarigo, the
Venetian admiral, who commanded in that quarter. To prevent it, as we
have seen, he lay with his vessels as near the coast as he dared.
Sirocco, better acquainted with the soundings, saw there was space
enough for him to pass; and darting by with all the speed that oars
could give him, he succeeded in doubling on his enemy. Thus placed
between two fires, the extreme of the Christian left fought at terrible
disadvantage. No less than eight galleys went to the bottom, and several
others were captured. The brave Barbarigo, throwing himself into the
heat of the fight, without availing himself of his defensive armour, was
pierced in the eye by an arrow, and, reluctant to leave the glory of the
field to another, was borne to his cabin. The combat still continued
with unabated fury on the part of the Venetians. They fought like men
who felt that the war was theirs, and who were animated not only by the
thirst for glory, but for revenge.[319]

Far on the Christian right a manoeuvre similar to that so successfully
executed by Sirocco was attempted by Uluch Ali, the dey of Algiers.
Profiting by his superiority in numbers, he endeavoured to turn the
right wing of the confederates. It was in this quarter that Andrew Doria
commanded. He had foreseen this movement of his enemy, and he succeeded
in foiling it. It was a trial of skill between the two most accomplished
seamen in the Mediterranean. Doria extended his line so far to the right
indeed, to prevent being surrounded, that Don John was obliged to remind
him that he left the centre too much exposed. His dispositions were so
far unfortunate for himself, that his own line was thus weakened, and
afforded some vulnerable points to his assailant. These were soon
detected by the eagle eye of Uluch Ali; and, like the king of birds
swooping on his prey, he fell on some galleys separated by a
considerable interval from their companions, and, sinking more than one,
carried off the great _Capitana_ of Malta in triumph as his prize.[320]

[Sidenote: BATTLE OF LEPANTO.]

While the combat opened thus disastrously to the allies both on the
right and on the left, in the centre they may be said to have fought
with doubtful fortune. Don John had led his division gallantly forward.
But the object on which he was intent was an encounter with Ali Pasha,
the foe most worthy of his sword. The Turkish commander had the same
combat no less at heart. The galleys of both were easily recognized, not
only from their position, but from their superior size and richer
decoration. The one, moreover, displayed the holy banner of the League;
the other, the great Ottoman standard. This, like the ancient standard
of the caliphs, was held sacred in its character. It was covered with
texts from the Koran, emblazoned in letters of gold, and had the name of
Allah inscribed upon it no less than twenty-eight thousand nine hundred
times. It was the banner of the sultan, having passed from father to son
since the foundation of the imperial dynasty, and was never seen in the
field unless the Grand Seigneur or his lieutenant was there in
person.[321]

Both the chiefs urged on their rowers to the top of their speed. Their
galleys soon shot ahead of the rest of the line, driven through the
boiling surges as by the force of a tornado, and closed with a shock
that made every timber crack, and the two vessels quiver to their very
keels. So powerful, indeed, was the impetus they received, that the
pacha's galley, which was considerably the larger and loftier of the
two, was thrown so far upon its opponent that the prow reached the
fourth bench of rowers. As soon as the vessels were disengaged from each
other, and those on board had recovered from the shock, the work of
death began. Don John's chief strength consisted in some three hundred
Spanish arquebusiers, culled from the flower of his infantry. Ali, on
the other hand, was provided with an equal number of janizaries. He was
followed by a smaller vessel, in which two hundred more were stationed
as a _corps de reserve_. He had, moreover, a hundred archers on board.
The bow was still as much in use with the Turks as with the other
Moslems.

The pacha opened at once on his enemy a terrible fire of cannon and
musketry. It was returned with equal spirit and much more effect: for
the Turks were observed to shoot over the heads of their adversaries.
The Moslem galley was unprovided with the defences which protected the
sides of the Spanish vessels; and the troops, crowded together on the
lofty prow, presented an easy mark to their enemy's balls. But though
numbers of them fell at every discharge, their places were soon supplied
by those in reserve. They were enabled, therefore, to keep up an
incessant fire, which wasted the strength of the Spaniards; and as both
Christian and Mussulman fought with indomitable spirit, it seemed
doubtful to which side victory would incline.

The affair was made more complicated by the entrance of other parties
into the conflict. Both Ali and Don John were supported by some of the
most valiant captains in their fleets. Next to the Spanish commander, as
we have seen, were Colonna and the veteran Veniero, who, at the age of
seventy-six, performed feats of arms worthy of a paladin of romance. In
this way a little squadron of combatants gathered round the principal
leaders, who sometimes found themselves assailed by several enemies at
the same time. Still the chiefs did not lose sight of one another; but,
beating off their inferior foes as well as they could, each, refusing to
loosen his hold, clung with mortal grasp to his antagonist.[322]

Thus the fight raged along the whole extent of the entrance to the Gulf
of Lepanto. The volumes of vapour rolling heavily over the waters
effectually shut out from sight whatever was passing at any considerable
distance, unless when a fresher breeze dispelled the smoke for a moment,
or the flashes of the heavy guns threw a transient gleam on the dark
canopy of battle. If the eye of the spectator could have penetrated the
cloud of smoke that enveloped the combatants, and have embraced the
whole scene at a glance, he would have perceived them broken into small
detachments, separately engaged one with another, independently of the
rest, and indeed ignorant of all that was doing in other quarters. The
contest exhibited few of those large combinations and skilful
manoeuvres to be expected in a great naval encounter. It was rather an
assemblage of petty actions, resembling those on land. The galleys,
grappling together, presented a level arena, on which soldier and
galley-slave fought hand to hand; and the fate of the engagement was
generally decided by boarding. As in most hand-to-hand contests, there
was an enormous waste of life. The decks were loaded with corpses,
Christian and Moslem lying promiscuously together in the embrace of
death. Instances are recorded where every man on board was slain or
wounded.[323] It was a ghastly spectacle, where blood flowed in rivulets
down the sides of the vessels, staining the waters of the gulf for miles
around.

It seemed as if a hurricane had swept over the sea, and covered it with
the wreck of the noble armaments which a moment before were so proudly
riding on its bosom. Little had they now to remind one of their late
magnificent array, with their hulls battered, their masts and spars gone
or splintered by the shot, their canvas cut into shreds and floating
wildly on the breeze, while thousands of wounded and drowning men were
clinging to the floating fragments, and calling piteously for help. Such
was the wild uproar which succeeded the Sabbath-like stillness that, two
hours before, had reigned over these beautiful solitudes.

The left wing of the confederates, commanded by Barbarigo, had been
sorely pressed by the Turks, as we have seen, at the beginning of the
fight. Barbarigo himself had been mortally wounded. His line had been
turned. Several of his galleys had been sunk. But the Venetians gathered
courage from despair. By incredible efforts, they succeeded in beating
off their enemies. They became the assailants in their turn. Sword in
hand, they carried one vessel after another. The Capuchin was seen in
the thickest of the fight, waving aloft his crucifix, and leading the
boarders to the assault.[324] The Christian galley-slaves, in some
instances, broke their fetters, and joined their countrymen against
their masters. Fortunately, the vessel of Mahomet Sirocco the Moslem
admiral, was sunk; and though extricated from the water himself, it was
only to perish by the sword of his conqueror, Giovanni Contarini. The
Venetian could find in his heart no mercy for the Turk.

[Sidenote: BATTLE OF LEPANTO.]

The fall of their commander gave the final blow to his followers.
Without further attempt to prolong the fight, they fled before the
avenging swords of the Venetians. Those nearest the land endeavoured to
escape by running their vessels ashore, where they abandoned them as
prizes to the Christians. Yet many of the fugitives, before gaining the
land, perished miserably in the waves. Barbarigo, the Venetian admiral,
who was still lingering in agony, heard the tidings of the enemy's
defeat, and, uttering a few words expressive of his gratitude to Heaven,
which had permitted him to see this hour, he breathed his last.[325]

During this time the combat had been going forward in the centre between
the two commanders-in-chief, Don John and Ali Pasha, whose galleys
blazed with an incessant fire of artillery and musketry, that enveloped
them like "a martyr's robe of flames." The parties fought with equal
spirit, though not with equal fortune. Twice the Spaniards had boarded
their enemy, and both times they had been repulsed with loss. Still
their superiority in the use of fire-arms would have given them a
decided advantage over their opponents, if the loss they had inflicted
had not been speedily repaired by fresh reinforcements. More than once
the contest between the two chieftains was interrupted by the arrival of
others to take part in the fray. They soon, however, returned to each
other, as if unwilling to waste their strength on a meaner enemy.
Through the whole engagement both commanders exposed themselves to
danger as freely as any common soldier. In such a contest even Philip
must have admitted that it would be difficult for his brother to find,
with honour, a place of safety. Don John received a wound in the foot.
It was a slight one, however, and he would not allow it to be dressed
till the action was over.

Again his men were mustered, and a third time the trumpets sounded to
the attack. It was more successful than the preceding. The Spaniards
threw themselves boldly into the Turkish galley. They were met with the
same spirit as before by the janizaries. Ali Pasha led them on.
Unfortunately, at this moment, he was struck in the head by a
musket-ball, and stretched senseless in the gangway. His men fought
worthily of their ancient renown. But they missed the accustomed voice
of their commander. After a short but ineffectual struggle against the
fiery impetuosity of the Spaniards, they were overpowered, and threw
down their arms. The decks were loaded with the bodies of the dead and
the dying. Beneath these was discovered the Turkish commander-in-chief,
severely wounded, but perhaps not mortally. He was drawn forth by some
Castilian soldiers, who, recognizing his person, would at once have
despatched him. But the disabled chief, having rallied from the first
effects of his wound, had sufficient presence of mind to divert them
from their purpose, by pointing out the place below where he had
deposited his money and jewels; and they hastened to profit by the
disclosure, before the treasure should fall into the hands of their
comrades.

Ali was not so successful with another soldier, who came up soon after,
brandishing his sword, and preparing to plunge it into the body of the
prostrate commander. It was in vain that the latter endeavoured to turn
the ruffian from his purpose. He was a convict, one of those
galley-slaves whom Don John had caused to be unchained from the oar and
furnished with arms. He could not believe that any treasure would be
worth so much as the head of the pacha. Without further hesitation, he
dealt him a blow which severed it from his shoulders. Then, returning to
his galley, he laid the bloody trophy before Don John. But he had
miscalculated on his recompense. His commander gazed on it with a look
of pity mingled with horror. He may have thought of the generous conduct
of Ali to his Christian captives, and have felt that he deserved a
better fate. He coldly inquired "of what use such a present could be to
him;" and then ordered it to be thrown into the sea. Far from the order
being obeyed, it is said the head was stuck on a pike, and raised aloft
on board of the captured galley. At the same time the banner of the
Crescent was pulled down; while that of the Cross, run up in its place,
proclaimed the downfall of the pacha.[326]

The sight of the sacred ensign was welcomed by the Christians with a
shout of "Victory!" which rose high above the din of battle.[327] The
tidings of the death of Ali soon passed from mouth to mouth, giving
fresh heart to the confederates, but falling like a knell on the ears of
the Moslems. Their confidence was gone. Their fire slackened. Their
efforts grew weaker and weaker. They were too far from shore to seek an
asylum there, like their comrades on the right. They had no resource but
to prolong the combat or to surrender. Most preferred the latter. Many
vessels were carried by boarding, others were sunk by the victorious
Christians. Ere four hours had elapsed, the centre, like the right wing,
of the Moslems might be said to be annihilated.

Still the fight was lingering on the right of the confederates, where,
it will be remembered, Uluch Ali, the Algerine chief, had profited by
Doria's error in extending his line so far as greatly to weaken it.
Uluch Ali, attacking it on its most vulnerable quarter, had succeeded,
as we have seen, in capturing and destroying several vessels; and would
have inflicted still heavier losses on his enemy had it not been for the
seasonable succour received from the marquis of Santa Cruz. This brave
officer, who commanded the reserve, had already been of much service to
Don John when the _Real_ was assailed by several Turkish galleys at once
during his combat with Ali Pasha; for at this juncture the marquis of
Santa Cruz arriving, and beating off the assailants, one of whom he
afterwards captured, enabled the commander-in-chief to resume his
engagement with the pacha.

No sooner did Santa Cruz learn the critical situation of Doria, than,
supported by Cardona, "general" of the Sicilian squadron, he pushed
forward to his relief. Dashing into the midst of the _melee_, the two
commanders fell like a thunderbolt on the Algerine galleys. Few
attempted to withstand the shock. But in their haste to avoid it, they
were encountered by Doria and his Genoese galleys. Thus beset on all
sides, Uluch Ali was compelled to abandon his prizes, and provide for
his own safety by flight. He cut adrift the Maltese _Capitana_, which he
had lashed to his stern, and on which three hundred corpses attested the
desperate character of her defence. As tidings reached him of the
discomfiture of the centre, and of the death of Ali Pasha, he felt that
nothing remained but to make the best of his way from the fatal scene of
action, and save as many of his own ships as he could. And there were no
ships in the Turkish fleet superior to his, or manned by men under more
perfect discipline. For they were the famous corsairs of the
Mediterranean, who had been rocked from infancy on its waters.

[Sidenote: ROUT OF THE TURKISH ARMADA.]

Throwing out his signals for retreat, the Algerine was soon to be seen,
at the head of his squadron, standing towards the north, under as much
canvas as remained to him after the battle, and urged forward through
the deep by the whole strength of his oarsmen. Doria and Santa Cruz
followed quickly in his wake. But he was borne on the wings of the wind,
and soon distanced his pursuers. Don John, having disposed of his own
assailants, was coming to the support of Doria, and now joined in the
pursuit of the viceroy. A rocky headland, stretching far into the sea,
lay in the path of the fugitive; and his enemies hoped to intercept him
there. Some few of his vessels were stranded on the rocks. But the rest,
near forty in number, standing more boldly out to sea, safely doubled
the promontory. Then, quickening their flight, they gradually faded from
the horizon, their white sails, the last thing visible, showing in the
distance like a flock of Arctic sea-fowl on their way to their native
homes. The confederates explained the inferior sailing of their own
galleys on this occasion by the circumstance of their rowers, who had
been allowed to bear arms in the fight, being crippled by their wounds.

The battle had lasted more than four hours. The sky, which had been
almost without a cloud through the day, began now to be overcast, and
showed signs of a coming storm. Before seeking a place of shelter for
himself and his prizes, Don John reconnoitred the scene of action. He
met with several vessels too much damaged for further service. These,
mostly belonging to the enemy, after saving what was of any value on
board, he ordered to be burnt. He selected the neighbouring port of
Petala, as affording the most secure and accessible harbour for the
night. Before he had arrived there, the tempest began to mutter, and
darkness was on the water. Yet the darkness rendered only more visible
the blazing wrecks, which, sending up streams of fire mingled with
showers of sparks, looked like volcanoes on the deep.




CHAPTER XI.

WAR WITH THE TURKS.

Losses of the Combatants--Don John's Generosity--Triumphant
Return--Enthusiasm throughout Christendom--Results of the
Battle--Operations in the Levant--Conquest of Tunis--Retaken by the
Turks.

1571--1574.


Long and loud were the congratulations now paid to the young
commander-in-chief by his brave companions-in-arms, on the success of
the day. The hours passed blithely with officers and men, while they
recounted to one another their manifold achievements. But feelings of
gloom mingled with their gaiety, as they gathered tidings of the loss of
friends who had bought this victory with their blood.

It was, indeed, a sanguinary battle, surpassing, in this particular, any
sea-fight of modern times. The loss fell much the most heavily on the
Turks. There is the usual discrepancy about numbers; but it may be safe
to estimate their loss at nearly twenty-five thousand slain and five
thousand prisoners. What brought most pleasure to the hearts of the
conquerors was the liberation of twelve thousand Christian captives,
who had teen chained to the oar on board the Moslem galleys, and who now
came forth, with tears of joy streaming down their haggard cheeks, to
bless their deliverers.[328]

The loss of the allies was comparatively small,--less than eight
thousand.[329] That it was so much less than that of their enemies, may
be referred in part to their superiority in the use of fire-arms; in
part also to their exclusive use of these, instead of employing bows and
arrows, weapons on which, though much less effective, the Turks, like
the other Moslem nations, seem to have greatly relied. Lastly, the Turks
were the vanquished party, and in their heavier loss suffered the almost
invariable lot of the vanquished.

As to their armada, it may almost be said to have been annihilated. Not
more than forty galleys escaped out of near two hundred and fifty which
entered into the action. One hundred and thirty were taken and divided
among the conquerors. The remainder, sunk or burned, were swallowed up
by the waves. To counterbalance all this, the confederates are said to
have lost not more than fifteen galleys, though a much larger number,
doubtless, were rendered unfit for service. This disparity affords good
evidence of the inferiority of the Turks in the construction of their
vessels, as well as in the nautical skill required to manage them. A
great amount of booty, in the form of gold, jewels, and brocade, was
found on board several of the prizes. The galley of the
commander-in-chief alone is stated to have contained one hundred and
seventy thousand gold sequins,--a large sum, but not large enough, it
seems, to buy off his life.[330]

The losses of the combatants cannot be fairly presented without taking
into the account the quality as well as the number of the slain. The
number of persons of consideration, both Christians and Moslems, who
embarked in the expedition, was very great. The roll of slaughter showed
that in the race of glory they gave little heed to their personal
safety. The officer second in command among the Venetians, the
commander-in-chief of the Turkish armament, and the commander of its
right wing, all fell in the battle. Many a high-born cavalier closed at
Lepanto a long career of honourable service. More than one, on the other
hand, dated the commencement of their career from this day. Such was
Alexander Farnese, prince of Parma. Though he was but a few years
younger than his uncle, John of Austria, those few years had placed an
immense distance between their conditions, the one filling the post of
commander-in-chief, the other being only a private adventurer. Yet even
so, he succeeded in winning great renown by his achievements. The galley
in which he sailed was lying yardarm and yardarm alongside of a Turkish
galley, with which it was hotly engaged. In the midst of the action
Farnese sprang on board of the enemy, and with his good broadsword hewed
down all who opposed him, opening a path into which his comrades poured
one after another, and, after a short but murderous contest, succeeded
in carrying the vessel. As Farnese's galley lay just astern of Don
John's, the latter could witness the achievement of his nephew, which
filled him with an admiration he did not affect to conceal. The
intrepidity displayed by the young warrior on this occasion gave augury
of his character in later life, when he succeeded his uncle in command,
and surpassed him in military renown.[331]

[Sidenote: DON JOHN'S GENEROSITY.]

Another youth was in that fight, who, then humble and unknown, was
destined one day to win laurels of a purer and more enviable kind than
those which grow on the battle-field. This was Cervantes, who, at the
age of twenty-four, was serving on board the fleet as a common soldier.
He had been confined to his bed by a fever; but, notwithstanding the
remonstrances of his captain, he insisted, on the morning of the action,
not only on bearing arms, but on being stationed in the post of danger.
And well did he perform his duty there, as was shown by two wounds on
the breast, and by another in the hand, by which he lost the use of it.
Fortunately it was the left hand. The right yet remained to indite those
immortal productions which were to be known as household words, not only
in his own land, but in every quarter of the civilized world.[332]

A fierce storm of thunder and lightning raged for four-and-twenty hours
after the battle, during which time the fleet rode safely at anchor in
the harbour of Petala. It remained there three days longer. Don John
profited by the delay to visit the different galleys and ascertain their
condition. He informed himself of the conduct of the troops, and was
liberal of his praises to those who deserved them. With the sick and the
wounded he showed the greatest sympathy, endeavouring to alleviate their
sufferings, and furnishing them with whatever his galley contained that
could contribute to their comfort. With so generous and sympathetic a
nature, it is not wonderful that he should have established himself in
the hearts of his soldiers.[333]

But the proofs of this kindly temper were not confined to his own
followers. Among the prisoners were two sons of Ali, the Turkish
commander-in-chief. One was seventeen, the other only thirteen years of
age. Thus early had their father desired to initiate them in a
profession which, beyond all others, opened the way to eminence in
Turkey. They were not on board of his galley; and when they were
informed of his death, they were inconsolable. To this affliction was
now to be added the doom of slavery.

As they were led into the presence of Don John, the youths prostrated
themselves on the deck of his vessel. But raising them up, he
affectionately embraced them, and said all he could to console them
under their troubles. He caused them to be treated with the
consideration due to their rank. His secretary, Juan de Soto,
surrendered his quarters to them. They were provided with the richest
apparel that could be found among the spoil. Their table was served with
the same delicacies as that of the commander-in-chief; and his
chamberlains showed the same deference to them as to himself. His
kindness did not stop with these acts of chivalrous courtesy. He
received a letter from their sister Fatima, containing a touching appeal
to Don John's humanity, and soliciting the release of her orphan
brothers. He had sent a courier to give their friends in Constantinople
the assurance of their personal safety; "which," adds the lady, "is
held by all this court as an act of great courtesy,--_gran
gentileza_;--and there is no one here who does not admire the goodness
and magnanimity of your highness." She enforced her petition with a rich
present, for which she gracefully apologized, as intended to express her
own feelings, though far below his deserts.[334]

In the division of the spoil, the young princes had been assigned to the
pope. But Don John succeeded in obtaining their liberation.
Unfortunately, the elder died--of a broken heart, it is said--at Naples.
The younger was sent home, with three of his attendants, for whom he had
a particular regard. Don John declined keeping Fatima's present, which
he gave to her brother. In a letter to the Turkish princess, he remarked
that he had done this, not because he undervalued her beautiful gift,
but because it had ever been the habit of his royal ancestors freely to
grant their favours to those who stood in need of them, but not to
receive aught by way of recompense.[335]

The same noble nature he showed in his conduct towards Veniero. We have
seen the friendly demonstration he made to the testy Venetian on
entering into battle. He now desired his presence on board his galley.
As he drew near, Don John came forward frankly to greet him. He spoke of
his desire to bury the past in oblivion, and complimenting the veteran
on his prowess in the late engagement, saluted him with the endearing
name of "father." The old soldier, not prepared for so kind a welcome,
burst into tears; and there was no one, says the chronicler who tells
the anecdote, that could witness the scene with a dry eye.[336]

While at Petala, a council of war was called to decide on the next
operations of the fleet. Some were for following up the blow by an
immediate attack on Constantinople. Others considered that, from the
want of provisions and the damaged state of the vessels, they were in no
condition for such an enterprise. They recommended that the armada
should be disbanded, that the several squadrons of which it was composed
should return to their respective winter quarters, and meet again in the
spring to resume operations. Others, again, among whom was Don John,
thought that before disbanding, they should undertake some enterprise
commensurate with their strength. It was accordingly determined to lay
siege to Santa Maura, in the island of Leucadia, a strongly-fortified
place, which commanded the northern entrance into the Gulf of Lepanto.

[Sidenote: DON JUAN'S TRIUMPHANT RETURN]

The fleet, weighing anchor on the eleventh of October, arrived off Santa
Maura on the following day. On a careful reconnaissance of the ground,
it became evident that the siege would be a work of much greater
difficulty than had been anticipated. A council of war was again
summoned; and it was resolved, as the season was far advanced, to
suspend further operations for the present, to return to winter
quarters, and in the ensuing spring to open the campaign under more
favourable auspices.

The next step was to make a division of the spoil taken from the enemy,
which was done in a manner satisfactory to all parties. One half of the
galleys and inferior vessels, of the artillery and small arms, and also
of the captives, was set apart for the Catholic king. The other half was
divided between the pope and the republic, in the proportion settled by
the treaty of confederation.[337] Next proceeding to Corfu, Don John
passed three days at that island, making some necessary repairs of his
vessels; then, bidding adieu to the confederates, he directed his course
to Messina, which he reached, after a stormy passage, on the
thirty-first of the month.

We may imagine the joy with which he was welcomed by the inhabitants of
that city, which he had left but little more than six weeks before, and
to which he had now returned in triumph, after winning the most
memorable naval victory of modern times. The whole population, with the
magistrates at their head, hurried down to the shore to witness the
magnificent spectacle. As the gallant armament swept into port, it
showed the results of the late contest in many a scar. But the
consecrated standard was still proudly flying at the masthead of the
_Real_; and in the rear came the long line of conquered galleys, in much
worse plight than their conquerors, trailing their banners ignominiously
behind them in the water. On landing at the head of his troops, Don John
was greeted with flourishes of music, while salvoes of artillery
thundered from the fortresses which commanded the city. He was received
under a gorgeous canopy, and escorted by a numerous concourse of
citizens and soldiers. The clergy, mingling in the procession, broke
forth into the _Te Deum_; and thus entering the cathedral, they all
joined in thanksgivings to the Almighty, for granting them so glorious a
victory.[338]

Don John was sumptuously lodged in the castle. He was complimented with
a superb banquet,--a mode of expressing the public gratitude not
confined to our day,--and received a more substantial guerdon in a
present from the city of thirty thousand crowns. Finally, a colossal
statue in bronze was executed by a skilful artist, as a permanent
memorial of the conqueror of Lepanto. Don John accepted the money, but
it was only to devote it to the relief of the sick and wounded soldiers.
In the same generous spirit, he had ordered that all his own share of
the booty taken in the Turkish vessels, including the large amount of
gold and rich brocades found in the galley of Ali Pasha, should be
distributed among the captors.[339]

The news of the victory of Lepanto caused a profound sensation
throughout Christendom; for it had been a general opinion that the Turks
were invincible by sea. The confederates more particularly testified
their joy by such extraordinary demonstrations as showed the extent of
their previous fears. In Venice, which might be said to have gained a
new lease of existence from the result of the battle, the doge, the
senators, and the people met in the great square of St. Mark, and
congratulated one another on the triumph of their arms. By a public
decree, the seventh of October was set apart, to be observed for ever as
a national anniversary.

The joy was scarcely less in Naples, where the people had so often seen
their coasts desolated by the Ottoman cruisers; and when their admiral,
the marquis of Santa Cruz, returned to port with his squadron, he was
welcomed with acclamations such as greet the conqueror returning from
his campaign.

But even these honours were inferior to those which in Rome were paid to
Colonna, the Captain-general of the papal fleet. As he was borne in
stately procession, with the trophies won from the enemy carried before
him, and a throng of mourning captives in the rear, the spectacle
recalled the splendours of the ancient Roman triumph. Pius the Fifth
had, before this, announced that the victory of the Christians had been
revealed to him from Heaven. But when the tidings reached him of the
actual result, it so far transcended his expectations, that, overcome by
his emotions, the old pontiff burst into a flood of tears, exclaiming in
the words of the Evangelist, "There was a man sent from God; and his
name was John."[340]

We may readily believe that the joy with which the glad tidings were
welcomed in Spain fell nothing short of that with which they were
received in other parts of Christendom. While lying off Petala, Don John
sent Lope de Figueroa with despatches for the king, together with the
great Ottoman standard, as the most glorious trophy taken in the
battle.[341] He soon after sent a courier with further letters. It so
happened that neither the one nor the other arrived at the place of
their destination till some weeks after the intelligence had reached
Philip by another channel. This was the Venetian Minister, who on the
last of October received despatches from his own government, containing
a full account of the fight. Hastening with them to the palace, he found
the king in his private chapel, attending vespers on the eve of
All-Saints. The news, it cannot be doubted, filled his soul with joy;
though _it is said_ that, far from exhibiting this in his demeanour, he
continued to be occupied with his devotions, without the least change of
countenance, till the services were concluded. He then ordered _Te Deum_
to be sung.[342] All present joined with overflowing hearts in pouring
forth their gratitude to the Lord of Hosts for granting such a triumph
to the Cross.[343]

[Sidenote: ENTHUSIASM THROUGHOUT CHRISTENDOM.]

That night there was a grand illumination in Madrid. The following day
mass was said by the papal legate in presence of the king, who
afterwards took part in a solemn procession to the church of St. Mary,
where the people united with the court in a general thanksgiving.

In a letter from Philip to his brother, dated from the Escorial, the
twenty-ninth of November, he writes to him out of the fulness of his
heart, in the language of gratitude and brotherly love:--"I cannot
express to you the joy it has given me to learn the particulars of your
conduct in the battle, of the great valour you showed in your own
person, and your watchfulness in giving proper directions to others--all
which has doubtless been a principal cause of the victory. So to you,
after God, I am to make my acknowledgments for it, as I now do; and
happy am I that it has been reserved for one so near and so dear to me
to perform this great work, which has gained such glory for you in the
eyes of God and of the whole world."[344]

The feelings of the king were fully shared by his subjects. The
enthusiasm roused throughout the country by the great victory was
without bounds. "There is no man," writes one of the royal secretaries
to Don John, "who does not discern the hand of the Lord in it;--though
it seems rather like a dream than a reality, so far does it transcend
any naval encounter that the world ever heard of before."[345] The best
sculptors and painters were employed to perpetuate the memory of the
glorious event. Amongst the number was Titian, who in the time of
Charles the Fifth had passed two years in Spain, and who now, when more
than ninety years of age, executed the great picture of "The Victory of
the League," still hanging on the walls of the _Museo_ at Madrid.[346]
The lofty theme proved a fruitful source of inspiration to the Castilian
muse. Among hecatombs of epics and lyrics, the heroic poem of
Ercilla[347] and the sublime _cancion_ of Fernando de Herrera perpetuate
the memory of the victory of Lepanto in forms more durable than canvas
or marble--as imperishable as the language itself.

While all were thus ready to render homage to the talent and bravery
which had won the greatest battle of the time, men, as they grew cooler,
and could criticise events more carefully, were disposed to ask, where
were the fruits of this great victory. Had Don John's father, Charles
the Fifth, gained such a victory, it was said, he would not thus have
quitted the field, but, before the enemy could recover from the blow,
would have followed it up by another. Many expressed the conviction,
that the young generalissimo should at once have led his navy against
Constantinople.

There would indeed seem to be plausible ground for criticising his
course after the action. But we must remember, in explanation of the
conduct of Don John, that his situation was altogether different from
that of his imperial father. He possessed no such absolute authority as
the latter did over his army. The great leaders of the confederates were
so nearly equal in rank, that they each claimed a right to be consulted
on all measures of importance. The greatest jealousy existed among the
three commanders, as there did also among the troops whom they
commanded. They were all united, it is true, in their hatred to the
Turk. But they were all influenced, more or less, by the interest of
their own states, in determining the quarter where he was to be
assailed. Every rood of territory wrung from the enemy in the Levant
would only serve to enlarge the domain of Venice; while the conquests in
the western parts of the Mediterranean would strengthen the empire of
Castile. This feeling of jealousy between the Spaniards and the
Venetians was, as we have seen, so great in the early part of the
expedition, as nearly to bring ruin on it.

Those who censured Don John for not directing his arms against
Constantinople would seem to have had but a very inadequate notion of
the resources of the Porte--as shown in the course of that very year.
There is a remarkable letter from the duke of Alva, written the month
after the battle of Lepanto, in which he discusses the best course to be
taken in order to reap the full fruits of the victory. In it he
expresses the opinion, that an attempt against Constantinople, or indeed
any part of the Turkish dominions, unless supported by a general
coalition of the great powers of Christendom, must end only in
disappointment--so vast were the resources of that great empire.[348] If
this were so,--and no better judge than Alva could be found in military
affairs,--how incompetent were the means at Don John's disposal for
effecting this object--confederates held together, as the event proved,
by a rope of sand, and a fleet so much damaged in the recent combat that
many of the vessels were scarcely seaworthy!

In addition to this, it may be stated, that Don John knew it was his
brother's wish that the Spanish squadron should return to Sicily to pass
the winter.[349] If he persisted, therefore, in the campaign, he must do
so on his own responsibility. He had now accomplished the great object
for which he had put to sea. He had won a victory more complete than the
most sanguine of his countrymen had a right to anticipate. To prolong
the contest under the present circumstances, would he in a manner to
provoke his fate, to jeopard the glory he had already gained, and incur
the risk of closing the campaign with melancholy cypress, instead of the
laurel-wreath of victory. Was it surprising that even an adventurous
spirit like his should have shrunk from hazarding so vast a stake with
the odds against him?

[Sidenote: RESULTS OF THE BATTLE.]

It is a great error to speak of the victory of Lepanto as a barren
victory, which yielded no fruits to those who gained it. True, it did
not strip the Turks of an inch of territory. Even the heavy loss of
ships and soldiers which it cost them was repaired in the following
year. But the loss of reputation--that tower of strength to the
conqueror--was not to be estimated. The long and successful career of
the Ottoman princes, especially of the last one, Solyman the
Magnificent, had made the Turks to be thought invincible. There was not
a nation in Christendom that did not tremble at the idea of a war with
Turkey. The spell was now broken. Though her resources were still
boundless, she lost confidence in herself. Venice gained confidence in
proportion. When the hostile fleets met in the year following the battle
of Lepanto, the Turks, though greatly the superior in numbers, declined
the combat. For the seventy years which elapsed after the close of the
present war, the Turks abandoned their efforts to make themselves
masters of any of the rich possessions of the republic, which lay so
temptingly around them. When the two nations came next into collision,
Venice, instead of leaning on confederates, took the field
single-handed, and disputed it with an intrepidity which placed her on a
level with the gigantic power that assailed her. That power was already
on the wane; and those who have most carefully studied the history of
the Ottoman empire date the commencement of her decline from the battle
of Lepanto.[350]

The allies should have been ready with their several contingents early
in the spring of the following year, 1572. They were not ready till the
summer was well advanced. One cause of delay was the difficulty of
deciding on what quarter the Turkish empire was to be attacked. The
Venetians, from an obvious regard to their own interests, were for
continuing the war in the Levant. Philip, on the other hand, from
similar motives, would have transferred it to the western part of the
Mediterranean, and have undertaken an expedition against the Barbary
powers. Lastly, Pius the Fifth, urged by that fiery enthusiasm which
made him overlook or overleap every obstacle in his path, would have
marched on Constantinople, and then carried his conquering banners to
the Holy Land. These chimerical fancies of a crusader provoked a
smile--it may have been a sneer--from men better instructed in military
operations than the pontiff.[351]

Pius again laboured to infuse his own spirit into the monarchs of
Christendom. But it was in vain that he urged them to join the League.
All, for some reason or other, declined it. It is possible that they may
have had less fear of the Turk, than of augmenting the power of the king
of Spain. But the great plans of Pius the Fifth were terminated by his
death, which occurred on the first of May, 1572. He was the true author
of the League. It occupied his thoughts to the latest hour of his
existence; and his last act was to appropriate to its uses a
considerable sum of money lying in his coffers.[352] He may be truly
said to have been the only one of the confederates who acted solely for
what he conceived to be the interests of the Faith. This soon became
apparent.

[Sidenote: WAR WITH THE TURKS.]

The affairs of Philip the Second were at this time in a critical
situation. He much feared that one of the French faction would be
raised to the chair of St. Peter. He had great reason to distrust the
policy of France in respect to the Netherlands. Till he was more assured
on these points, he was not inclined to furnish the costly armament to
which he was pledged as his contingent. It was in vain that the allies
called on Don John to aid them with his Spanish fleet. He had orders
from his brother not to quit Messina; and it was in vain that he chafed
under these orders, which threatened thus prematurely to close the
glorious career on which he had entered, and which exposed him to the
most mortifying imputations. It was not till the sixth of July that the
king allowed him to send a part of his contingent, amounting only to
twenty-two galleys and five thousand troops, to the aid of the
confederates.

Some historians explain the conduct of Philip, not so much by the
embarrassments of his situation, as by his reluctance to afford his
brother the opportunity of adding fresh laurels to his brow, and
possibly of achieving for himself some independent sovereignty, like
that to which Pius the Fifth had encouraged him to aspire. It may be
thought some confirmation of this opinion--at least, it infers some
jealousy of his brother's pretensions--that, in his despatches to his
ministers in Italy, the king instructed them that, while they showed all
proper deference to Don John, they should be careful not to address him
in speech or in writing by the title of _Highness_, but to use that of
_Excellency_; adding, that they were not to speak of this suggestion as
coming from him.[353] He caused a similar notice to be given to the
ambassadors of France, Germany, and England. This was but a feeble
thread by which to check the flight of the young eagle as he was soaring
to the clouds. It served to show, however, that it was not the will of
his master that he should soar too high.

Happily Philip was relieved from his fears in regard to the new pope, by
the election of Cardinal Buoncampagno to the vacant throne. This
ecclesiastic, who took the name of Gregory the Thirteenth, was
personally known to the king, having in earlier life passed several
years at the court of Castile. He was well affected to that court, and
he possessed in full measure the zeal of his predecessor for carrying on
the war against the Moslems. He lost no time in sending his "briefs of
fire,"[354] as Don John called them, to rouse him to new exertions in
the cause. In France, too, Philip learned with satisfaction that the
Guises, the devoted partisans of Spain, had now the direction of public
affairs. Thus relieved from apprehensions on these two quarters, Philip
consented to his brother's departure with the remainder of his squadron.
It amounted to fifty-five galleys and thirty smaller vessels. But when
the prince reached Corfu, on the ninth of August, he found that the
confederates, tired of waiting, had already put to sea, under the
command of Colonna, in search of the Ottoman fleet.

The Porte had shown such extraordinary despatch, that in six months it
had built and equipped a hundred and twenty galleys, making, with those
already on hand, a formidable fleet.[355] It was a remarkable proof of
its resources, but suggests the idea of the wide difference between a
Turkish galley of the sixteenth century and a man-of-war in our day. The
command of the armament was given to the Algerine chieftain, Uluch Ali,
who had so adroitly managed to bring off the few vessels which effected
their escape at the battle of Lepanto. He stood deservedly high in the
confidence of the sultan, and had the supreme direction in maritime
affairs.

[Sidenote: OPERATIONS IN THE LEVANT.]

The two fleets came face to face with each other off the western coast
of the Morea. But though the Algerine commander was much superior to the
Christians in the number and strength of his vessels, he declined an
action, showing the same adroitness in eluding a battle that he had
before shown in escaping from one.

At the close of August the confederates returned to Corfu, where they
were reinforced by the rest of the Spanish squadron. The combined fleet,
with this addition, amounted to some two hundred and forty-seven
vessels, of which nearly two-thirds were galleys. It was a force
somewhat superior to that of the enemy. Thus strengthened, Don John,
unfurling the consecrated banner as generalissimo of the League, weighed
anchor, and steered with his whole fleet in a southerly direction. It
was not long before he appeared off the harbours of Modon and Navarino,
where the two divisions of the Turkish armada were lying at anchor. He
would have attacked them separately, but, notwithstanding his efforts,
failed to prevent their effecting a junction in the harbour of Modon. On
the seventh of October, Uluch Ali ventured out of port, and seemed
disposed to give battle. It was the anniversary of the fight of Lepanto;
and Don John flattered himself that he should again see his arms crowned
with victory, as on that memorable day. But if the Turkish commander was
unwilling to fight the confederates when he was superior to them in
numbers, it was not likely that he would fight them now that he was
inferior. After some manoeuvres which led to no result, he took refuge
under the castle of Modon, and again retreated into port. There Don John
would have followed him, with the design of forcing him to a battle. But
from this he was dissuaded by the other leaders of the confederates, who
considered that the chances of success in a place so strongly defended
by no means warranted the risk.

It was in vain that the allies prolonged their stay in the
neighbourhood, with the hope of enticing the enemy to an engagement. The
season wore away with no prospect of a better result. Meantime
provisions were failing, the stormy weather of autumn was drawing nigh,
and Don John, disgusted with what he regarded as the timid counsels of
his associates, and with the control which they were permitted to
exercise over him, decided, as it was now too late for any new
enterprise, to break up and postpone further action till the following
spring, when he hoped to enter on the campaign at an earlier day than he
had done this year. The allies, accordingly, on reaching the island of
Paxo, late in October, parted from each other, and withdrew to their
respective winter-quarters. Don John, with the Spanish armament,
returned to Sicily.[356]

The pope and the king of Spain, nowise discouraged by the results of the
campaign, resolved to resume operations early in the spring on a still
more formidable scale than before. But their intentions were defeated by
the startling intelligence, that Venice had entered into a separate
treaty with the Porte. The treaty, which was negotiated, it is said,
through the intervention of the French ambassador, was executed on the
seventh of March, 1573. The terms seemed somewhat extraordinary,
considering the relative positions of the parties. By the two principal
articles the republic agreed to pay the annual sum of one hundred
thousand ducats for three years to the sultan, and to cede the island of
Cyprus, the original cause of the war. One might suppose it was the
Turks, and not the Christians, who had won the battle of Lepanto.[357]

Venice was a commercial state, and doubtless had more to gain from peace
than from any war, however well conducted. In this point of view, even
such a treaty may have been politic with so formidable an enemy. But a
nation's interests, in the long run, cannot, any more than those of an
individual, be divorced from its honour. And what could be more
dishonourable than for a state secretly to make terms for herself with
the enemy, and desert the allies who had come into the war at her
solicitation and in her defence? Such conduct, indeed, was too much in
harmony with the past history of Venice, and justified the reputation
for bad faith which had made the European nations so reluctant to enter
into the League.[358]

The tidings were received by Philip with his usual composure. "If
Venice," he said, "thinks she consults her own interests by such a
proceeding, I can truly say that in what I have done I have endeavoured
to consult both her interests and those of Christendom." He, however,
spoke his mind more plainly afterwards to the Venetian ambassador. The
pope gave free vent to his feelings in the consistory, where he
denounced the conduct of Venice in the most bitter and contemptuous
terms. When the republic sent a special envoy to deprecate his anger,
and to excuse herself by the embarrassments of her situation, the
pontiff refused to see him. Don John would not believe in the defection
of Venice when the tidings were first announced to him. When he was
advised of it by a direct communication from her government, he replied
by indignantly commanding the great standard of the League to be torn
down from his galley, and in its place to be unfurled the banner of
Castile.[359]

Such was the end of the Holy League, on which Pius the Fifth had so
fully relied for the conquest of Constantinople and the recovery of
Palestine. Philip could now transfer the war to the quarter he had
preferred. He resolved, accordingly, to send an expedition to the
Barbary coast. Tunis was selected as the place of attack,--a thriving
city, and the home of many a corsair who preyed on the commerce of the
Mediterranean. It had been taken by Charles the Fifth, in the memorable
campaign of 1535, but had since been recovered by the Moslems. The
Spaniards, however, still retained possession of the strong fortress of
the Goletta, which overlooked the approaches to Tunis.

In the latter part of September, 1574, Don John left the shores of
Sicily at the head of a fleet consisting of about a hundred galleys, and
nearly as many smaller vessels. The number of his troops amounted to not
less than twenty thousand.[360] The story of the campaign is a short
one. Most of the inhabitants of Tunis fled from the city. The few who
remained did not care to bring the war on their heads by offering
resistance to the Spaniards. Don John, without so much as firing a shot,
marched in at the head of his battalions, through gates flung open to
receive him. He found an ample booty awaiting him,--nearly fifty pieces
of artillery, with ammunition and military stores, large quantities of
grain, cotton and woollen cloths, rich silks and brocades, with various
other kinds of costly merchandise. The troops spent more than a week in
sacking the place.[361] They gained, in short, everything--but glory;
for little glory was to be gained where there were no obstacles to be
overcome.

[Sidenote: DON JOHN AT TUNIS.]

Don John gave orders that no injury should be offered to the persons of
the inhabitants. He forbade that any should be made slaves. By a
proclamation, he invited all to return to their dwellings, under the
assurance of his protection. In one particular his conduct was
remarkable. Philip, disgusted with the expenses to which the maintenance
of the castle of the Goletta annually subjected him, had recommended, if
not positively directed, his brother to dismantle the place, and to
demolish in like manner the fortifications of Tunis.[362] Instead of
heeding these instructions, Don John no sooner saw himself in possession
of the capital, than he commanded the Goletta to be thoroughly repaired,
and at the same time provided for the erection of a strong fortress in
the city. This work he committed to an Italian engineer, named
Cerbelloni, a knight of Malta, with whom he left eight thousand
soldiers, to be employed in the construction of the fort, and to furnish
him with a garrison to defend it.

Don John, it is said, had been urged to take this course by his
secretary, Juan de Soto, a man of ability, but of an intriguing temper,
who fostered in his master those ambitious projects which had been
encouraged, as we have seen, by Pius the Fifth. No more eligible spot
seemed likely to present itself for the seat of his dominion than
Tunis,--a flourishing capital surrounded by a well-peopled and fruitful
territory. Philip had been warned of the unwholesome influence exerted
by De Soto; and he now sought to remove him from the person of his
brother by giving him a distinct position in the army, and by sending
another to replace him in his post of secretary. The person thus sent
was Juan de Escovedo. But it was soon found that the influence which
Escovedo acquired over the young prince was both greater and more
mischievous than that of his predecessor; and the troubles that grew out
of this new intimacy were destined, as we shall see hereafter, to form
some of the darkest pages in the history of the times.

Having provided for the security of his new acquisition, and received,
moreover, the voluntary submission of the neighbouring town of Biserta,
the Spanish commander returned with his fleet to Sicily. He landed at
Palermo, amidst the roaring of cannon, the shouts of the populace, and
the usual rejoicings that announce the return of the victorious
commander. He did not, however, prolong his stay in Sicily. After
dismissing his fleet, he proceeded to Naples, where he landed about the
middle of November. He proposed to pass the winter in this capital,
where the delicious climate and the beauty of the women, says a
contemporary chronicler, had the attractions for him that belonged
naturally to his age.[363] His partiality for Naples was amply requited
by the inhabitants, especially that lovelier portion of them whose
smiles were the well-prized guerdon of the soldier. If his brilliant
exterior and the charm of his society had excited their admiration when
he first appeared among them as an adventurer in the path of honour, how
much was this admiration likely to be increased when he returned with
the halo of glory beaming around his brow, as the successful champion of
Christendom?

The days of John of Austria glided merrily along in the gay capital of
Southern Italy. But we should wrong him did we suppose that all his
hours were passed in idle dalliance. A portion of each day, on the
contrary, was set apart for study. Another part was given to the
despatch of business. When he went abroad, he affected the society of
men distinguished for their science, or still more for their knowledge
of public affairs. In his intercourse with these persons he showed
dignity of demeanour tempered by courtesy; while his conversation
revealed those lofty aspirations which proved that his thoughts were
fixed on a higher eminence than any he had yet reached. It was clear to
every observer that ambition was the moving principle of his
actions,--the passion to which every other passion, even the love of
pleasure, was wholly subordinate.

In the midst of the gaieties of Naples his thoughts were intent on the
best means of securing his African empire. He despatched his secretary,
Escovedo, to the pope, to solicit his good offices with Philip. Gregory
entertained the same friendly feelings for Don John which his
predecessor had shown, and he good-naturedly acquiesced in his petition.
He directed his nuncio at the Castilian court to do all in his power to
promote the suit of the young chief, and to assure the king that nothing
could be more gratifying to the head of the Church than to see so worthy
a recompense bestowed on one who had rendered such signal services to
Christendom. Philip received the communication in the most gracious
manner. He was grateful, he said, for the interest which the pope
condescended to take in the fortunes of Don John; and nothing,
certainly, would be more agreeable to his own feelings than to have the
power to reward his brother according to his deserts. But to take any
steps at present in the matter would be premature. He had received
information that the sultan was making extensive preparations for the
recovery of Tunis. Before giving it away, therefore, it would be well to
see to whom it belonged.[364]

Philip's information was correct. No sooner had Selim learned the fate
of the Barbary capital, than he made prodigious efforts for driving the
Spaniards from their conquests. He assembled a powerful armament, which
he placed under the command of Uluch Ali. As lord of Algiers, that chief
had a particular interest in preventing any Christian power from
planting its foot in the neighbourhood of his own dominions. The command
of the land forces was given to Sinan Pasha, Selim's son-in-law.

Early in July, the Ottoman fleet arrived off the Barbary coast. Tunis
offered as little resistance to the arms of the Moslems as it had before
done to those of the Christians. That city had been so often transferred
from one master to another, that it seemed almost a matter of
indifference to the inhabitants to whom it belonged. But the Turks found
it a more difficult matter to reduce the castle of the Goletta and the
fort raised by the brave engineer Cerbelloni, now well advanced, though
not entirely completed. It was not till the middle of September, after
an incredible waste of life on the part of the assailants, and the
extermination of nearly the whole of the Spanish garrisons, that both
the fortresses surrendered.[365]

[Sidenote: DON JOHN ON A MISSION TO GENOA.]

No sooner was he in possession of them, than the Turkish commander did
that which Philip had in vain wished his brother to do. He razed to the
ground the fortress of the Goletta. Thus ended the campaign, in which
Spain, besides her recent conquests, saw herself stripped of the strong
castle which had defied every assault of the Moslems since the time of
Charles the Fifth.

One may naturally ask, Where was John of Austria all this time? He had
not been idle, nor had he remained an indifferent spectator of the loss
of the place he had so gallantly won for Spain. But when he first
received tidings of the presence of a Turkish fleet before Tunis, he was
absent on a mission to Genoa, or rather to its neighbourhood. That
republic was at this time torn by factions so fierce, that it was on the
brink of a civil war. The mischief threatened to extend even more
widely, as the neighbouring powers, especially France and Savoy,
prepared to take part in the quarrel, in hopes of establishing their own
authority in the state. At length Philip, who had inherited from his
father the somewhat ill-defined title of "Protector of Genoa," was
compelled to interpose in the dispute. It was on this mission that Don
John was sent, to watch more nearly the rival factions. It was not till
after this domestic broil had lasted for several months, that the
prudent policy of the Spanish monarch succeeded in reconciling the
hostile parties, and thus securing the republic from the horrors of a
civil war. He reaped the good fruits of his temperate conduct in the
maintenance of his own authority in the counsels of the republic; thus
binding to himself an ally whose navy, in time of war, served greatly to
strengthen his maritime resources.[366]

While detained on this delicate mission, Don John did what he could for
Tunis, by urging the viceroys of Sicily and Naples to send immediate aid
to the beleaguered garrisons.[367] But these functionaries seem to have
been more interested in the feuds of Genoa than in the fate of the
African colony. Granvelle, who presided over Naples, was even said to be
so jealous of the rising fame of John of Austria, as not to be unwilling
that his lofty pretensions should be somewhat humbled.[368] The supplies
sent were wholly unequal to the exigency.

Don John, impatient of the delay, as soon as he could extricate himself
from the troubles of Genoa, sailed for Naples, and thence speedily
crossed to Sicily. He there made every effort to assemble an armament,
of which he prepared, in spite of the remonstrances of his friends, to
take the command in person. But nature, no less than man, was against
him. A tempest scattered his fleet: and when he had reassembled it, and
fairly put to sea, he was baffled by contrary winds, and taking refuge
in the neighbouring port of Trapani, was detained there until tidings
reached him of the fall of Tunis. They fell heavily on his ear; for they
announced to him that all his bright visions of an African empire had
vanished, like the airy fabric of an Eastern tale. All that remained was
the consciousness that he had displeased his brother by his scheme of
independent sovereignty, and by his omission to raze the fortress of the
Goletta, the unavailing defence of which had cost the lives of so many
of his brave countrymen.

But Don John, however chagrined by the tidings, was of too elastic a
temper to yield to despondency. He was a knight-errant in the true sense
of the term. He still clung as fondly as ever to the hope of one day
carving out with his good sword an independent dominion for himself. His
first step, he considered, was to make his peace with his brother.
Though not summoned thither, he resolved to return at once to the
Castilian court,--for in that direction, he felt, lay the true road to
preferment.




BOOK VI.




CHAPTER I.

DOMESTIC AFFAIRS OF SPAIN.

Internal Administration of Spain--Absolute Power of the Crown--Royal
Councils--Alva and Ruy Gomez--Espinoza--Personal Habits of Philip--Court
and Nobles--The Cortes--The Guards of Castile.


Seventeen years had now elapsed since Philip the Second ascended the
throne of his ancestors,--a period long enough to disclose the policy of
his government; longer, indeed, than that of the entire reigns of some
of his predecessors. In the previous portion of this work, the reader
has been chiefly occupied with the foreign relations of Spain, and with
military details. It is now time to pause, and, before plunging anew
into the stormy scenes of the Netherlands, to consider the internal
administration of the country and the character and policy of the
monarch who presided over it.

The most important epoch in Castilian history since the great Saracen
invasion in the eighth century, is the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella,
when anarchy was succeeded by law, and from the elements of chaos arose
that beautiful fabric of order and constitutional liberty which promised
a new era for the nation. In the assertion of her rights, Isabella, to
whom this revolution is chiefly to be attributed, was obliged to rely on
the support of the people. It was natural that she should requite their
services by aiding them in the recovery of their own rights,--especially
of those which had been usurped by the rapacious nobles. Indeed, it was
the obvious policy of the crown to humble the pride of the aristocracy
and abate their arrogant pretensions. In this it was so well supported
by the commons, that the scheme perfectly succeeded. By the depression
of the privileged classes and the elevation of the people, the different
orders were brought more strictly within their constitutional limits;
and the state made a nearer approach to a well-balanced limited monarchy
than at any previous period of its history.

This auspicious revolution was soon, alas! to be followed by another, of
a most disastrous kind. Charles the Fifth, who succeeded his grandfather
Ferdinand, was born a foreigner,--and a foreigner he remained through
his whole life. He was a stranger to the feelings and habits of the
Spaniards, had little respect for their institutions, and as little love
for the nation. He continued to live mostly abroad; was occupied with
foreign enterprises; and the only people whom he really loved were those
of the Netherlands, his native land. The Spaniards requited these
feelings of indifference in full measure. They felt that the glory of
the imperial name shed no lustre upon them. Thus estranged at heart,
they were easily provoked to insurrection by his violation of their
rights. The insurrection was a failure; and the blow which crushed the
insurgents on the plains of Villalar, deprived them for ever of the few
liberties which they had been permitted to retain. They were excluded
from all share in the government, and were henceforth summoned to the
Cortes only to swear allegiance to the heir apparent, or to furnish
subsidies for their master. They were indeed allowed to lay their
grievances before the throne. But they had no means of enforcing
redress; for, with the cunning policy of a despot, Charles would not
receive their petitions until they had first voted the supplies.

The nobles, who had stood by their master in the struggle, fared no
better. They found too late how short-sighted was the policy which had
led them to put their faith in princes. Henceforth they could not be
said to form a necessary part of the legislature. For as they insisted
on their right to be excused from bearing any share in the burdens of
the state, they could take no part in voting the supplies; and as this
was almost the only purpose for which the Cortes was convened, their
presence was no longer required in it. Instead of the powers which were
left to them untouched by Ferdinand and Isabella, they were now amused
with high-sounding and empty titles, or with offices about the person of
the monarch. In this way they gradually sank into the unsubstantial
though glittering pageant of a court. Meanwhile the government of
Castile, assuming the powers of both making the laws and enforcing their
execution, became in its essential attributes nearly as absolute as that
of Turkey.

Such was the gigantic despotism which, on the death of Charles, passed
into the hands of Philip the Second. The son had many qualities in
common with his father. But among these was not that restless ambition
of foreign conquest which was ever goading the emperor. Nor was he, like
his father, urged by the love of glory to military achievement. He was
of too sluggish a nature to embark readily in great enterprises. He was
capable of much labour; but it was of that sedentary kind which belongs
to the cabinet rather than the camp. His tendencies were naturally
pacific: and up to the period at which we are now arrived, he had
engaged in no wars but those into which he had been drawn by the revolt
of his vassals, as in the Netherlands and Granada, or those forced on
him by circumstances beyond his control. Such was the war which he had
carried on with the pope and the French monarchy at the beginning of his
reign.

But while less ambitious than Charles of foreign acquisitions, Philip
was full as tenacious of the possessions and power which had come to him
by inheritance. Nor was it likely that the regal prerogative would
suffer any diminution in his reign, or that the nobles or commons would
be allowed to retrieve any of the immunities which they had lost under
his predecessors.

Philip understood the character of his countrymen better than his father
had done. A Spaniard by birth, he was, as I have more than once had
occasion to remark, a Spaniard in his whole nature. His tastes, his
habits, his prejudices, were all Spanish. His policy was directed solely
to the aggrandisement of Spain. The distant races whom he governed were
all strangers to him. With a few exceptions, Spaniards were the only
persons he placed in offices of trust. His Castilian countrymen saw with
pride and satisfaction that they had a native prince on the throne, who
identified his own interests with theirs. They contrasted this conduct
with that of his father, and requited it with a devotion such as they
had shown to few of his predecessors. They not only held him in
reverence, says the Venetian minister Contarini, but respected his laws,
as something sacred and inviolable.[369] It was the people of the
Netherlands who rose up against him. For similar reasons it fared just
the opposite with Charles. His Flemish countrymen remained loyal to the
last: it was his Castilian subjects who were driven to rebellion.

[Sidenote: ALVA AND RUY GOMEZ.]

Though tenacious of power, Philip had not the secret consciousness of
strength which enabled his father, unaided as it were, to bear up so
long under the burden of empire. The habitual caution of the son made
him averse to taking any step of importance without first ascertaining
the opinions of others. Yet he was not willing, like his ancestor, the
good Queen Isabella, to invoke the co-operation of the Cortes, and thus
awaken the consciousness of power in an arm of the government which had
been so long smitten with paralysis. Such an expedient was fraught with
too much danger. He found a substitute in the several councils, the
members of which, appointed by the crown and removable at its pleasure,
were pledged to the support of the prerogative.

Under Ferdinand and Isabella there had been a complete reorganization of
these councils. Their number was increased under Charles the Fifth, to
suit the increased extent of the empire. It was still further enlarged
by Philip.[370] Under him there were no less than eleven councils, among
which may be particularly noticed those of war, of finance, of justice,
and of state.[371] Of these various bodies the council of state, charged
with the most important concerns of the monarchy, was held in highest
consideration. The number of its members varied. At the time of which I
am writing, it amounted to sixteen.[372] But the weight of the business
devolved on less than half that number. It was composed of both
ecclesiastics and laymen. Among the latter were some eminent jurists. A
sprinkling of men of the robe, indeed, was to be found in most of the
councils. Philip imitated in this the policy of Ferdinand and Isabella,
who thus intended to humble the pride of the great lords, and to provide
themselves with a loyal militia, whose services would be of no little
advantage in maintaining the prerogative.

Among the members of the council of state, two may be particularly
noticed for their pre-eminence in that body. These were the duke of Alva
and Ruy Gomez de Silva, prince of Eboli. With the former the reader is
well acquainted. His great talents, his ample experience both in civil
and military life, his iron will, and the fearlessness with which he
asserted it, even his stern and overbearing manner, which seemed to
proclaim his own superiority, all marked him out as the leader of a
party.

The emperor appears to have feared the ascendancy which Alva might one
day acquire over Philip. "The duke," wrote Charles to his son in a
letter before cited, "is the ablest statesman and the best soldier I
have in my dominions. Consult him, above all, in military affairs. But
do not depend on him entirely in these or any other matters. Depend on
no one but yourself." The advice was good; and Philip did not fail to
profit by it. Though always seeking the opinions of others, it was the
better to form his own. He was too jealous of power to submit to the
control, even to the guidance, of another. With all his deference to
Alva, on whose services he set the greatest value, the king seems to
have shown him but little of that personal attachment which he evinced
for his rival, Ruy Gomez.

This nobleman was descended from an ancient house in Portugal, a branch
of which had been transplanted to Castile. He had been early received as
a page in the imperial household, where, though he was several years
older than Philip, his amiable temper, his engaging manners, and above
all, that tact which made his fortune in later life, soon rendered him
the prince's favourite. An anecdote is reported of him at this time,
which, however difficult to credit, rests on respectable authority.
While engaged in their sports, the page accidentally struck the prince.
The emperor, greatly incensed, and conceiving that such an indignity to
the heir-apparent was to be effaced only by the blood of the offender,
condemned the unhappy youth to lose his life. The tears and entreaties
of Philip at length so far softened the heart of his father, that he
consented to commute the punishment of death for exile. Indeed, it is
hard to believe that Charles had ever really intended to carry his cruel
sentence into execution. The exile was of no long duration. The society
of Gomez had become indispensable to the prince, who, pining under the
separation, at length prevailed on his father to recall the young noble,
and reinstate him in his former situation in the palace.[373]

The regard of Philip, who was not of a fickle disposition, seemed to
increase with years. We find Ruy Gomez one of the brilliant suite who
accompanied him to London on his visit there to wed the English queen.
After the emperor's abdication, Ruy Gomez continued to occupy a
distinguished place in Philip's household, as first gentleman of the
bedchamber. By virtue of this office he was required to attend his
master both at his rising and his going to rest. His situation gave him
ready access at all hours to the royal person. It was soon understood
that there was no one in the court who exercised a more important
influence over the monarch; and he naturally became the channel through
which applicants for favours sought to prefer their petitions.[374]

Meanwhile the most substantial honours were liberally bestowed on him.
He was created duke of Pastrana, with an income of twenty-five thousand
crowns--a large revenue, considering the value of money in that day. The
title of Pastrana was subsequently merged in that of Eboli, by which he
has continued to be known. It was derived from his marriage with the
princess of Eboli, Anna de Mendoza, a lady much younger than he, and,
though blind of one eye, celebrated for her beauty no less than her wit.
She was yet more celebrated for her gallantries, and for the tragic
results to which they led--a subject closely connected with the personal
history of Philip, to which I shall return hereafter.

Among his other dignities Ruy Gomez was made a member of the council of
state, in which body he exercised an influence not inferior, to say the
least of it, to that of any of his associates. His head was not turned
by his prosperity. He did not, like many a favourite before him, display
his full-blown fortunes in the eye of the world; nor, though he
maintained a state suited to his station, did he, like Wolsey, excite
the jealousy of his master by a magnificence in his way of living that
eclipsed the splendours of royalty. Far from showing arrogance to his
inferiors, he was affable to all, did what he could to serve their
interests with the king, and magnanimously spoke of his rivals in terms
of praise. By this way of proceeding he enjoyed the good fortune, rare
for a favourite, of being both caressed by his sovereign and beloved by
the people.[375]

[Sidenote: FIGUEROA AND ESPINOSA.]

There is no evidence that Ruy Gomez had the moral courage to resist the
evil tendency of Philip's policy, still less that he ventured to open
the monarch's eyes to his errors. He had too keen a regard to his own
interests to attempt this. He may have thought, probably with some
reason, that such a course would avail little with the king, and would
bring ruin on himself. His life was passed in the atmosphere of a court,
and he had imbibed its selfish spirit. He had profoundly studied the
character of his master, and he accommodated himself to all his humours
with an obsequiousness which does little honour to his memory. The duke
of Alva, who hated him with all the hatred of a rival, speaking of him
after his death, remarked: "Ruy Gomez, though not the greatest statesman
that ever lived, was such a master in the knowledge of the humours and
dispositions of kings, that we were all of us fools in comparison."[376]

Yet the influence of the favourite was, on the whole, good. He was
humane and liberal in his temper, and inclined to peace,--virtues which
were not too common in that iron age, and which in the council served
much to counteract the stern policy of Alva. Persons of a generous
nature ranged themselves under him as their leader. When John of Austria
came to court, his liberal spirit prompted him at once to lean on Ruy
Gomez as his friend and counsellor. The correspondence which passed
between them when the young soldier was on his campaigns, in which he
addressed the favourite by the epithet of "father," confessing his
errors to him and soliciting his advice, is honourable to both.

The historian Cabrera, who had often seen him, sums up the character of
Ruy Gomez by saying: "He was the first pilot who in these stormy seas
both lived and died secure, always contriving to gain a safe port."[377]
His death took place in July, 1573. "Living," adds the writer, in his
peculiar style, "he preserved the favour of his sovereign;--dead, he was
mourned by him,--and by the whole nation, which kept him in its
recollection as the pattern of loyal vassals and prudent
favourites."[378]

Besides the two leaders in the council, there were two others who
deserve to be noticed. One of these was Figueroa, count, afterwards
created by Philip duke, of Feria, a grandee of Spain. He was one of
those who accompanied the king on his first visit to England. He there
married a lady of rank, and, as the reader may remember, afterwards
represented his master at the court of Elizabeth. He was a man of
excellent parts, enriched by that kind of practical knowledge which he
had gained from foreign travel and a familiarity with courts. He lived
magnificently, somewhat encumbering his large estates indeed by his
profusion. His person was handsome; and his courteous and polished
manners made him one of the most brilliant ornaments of the royal
circle. He had a truly chivalrous sense of honour, and was greatly
esteemed by the king, who placed him near his person as captain of his
Spanish guard. Feria was a warm supporter of Ruy Gomez; and the long
friendship that subsisted between the two nobles seems never to have
been clouded by those feelings of envy and jealousy which so often arise
between rivals contending for the smiles of their sovereign.

The other member of the council of state was a person of still more
importance. This was the Cardinal Espinosa, who, though an ecclesiastic,
possessed such an acquaintance with affairs as belonged to few laymen.
Philip's eye readily discovered his uncommon qualities, and he heaped
upon him offices in rapid succession, any one of which might well have
engrossed his time. But Espinosa was as fond of labour as most men are
of ease; and in every situation he not only performed his own share of
the work, but very often that of his associates. He was made president
of the council of Castile, as well as that of the Indies, and finally a
member of the council of state. He was inquisitor-general, sat in the
royal chancery of Seville, and held the bishopric of Siguenca, one of
the richest sees in the kingdom. To crown the whole, in 1568, Pius the
Fifth, on the application of Philip, gave him a cardinal's hat. The king
seems to have taken the greater pleasure in this rapid elevation of
Espinosa, that he sprang from a comparatively humble condition; and thus
the height to which he raised him served the more keenly to mortify the
nobles.

But the cardinal, as is too often the case with those who have suddenly
risen to greatness, did not bear his honours meekly. His love of power
was insatiable; and when an office became vacant in any of his own
departments, he was prompt to secure it for one of his dependents. An
anecdote is told in relation to a place in the chancery of Granada,
which had become open by the death of the incumbent. As soon as the news
reached Madrid, Hernandez de Cordova, the royal equerry, made
application to the king for it. Philip answered that he was too late,
that the place had been already given away. "How am I to understand your
majesty?" said the petitioner; "the tidings were brought to me by a
courier the moment at which the post became vacant, and no one could
have brought them sooner unless he had wings." "That may be," said the
monarch; "but I have just given the place to another, whom the cardinal
recommended to me as I was leaving the council."[379]

Espinosa, says a contemporary, was a man of noble presence. He had the
air of one born to command. His haughty bearing, however, did little for
him with the more humble suitors, and disgusted the great lords, who
looked down with contempt on his lowly origin. They complained to the
king of his intolerable arrogance; and the king was not unwilling to
receive their charges against him. In fact, he had himself grown to be
displeased with his minister's presumption. He was weary of the
deference which, now that Espinosa had become a cardinal, he felt
obliged to pay him; of coming forward to receive him when he entered the
room; of taking off his cap to the churchman, and giving him a seat as
high as his own; finally, of allowing him to interfere in all
appointments to office. It seemed incredible, says the historian, that a
prince so jealous of his prerogatives should have submitted to all this
so long.[380] Philip was now determined to submit to it no longer; but
to tumble from its pride of place the idol which he had raised with his
own hands.

He was slow in betraying his intention, by word or act, to the
courtiers, still more to the unfortunate minister, who continued to show
the same security and confidence as if he were treading the solid
ground, instead of the crust of a volcano.

[Sidenote: THE COUNCIL OF STATE.]

At length an opportunity offered when Espinosa, in a discussion
respecting the affairs of Flanders, made a statement which the king
deemed not entirely conformable to truth. Philip at once broke in upon
the discourse with an appearance of great indignation, and charged the
minister with falsehood. The blow was the more effectual, coming from
one who had been scarcely ever known to give way to passion.[381] The
cardinal was stunned by it. He at once saw his ruin, and the vision of
glory vanished for ever. He withdrew, more dead than alive, to his
house. There he soon took to his bed; and in a short time, in September
1572, he breathed his last. His fate was that of more than one minister
whose head had been made giddy by the height to which he had
climbed.[382]

The council of state under its two great leaders, Alva and Ruy Gomez,
was sure to be divided on every question of importance. This was a
fruitful source of embarrassment, and to private suitors, especially,
occasioned infinite delay. Such was the hostility of the parties to each
other, that, if an applicant for favour secured the good-will of one of
the chiefs, he was very certain to encounter the ill-will of the
other.[383] He was a skilful pilot who in such cross seas could keep his
course.

Yet the existence of these divisions does not seem to have been
discouraged by Philip, who saw in them only the natural consequence of
rivalry for his favour. They gave him, moreover, the advantage of seeing
every question of moment well canvassed, and, by furnishing him with the
opposite opinions of his councillors, enabled him the more accurately to
form his own.

In the mean time, the value which he set on both the great chiefs made
him careful not to disgust either by any show of preference for his
rival. He held the balance adroitly between them; and if on any occasion
he bestowed a mark of his favour on the one, it was usually followed by
some equivalent to the other.[384] Thus, for the first twelve years of
his reign, their influence may be said to have been pretty equally
exerted. Then came the memorable discussion respecting the royal visit
to the Netherlands, Alva, as the reader may remember, was of the opinion
that Philip should send an army to punish the refractory and bring the
country to obedience, when the king might visit it with safety to his
own person. Ruy Gomez, on the other hand, recommended that Philip should
go at once, without an army, and by mild and conciliatory measures win
the malcontents back to their allegiance. Each advised the course most
congenial to his own temper, and the one, moreover, which would have
required the aid of his own services to carry into execution.
Unfortunately, the violent measures of Alva were more congenial to the
stern temper off the king, and the duke was sent at the head of his
battalions.

But if Alva thus gained the victory, it was Ruy Gomez who reaped the
fruits of it. Left without a rival in the council, his influence became
predominant over every other. It became still more firmly established,
as the result showed that his rival's mission was a failure. So it
continued, after Alva's return, till the favourite's death. Even then
his well-organized party was so deeply rooted, that for several years
longer it maintained an ascendancy in the cabinet, while the duke
languished in disgrace.

Philip, unlike most of his predecessors, rarely took his seat in the
council of state. It was his maxim that his ministers would more freely
discuss measures in the absence of their master than when he was there
to overawe them. The course he adopted was for a _consulta_, or a
committee of two or three members, to wait on him in his cabinet, and
report to him the proceedings of the council.[385] He more commonly,
especially in the later years of his reign, preferred to receive a full
report of the discussion, written so as to leave an ample margin for his
own commentaries. These were eminently characteristic of the man, and
were so minute as usually to cover several sheets of paper. Philip had a
reserved and unsocial temper. He preferred to work alone, in the
seclusion of his closet, rather than in the presence of others. This may
explain the reason, in part, why he seemed so much to prefer writing to
talking. Even with his private secretaries, who were always near at
hand, he chose to communicate by writing; and they had as large a mass
of his autograph notes in their possession, as if the correspondence had
been carried on from different parts of the kingdom.[386] His thoughts
too--at any rate his words--came slowly; and by writing he gained time
for the utterance of them.

Philip has been accused of indolence. As far as the body was concerned,
such an accusation was well founded. Even when young, he had no
fondness, as we have seen, for the robust and chivalrous sports of the
age. He never, like his father, conducted military expeditions in
person. He thought it wiser to follow the example of his
great-grandfather, Ferdinand the Catholic, who stayed at home and sent
his generals to command his armies. As little did he like to
travel,--forming too in this respect a great contrast to the emperor. He
had been years on the throne before he made a visit to his great
southern capital, Seville. It was a matter of complaint in Cortes that
he thus withdrew himself from the eyes of his subjects. The only sport
he cared for--not by any means to excess--was shooting with his gun or
his crossbow such game as he could find in his own grounds at the wood
of Segovia, or Aranjuez, or some other of his pleasant country seats,
none of them at a great distance from Madrid.

On a visit to such places he would take with him as large a heap of
papers as if he were a poor clerk, earning his bread; and after the
fatigues of the chase, he would retire to his cabinet and refresh
himself with his despatches.[387] It would, indeed, be a great mistake
to charge him with sluggishness of mind. He was content to toil for
hours, and long into the night, at his solitary labours.[388] No
expression of weariness or of impatience was known to escape him. A
characteristic anecdote is told of him in regard to this. Having written
a despatch, late at night, to be sent on the following morning, he
handed it to his secretary to throw some sand over it. This functionary,
who happened to be dozing, suddenly roused himself, and, snatching up
the ink-stand, emptied it on the paper. The king, coolly remarking that
"it would have been better to use the sand," set himself down, without
any complaint, to rewrite the whole of the letter.[389] A prince so much
addicted to the pen, we may well believe, must have left a large amount
of autograph materials behind him. Few monarchs, in point of fact, have
done so much in this way to illustrate the history of their reigns.
Fortunate would it have been for the historian who was to profit by it,
if the royal composition had been somewhat less diffuse and the
handwriting somewhat more legible.

[Sidenote: PERSONAL HABITS OF PHILIP.]

Philip was an economist of time, and regulated the distribution of it
with great precision. In the morning, he gave audience to foreign
ambassadors. He afterwards heard mass. After mass came dinner, in his
father's fashion. But dinner was not an affair with Philip of so much
moment as it was with Charles. He was exceedingly temperate both in
eating and drinking, and not unfrequently had his physician at his side,
to warn him against any provocative of the gout,--the hereditary disease
which at a very early period had begun to affect his health. After a
light repast, he gave audience to such of his subjects as desired to
present their memorials. He received the petitioners graciously, and
listened to all they had to say with patience,--for that was his virtue.
But his countenance was exceedingly grave,--which, in truth, was its
natural expression; and there was a reserve in his deportment which made
the boldest feel ill at ease in his presence. On such occasions he would
say, "Compose yourself,"--a recommendation that had not always the
tranquillizing effect intended.[390] Once when a papal nuncio forgot, in
his confusion, the address he had prepared, the king coolly remarked:
"If you will bring it in writing, I will read it myself, and expedite
your business."[391] It was natural that men of even the highest rank
should be overawed in the presence of a monarch who held the destinies
of so many millions in his hands, and who surrounded himself with a veil
of mystery which the most cunning politician could not penetrate.

The reserve so noticeable in his youth increased with age. He became
more difficult of access. His public audiences were much less frequent.
In the summer he would escape from them altogether, by taking refuge in
some one of his country places. His favourite retreat was his
palace-monastery of the Escorial, then slowly rising under his
patronage, and affording him an occupation congenial with his taste. He
seems, however, to have sought the country not so much from the love of
its beauties as for the retreat it afforded him from the town. When in
the latter, he rarely showed himself to the public eye, going abroad
chiefly in a close carriage, and driving late, so as to return to the
city after dark.[392]

Thus he lived in solitude even in the heart of his capital, knowing much
less of men from his own observation than from the reports that were
made to him. In availing himself of these sources of information he was
indefatigable. He caused a statistical survey of Spain to be prepared
for his own use. It was a work of immense labour, embracing a vast
amount of curious details, such as were rarely brought together in those
days.[393] He kept his spies at the principal European courts, who
furnished him with intelligence; and he was as well acquainted with what
was passing in England and in France, as if he had resided on the spot.
We have seen how well he knew the smallest details of the proceedings in
the Netherlands, sometimes even better than Margaret herself. He
employed similar means to procure information that might be of service
in making appointments to ecclesiastical and civil offices.

In his eagerness for information, his ear was ever open to accusations
against his ministers, which, as they were sure to be locked up in his
own bosom, were not slow in coming to him.[394] This filled his mind
with suspicions. He waited till time had proved their truth, treating
the object of them with particular favour till the hour of vengeance had
arrived. The reader will not have forgotten the terrible saying of
Philip's own historian, "His dagger followed close upon his smile."[395]

Even to the ministers in whom Philip appeared most to confide, he often
gave but half his confidence. Instead of frankly furnishing them with a
full statement of facts, he sometimes made so imperfect a disclosure,
that, when his measures came to be taken, his counsellors were surprised
to find of how much they had been kept in ignorance. When he
communicated to them any foreign despatches, he would not scruple to
alter the original, striking out some passages and inserting others, so
as best to serve his purpose. The copy, in this garbled form, was given
to the council. Such was the case with, a letter of Don John of Austria,
containing an account of the troubles of Genoa; the original of which,
with its numerous alterations in the royal handwriting, still exists in
the archives of Simancas.[396]

But though Philip's suspicious nature prevented him from entirely
trusting his ministers,--though with chilling reserve he kept at a
distance even those who approached him nearest,--he was kind, even
liberal, to his servants, was not capricious in his humours, and seldom,
if ever, gave way to those sallies of passion so common in princes
clothed with, absolute power. He was patient to the last degree, and
rarely changed his ministers without good cause. Ruy Gomez was not the
only courtier who continued in the royal service to the end of his days.

Philip was of a careful, or, to say truth, of a frugal disposition,
which he may well have inherited from his father; though this did not,
as with his father in later life, degenerate into parsimony. The
beginning of his reign, indeed, was distinguished by some acts of
uncommon liberality. One of these occurred at the close of Alva's
campaigns in Italy, when the king presented that commander with a
hundred and fifty thousand ducats, greatly to the discontent of the
emperor. This was contrary to his usual policy. As he grew older, and
the expenses of government pressed more heavily on him, he became more
economical. Yet those who served him had no reason, like the emperor's
servants, to complain of their master's meanness. It was observed,
however, that he was slow to recompense those who served him until they
had proved themselves worthy of it. Still it was a man's own fault, says
a contemporary, if he was not well paid for his services in the
end.[397]

[Sidenote: THE ROYAL ESTABLISHMENT.]

In one particular he indulged in a most lavish expenditure. This was his
household. It was formed on the Burgundian model,--the most stately and
magnificent in Europe. Its peculiarity consisted in the number and
quality of the members who composed it. The principal officers were
nobles of the highest rank, who frequently held posts of great
consideration in the state. Thus the duke of Alva was chief major-domo;
the prince of Eboli was first gentleman of the bedchamber; the duke of
Feria was captain of the Spanish guard. There was the grand equerry, the
grand huntsman, the chief muleteer, and a host of officers, some of whom
were designated by menial titles, though nobles and cavaliers of
family.[398] There were forty pages, sons of the most illustrious houses
in Castile. The whole household amounted to no less than fifteen hundred
persons.[399] The king's guard consisted of three hundred men, one-third
of whom were Spaniards, one-third Flemings, and the remainder
Germans.[400]

The queen had also her establishment on the same scale. She had
twenty-six ladies-in-waiting, and, among other functionaries, no less
than four physicians to watch over her health.[401]

The annual cost of the royal establishment amounted to full two hundred
thousand florins.[402] The Cortes earnestly remonstrated against this
useless prodigality, beseeching the king to place his household on the
modest scale to which the monarchs of Castile had been accustomed.[403]
And it seems singular that one usually so averse to extravagance and
pomp should have so recklessly indulged in them here. It was one of
those inconsistencies which we sometimes meet with in private life, when
a man, habitually careful of his expenses, indulges himself in some,
which taste, or, as in this case, early habits, have made him regard as
indispensable. The emperor had been careful to form the household of his
son, when very young, on the Burgundian model; and Philip, thus early
trained, probably regarded it as essential to the royal dignity.

The king did not affect an ostentation in his dress corresponding with
that of his household. This seemed to be suited to the sober-
livery of his own feelings, and was almost always of black velvet or
satin, with shoes of the former material. He wore a cap garnished with
plumes after the Spanish fashion. He used few ornaments, scarce any but
the rich jewel of the Golden Fleece, which hung from his neck. But in
his attire he was scrupulously neat, says the Venetian diplomatist who
tells these particulars; and he changed his dress for a new one every
month, giving away his cast-off suits to his attendants.[404]

It was a capital defect in Philip's administration, that his love of
power and his distrust of others made him desire to do everything
himself; even those things which could be done much better by his
ministers. As he was slow in making up his own opinions, and seldom
acted without first ascertaining those of his council, we may well
understand the mischievous consequences of such delay. Loud were the
complaints of private suitors, who saw month after month pass away
without an answer to their petitions. The state suffered no less, as the
wheels of government seemed actually to stand still under the
accumulated pressure of the public business. Even when a decision did
come, it often came too late to be of service; for the circumstances
which led to it had wholly changed. Of this the reader has seen more
than one example in the Netherlands. The favourite saying of Philip,
that "time and he were a match for any other two," was a sad mistake.
The time he demanded was his ruin. It was in vain that Granvelle, who at
a later day came to Castile to assume the direction of affairs,
endeavoured, in his courtly language, to convince the king of his error,
telling him that no man could bear up under such a load of business,
which sooner or later must destroy his health, perhaps his life.[405]

A letter addressed to the king by his grand almoner, Don Luis Manrique,
told the truth in plainer terms, such as had not often reached the royal
ear. "Your majesty's subjects everywhere complain," he says, "of your
manner of doing business; sitting all day long over your papers, from
your desire, as they intimate, to seclude yourself from the world, and
from a want of confidence in your ministers.[406] Hence such
interminable delays as fill the soul of every suitor with despair. Your
subjects are discontented that you refuse to take your seat in the
council of state. The Almighty," he adds, "did not send kings into the
world to spend their days in reading or writing, or even in meditation
and prayer,"--in which Philip was understood to pass much of his
time,--"but to serve as public oracles, to which all may resort for
answers. If any sovereign have received this grace, it is your majesty;
and the greater the sin, therefore, if you do not give free access to
all."[407] One may be surprised to find that language such as this was
addressed to a prince like Philip the Second, and that he should have
borne it so patiently. But in this the king resembled his father.
Churchmen and jesters--of which latter he had usually one or two in
attendance--were privileged persons at his court. In point of fact, the
homilies of the one had as little effect as the jests of the other.

The pomp of the royal establishment was imitated on a smaller scale by
the great nobles living on their vast estates scattered over the
country. Their revenues were very large, though often heavily burdened.
Out of twenty-three dukes, in 1581, only three had an income so low as
forty thousand ducats a year.[408] That of most of the others ranged
from fifty to a hundred thousand; and that of one, the duke of Medina
Sidonia, was computed at a hundred and thirty-five thousand. Revenues
like these would not easily have been matched in that day by the
aristocracy of any other nation in Christendom.[409]

[Sidenote: POMP OF THE NOBLES.]

The Spanish grandees preferred to live on their estates in the country.
But in the winter they repaired to Madrid, and displayed their
magnificence at the court of their sovereign. Here they dazzled the eye
by the splendour of their equipages, the beauty of their horses, their
rich liveries, and the throng of their retainers. But with all this the
Castilian court was far from appearing in the eyes of foreigners a gay
one; forming in this respect a contrast to the Flemish court of Margaret
of Parma. It seemed to have imbibed much of the serious and indeed
sombre character of the monarch who presided over it. All was stately
and ceremonious, with old-fashioned manners and usages. "There is
nothing new to be seen there," write the Venetian envoys. "There is no
pleasant gossip about the events of the day. If a man is acquainted with
any news, he is too prudent to repeat it.[410] The courtiers talk
little, and for the most part are ignorant; in fact, without the least
tincture of learning. The arrogance of the great lords is beyond belief;
and when they meet a foreign ambassador, or even the nuncio of his
holiness, they rarely condescend to salute him by raising their
caps.[411] They all affect that imperturbable composure, or apathy,
which they term _sosiego_."[412]

They gave no splendid banquets, like the Flemish nobles. Their chief
amusement was gaming,--the hereditary vice of the Spaniard. They played
deep, often to the great detriment of their fortunes. This did not
displease the king. It may seem strange that a society so cold and
formal should be much addicted to intrigue.[413] In this they followed
the example of their master.

Thus passing their days in frivolous amusements and idle dalliance, the
Spanish nobles, with the lofty titles and pretensions of their
ancestors, were a degenerate race. With a few brilliant exceptions, they
filled no important posts in the state or in the army. The places of
most consideration to which they aspired were those connected with the
royal household; and their greatest honour was to possess the empty
privileges of the grandee, and to sit with their heads covered in the
presence of the king.[414]

From this life of splendid humiliation they were nothing loth to escape
into the country, where they passed their days in their ancestral
castles, surrounded by princely domains, which embraced towns and
villages within their circuit, and a population sometimes reaching to
thirty thousand families. Here the proud lords lived in truly regal
pomp. Their households were formed on that of the sovereign. They had
their major-domos, their gentlemen of the bedchamber, their grand
equerries, and other officers of rank. Their halls were filled with
hidalgos and cavaliers, and a throng of inferior retainers. They were
attended by body-guards of one or two hundred soldiers. Their dwellings
were sumptuously furnished, and their sideboards loaded with plate from
the silver quarries of the New World. Their chapels were magnificent.
Their wives affected a royal state: they had their ladies of honour; and
the page who served as cupbearer knelt while his mistress drank. Even
knights of ancient blood, whom she addressed from her seat, did not
refuse to bend the knee to her.[415]

Amidst all this splendour, the Spanish grandees had no real power to
correspond with it. They could no longer, as in the days of their
fathers, engage in fends with one another; nor could they enjoy the
privilege, so highly prized, of renouncing their allegiance and
declaring war upon their sovereign. Their numerous vassals, instead of
being gathered as of yore into a formidable military array, had sunk
into the more humble rank of retainers, who served only to swell the
idle pomp of their lord's establishment: they were no longer allowed to
bear arms, except in the service of the crown; and after the Moriscoes
had been reduced, the crown had no occasion for their services, unless
in foreign war.[416]

The measures by which Ferdinand and Isabella had broken the power of the
aristocracy had been enforced with still greater rigour by Charles the
Fifth, and were now carried out even more effectually by Philip the
Second; for Philip had the advantage of being always in Spain, while
Charles passed most of his time in other parts of his dominions. Thus
ever present, Philip was as prompt to enforce the law against the
highest noble as against the humblest of his subjects.

Men of rank commanded the armies abroad, and were sent as viceroys to
Naples, Sicily, Milan, and the provinces of the New World. But at home
they were rarely raised to civil or military office. They no longer
formed a necessary part of the national legislature, and were seldom
summoned to the meetings of the Cortes; for the Castilian noble claimed
exemption from the public burdens, and it was rarely that the Cortes
were assembled for any other purpose than to impose those burdens. Thus,
without political power of any kind, they resided like so many private
gentlemen on their estates in the country. Their princely style of
living gave no umbrage to the king, who was rather pleased to see them
dissipate their vast revenues in a way that was attended with no worse
evil than that of driving the proprietors to exactions which made them
odious to their vassals.[417] Such, we are assured by a Venetian
envoy--who, with great powers of observation, was placed in the best
situation for exerting them--was the policy of Philip. "Thus," he
concludes, "did the king make himself feared by those who, if they had
managed discreetly, might have made themselves feared by him."[418]

While the aristocracy was thus depressed, the strong arm of Charles the
Fifth had stripped the Castilian commons of their most precious rights.
Philip, happily for himself, was spared the odium of having reduced them
to this abject condition. But he was as careful as his father could have
been, that they should not rise from it. The legislative power of the
commons--that most important of all their privileges--was nearly
annihilated. The Castilian Cortes were, it is true, frequently convoked
under Philip--more frequently, on the whole, than in any preceding
reign; for in them still resided the power of voting supplies for the
crown. To have summoned them so often, therefore, was rather a proof of
the necessities of the government than of respect for the rights of the
commons.

[Sidenote: THE CORTES.]

The Cortes, it is true, still enjoyed the privilege of laying their
grievances before the king; but as they were compelled to vote the
supplies before they presented their grievances, they had lost the only
lever by which they could effectually operate on the royal will. Yet
when we review their petitions, and see the care with which they watched
over the interests of the nation, and the courage with which they
maintained them, we cannot refuse our admiration. We must acknowledge
that, under every circumstance of discouragement and oppression, the
old Castilian spirit still lingered in the hearts of the people. In
proof of this, it will not be amiss to cite a few of these petitions,
which, whether successful or not, may serve at least to show the state
of public opinion on the topics to which they relate.

One, of repeated recurrence, is a remonstrance to the king on the
enormous expense of his household--"as great," say the Cortes, "as would
be required for the conquest of a kingdom."[419] The Burgundian
establishment, independently of its costliness, found little favour with
the honest Castilian; and the Cortes prayed his majesty to abandon it,
and to return to the more simple and natural usage of his ancestors.
They represented "the pernicious effects which this manner of living
necessarily had on the great nobles and others of his subjects, prone to
follow the example of their master."[420] To one of these petitions
Philip replied, that "he would cause the matter to be inquired into, and
such measures to be taken as were most for his service." "No alteration
took place during his reign; and the Burgundian establishment, which in
1562 involved an annual charge of a hundred and fifty-six millions of
maravedis, was continued by his successor."[421]

Another remonstrance of constant recurrence--a proof of its
inefficacy--was that against the alienation of the crown lands, and the
sale of offices and the lesser titles of nobility. To this the king made
answer in much the same equivocal language as before. Another petition
besought him no longer to seek an increase of his revenue by imposing
taxes without the sanction of the Cortes, required by the ancient law
and usage of the realm. Philip's reply on this occasion was plain
enough. It was, in truth, one worthy of an eastern despot. "The
necessities," he said, "which have compelled me to resort to these
measures, far from having ceased, have increased, and are still
increasing, allowing me no alternative but to pursue the course I have
adopted."[422] Philip's embarrassments were indeed great,--far beyond
the reach of any financial skill of his ministers to remove. His various
expedients for relieving himself from the burden which, as he truly
said, was becoming heavier every day, form a curious chapter in the
history of finance. But we have not yet reached the period at which they
can be most effectively presented to the reader.

The commons strongly urged the king to complete the great work he had
early undertaken, of embodying in one code the municipal law of
Castile.[423] They gave careful attention to the administration of
justice, showed their desire for the reform of various abuses,
especially for quickening the despatch of business, proverbially slow in
Spain, and, in short, for relieving suitors, as far as possible, from
the manifold vexations to which they were daily exposed in the
tribunals. With a wise liberality they recommended that, in order to
secure the services of competent persons in judicial offices, their
salaries--in many cases wholly inadequate--should be greatly
increased.[424]

The Cortes watched with a truly parental care over the great interests
of the state--its commerce, its husbandry, and its manufactures. They
raised a loud, and as it would seem not an ineffectual, note of
remonstrance against the tyrannical practice of the crown in seizing for
its own use the bullion which, as elsewhere stated, had been imported
from the New World on their own account by the merchants of Seville.

Some of the petitions of the Cortes show what would be thought at the
present day a strange ignorance of the true principles of legislation in
respect to commerce. Thus, regarding gold and silver, independently of
their value as a medium of exchange, as constituting in a peculiar
manner the wealth of a country, they considered that the true policy was
to keep the precious metals at home, and prayed that their exportation
might be forbidden. Yet this was a common error in the sixteenth century
with other nations besides the Spaniards. It may seem singular, however,
that the experience of three-fourths of a century had not satisfied the
Castilian of the futility of such attempts to obstruct the natural
current of commercial circulation.

In the same spirit, they besought the king to prohibit the use of gold
and silver in plating copper and other substances, as well as for
wearing-apparel and articles of household luxury. It was a waste of the
precious metals, which were needed for other purposes. This petition of
the commons may be referred in part, no doubt, to their fondness for
sumptuary laws, which in Castile formed a more ample code than could be
easily found in any other country.[425] The love of costly and
ostentatious dress was a passion which they may have caught from their
neighbours, the Spanish Arabs, who delighted in this way of displaying
their opulence. It furnished accordingly, from an early period, a
fruitful theme of declamation to the clergy, in their invectives against
the pomp and vanities of the world.

Unfortunately Philip, who was so frequently deaf to the wiser
suggestions of the Cortes, gave his sanction to this petition; and in a
_pragmatic_ devoted to the object, he carried out the ideas of the
legislature as heartily as the most austere reformer could have desired.
As a state paper, it has certainly a novel aspect, going at great length
into such minute specifications of wearing-apparel, both male and
female, that it would seem to have been devised by a committee of
tailors and milliners, rather than of grave legislators.[426] The
tailors, indeed, the authors of these seductive abominations, did not
escape the direct animadversion of the Cortes. In another petition they
were denounced as unprofitable persons, occupied with needlework, like
women, instead of tilling the ground or serving his majesty in the wars,
like men.[427]

In the same spirit of impertinent legislation, the Cortes would have
regulated the expenses of the table, which, they said, of late years had
been excessive. They recommended that no one should be allowed to have
more than four dishes of meat and four of fruit served at the same meal.
They were further scandalized by the increasing use of coaches, a mode
of conveyance which had been introduced into Spain only a few years
before. They regarded them as tempting men to an effeminate indulgence,
which most of them could ill afford. They considered the practice,
moreover, as detrimental to the good horsemanship for which their
ancestors had been so renowned. They prayed, therefore, that,
considering "the nation had done well for so many years without the use
of coaches, it might henceforth be prohibited."[428] Philip so far
complied with their petition, as to forbid any one but the owner of four
horses to keep a coach. Thus he imagined that, while encouraging the
raising of horses, he should effectually discourage any but the more
wealthy from affecting this costly luxury.

[Sidenote: THE CORTES.]

There was another petition, somewhat remarkable, and worth citing, as it
shows the attachment of the Castilians to a national institution which
has often incurred the censure of foreigners. A petition of the Cortes
of 1573 prayed that some direct encouragement might be given to
bull-fights, which of late had shown symptoms of decline. They advised
that the principal towns should be required to erect additional
circuses, and to provide lances for the combatants, and music for the
entertainments, at the charge of the municipalities. They insisted on
this as important for mending the breed of horses, as well as for
furnishing a chivalrous exercise for the nobles and cavaliers. This may
excite some surprise in a spectator of our day, accustomed to see only
the most wretched hacks led to the slaughter, and men of humble
condition skirmishing in the arena. It was otherwise in those palmy days
of chivalry, when the horses employed were of a generous breed, and the
combatants were nobles, who entered the lists with as proud a feeling as
that with which they would have gone to a tourney. Even so late as the
sixteenth century it was the boast of Charles the Fifth, that, when a
young man, he had fought like a _matador_, and killed his bull. Philip
gave his assent to this petition, with a promptness which showed that he
understood the character of his countrymen.

It would be an error to regard the more exceptionable and frivolous
petitions of the Cortes, some of which have been above enumerated, as
affording a true type of the predominant character of Castilian
legislation. The laws, or, to speak correctly, the petitions of that
body, are strongly impressed with a wise and patriotic sentiment,
showing a keen perception of the wants of the community, and a tender
anxiety to relieve them. Thus we find the Cortes recommending that
guardians should be appointed to find employment for such young and
destitute persons as, without friends to aid them, had no means of
getting a livelihood for themselves.[429] They propose to have visitors
chosen, whose duty it should be to inspect the prisons every week, and
see that fitting arrangements were made for securing the health and
cleanliness of the inmates.[430] They desire that care should be taken
to have suitable accommodations provided at the inns for
travellers.[431] With their usual fondness for domestic inquisition,
they take notice of the behaviour of servants to their masters, and,
with a simplicity that may well excite a smile, they animadvert on the
conduct of maidens who, "in the absence of their mothers, spend their
idle hours in reading romances full of lies and vanities, which they
receive as truths for the government of their own conduct in their
intercourse with the world."[432] The books thus stigmatized were
doubtless the romances of chivalry, which at this period were at the
height of their popularity in Castile. Cervantes had not yet aimed at
this pestilent literature those shafts of ridicule which did more than
any legislation could have done towards driving it from the land.

The commons watched over the business of education as zealously as over
any of the material interests of the state. They inspected the condition
of the higher seminaries, and would have provision made for the
foundation of new chairs in the universities. In accordance with their
views, though not in conformity to any positive suggestion, Philip
published a pragmatic in respect to these institutions. He complained of
the practice, rapidly increasing among his subjects, of going abroad to
get their education, when the most ample provision was made for it at
home. The effect was eminently disastrous; for while the Castilian
universities languished for want of patronage, the student who went
abroad was pretty sure to return with ideas not the best suited to his
own country. The king, therefore, prohibited Spaniards from going to any
university out of his dominions, and required all now abroad to return.
This edict he accompanied with the severe penalty of forfeiture of their
secular possessions for ecclesiastics, and of banishment and
confiscation of property for laymen.[433]

This kind of pragmatic, though made doubtless in accordance with the
popular feeling, inferred a stretch of arbitrary power that cannot be
charged on those which emanated directly from the suggestion of the
legislature. In this respect, however, it fell far short of those
ordinances which proceeded exclusively from the royal will, without
reference to the wishes of the commons. Such ordinances--and they were
probably more numerous than any other class of laws during this
reign--are doubtless among the most arbitrary acts of which a monarch
can be guilty; for they imply nothing less than an assumption of the
law-making power into his own hands. Indeed, they met with a strong
remonstrance in the year 1579, when Philip was besought by the commons
not to make any laws but such as had first received the sanction of the
Cortes.[434] Yet Philip might vindicate himself by the example of his
predecessors--even of those who, like Ferdinand and Isabella, had most
at heart the interests of the nation.[435]

It must be further admitted, that the more regular mode of proceeding,
with the co-operation of the Cortes, had in it much to warrant the idea,
that the real right of legislation was vested in the king. A petition,
usually couched in the most humble terms, prayed his majesty to give his
assent to the law proposed. This he did in a few words; or, what was
much more common, he refused to give it, declaring that, in the existing
case, "it was not expedient that any change should be made." It was
observed that the number of cases in which Philip rejected the petitions
of the commons was much greater than had been usual with former
sovereigns.

[Sidenote: THE GUARDS OF CASTILE.]

A more frequent practice with Philip was one that better suited his
hesitating nature and habit of procrastination. He replied in ambiguous
terms, that "he would take the matter into consideration," or "that he
would lay it before his council, and take such measures as would be best
for his service." Thus the Cortes adjourned in ignorance of the fate of
their petitions. Even when he announced his assent, as it was left to
him to prescribe the terms of the law, it might be more or less
conformable to those of the petition. The Cortes having been dismissed,
there was no redress to be obtained if the law did not express their
views, nor could any remonstrance be presented by that body until their
next session, usually three years later. The practice established by
Charles the Fifth, of postponing the presenting of petitions till the
supplies had been voted, and the immediate adjournment of the
legislature afterwards, secured an absolute authority to the princes of
the house of Austria, that made a fearful change in the ancient
constitution of Castile.

Yet the meetings of the Cortes, shorn as that body was of its ancient
privileges, were not without important benefits to the nation. None
could be better acquainted than the deputies with the actual wants and
wishes of their constituents. It was a manifest advantage for the king
to receive this information. It enabled him to take the course best
suited to the interests of the people, to which he would naturally be
inclined when he did not regard them as conflicting with his own. Even
when he did, the strenuous support of their own views by the commons
might compel him to modify his measures. However absolute the monarch,
he would naturally shrink from pursuing a policy so odious to the people
that, if persevered in, it might convert remonstrance into downright
resistance.

The freedom of discussion among the deputies is attested by the
independent tone with which in their petitions they denounce the
manifold abuses in the state. It is honourable to Philip, that he should
not have attempted to stifle this freedom of debate; though perhaps this
may be more correctly referred to his policy, which made him willing to
leave this safety-valve open for the passions of the people. He may have
been content to flatter them with the image of power, conscious that he
alone retained the substance of it. However this may have been, the good
effect of the exercise of these rights, imperfect as they were, by the
third estate, must be highly estimated. The fact of being called
together to consult on public affairs gave the people a consideration in
their own eyes which raised them far above the abject condition of the
subjects of an Eastern despotism. It cherished in them that love of
independence which was their birthright, inherited from their ancestors,
and thus maintained in their bosoms those lofty sentiments which were
the characteristics of the humbler classes of the Spaniards beyond those
of any other nation in Christendom.

One feature was wanting to complete the picture of absolute monarchy.
This was a standing army,--a thing hitherto unknown in Spain. There was,
indeed, an immense force kept on foot in the time of Charles the Fifth,
and many of the troops were Spaniards. But they were stationed abroad,
and were intended solely for foreign enterprises. It is to Philip's time
that we are to refer the first germs of a permanent military
establishment, designed to maintain order and obedience at home.

The levies raised for this purpose amounted to twenty companies of
men-at-arms, which, with the complement of four or five followers to
each lance, made a force of some strength. It was further swelled by
five thousand _ginetes_, or light cavalry.[436] These corps were a heavy
charge on the crown. They were called "the Guards of Castile." The
men-at-arms, in particular, were an object of great care, and were under
admirable discipline. Even Philip, who had little relish for military
affairs, was in the habit of occasionally reviewing them in person. In
addition to these troops there was a body of thirty thousand militia,
whom the king could call into the field when necessary. A corps of some
sixteen hundred horsemen patrolled the southern coast of Andalusia, to
guard the country from invasion by the African Moslems; and garrisons
established in fortresses along the frontiers of Spain, both, north and
south, completed a permanent force for the defence of the kingdom
against domestic insurrection, as well as foreign invasion.




CHAPTER II.

DOMESTIC AFFAIRS OF SPAIN.

The Clergy--Their Subordination to the Crown--The Escorial--Queen Anne.


A review of the polity of Castile would be incomplete without a notice
of the ecclesiastical order, which may well be supposed to have stood
pre-eminent in such a country, and under such a monarch as Philip the
Second. Indeed, not only did that prince present himself before the
world as the great champion of the Faith, but he seemed ever solicitous
in private life to display his zeal for religion and its ministers. Many
anecdotes are told of him in connection with this. On one occasion,
seeing a young girl going within the railing of the altar, he rebuked
her, saying, "Where the priest enters is no place either for me or
you."[437] A cavalier who had given a blow to a canon of Toledo he
sentenced to death.[438]

Under his protection and princely patronage, the Church reached its most
palmy state. Colleges and convents--in short, religious institutions of
every kind--were scattered broadcast over the land. The good fathers
loved pleasant and picturesque sites for their dwellings; and the
traveller, as he journeyed through the country, was surprised by the
number of stately edifices which crowned the hill-tops, or rested on
their <DW72>s, surrounded by territories that spread out for many a
league over meadows and cultivated fields and pasture-land.

The secular clergy, at least the higher dignitaries, were so well
endowed as sometimes to eclipse the grandees in the pomp of their
establishments. In the time of Ferdinand and Isabella, the archbishop of
Toledo held jurisdiction over fifteen principal towns and a great number
of villages. His income amounted to full eighty thousand ducats a
year.[439] In Philip's time the income of the archbishop of Seville
amounted to the same sum, while that of the see of Toledo had risen to
two hundred thousand ducats, nearly twice as much as that of the richest
grandee in the kingdom.[440] In power and opulence, the primate of Spain
ranked next in Christendom to the pope.

The great source of all this wealth of the ecclesiastical order in
Castile, as in most other countries, was the benefactions and bequests
of the pious--of those, more especially, whose piety had been deferred
till the close of life, when, anxious to make amends for past
delinquencies, they bestowed the more freely that it was at the expense
of their heirs. As what was thus bequeathed was locked up by entail, the
constantly accumulating property of the Church had amounted, in Philip's
time, if we may take the assertion of the Cortes, to more than one-half
of the landed property in the kingdom.[441] Thus the burden of providing
for the expenses of the state fell with increased heaviness on the
commons. Alienations in mortmain formed the subject of one of their
earliest remonstrances after Philip's accession, but without effect; and
though the same petition was urged in very plain language at almost
every succeeding session, the king still answered that it was not
expedient to make any change in the existing laws. Besides his goodwill
to the ecclesiastical order, Philip was occupied with the costly
construction of the Escorial; and he had probably no mind to see the
streams of public bounty, which had hitherto flowed so freely into the
reservoirs of the Church, thus suddenly obstructed, when they were so
much needed for his own infant institution.

[Sidenote: THE CLERGY.]

While Philip was thus willing to exalt the religious order, already far
too powerful, he was careful that it should never gain such a height as
would enable it to overtop the royal authority. Both in the Church and
in the council--for they were freely introduced into the
councils--theologians were ever found the most devoted servants of the
crown. Indeed, it was on the crown that they were obliged to rest all
their hopes of preferment.

Philip perfectly understood that the control of the clergy must be
lodged with that power which had the right of nomination to benefices.
The Roman see, in its usual spirit of encroachment, had long claimed the
exercise of this right in Castile, as it had done in other European
states. The great battle with the Church was fought in the time of
Isabella the Catholic. Fortunately the sceptre was held by a sovereign
whose loyalty to the Faith was beyond suspicion. From this hard struggle
she came off victorious; and the government of Castile henceforth
retained possession of the important prerogative of appointing to vacant
benefices.

Philip, with all his deference to Rome, was not a man to relinquish any
of the prerogatives of the crown. A difficulty arose under Pius the
Fifth, who contended that he still had the right, possessed by former
popes, of nominating to ecclesiastical offices in Milan, Naples, and
Sicily, the Italian possessions held by Spain. He complained bitterly of
the conduct of the councils in those states, which refused to allow the
publication of his bulls without the royal _exequatur_. Philip, in mild
terms, expressed his desire to maintain the most amicable relations with
the see of Rome, provided he was not required to compromise the
interests of his crown. At the same time he intimated his surprise that
his holiness should take exceptions at his exercise of the rights of his
predecessors, to many of whom the Church was indebted for the most
signal services. The pope was well aware of the importance of
maintaining a good understanding with so devoted a son of the Church;
and Philip was allowed to remain henceforth in undisturbed possession of
this inestimable prerogative.[442]

The powers thus vested in the king he exercised with great discretion.
With his usual facilities for information he made himself acquainted
with the characters of the clergy in the different parts of his
dominions. He was so accurate in his knowledge, that he was frequently
able to detect an error or omission in the information he received. To
one who had been giving him an account of a certain ecclesiastic, he
remarked--"You have told me nothing of his amours." Thus perfectly
apprised of the characters of the candidates, he was prepared, whenever
a vacancy occurred, to fill the place with a suitable incumbent.[443]

It was his habit, before preferring an individual to a high office, to
have proof of his powers by trying them first in some subordinate
station. In his selection he laid much stress on rank, for the influence
it carried with it. Yet frequently, when well satisfied of the merits of
the parties, he promoted those whose humble condition had made them
little prepared for such, an elevation.[444] There was no more effectual
way to secure his favour than to show a steady resistance to the
usurpations of Rome. It was owing, in part at least, to the refusal of
Quiroga, the bishop of Cuenca, to publish a papal bull without the royal
assent, that he was raised to the highest dignity in the kingdom, as
archbishop of Toledo. Philip chose to have a suitable acknowledgment
from the person on whom he conferred a favour; and once, when an
ecclesiastic, whom he had made a bishop, went to take possession of his
see without first expressing his gratitude, the king sent for him back,
to remind him of his duty.[445] Such an acknowledgment was in the nature
of a homage rendered to his master on his preferment.

Thus gratitude for the past and hopes for the future were the strong
ties which bound every prelate to his sovereign. In a difference with
the Roman see, the Castilian churchman was sure to be found on the side
of the sovereign, rather than, on that of the pontiff. In his own
troubles, in like manner, it was to the king, and not to the pope, that
he was to turn for relief. The king, on the other hand, when pressed by
those embarrassments with which he was too often surrounded, looked for
aid to the clergy, who for the most part rendered it cheerfully and in
liberal measure. Nowhere were the clergy so heavily burdened as in
Spain.[446] It was computed that at least one-third of their revenues
was given to the king. Thus completely were the different orders, both
spiritual and temporal, throughout the monarchy, under the control of
the sovereign.

A few pages back, while touching on alienations in mortmain, I had
occasion to allude to the Escorial, that "eighth wonder of the world,"
as it is proudly styled by the Spaniards. There can be no place more
proper to give an account of this extraordinary edifice, than the part
of the narrative in which I have been desirous to throw as much light as
possible on the character and occupations of Philip. The Escorial
engrossed the leisure of more than thirty years of his life; it reflects
in a peculiar manner his tastes, and the austere character of his mind;
and whatever criticism may be passed on it as a work of art, it cannot
be denied that, if every other vestige of his reign were to be swept
away, that wonderful structure would of itself suffice to show the
grandeur of his plans and the extent of his resources.

The common tradition that Philip built the Escorial in pursuance of a
vow which he made at the time of the great battle of St. Quentin, the
10th of August, 1557, has been rejected by modern critics, on the ground
that contemporary writers, and amongst them the historians of the
convent, make no mention of the fact. But a recently-discovered document
leaves little doubt that such a vow was actually made.[447] However this
may have been, it is certain that the king designed to commemorate the
event by this structure, as is intimated by its dedication to St.
Lawrence, the martyr on whose day the victory was gained. The name given
to the place was _El Sitio de San Lorenzo el Real_. But the monastery
was better known from the hamlet near which it stood,--_El Escurial_, or
_El Escorial_,--which latter soon became the orthography generally
adopted by the Castilians.[448]

[Sidenote: THE ESCORIAL.]

The motives which, after all, operated probably most powerfully on
Philip, had no connection with the battle of St. Quentin. His father,
the emperor, had directed by his will that his bones should remain at
Yuste, until a more suitable place should be provided for them by his
son. The building now to be erected was designed expressly as a
mausoleum for Philip's parents, as well as for their descendants of the
royal line of Austria. But the erection of a religious house on a
magnificent scale, that would proclaim to the world his devotion to the
Faith, was the predominant idea in the mind of Philip. It was, moreover,
a part of his scheme to combine in the plan a palace for himself; for,
with a taste which he may be said to have inherited from his father, he
loved to live in the sacred shadows of the cloister. These ideas,
somewhat incongruous as they may seem, were fully carried out by the
erection of an edifice dedicated at once to the threefold purpose of a
palace, a monastery, and a tomb.[449]

Soon after the king's return to Spain, he set about carrying his plan
into execution. The site which, after careful examination, he selected
for the building, was among the mountains of the Guadarrama, on the
borders of New Castile,[450] about eight leagues north-west of Madrid.
The healthiness of the place and its convenient distance from the
capital combined with the stern and solitary character of the region, so
congenial to his taste, to give it the preference over other spots,
which might have found more favour with persons of a different nature.
Encompassed by rude and rocky hills, which sometimes soar to the
gigantic elevation of mountains, it seemed to be shut out completely
from the world. The vegetation was of a thin and stunted growth, seldom
spreading out into the luxuriant foliage of the lower regions; and the
winds swept down from the neighbouring sierra with the violence of a
hurricane. Yet the air was salubrious, and the soil was nourished by
springs of the purest water. To add to its recommendations, a quarry,
close at hand, of excellent stone, somewhat resembling granite in
appearance, readily supplied the materials for building,--a
circumstance, considering the vastness of the work, of no little
importance.

The architect who furnished the plans, and on whom the king relied for
superintending their execution, was Juan-Bautista de Toledo. He was born
in Spain, and, early discovering uncommon talents for his profession,
was sent to Italy. Here he studied the principles of his art, under the
great masters who were then filling their native land with those
monuments of genius that furnished the best study to the artist. Toledo
imbibed their spirit, and under their tuition acquired that simple,
indeed severe taste, which formed a contrast to the prevalent tone of
Spanish architecture, but which, happily, found favour with his royal
patron.

Before a stone of the new edifice was laid, Philip had taken care to
provide himself with the tenants who were to occupy it. At a general
chapter of the Jeronymite fraternity, a prior was chosen for the convent
of the Escorial, which was to consist of fifty members, soon increased
to double that number. Philip had been induced to give the preference to
the Jeronymite order, partly from their general reputation for ascetic
piety, and in part from the regard shown for them by his father, who had
chosen a convent of that order as the place of his last retreat. The
monks were speedily transferred to the village of the Escorial, where
they continued to dwell until accommodations were prepared for them in
the magnificent pile which they were thenceforth to occupy.

Their temporary habitation was of the meanest kind, like most of the
buildings in the hamlet. It was without window or chimney, and the rain
found its way through the dilapidated roof of the apartment which they
used as a chapel; so that they were obliged to protect themselves by a
coverlet stretched above their heads. A rude altar was raised at one end
of the chapel, over which was scrawled on the wall, with charcoal, the
figure of a crucifix.[451]

The king, on his visits to the place, was lodged in the house of the
curate, in not much better repair than the other dwellings in the
hamlet. While there, he was punctual in his attendance at mass, when a
rude seat was prepared for him near the choir, consisting of a
three-legged stool, defended from vulgar eyes by a screen of such old
and tattered cloth that the inquisitive spectator might, without
difficulty, see him through the holes in it.[452] He was so near the
choir, that the monk who stood next to him could hardly avoid being
brought into contact with the royal person. The Jeronymite who tells the
story assures us that Brother Antonio used to weep as he declared that
more than once, when he cast a furtive glance at the monarch, he saw his
eyes filled with tears. "Such," says the good father, "were the devout
and joyful feelings with which the king, as he gazed on the poverty
around him, meditated his lofty plans for converting this poverty into a
scene of grandeur more worthy of the worship to be performed
there."[453]

The brethren were much edified by the humility shown by Philip when
attending the services in this wretched cabin. They often told the story
of his one day coming late to matins, when, unwilling to interrupt the
services, he quietly took his seat by the entrance, on a rude bench, at
the upper end of which a peasant was sitting. He remained some time
before his presence was observed, when the monks conducted him to his
tribune.[454]

On the twenty-third of April, 1563, the first stone of the monastery was
laid. On the twentieth of August following, the corner-stone of the
church was also laid, with still greater pomp and solemnity. The royal
confessor, the bishop of Cuenca, arrayed in his pontificals, presided
over the ceremonies. The king was present, and laid the stone with his
own hands. The principal nobles of the court were in attendance, and
there was a great concourse of spectators, both ecclesiastics and
laymen; the solemn services were concluded by the brotherhood, who
joined in an anthem of thanksgiving and praise to the Almighty, to whom
so glorious a monument was to be reared in this mountain
wilderness.[455]

[Sidenote: THE ESCORIAL.]

The rude sierra now swarmed with life. The ground was covered with tents
and huts. The busy hum of labour mingled with the songs of the
labourers, which, from their various dialects, betrayed the different,
and oftentimes distant, provinces from which they had come. In this
motley host the greatest order and decorum prevailed; nor were the
peaceful occupations of the day interrupted by any indecent brawls.

As the work advanced, Philip's visits to the Escorial were longer and
more frequent. He had always shown his love for the retirement of the
cloister, by passing some days of every year in it. Indeed, he was in
the habit of keeping Holy Week not far from the scene of his present
labours, at the convent of Guisando. In his present monastic retreat he
had the additional interest afforded by the contemplation of the great
work, which seemed to engage as much of his thoughts as any of the
concerns of government.

Philip had given a degree of attention to the study of the fine arts
seldom found in persons of his condition. He was a connoisseur in
painting, and, above all, in architecture, making a careful study of its
principles, and occasionally furnishing designs with his own hand.[456]
No prince of his time left behind him so many proofs of his taste and
magnificence in building. The royal mint at Segovia, the hunting-seat of
the Pardo, the pleasant residence of Aranjuez, the alcazar of Madrid,
the "Armeria Real," and other noble works which adorned his infant
capital, were either built or greatly embellished by him. The land was
covered with structures both civil and religious, which rose under the
royal patronage. Churches and convents--the latter in lamentable
profusion--constantly met the eye of the traveller. The general style of
their execution was simple in the extreme. Some, like the great
cathedral of Valladolid, of more pretension, but still showing the same
austere character in their designs, furnished excellent models of
architecture to counteract the meretricious tendencies of the age.
Structures of a different kind from these were planted by Philip along
the frontiers in the north and on the southern coasts of the kingdom;
and the voyager in the Mediterranean beheld fortress after fortress
crowning the heights above the shore, for its defence against the
Barbary corsair. Nor was the king's passion for building confined to
Spain. Wherever his armies penetrated in the semi-civilized regions of
the New World, the march of the conqueror was sure to be traced by the
ecclesiastical and military structures which rose in his rear.

Fortunately, similarity of taste led to the most perfect harmony between
the monarch and his architect, in their conferences on the great work
which was to crown the architectural glories of Philip's reign. The king
inspected the details, and watched over every step in the progress of
the building, with as much care as Toledo himself. In order to judge of
the effect from a distance, he was in the habit of climbing the
mountains at a spot about half a league from the monastery, where a kind
of natural chair was formed by the crags. Here, with his spyglass in his
hand, he would sit for hours, and gaze on the complicated structure
growing up below. The place is still known as the "king's seat."[457]

It was certainly no slight proof of the deep interest which Philip took
in the work, that he was content to exchange his palace at Madrid for a
place that afforded him no better accommodations than the
poverty-stricken village of the Escorial. In 1571 he made an important
change in these accommodations, by erecting a chapel which might afford
the monks a more decent house of worship than their old weather-beaten
hovel; and with this he combined a comfortable apartment for himself. In
these new quarters he passed still more of his time in cloistered
seclusion than he had done before. Far from confining his attention to
a supervision of the Escorial, he brought his secretaries and his papers
along with him, read here his despatches from abroad, and kept up a busy
correspondence with all parts of his dominions. He did four times the
amount of work here, says a Jeronymite, that he did in the same number
of days in the capital.[458] He used to boast that, thus hidden from the
world, with a little bit of paper, he ruled over both hemispheres. That
he did not always wisely rule, is proved by more than one of his
despatches relating to the affairs of Flanders, which issued from this
consecrated place. Here he received accounts of the proceedings of his
heretic subjects in the Netherlands, and of the Morisco insurgents in
Granada. And as he pondered on their demolition of church and convent,
and their desecration of the most holy symbols of the Catholic faith, he
doubtless felt a proud satisfaction in proving his own piety to the
world by the erection of the most sumptuous edifice ever dedicated to
the Cross.

In 1577, the Escorial was so far advanced towards its completion as to
afford accommodations not merely for Philip and his personal attendants,
but for many of the court, who were in the habit of spending some time
there with the king during the summer. On one of these occasions, an
accident occurred which had nearly been attended with most disastrous
consequences to the building.

A violent thunderstorm was raging in the mountains, and the lightning
struck one of the great towers of the monastery. In a short time the
upper portion of the building was in a blaze. So much of it,
fortunately, was of solid materials, that the fire made slow progress.
But the difficulty of bringing water to bear on it was extreme. It was
eleven o'clock at night when the fire broke out, and in the orderly
household of Philip all had retired to rest. They were soon roused by
the noise. The king took his station on the opposite tower, and watched
with deep anxiety the progress of the flames. The duke of Alva was one
among the guests. Though sorely afflicted with the gout at the time, he
wrapped his dressing-gown about him, and climbed to a spot which
afforded a still nearer view of the conflagration. Here the "good duke"
at once assumed the command, and gave his orders with as much promptness
and decision as on the field of battle.[459]

All the workmen, as well as the neighbouring peasantry, were assembled
there. The men showed the same spirit of subordination which they had
shown throughout the erection of the building. The duke's orders were
implicitly obeyed; and more than one instance is recorded of daring
self-devotion among the workmen, who toiled as if conscious they were
under the eye of their sovereign. The tower trembled under the fury of
the flames; and the upper portion of it threatened every moment to fall
in ruins. Great fears were entertained that it would crush the hospital,
situated in that part of the monastery. Fortunately, it fell in an
opposite direction, carrying with it a splendid chime of bells that was
lodged in it, but doing no injury to the spectators. The loss which bore
most heavily on the royal heart was that of sundry inestimable relics
which perished in the flames. But Philip's sorrow was mitigated when he
learned that a bit of the true cross, and the right arm of St. Lawrence,
the martyred patron of the Escorial, were rescued from the flames. At
length, by incredible efforts, the fire, which had lasted till six in
the morning, was happily extinguished, and Philip withdrew to his
chamber, where his first act, we are told, was to return thanks to the
Almighty for the preservation of the building consecrated to his
service.[460]

[Sidenote: THE ESCORIAL.]

The king was desirous that as many of the materials as possible for the
structure should be collected from his own dominions. These were so
vast, and so various in their productions, that they furnished nearly
every article required for the construction of the edifice, as well as
for its interior decoration. The grey stone, of which its walls were
formed, was drawn from a neighbouring quarry. It was called
_berroquena_,--a stone bearing a resemblance to granite, though not so
hard. The blocks hewn from the quarries, and dressed there, were of such
magnitude as sometimes to require forty or fifty yoke of oxen to drag
them. The jasper came from the neighbourhood of Burgo de Osma. The more
delicate marbles, of a great variety of colours, were furnished by the
mountain-ranges in the south of the Peninsula. The costly and elegant
fabrics were many of them supplied by native artisans. Such were the
damasks and velvets of Granada. Other cities, as Madrid, Toledo, and
Saragossa, showed the proficiency of native art in curious manufactures
of bronze and iron, and occasionally of the more precious metals.

Yet Philip was largely indebted to his foreign possessions, especially
those in Italy and the Low Countries, for the embellishment of the
interior of the edifice, which, in its sumptuous style of decoration,
presented a contrast to the stern simplicity of its exterior. Milan, so
renowned at that period for its fine workmanship in steel, gold, and
precious stones, contributed many exquisite specimens of art. The walls
were clothed with gorgeous tapestries from the Flemish looms. Spanish
convents vied with each other in furnishing embroideries for the altars.
Even the rude colonies in the New World had their part in the great
work, and the American forests supplied their cedar and ebony and
richly-tinted woods, which displayed all their magical brilliancy of
colour under the hands of the Castilian workman.[461]

Though desirous, as far as possible, to employ the products of his own
dominions, and to encourage native art, in one particular he resorted
almost exclusively to foreigners. The oil-paintings and frescoes which
profusely decorated the walls and ceilings of the Escorial were executed
by artists drawn chiefly from Italy, whose schools of design were still
in their glory. But of all living painters, Titian was the one whom
Philip, like his father, most delighted to honour. To the king's
generous patronage the world is indebted for some of that great master's
noblest productions, which found a fitting place on the walls of the
Escorial.

The prices which Philip paid enabled him to command the services of the
most eminent artists. Many anecdotes are told of his munificence. He
was, however, a severe critic. He did not prematurely disclose his
opinion. But when the hour came, the painter had sometimes the
mortification to find the work he had executed, it may be with greater
confidence than skill, peremptorily rejected, or at best condemned to
some obscure corner of the building. This was the fate of an Italian
artist, of much more pretension than power, who, after repeated failures
according to the judgment of the king--which later critics have not
reversed--was dismissed to his own country. But even here Philip dealt
in a magnanimous way with the unlucky painter. "It is not Zuccaro's
fault," he said, "but that of the persons who brought him here;" and
when he sent him back to Italy, he gave him a considerable sum of money
in addition to his large salary.[462]

Before this magnificent pile, in a manner the creation of his own taste,
Philip's nature appeared to expand, and to discover some approach to
those generous sympathies for humanity which elsewhere seemed to have
been denied him. He would linger for hours while he watched the labours
of the artist, making occasional criticisms, and laying his hand
familiarly on his shoulder.[463] He seemed to put off the coldness and
reserve which formed so essential a part of his character. On one
occasion, it is said, a stranger, having come into the Escorial when the
king was there, mistook him for one of the officials, and asked him some
questions about the pictures. Philip, without undeceiving the man,
humoured his mistake, and good-naturedly undertook the part of
_cicerone_, by answering his inquiries, and showing him some of the
objects most worth seeing.[464] Similar anecdotes have been told of
others. What is strange is, that Philip should have acted the part of
the good-natured man.

In 1584, the masonry of the Escorial was completed. Twenty-one years had
elapsed since the first stone of the monastery was laid. This certainly
must be regarded as a short period for the erection of so stupendous a
pile. St. Peter's church, with which one naturally compares it as the
building nearest in size and magnificence, occupied more than a century
in its erection, which spread over the reigns of at least eighteen
popes. But the Escorial, with the exception of the subterraneous chapel
constructed by Philip the Fourth for the burial-place of the Spanish
princes, was executed in the reign of one monarch. That monarch held in
his hands the revenues of both the Old World and the New; and as he
gave, in some sort, a personal supervision to the work, we may be sure
that no one was allowed to sleep on his post.

Yet the architect who designed the building was not permitted to
complete it. Long before it was finished, the hand of Toledo had
mouldered in the dust. By his death it seemed that Philip had met with
an irreparable loss. He felt it to be so himself; and with great
distrust consigned the important task to Juan de Herrera, a young
Asturian. But though young, Herrera had been formed on the best models;
for he was the favourite pupil of Toledo, and it soon appeared that he
had not only imbibed the severe and elevated tastes of his master, but
that his own genius fully enabled him to comprehend all Toledo's great
conceptions, and to carry them out as perfectly as that artist could
have done himself. Philip saw with satisfaction that he had made no
mistake in his selection. He soon conferred as freely with the new
architect as he had done with his predecessor. He even showed him
greater favour, settling on him a salary of a thousand ducats a year,
and giving him an office in the royal household, and the cross of St.
Iago. Herrera had the happiness to complete the Escorial. Indeed, he
lived some six years after its completion. He left several works, both
civil and ecclesiastical, which perpetuate his fame. But the Escorial is
the monument by which his name, and that of his master, Toledo, have
come down to posterity as those of the two greatest architects of whom
Spain can boast.

This is not the place for criticism on the architectural merits of the
Escorial. Such criticism more properly belongs to a treatise on art. It
has been my object simply to lay before the reader such an account of
the execution of this great work as would enable him to form some idea
of the object to which Philip devoted so large a portion of his time,
and which so eminently reflected his peculiar cast of mind.

[Sidenote: THE ESCORIAL.]

Critics have greatly differed from each other in their judgments of the
Escorial. Few foreigners have been found to acquiesce in the undiluted
panegyric of those Castilians who pronounce it the eighth wonder of the
world.[465] Yet it cannot be denied that few foreigners are qualified to
decide on the merits of a work, to judge of which correctly requires a
perfect understanding of the character of the country in which it was
built, and of the monarch who built it. The traveller who gazes on its
long lines of cold grey stone, scarcely broken by an ornament, feels a
dreary sensation creeping over him, while he contrasts it with the
lighter and more graceful edifices to which his eye has been accustomed.
But he may read in this the true expression of the founder's character.
Philip did not aim at the beautiful, much less at the festive and
cheerful. The feelings which he desired to raise in the spectator were
of that solemn, indeed sombre complexion, which corresponded best with
his own religious faith.

Whatever defects may be charged on the Escorial, it is impossible to
view it from a distance, and see the mighty pile as it emerges from the
gloomy depths of the mountains, without feeling how perfectly it
conforms in its aspect to the wild and melancholy scenery of the sierra.
Nor can one enter the consecrated precincts without confessing the
genius of the place, and experiencing sensations of a mysterious awe as
he wanders through the desolate halls, which fancy peoples with the
solemn images of the past.

The architect of the building was embarrassed by more than one
difficulty of a very peculiar kind. It was not simply a monastery that
he was to build. The same edifice, as we have seen, was to comprehend at
once a convent, a palace, and a tomb. It was no easy problem to
reconcile objects so discordant, and to infuse into them a common
principle of unity. It is no reproach to the builder that he did not
perfectly succeed in this, and that the palace should impair the
predominant tone of feeling raised by the other parts of the structure,
looking in fact like an excrescence, rather than an integral portion of
the edifice.

Another difficulty, of a more whimsical nature, imposed on the
architect, was the necessity of accommodating the plan of the building
to the form of a gridiron--as typical of the kind of martyrdom suffered
by the patron saint of the Escorial. Thus the long lines of cloisters,
with their intervening courts, served for the bars of the instrument.
The four lofty spires at the corners of the monastery, represented its
legs inverted; and the palace, extending its slender length on the east,
furnished the awkward handle.

It is impossible for language to convey any adequate idea of a work of
art. Yet architecture has this advantage over the sister arts of design,
that the mere statement of the dimensions helps us much in forming a
conception of the work. A few of these dimensions will serve to give an
idea of the magnitude of the edifice. They are reported to us by Los
Santos, a Jeronymite monk, who has left one of the best accounts of the
Escorial.

The main building, or monastery, he estimates at seven hundred and forty
Castilian feet in length by five hundred and eighty in breadth. Its
greatest height, measured to the central cross above the dome of the
great church, is three hundred and fifteen feet. The whole circumference
of the Escorial, including the palace, he reckons at two thousand nine
hundred and eighty feet, or near three-fifths of a mile. The patient
inquirer tells us there were no less than twelve thousand doors and
windows in the building; that the weight of the keys alone amounted to
fifty _arrobas_, or twelve hundred and fifty pounds, and, finally, that
there were sixty-eight fountains playing in the halls and courts of this
enormous pile.[466]

The cost of its construction and interior decoration, we are informed by
Father Siguenca, amounted to very near six millions of ducats.[467]
Siguenca was prior of the monastery, and had access, of course, to the
best sources of information. That he did not exaggerate, may be inferred
from the fact that he was desirous to relieve the building from the
imputation of any excessive expenditure incurred in its erection--a
common theme of complaint, it seems, and one that was urged with strong
marks of discontent by contemporary writers. Probably no single edifice
ever contained such an amount and variety of inestimable treasures as
the Escorial,--so many paintings and sculptures by the greatest
masters,--so many articles of exquisite workmanship, composed of the
most precious materials. It would be a mistake to suppose that, when the
building was finished, the labours of Philip were at an end. One might
almost say they were but begun. The casket was completed; but the
remainder of his days was to be passed in filling it with the rarest and
richest gems. This was a labour never to be completed. It was to be
bequeathed to his successors, who with more or less taste, but with the
revenues of the Indies at their disposal, continued to lavish them on
the embellishment of the Escorial.[468]

Philip the Second set the example. He omitted nothing which could give a
value, real or imaginary, to his museum. He gathered at an immense cost
several hundred cases of the bones of saints and martyrs, depositing
them in rich silver shrines, of elaborate workmanship. He collected four
thousand volumes, in various languages, especially the Oriental, as the
basis of the fine library of the Escorial.

The care of successive princes, who continued to spend there a part of
every year, preserved the palace-monastery and its contents from the
rude touch of Time. But what the hand of Time had spared, the hand of
violence destroyed. The French, who in the early part of the present
century swept like a horde of Vandals over the Peninsula, did not
overlook the Escorial. For in it they saw the monument designed to
commemorate their own humiliating defeat. A body of dragoons under La
Houssaye burst into the monastery in the winter of 1808; and the ravages
of a few days demolished what it had cost years and the highest efforts
of art to construct. The apprehension of similar violence from the
Carlists, in 1837, led to the removal of the finest paintings to Madrid.
The Escorial ceased to be a royal residence: tenantless and unprotected,
it was left to the fury of the blasts which swept down the hills of the
Guadarrama.

The traveller who now visits the place will find its condition very
different from what it was in the beginning of the century. The bare and
mildewed walls no longer glow with the magical tints of Raphael and
Titian, and the sober pomp of the Castilian school. The exquisite
specimens of art with which the walls were filled have been wantonly
demolished, or more frequently pilfered for the sake of the rich
materials. The monks, so long the guardians of the place, have shared
the fate of their brethren elsewhere, since the suppression of religious
houses, and their venerable forms have disappeared.

[Sidenote: QUEEN ANNE.]

Silence and solitude reign throughout the courts, undisturbed by any
sound save that of the ceaseless winds, which seem to be ever chanting
their melancholy dirge over the faded glories of the Escorial. There is
little now to remind one of the palace or of the monastery. Of the three
great objects to which the edifice was devoted, one alone
survives,--that of a mausoleum for the royal line of Castile. The spirit
of the dead broods over the place,--of the sceptred dead, who lie in the
same dark chamber where they have lain for centuries, unconscious of the
changes that have been going on all around them.

During the latter half of Philip's reign, he was in the habit of
repairing with his court to the Escorial, and passing here a part of the
summer. Hither he brought his young queen, Anne of Austria,--when the
gloomy pile assumed an unwonted appearance of animation. In a previous
chapter, the reader has seen some notice of his preparations for his
marriage with that princess, in less than two years after he had
consigned the lovely Isabella to the tomb. Anne had been already
plighted to the unfortunate Don Carlos. Philip's marriage with her
afforded him the melancholy triumph of a second time supplanting his
son. She was his niece; for the empress Mary, her mother, was the
daughter of Charles the Fifth. There was, moreover, a great disparity in
their years; for the Austrian princess, having been born in Castile
during the regency of her parents, in 1549, was at this time but
twenty-one years of age, less than half the age of Philip. It does not
appear that her father, the emperor Maximilian, made any objection to
the match. If he felt any, he was too politic to prevent a marriage
which would place his daughter on the throne of the most potent monarchy
in Europe.

It was arranged that the princess should proceed to Spain by the way of
the Netherlands. In September, 1570, Anne bade a last adieu to her
father's court, and with a stately retinue set out on her long journey.
On entering Flanders, she was received with great pomp by the duke of
Alva, at the head of the Flemish nobles. Soon after her arrival, Queen
Elizabeth despatched a squadron of eight vessels, with offers to
transport her to Spain, and an invitation for her to visit England on
her way. These offers were courteously declined; and the German
princess, escorted by Count Bossu, captain-general of the Flemish navy,
with a gallant squadron, was fortunate in reaching the place of her
destination after a voyage of less than a week. On the third of October
she landed at Santander, on the northern coast of Spain, where she found
the archbishop of Seville and the duke of Bejar, with a brilliant train
of followers, waiting to receive her.

Under this escort, Anne was conducted by the way of Burgos and
Valladolid to the ancient city of Segovia. In the great towns through
which she passed she was entertained in a style suited to her rank; and
everywhere along her route she was greeted with the hearty acclamations
of the people: for the match was popular with the nation; and the Cortes
had urged the king to expedite it as much as possible.[469] The
Spaniards longed for a male heir to the crown; and since the death of
Carlos, Philip had only daughters remaining to him.

In Segovia, where the marriage ceremony was to be performed, magnificent
preparations had been made for the reception of the princess. As she
approached that city, she was met by a large body of the local militia,
dressed in gay uniforms, and by the municipality of the place, arrayed
in their robes of office and mounted on horseback. With this brave
escort she entered the gates. The streets were ornamented with beautiful
fountains, and spanned by triumphal arches, under which the princess
proceeded, amidst the shouts of the populace, to the great
cathedral.[470]

Anne, then in the bloom of youth, is described as having a rich and
delicate complexion. Her figure was good, her deportment gracious, and
she rode her richly-caparisoned palfrey with natural ease and dignity.
Her not very impartial chronicler tells us that the spectators
particularly admired the novelty of her Bohemian costume, her riding-hat
gaily ornamented with feathers, and her short mantle of crimson velvet
richly fringed with gold.[471]

After _Te Deum_ had been chanted, the splendid procession took its way
to the far-famed _alcazar_, that palace-fortress, originally built by
the Moors, which now served both as a royal residence and as a place of
confinement for prisoners of state. Here it was that the unfortunate
Montigny passed many a weary month of captivity; and less than three
months had elapsed since he had been removed from the place which was so
soon to become the scene of royal festivity, and consigned to the fatal
fortress of Simancas, to perish by the hand of the midnight executioner.
Anne, it may be remembered, was said, on her journey through the Low
Countries, to have promised Montigny's family to intercede with her lord
in his behalf. But the king, perhaps willing to be spared the
awkwardness of refusing the first boon asked by his young bride,
disposed of his victim soon after her landing, while she was yet in the
north.

Anne entered the _alcazar_ amidst salvoes of artillery. She found there
the good Princess Joanna, Philip's sister, who received her with the
same womanly kindness which she had shown twelve years before to
Elizabeth of France, when, on a similar occasion, she made her first
entrance into Castile. The marriage was appointed to take place on the
following day, the fourteenth of November. Philip, it is said, obtained
his first view of his betrothed when, mingling in disguise among the
cavalcade of courtiers, he accompanied her entrance into the
capital.[472] When he had led his late queen, Isabella, to the altar,
some white hairs on his temples attracted her attention.[473] During the
ten years which had since elapsed, the cares of office had wrought the
same effect on him as on his father, and turned his head prematurely
grey. The marriage was solemnized with great pomp in the cathedral of
Segovia. The service was performed by the archbishop of Seville. The
spacious building was crowded to overflowing with spectators, among whom
were the highest dignitaries of the Church and the most illustrious of
the nobility of Spain.[474]

During the few days which followed, while the royal pair remained in
Segovia, the city was abandoned to jubilee. The auspicious event was
celebrated by public illuminations and by magnificent _fetes_, at which
the king and queen danced in the presence of the whole court, who stood
around in respectful silence.[475] On the eighteenth, the new-married
couple proceeded to Madrid, where such splendid preparations had been
made for their reception as evinced the loyalty of the capital.

As soon as the building of the Escorial was sufficiently advanced to
furnish suitable accommodations for his young queen, Philip passed a
part of every summer in its cloistered solitudes, which had more
attraction for him than any other of his residences. The presence of
Anne and her courtly train diffused something like an air of gaiety over
the grand but gloomy pile, to which it had been little accustomed. Among
other diversions for her entertainment, we find mention made of _autos
sacramentales_, those religious dramas that remind one of the ancient
Mysteries and Moralities which entertained our English ancestors. These
_autos_ were so much in favour with the Spaniards as to keep possession
of the stage longer than in most other countries; nor did they receive
their full development until they had awakened the genius of Calderon.

[Sidenote: QUEEN ANNE.]

It was a pen, however, bearing little resemblance to that of Calderon
which furnished these edifying dramas. They proceeded, probably, from
some Jeronymite gifted with a more poetic vein than his brethren. The
actors were taken from among the pupils in the seminary established in
the Escorial. Anne, who appears to have been simple in her tastes, is
said to have found much pleasure in these exhibitions, and in such
recreation as could be afforded her by excursions into the wild,
romantic country that surrounded the monastery. Historians have left us
but few particulars of her life and character,--much fewer than of her
lovely predecessor. Such accounts as we have, represent her as of an
amiable disposition, and addicted to pious works. She was rarely idle,
and employed much of her time in needlework, leaving many specimens of
her skill in this way in the decorations of the convents and churches. A
rich piece of embroidery, wrought by her hands and those of her maidens,
was long preserved in the royal chapel, under the name of "Queen Anne's
tapestry."

Her wedded life was destined not to be a long one,--only two years
longer than that of Isabella. She was blessed, however, with a more
numerous progeny than either of her predecessors. She had four sons and
a daughter. But all died in infancy or early childhood, except the third
son, who, as Philip the Third, lived to take his place in the royal
dynasty of Castile.

The queen died on the twenty-sixth of October, 1580, in the thirty-first
year of her age, and the eleventh of her reign. A singular anecdote is
told in connection with her death. This occurred at Badajoz, where the
court was then established, as a convenient place for overlooking the
war in which the country was at that time engaged with Portugal. While
there the king fell ill. The symptoms were of the most alarming
character. The queen, in her distress, implored the Almighty to spare a
life so important to the welfare of the kingdom and of the Church, and
instead of it to accept the sacrifice of her own. Heaven, says the
chronicler, as the result showed, listened to her prayer.[476] The king
recovered; and the queen fell ill of a disorder which in a few days
terminated fatally. Her remains, after lying in state for some time,
were transported with solemn pomp to the Escorial, where they enjoyed
the melancholy pre-eminence of being laid in the quarter of the
mausoleum reserved exclusively for kings and the mothers of kings. Such
was the end of Anne of Austria, the fourth and last wife of Philip the
Second.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] "Que ningun Moro ni Mora seran apremiados a ser Christianos contra
su voluntad; y que si alguna doncella, o casada, o viuda, por razon de
algunas se quisiere tornar Christiana, tampoco sera recebida, hasta ser
interrogada." See the original treaty as given _in extenso_ by Marmol,
Rebelion de los Moriscos (Madrid, 1797), tom. i. pp. 88-98.

[2] "Y que pues habian sido rebeldes, y por ello merecian pena de muerte
y perdimento de bienes, el perdon que les concediese fuese condicional,
con que se tornasen Christianos, o dexasen la tierra."--Ibid. p. 122.

[3] The reader curious in the matter will find a full account of it in
the History of Ferdinand and Isabella, part II. chapters 6, 7.

[4] Advertimientos de Don Geronimo Corella sobre la Conversion de los
Moriscos del Reyno de Valencia, MS.

[5] "Sin tratar de instruir a cada uno en particular ni de examinar los
ni saber su voluntad los baptizaron a manadas y de modo que algunos de
ellos, segun es fama, pusieron pleito que no les avia tocado el agua que
en comun les hechavan."--Ibid.

[6] Marmol, Rebelion de los Moriscos, tom. i. pp. 133-155.--Bleda,
Coronica de los Moros de Espana (Valencia, 1618), p.
656.--Advertimientos de Corella, MS.--Ferreras, Hist. Generale
d'Espagne, tom. ix. pp. 65, 68.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol.
55.

The last writer says that, besides the largess to the emperor, the
Moriscoes were canny enough to secure the good-will of his ministers by
a liberal supply of doubloons to them also.--"Sirvieron al Emperador con
ochenta mil ducados. Aprovecholes esto, y buena suma de doblones que
dieron a los privados para que Carlos suspendiesse la execucion deste
acuerdo."

[7] Calderon, in his "Amar despues de la Muerte," has shed the
splendours of his muse over the green and sunny spots that glitter like
emeralds amidst the craggy wilds of the Alpujarras,

    "Porque entre puntas y puntas
    Hay valles que la hermosean,
    Campos que la fertilizan,
    Jardines que la deleitan.
    Toda ella esta poblada
    De villages y de aldeas;
    Tal, que, cuando el sol se pono
    A las vislumbres que deja,
    Parecen riscos nacidos
    Concavos entre las penas,
    Que rodaron de la cumbre
    Aunque a la falda no llegan."

[8] Senor de Gayangos, correcting a blunder of Casiri on the subject,
tells us that the Arabic name of the Alpujarras was _Al-busherat_,
signifying "mountains abounding in pastures."--See that treasure of
Oriental learning, the History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain
(London, 1843), vol. ii. p. 515.

[9] Such was the exemption from certain duties paid by the Christians in
their trade with the Barbary coast--a singular and not very politic
provision.--"Que si los Moros que entraren debaxo de estas
capitulaciones y conciertos, quisieren ir con sus mercaderias a tratar y
contratar en Berberia, se les dara licencia para poderlo hacer
libremente, y lo mesmo en todos los lugares de Castilla y de la
Andalucia, sin pagar portazgos, ni los otros derechos que los
Christianos acostumbran pagar."--Marmol, Rebelion de los Moriscos, tom.
i. p. 93.

[10] Such is the opinion expressed by the author of the
"_Advertimientos_," whose remarks--having particular reference to
Valencia--are conceived in a spirit of candour, and of charity towards
the Moslems, rarely found in a Spaniard of the sixteenth century.--"De
donde," he says, "colije claramente que el no sanar estos enfermos hasta
agora no se puede imputar a ser incurable la enfermedad, si no a averse
errado la cura, y tambien se vee que hasta oy no estan bastamente
descargados delante de Dios nuestro Senor aquellos a quien toca este
negocio, pues no han puesto los medios que Christo nuestro Senor tiene
ordenados para la cura de este mal."--MS.

[11] "Forzandoles con injurias y penas pecuniarias y justiciando a
algunos de ellos."--Ibid.

Mendoza, speaking of a somewhat later period, just before the outbreak,
briefly alludes to the fact that the Inquisition was then beginning to
worry the Moriscoes more than usual:--"Porque la Inquisicion los comenzo
a apretar mas de lo ordinario."--Guerra de Granada (Valencia, 1776), p.
20.

[12] Marmol, Rebelion de los Moriscos, tom. i. p. 135.

[13] Ibid. tom. ii. p. 338.--Ordenanzas de Granada, fol. 375, ap.
Circourt, Hist. des Arabes d'Espagne (Paris, 1846), tom. ii. p. 267.

The penalty for violating the above ordinance was six years' hard labour
in the galleys. That for counterfeiting the stamp of the Mendoza arms
was death. _Vae victis!_

[14] The name of Mendoza, which occupied for so many generations a
prominent place in arms, in politics, and in letters, makes its first
appearance in Spanish history as far back as the beginning of the
thirteenth century.--Mariana, Historia de Espana, tom. i. p. 676.

[15] M. de Circourt in his interesting volumes, has given a minute
account--much too minute for these pages--of the first developments of
the insurrectionary spirit of the Moriscoes, in which he shows a very
careful study of the subject.--Hist. des Arabes d'Espagne, tom. ii. pp.
268 et seq.

[16] Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. ix. p. 524.--Marmol, Rebelion de
los Moriscos, tom. i. p. 142.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol.
55.

[17] Such was the judgment of the acute Venetian who, as one of the
train of the minister Tiepolo, obtained a near view of what was passing
in the court of Philip the Second.--"Levato di bassissimo stato dal re,
e posto in tanta grandezza in pochi anni, per esser huomo da bene,
libero et schietto, et perche S. M. vuol tener bassi li grandi di
Spagna, conoscendo l' altierissima natura loro."--Gachard, Relations des
Ambassadeurs Venitiens sur Charles-Quint et Philippe II. (Bruxelles,
1855), p. 175.

[18] This remarkable ordinance may be found in the Nueva Recopilacion
(ed. 1640), lib. viii. tit. 2, leyes 13-18.

The most severe penalties were those directed against the heinous
offence of indulging in warm baths. For a second repetition of this, the
culprit was sentenced to six years' labour in the galleys and the
confiscation of half his estates.

[19] "De los enemigos los menos."--Circourt gives a version of the whole
of the professor's letter, with his precious commentary on this text.
(Hist. des Arabes d'Espagne, tom. ii. p. 278.) According to Ferreras,
Philip highly relished the maxim of his ghostly counsellor.--Hist.
d'Espagne, tom. ix. p. 525.

[20] Cabrera, throwing the responsibility of the subsequent troubles on
Espinosa and Deza, sarcastically remarks that "two cowls had the
ordering of an affair which had been better left to men with helmets on
their heads."--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. vii, cap. 21.

[21] Marmol, Rebelion de los Moriscos, tom. i. pp. 147-151,--Circourt,
Hist. des Arabes d'Espagne, tom. ii. p. 283.--Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne,
tom. ix. p. 535.

Dr. Salazar de Mendoza considers that nothing but a real love of
rebellion could have induced the Moriscoes to find a pretext for it in a
measure so just and praiseworthy, and every way so conducive to their
own salvation as this ordinance.--"Tomaron par achaque esta accion tan
justificada, y meritoria del Rey, y para sus almas tan provechosa y
saludable."--Monarquia de Espana, tom. ii. p. 137.

[22] "Y al fin concluyo con decirle resolutamente, que su Majestad
queria mas fe que farda, y que preciaba mas salvar una alma, que todo
quanto le podian dar le renta los Moriscos nuevamente
convertidos."--Marmol, Rebelion de los Moriscos, tom. i. p. 163.

[23] "Que el habia consultado aquel negocio con hombres de ciencia y
conciencia, y le decian que estaba obligado a hacer lo que
hacia."--Ibid. p. 175.

[24] "Que el negocio de la prematica estaba determinado, y su Magestad
resoluta en que se cumpliese."--Ibid, ubi supra.

[25] Ibid. p. 176.--Cabrera. Filipe Segundo, lib. vii. cap.

[26] "A estas y otras muchas razones que el marques de Mondejar daba,
Don Diego de Espinosa le respondio, que la voluntad de su Magestad era
aquella, y que se fuese al reyno de Granada, donde serio de mucha
importancia su persona, atropellando como siempre todas las dificultades
que le ponian por delante."--Marmol, Rebelion de los Moriscos, tom. i.
p. 168.

[27] An ordinance was passed at this time that the Moriscoes who had
come from the country to reside with their families in Granada should
leave the city and return whence they came, under pain of
death.--(Marmol, Rebelion de los Moriscos, tom. i. p. 169.) By another
ordinance, the Moriscoes were required to give up their children between
the ages of three and fifteen, to be placed in schools and educated in
the Christian doctrine and the Castillan tongue. (Ibid. p. 170.) The
_Nueva Recopilacion_ contains two laws passed about this time, making it
a capital offence to hold any intercourse with Turks or Moors who might
visit Granada, even though they came not as corsairs, but for purposes
of traffic. (Lib. viii. tit. 26, leyes 16, 18.) Such a law proves the
constant apprehensions in which the Spaniards lived of a treasonable
correspondence between their Morisco subjects and the foreign Moslems.

[28] Marmol Rebelion de los Moriscos, tom. i. pp. 223-233.--Mendoza,
Guerra de Granada (Valencia, 1776), p. 43.--Hita, Guerras de Granada,
tom. ii. p. 724.

[29] "Escrita en noches de augustia y de lagrimas corrientes,
sustentadas con esperanza, y la esperanza deriva de la
amargura."--Marmol, Rebelion de los Moriscos, tom. i. p. 219.

[30] Marmol, Rebelion de los Moriscos, tom. i. p. 235.

[31]

    "La furia horrible de los torbellinos
    Cada momento mas se vee yr creciendo;
    Cubre la blanca nieve les caminos,
    Tambien los hombres luego va cubriendo."

So sings, or rather says, the poet-chronicler Rufo, whose epic of four
and twenty cantos shows him to have been much more of a chronicler than
a poet. Indeed, in his preface, he avows that strict conformity to truth
which is the cardinal virtue of the chronicler.--See the Austriada
(Madrid, 1584).

[32] "Pocos sois, i venis presto."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 47.

Hita gives a _cancion_ in his work, the burden of which is a complaint
that the mountaineers had made their attack too late instead of too
early:--

    "Pocos sois, y venis tarde."

(Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 32.) The difference is explained by the
circumstance that the author of the verses--probably Hita
himself--considers that Christmas Eve, not New Year's Eve, was the time
fixed for the assault.

[33] Marmol, Rebelion de los Moriscos, tom. i. p. 238.--Mendoza, Guerra
de Granada, pp. 45-52.--Miniana, Hist. de Espana, p. 367.--Herrera,
Historia General, tom. i. p. 726.--Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. ix
pp. 573-575.

[34] "Creyendo que lo uno y lo otro seria parte para que por bien de paz
se diese nueva orden en lo de la prematica, sin aventurar ellos sus
personas y haciendas."--Marmol, Rebelion de los Moriscos, tom. i. p.
239.

[35] Beni Umeyyah, in the Arabic, according to an indisputable
authority, my learned friend Don Pascual de Gayangos. See his Mohammedan
Dynasties in Spain, _passim_.

[36] "Era mancebo de veinte y dos anos, de poca barba, color moreno,
verdinegro, cejijunto, ojos <DW64>s y grandes, gentil hombre de cuerpo:
mostraba en su talle y garbo ser de sangre real, como en verdad lo era,
teniendo los pensamientos correspondientes."--Hita, Guerras de Granada,
tom. ii. p. 13.

Few will be disposed to acquiesce in the savage tone of criticism with
which the learned Nic. Antonio denounces Hita's charming volumes as
"Milesian tales, fit only to amuse the lazy and the listless."
(Bibliotheca Nova, tom. i. p. 536.) Hita was, undoubtedly, the prince of
romancers; but fiction is not falsehood; and when the novelist, who
served in the wars of the Alpujarras, tells us of things which he
professes to have seen with his own eyes, we may surely cite him as an
historical authority.

[37] "Usava de blandura general; queria ser tenido por Cabeza, i no por
Rei: la crueldad, la codicia cubierta engano a muchos en los
principios."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 129.

[38] Ibid. p. 40.

The ceremonies of the coronation make, of course, a brave show in Rufo's
epic. One stanza will suffice:--

   "Entonces con aplauso le pusieron
    Al nuevo Rey de purpura un vestido,
    Y a manera de beca le cineron
    Al cuello y ombros un cendal brunido,
    Quatro vanderas a sus pies tendieron,
    Una hazia el Levante esclarecido,
    Otra a do el sol se cubre en <DW64> velo,
    Y otras dos a los polos dos del cielo."

    La Austriada, fol. 24.

[39] "Tal era la antigua ceremonia con que eligian los reyes de la
Andalucia, i despues los de Granada."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p.
40.

[40]

   "Que en la agricultura tienen
    Tal estudio, tal destreza,
    Que a preneces de su hazada
    Hacen fecundas las piedras."

    Calderon, Amar despues de la Muerte, Jornada ii.

[41]

   "Tres anos tuvo en silencio
    Esta traicion encubierta
    Tanto numero de gentes,
    Cosa, que admira y eleva."--Ibid, ubi supra.

[42] "Una cosa mui de notar califica los principios desta rebelion, que
gente de mediana condicion mostrada a guardar poco secreto i hablar
juntos, callasen tanto tiempo, i tantos hombres, en tierra donde hai
Alcaldes de corte i Inquisidores, cuya profesion es descubrir
delitos."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 36.

[43] Bleda, Cronica de Espana, p. 680--"Robaron la iglesia, hicieron
pedazos los retablos y imagines, destruyeron todas las cosas sagradas, y
no dexaron maldad ni sacrilegio que no cometieron."--Marmol, Rebelion de
Granada, tom. i. p. 275.

[44] "Quemaron por voto un convento de Frailes Augustinos, que se
recogieron a la Torre echandoles por un horado de lo alto azeite
hirviendo: sirviendose de la abundancia que Dios les dio en aquella
tierra, para ahogar sus Frailes."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 60.

[45] Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 271.--Ferreras, Hist.
d'Espagne, tom. ix. P. 582.

[46] "Y para darle mayor tormento traxeron alli dos hermanas doncellas
que tenia, para que le viesen morir, y en su presencia las vituperaron y
maltrataron."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 316.

[47] "Llego un herege a el con una navaja, y le persino con ella,
hendiendole el rostro de alto abaxo, y por traves; y luego le despedazo
coyuntura por coyuntura, y miembro a miembro."--Ibid. p. 348.

Among other kinds of torture which they invented, says Mendoza, they
filled the curate of Manena with gunpowder, and then blew him
up.--Guerra de Granada, p. 60.

[48] Of all the Spanish historians no one discovers so insatiable an
appetite for these horrors as Ferreras, who has devoted nearly fifty
quarto pages to an account of the diabolical cruelties practised by the
Moriscoes in this persecution--making, altogether, a momentous
contribution to the annals of Christian martyrologv. One may doubt,
however, whether the Spaniards are entirely justified in claiming the
crown of martyrdom for all who perished in this persecution. Those,
undoubtedly, have a right to it who might have saved their lives by
renouncing their faith; but there is no evidence that this grace was
extended to all; and we may well believe that the Moriscoes were
stimulated by other motives besides those of a religious nature,--such
motives as would naturally operate on a conquered race, burning with
hatred of their conquerors and with the thirst of vengeance for the
manifold wrongs which they had endured.

[49] "Murieron en pocos mas de quatro dias, con muertes exquesitas y no
imaginados tormentos, mas de tres mil martires."--Vanderhammen, Don Juan
de Austria, fol. 70.

[50] "Se adelanto un Moro, que solia ser grande amigo suyo, y haciendose
encontradizo con el en el umbral de la puerta, le atraveso una espada
por el cuerpo, diciendole: Toma, amigo, que mas vale que te mate yo que
otro."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 277.

[51] Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. ix. p. 617.

[52] "Fue gran testimonio de nuestra fe i de compararse con la del
tiempo de los Apostoles; que en tanto numero de gente como murio a manos
de infieles ninguno huvo que quisiese renegar."--Mendoza, Guerra de
Granada, p. 61.

[53] "Todos estuvieron tan constantes en la fe, que si bien fueron
combidados con grandes riquezas y bienes a que la dejasen, con ninguno
se pudo acabar; aunque entre los martyrizados huvo muchas mugeres,
ninos, y hombres que havian vivido descompuestamente."--Salazar de
Mendoza, Monarquia de Espana, tom. ii. p. 139.

[54] "Murieron este dia en Uxixar docientos y quarenta Christianos
clerigos y legos, y entre ellos seis canonigos de aquella iglesia, que
es colegial."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 297.

[55] "Estavan las casas yermas i tiendas cerradas, suspenso el trato,
mudadas las horas de oficios divinos i humanos; atentos los Religiosos i
ocupados en oraciones i plegarias, como se suele en tiempo i punto de
grandes peligros."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 54.

Mendoza paints the panic of Granada with the pencil of Tacitus.

[56] Circourt, Hist. des Arabes d'Espagne, tom. ii. p. 322.

[57] "En un punto se mudaron todos los oficios y tratos en soldadesca,
tanto que los relatores, secretarios, letrados, procuradores de la
Audiencia entraban con espadas en los estrados, y no dexaban de pareseer
muy bien en aquella coyuntura."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p.
358.

[58] "Servian tres meses pagados por sus pueblos enteramente, i seis
meses adelante pagavan los pueblos la mitad, i otra mitad el
Rei."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 53.

[59] Mendoza, with a few vigorous touches, has sketched, or rather
sculptured in bold relief, the rude and rapacious character of the
Andalusian soldiery.--"Mal pagada i por esto no bien disciplinada;
mantenida del robo, i a trueco de alcanzar o conservar este mucha
libertad, poca verguenza, i menos honra."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada,
p. 103.

[60] "Toda gente lucida y bien arreada a punto de guerra, que cierto
representaban la pompa y nobleza de sus ciudades."--Marmol, Rebelion de
Granada, tom. i. p. 396.

[61]

   "Muchos capitanos fuertes,
    muchos lucidos soldados,
    ricos banderas tendidas,
    y su estandarte dorado."

    Hita, Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 63.

[62] Circourt, Hist. des Arabes d'Espagne, tom. ii. p. 326.

Seville alone furnished two thousand troops, with one of the most
illustrious cavaliers of the city at their head. They did not arrive,
however, till a later period of the war.--See Zuniga, Annales de Sevilla
(Madrid, 1677, fol.), p. 533.

[63] "Repartio los lugares de la vega en siete partidos, y mandoles, que
cada uno tuviese cuidado de llevar diez mil panes amasados de a dos
libras al campo el dia que le tocase de la semana."--Marmol, Rebelion de
Granada, tom. i. p. 404.

[64] "Paso este negocio tan adelante, que muchos Moriscos afrentados y
gastados se arrepintieron por no haber tomado las armas cuando Abenfarax
los llamaba."--Ibid. p. 407.

[65] "Apenas podia ir por ella un hombre suelto; y aun este poco paso,
le tenian descavado y solapado por los cimientos, de manera que si
cargase mas de una persona, fuese abaxo."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada,
p. 409.

[66] "Mas un bendito frayle de la orden del serafico padre San
Francisco, llamado fray Christoval de Molina, con un crucifixo en la
mano izquierda, y la espada desnuda en la derecha, los habitos cogidos
en la cinta, y una rodela echada a las espaldas, invocando el poderoso
nombre de Jesus, llego al peligroso paso, y se metio determinadamente
por el."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 410.

[67] Ibid. p. 410, et seq.--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, pp. 67,
68.--Herrera, Historia General, tom. i. p. 736.

Hita has commemorated the bold passage of the bridge at Tablate in one
of the _romances_, or ballads, with which he has plentifully besprinkled
the second volume of his work, and which present a sorry contrast to the
ballads in the preceding volume. These, which form part of the popular
minstrelsy of an earlier age, have all the raciness and flavour that
belong to the native wild-flower of the soil. The ballads in the second
volume are, probably, the work of Hita himself,--poor imitations of the
antique, and proving that, if his rich and redundant prose is akin to
poetry, his poetry is still nearer allied to prose.

[68] "Estuvo alli aquella noche a vista de los enemigos, que teniendo
ocupado el paso con grandes fuegos por aquellos cerros, no hacian sino
tocar sus atabalejos, dulzaynas, y xabecas, haciendo algazaras para
atemorizar nuestros Cristianos, que con grandisimo recato estuvieron
todos con las armas en las manos."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i.
p. 413.

[69] Ibid. p. 414.--Herrera, Historia General, tom. i. p. 737.--Bleda,
Cronica de Espana, p. 684.--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, pp. 69,
70.--Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. x. p. 17.

[70] "A la mano derecha cubiertos con un sierro, havia emboscados
quinientos arcabuceros i vallesteros, demas desto otra emboscada en lo
hondo del barranco de mucho mayor numero de gente."--Mendoza, Guerra de
Granada, tom. i. p. 71.

[71] "Ellos quando pensaron que nuestra gente iva cansada acometieron
por la frente, por el costado, i por la retaguardia, todo a un tiempo;
de manera que quasi una hora se peleo con ellos a todas partes i a las
espaldas, no sin igualdad i peligro."--Ibid. ubi supra.

[72] This poison was extracted from the aconite, or wolf's-bane, that
grew rife among the Alpujarras. It was of so malignant a nature that the
historian assures us that, if a drop mingled with the blood flowing from
a wound, the virus would ascend the stream and diffuse itself over the
whole system! Quince-juice was said to furnish the best
antidote.--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, tom. i. pp. 73, 74.

[73] Ibid. pp. 71-74.--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, p. 554.--Marmol,
Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. pp. 416-418.--Herrera, Historia General,
tom. i. p. 737.--Bleda, Cronica de Espana, p. 684.

[74] "Mas la priesa de caminar en siguimiento de los enemigos, i la
falta de bagages en que la cargar i gente con que aseguralla, fue causa
de quemar la mayor parte, porque ellos no se aprovechasen."--Mendoza,
Guerra de Granada, p. 75.

[75] "Los Moros tomaron lo alto de la sierra, y no pararon hasta meterse
en la nieve, donde perecieron cantidad de mugeres y de criatura de
frio."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 437.

[76] "El Marques les dio a saco todo el mueble, en que habia ricas cosas
de seda, oro, plata, y aljofar, de que cupo la mejor y mayor parte a los
que habian ido delante."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 444.

[77] "No tomen, senores, a vida hombre ni muger de aquestos hereges, que
tan malos han sido, y tanto mal nos han hecho."--Ibid. p. 440.

[78] "El Marques se enternecio de ver aquellas pobres mugeres tan
lastimadas, y consolandolas lo mejor que pudo," &c.--Ibid, ubi supra.

[79] "Hubo muchos soldados heridos, los mas que se herian unos a otros,
entendiendo los que venian de fuera, que los que martillaban con las
espadas eran Moros, porque solamente les alumbraba el centellear del
acero, y el relampaguear de la polvora de los arcabuces en la tenebrosa
escuridad de la noche."--Ibid. p. 445.

[80] "De los Moriscos quasi ninguno quedo vivo, de las Moriscas huvo
muchas muertas, de los nuestros algunos heridos, que con la escuridad de
la noche se hacian dano unos a otros."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p.
77.

[81] Ibid. ubi supra.--Bleda, Cronica de Espana, p. 685.--Herrera,
Historia General, tom. i. p. 787.--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i.
p. 441 et seq.--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, p. 558.

[82] "Habia entre ellas muchas duenas nobles, apuestas y hermosas
doncellas, criadas con mucho regalo, que iban desnudas y descalzas, y
tan maltratadas del trabajo del captiverio y del camino, que no solo
quebraban los corazones a los que las conocian, mas aun a quien no las
habia visto."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 448.

[83] "Y volviendo a las casas del Arzobispo, las que tenian parientes
las llevaron a sus posadas, y las otras fueron hospedadas con caridad
entre la buena gente, y de limosna se les compro de vestir y de
calzar."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. ubi supra.

[84] "Los soldados no podian llevar a paciencia ver que se tratase de
medios con los rebeldes; y quando otro dia se supo que los admitia, fue
tan grande la tristeza en el campo, como si hubieran perdido la
jornada."--Ibid. p. 443.

[85] Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 455.

[86] Abderrahman--or, as spelt by Gayangos, Abdu-r-rhaman--the First,
the founder of the dynasty from which Aben-Humeya claimed his descent,
took refuge in Spain from a bloody persecution, in which every member of
his numerous family is said to have perished by the scimitar or the
bowstring.

[87] "Y como vio que los Christanos iban la sierra arriba, y que los
suyos huian desvergonzadamente, entendiendo que todo lo que Don Alonso
Venegas trataba era engano, echo las cartas en el suelo, y subiendo a
gran priesa en un caballo, dexo su familia atras, y huyo tambien la
vuelta de la sierra."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 460.

[88] Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 458 et seq.--Ferreras,
Hist. d'Espagne, tom. x. PP. 28-31.--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, pp. 80,
81.--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, pp. 560, 561.--Herrera, Historia General,
tom. i. p. 737.

[89] The decision referred to was, probably, one in the last Council of
Toledo, A.D. 690.--See Mariana, Hist. de Espana, tom. i. p. 452.

[90] I quote the words of Marmol:--"Con una moderacion piadosa, de que
quiso usar como principe considerado y justo."--Rebelion de Granada,
tom. i. p. 495.

[91] Ibid. ubi supra.

[92] Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. pp. 465, 498.

Mendoza says they were all returned:--"a thing never before seen,
whether it arose from fear or obedience, or that there was such an
abundance of women that they were regarded as little better than
household furniture."--Guerra de Granada, p. 96.

[93] "Fue tanta la indignacion del Margues de Mondejar, que, sin
perdonar a ninguna edad ni sexo, mando pasar a cuchillo hombres y
mugeres, quantos habia en el fuerte; y en su presencia los hacia matar a
los alabarderos de su guardia, que no bastaban los ruegos de los
caballeros y capitanes, ni las piadosas lagrimas de las que pedian la
miserable vida."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 493.

[94] Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 482 et seq.--Mendoza,
Guerra de Granada, pp. 85-95.--Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. x. pp.
32-36.--Bleda, Cronica de Espana, p. 688 et seq.--Herrera, Historia
General, tom. i. p. 738.--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, p. 589.

The storming of Guajaras is a favorite theme with both chroniclers and
bards. Among the latter Hita has not failed to hang his garland of verse
on the tombs of more than one illustrious cavalier who perished in that
bloody strife, and for whose loss "all the noble dames of Seville," as
he tells us, "went into mourning."--Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. pp.
112-118.

[95] "Que no habia osado parar en la Alpuxarra, y con solos cincuenta o
sesenta hombres, que le seguian, andaba huyendo de pena en
pena."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 464.

[96] The Castillian chronicler Marmol refuse his admission--somewhat
roughly expressed--to this brave Morisco,-"este barbaro," as he calls
him, "hijo de aspereza y frialdad indomable, y menospreciador de la
muerte."--(Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 503.) The story of
the escape of Aben-Humeya is also told, and with little discrepancy, by
Cabrera (Filipe Segundo, p. 573), and Ferreras (Hist. d'Espagne, tom. x.
pp. 39, 40).

[97] "Quando entendieron que peleaban contra el campo del Marques de los
Velez, a quien los Moros de aquella tierra solian llamar Ibiliz Arraez
el Hadid, que quiere decir, _diabolo cabeza de hierro_, perdieron
esperanza de vitoria."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 451.

Hita, who was a native of Murcia, and followed Los Velez to the war,
gives an elaborate portrait of this powerful chief, whom he extols as
one of the most valiant captains in the world, rivalling in his
achievements the Cid, Bernardo del Carpio, or any other hero of greatest
renown in Spain.--Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 68 et seq.

[98] Circourt, Hist. des Arabes d'Espagne, tom. ii. p. 346.

[99] "Mas mugeres que hombres," says Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 83.

[100] "En menos de dos horas fueron muertas mas de seis mil personas
entre hombres y mugeres; y de ninos, desde uno hasta diez anos, habia
mas de dos mil degollados."--Hita, Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 126.

We may hope this is an exaggeration of the romancer. Mendoza says
nothing of the children, and reduces the slain to seven hundred. But
Hita was in the action.

[101] "La soldadesca que andaba suelta por el lugar cometio crueldades
inauditas, y que la pluma se resiste a transcribir."--Ibid. p. 125.

[102] "El nino arrastrando como pudo se llego a ella, y movido del deseo
de mamar, se asio de los pechos de la madre, sacando leche mezclada con
la sangre de las heridas."--Hita, Guerras de Granada, p. 126.

[103] "Advirtiendo al mismo tiempo que hay tres mil hombres paisanos
suyos puestos sobre las armas, y decididos a perder la vida por
salvarle."--Ibid. p. 132.

[104] Hita has devoted one of the most spirited of his _romances_ to the
rout of Ohanez. The opening stanza may show the tone of it:--

    "Las tremolantes banderas
    del grande Fajardo parten
    para las Nevadas Sierras,
    y van camino de Ohanez.
    Ay de Ohanez!"


[105] "Todos los caballeros y capitanes en la procesion armados de todas
sus armas, con velas de cera blanca en las manos, que se las habian
enviado para aquel dia desde su casa, y todas las Christianas en medio
vestidas de azul y blanco, que por ser colores aplicados a nuestra
Senora, mando el Marques que las vistiesen de aquella manera a su
costa."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 469.

[106] "Trayendose muchas Moras hermosas, pues pasaron de trescientas las
que se tomaron alli; y habiendolas tenido los soldados a su voluntad mas
de quince dias, al cabo de ellos mando el marques que llevasen a la
iglesia."--Hita, Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 155.

[107] "Por manera que estaba la Alpuxarra tan llana, que diez y doce
soldados iban de unos lugares en otros, sin hallar quien los
enojase."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 498.

Mendoza fully confirms Marmol's account of the quiet state of the
country.--Guerra de Granada, pp. 96, 97.

[108] "Le suplicase de su parte los admitiese, habiendose
misericordiosamente con los que no fuesen muy culpados, para que el
pudiese cumplir la palabra que tenia ya dada a los reducidos,
entendiendo ser aquel camino el mas breve para acabar con ellos por la
via de equidad."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 483.

[109] "Que hiciese por su parte lo que pudiese, porque ansi haria el de
la suya."--Ibid. p. 470.

[110] "Dexar sin castigo exemplar a quien tantos crimenes habian
cometido contra la Magestad _divina y humana_."--Marmol, Rebelion de
Granada, p. 499.

[111] "El Marques," says Mendoza, "hombre de estrecha i rigurosa
disciplina, criado al favor de su abuelo i padre en gran oficio, sin
igual ni contradictor, impaciente de tomar compania, communicava sus
consejos consigo mismo."--Guerra de Granada, p. 103.

[112] Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 115 et seq.--Marmol, Rebelion de
Granada, tom. i. pp. 511-513.--Miniana, Historia de Espana, p.
376.--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, pp. 573, 574.

[113] Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 8 et seq.--Mendoza,
Guerra de Granada, pp. 97, 128.--Miniana, Historia de Espana, p.
376.--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, pp. 575, 576.

[114] "Otros, como desesperados, juntando esteras, tascos, y otras cosas
secas, que pudiesen arder, so metian entre sus mesmas llamas, y las
avivaban, para que, ardiendo la carcel y la Audiencia, pereciesen todos
los que estaban dentro."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 517.

[115] Ibid. ubi supra.

[116] "Los mataron a todos, sin dexar hombre a vida, sino fueron los dos
que defendio la guardia que tenian."--Ibid. ubi supra. See also Mendoza,
Guerra de Granada, p. 122; Herrera, Historia General, tom. i. p. 744.

[117] "Havia en ellos culpados en platicas i demonstraciones, i todos en
deseo; gente flaca, liviana, inhabil para todo, sino para dar ocasion a
su desventura."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 122.

[118] "Las culpas de los quales debieron ser mayores de lo que aqui se
escribe, porque despues pidiendo las mugeres y hijos de los muertos sus
dotes y haciendas ante los alcaldes del crimen de aquella Audiencia, y
saliendo el fiscal a la causa, se formo proceso en forma; y por
sentencias y revista fueron condenados, y aplicados todos sus bienes al
real fisco."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. i. p. 517.

[119] "Levanto un estandarte bermejo, que mostrava el lugar de la
persona del Rei a manera de Guion."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 118.

[120] "Para seguridad de su persona pago arcabuceria de guardia, que fue
creciendo hasta quatrocientos hombres."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, ubi
supra.

[121] "Siguio nuestra orden de guerra, repartio la gente por escuadras,
juntola en companias, nombro capitanes."--Ibid. ubi supra.

[122] This, which is two years later than the date commonly assigned by
historians, seems to be settled by the researches of Lafuente. (See
Historia General de Espana (Madrid, 1854), tom. xiii. p. 437, note.)
Among other evidence adduced by the historian is that of a medal struck
in honour of Don John's victory at Lepanto, in the year 1571, the
inscription on which expressly states that he was twenty-four years of
age.

[123] Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol 3.--Villafane, Vida y
Virtudes de Dona Magdalena de Ulloa (Salamanca, 1722), p. 36.--See also
Lafuente, Historia de Espana, tom. xiii. p. 432.

This last historian has made the parentage of John of Austria the
subject of a particular discussion in the Revista de Ambos Mundos, No.
3.

[124] Vanderhammen, alluding to the doubts thrown on the rank of his
hero's mother, consoles himself with the reflection that, if there was
any deficiency in this particular, no one can deny that it was more than
compensated by the proud origin of her imperial lover.--Don Juan de
Austria, fol. 3.

[125] Lafuente, Hist. de Espana, tom. xiii. p. 432, note.

[126] Gachard, Retraite et Mort de Charles-Quint, tom. ii. p. 506.

In a private interview with Luis Quixada, the evening before his death,
the emperor gave him six hundred gold crowns to purchase the
above-mentioned pension.

[127] This interesting document was found among the testamentary papers
of Charles the Fifth. A copy of it has been preserved among the
manuscripts of Cardinal Granvelle.--Papiers d'Etat, tom. iv. pp. 499,
500.

[128] "Gastava buena parte del dia en tirar con una ballestilla a los
paxaros."--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 10.

[129] "Y puede ser llegase a sospechar, si acaso tendria por padre a su
esposo."--Villefane, Vida de Magdalena de Ulloa, p. 38.

[130] "Accion singular y rara, y que dexa atras quantas la antiguedad
celebra por peregrinas."--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 31.

According to another biographer, two fires occurred to Quixada, one in
Villagarcia and one in Valladolid. On each of these occasions the house
was destroyed, but his ward was saved, borne off by the good knight in
his arms. (Villafane, Vida de Magdalena de Ulloa, pp. 44, 53.) The
coincidences are too much opposed to the doctrine of chances to commend
themselves readily to our faith. Vanderhammen's reflection was drawn
forth by the second fire, the only one he notices. It applies, however,
equally well to both.

[131] Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 16.

[132] Indeed, Siguenza, who may have had it from the monks of Yuste,
tells us that the boy sometimes was casually seen by the emperor, who
was careful to maintain his usual reserve and dignified demeanour; so
that no one could suspect his secret. "Once or twice," adds the
Jeronymite father, "the lad entered the apartment of his father, who
doubtless spoke to him as he would have spoken to any other
boy."--Historia de la Orden de San Geronimo, tom. iii. p. 205.

[133] Relation d'un Religieux de Yuste, ap. Gachard, Retraite et Mort de
Charles-Quint, tom. ii. p. 55.

[134] "Hallo tan publico aqui lo que toca aquella persona que V. Mtad
sabe que esta a mi cargo que me ha espantado, y espantame mucho mas las
particularidades que sobrello oyo."--Ibid. tom. i. p. 449.

[135] A copy of this interesting document was found in the collection of
Granvelle at Besancon, and has been lately published in the beautiful
edition of the cardinal's papers.--Papiers d'Etat, tom. iv. p. 495 et
seq.

[136] "Que pues su Mtad, en su testamento ni codecilo, no hazia memoria
del, que era razon tenello por burla, y que no sabia que poder responder
otra cosa, en publico ni en secreto."--Gachard, Retraite et Mort de
Charles-Quint, tom. i. p. 446.

[137] "La Princesa al punto arrebatada del amor, lo abraco, y beso, sin
reparar en el lugar que estava, y el acto que exercia. Llamole hermano y
tratole de alteza."--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 23.

[138] "Llego el caso a estado, que le huvo de tomar en bracos el Conde
Osorno hasta la carroca de la Princesa, porque le gozassen
todos."--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 25.

The story must be admitted to be a strange one, considering the
punctilious character of the Castilian court, and the reserved and
decorous habits of Joanna. But the author, born and bred in the palace,
had access, as he tells us, to the very highest sources of information,
oral and written.

[139] "Vuelto ya en si de la suspension primera, alargo la mano, y monto
en el caballo; y aun se dice que con airosa grandeza, anadio; Pues si
eso es asi tened el estribo."--Villafane, Vida de Dona Magdalena de
Ulloa, p. 51.

[140] "Macte, inquit, animo puer, praenobilis vire filius es tu; Carolus
Quintus Imperator, qui coelo degit, utriusque nostrum pater
est."--Strada, De Bello Belgico, tom. i. p. 608.

[141] "Jamas habia tenido dia de caza mas gustoso, ni logrado presa que
le hubiese dado tanto contento."--Villafane, Vida de Dona Magdalena de
Ulloa, p. 52.

This curious account of Philip's recognition of his brother is told,
with less discrepancy than usual, by various writers of that day.

[142] Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 27.--"Mandole llamar
Ecelencia; pero sus reales costunbres le dieron adelante titulo de
Alteza i de senor entre los grandes i menores."--Cabrera, Filipe
Segundo, lib. v. cap. 3.

[143] "Tengo mucho cuidado que aprenda y se le ensenen las cosas
necesarias, conforme a su edad y a la calidad de su persona, que, segun
la estrecheza en que se crio y ha estado hasta que vino a mi poder, es
bien menester con todo cuidado tener cuenta con el."--Gachard, Retraite
et Mort de Charles-Quint, tom. i. p. 450.

[144] "Longe tamen anteibat Austriacus et corporis habitudine, et morum
suavitate. Facies illi non modo pulchra, sed etiam venusta."--Strada, De
Bello Belgico, tom. i. p. 609.

[145] "Eminebat in adolescente comitas, industria, probitas, et, ut in
novae potentiae hospite, verecundia."--Ibid. loc. cit.

[146] Strada, Be Bello Belgico, tom. ii. pp. 609, 610.--Vanderhammen,
Don Juan de Austria, fol. 34-36.--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. vi. cap.
24.

[147] "La fama de la partida de Don Juan saco del ocio a muchos
cavalleros de la corte i reynos, que avergoncados de quedarse en el, le
siguieron."--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, loc. cit.

[148] Ante, vol. ii. book iv. ch. 6.

[149] Vanderhammen has given a minute description of this royal galley,
with its pictorial illustrations. Among the legends emblazoned below
them, that of "_Dolum reprimere dolo_" savours strongly of the politic
monarch.--Don Juan de Austria, fol. 44-48.

[150] "Su comision fue sin limitacion ninguna; mas su libertad tan
atada, que de cosa grande ni pequena podia disponer sin comunicacion i
parecer de los consegeros, i mandado del Rei."--Mendoza, Guerra de
Granada, p. 139.

[151] Ibid. p. 130 et seq.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol.
81.--Marmol, tom. i. pp. 511-513.--Villafane, Vida de Dona Magdalena de
Ulloa, p. 73.--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. ix. cap. 1.

[152] "Ya el Presidente tenia orden de su Magestad de la que se habia de
tener en el recibimiento de su hermano."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada,
tom. ii. p. 17.

[153] "De manera que entre gala y guerra hacian hermosa y agradable
vista."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, ubi supra.

[154] "El qual lo recibio muy bien, y con el sombrero en el mano, y le
tuvo un rato abrazado. Y apartandose a un lado, llego el Arzobispo, y
hizo lo mismo con el."--Ibid. tom. ii. p. 18.

[155] "Que no sintieron tanto dolor con oir los crueles golpes de las
armas con que los hereges los mataban a ellos y a sus hijos, hermanos y
parientes, como el que sienten en ver que han de ser perdonados."--Ibid.
p. 19.

From this, it would seem that the love of revenge was a stronger feeling
with these Christian women than the love of friends.

[156] "Y mas galas y regocijos, porque estaban las ventanas de las
calles, por donde habia de pasar, entoldadas de panos de oro y seda, y
mucho numero de damas y doncellas nobles en ellas, ricamente ataviadas,
que habian acudido de toda la ciudad por verle."--Ibid. ubi supra.

[157] Ibid. pp. 17-19.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol.
83.--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 133.

[158] "Juntamente con usar de equidad y clemencia con los que lo
merecieren, los que no hubieren sido tales seran castigados con
grandisimo rigor."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 21.

[159] Ibid. pp. 23, 24.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol.
85.--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. ix. cap. 1.--Herrera, Historia
General, tom. i. pp. 744, 745.

[160] Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 141.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de
Austria, fol. 85.--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p.
27.--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. ix. cap. 1.

[161] The historian of the Morisco rebellion tells us that these
Africans wore garlands round their heads, intimating their purpose to
conquer or to die like martyrs in defence of their faith.--Marmol,
Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 73.

[162] Besides a tenth of the produce of the soil, one source of his
revenue, we are told, was the confiscated property of such Moriscoes as
refused to yield him obedience. Another was a fifth of the spoil taken
from the enemy.--Ibid. p. 35.--Also Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 120.

[163] "Y la vuestra, ya yo os dixe que la queria para cosas mayores, y
que asi agora yo no os embiaba a las de la guerra sino a esa ciudad a
dar desde ella la orden en todo que combiniese: Pues y por otras
ocupaciones y cartas no lo podia hazer."--Carta del Rey a Don Juan de
Austria, 10 de Mayo, 1569, MS.

[164] Don John seems to have chafed under the restrictions imposed on
him by the king. At least we may infer so from a rebuke of Philip, who
tells his brother that, "though for the great love he bears him he will
overlook such language this time, it will not be well for him to repeat
it."--Ibid. 20 de Mayo, 1569, MS.

[165] Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 94.

Marmol, with one or two vigorous _coups de pinceau_, gives the portrait
of the marquis. "No se podia determinar qual era en el mayor extremo, su
esfuerzo, valentia y discrecion, o la arrogancia y ambicion de honra,
acompanada de aspereza de condicion."--Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p.
99.

[166] Ibid. p. 73 et seq.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol.
94.--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 175 et seq.--Miniana, Historia de
Espana, p. 377.

[167] "Quando vieron el fuerte perdido, se despenaron por las penas mas
agrias, quiriendo mas morir hechas pedazos, que venir en poder de
Christianos."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 89.

[168] "Casi todos los capitanes."--Ibid. loc. cit.

[169] The fierce encounter at Fraxiliana is given in great detail by
Mendoza (Guerra de Granada, pp. 165-169), and Marmol (Rebelion de
Granada, tom. ii. pp. 86-90). No field of fight was better contested
during the war; and both historians bear testimony to the extraordinary
valour of the Moriscoes, worthy of the best days of the Arabian empire.
Philip, while he commends the generous ardour shown by the
grand-commander in the expedition, condemns him for having quitted his
fleet to engage in it. "El comendador mayor tubo buen suceso como
deseais, y como entiendo yo que lo merece su zelo y su intencion, mas
salir su persona en tierra, teniendo en vuestra ausencia el cargo de la
mas fue cosa digna de mucha reprehension."--Carta del Rey a Don Juan, 25
de Junio 1569, MS.

[170] Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. pp. 108-111.--Ferreras,
Hist. d'Espagne, tom. x. pp. 83, 84--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. ix.
cap. 6.

[171] Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 146--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada,
tom. ii. p. 100.--Bleda (Cronica de Espana, p. 705), in the part of his
work, has done nothing more than transcribe the pages of Mendoza, and
that in so blundering a style as to mistake the date of this event by a
month.

[172] "Puestos en la cuerda, con guarda de infanteria i cavalleria por
una i otra parte."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 147.

[173] "Fue un miserable espectaculo," says an eyewitness; "ver tantos
hombres de todas edades, las cabezas baxas, las manos cruzadas y los
rostros banados de lagrimas, con semblante doloroso y triste, viendo que
dexaban sus regaladas casas, sus familias, su patria, y tanto bien como
tenian, y aun no sabian cierto lo que se haria de sus cabezas."--Marmol,
Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 102.

[174] Ibid. p. 103.--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 147. Both historians
were present on this occasion.

[175] "Los que salieron por todos tres mil i quinientos, el numero de
mugeres mucho mayor."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 147.

[176] "Muchos murieron por los caminos de trabajo, de cansancio, de
pesar, de hambre; a hierro, por mano de los mismos que los havian de
guardar, robados, vendidos por cautivos."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada,
p. 148.

[177] "Los enemigos de Dios,"--the charitable phrase by which the
Moriscoes, as well as Moors, came now to be denominated by the
Christians.

[178] Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, pp. 148-150.

[179] "Quedo grandisima lastima a los que habiendo visto la prosperidad,
la policia, y el regalo de las casas, carmenes y guertas, donde los
Moriscos tenian todas sus recreaciones y pasatiempos, y desde a pocos
dias lo vieron todo asolado y destruido."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada,
tom. ii. p. 104.

[180] "Parecia bien estar sujeta aquella felicisima ciudad a tal
destruccion, para que se entienda que las cosas mas esplendidas y
floridas entre la gente estan mas aparejadas a los golpes de
fortuna."--Marmol, ubi supra.

[181] "Armado de unas armas negras de la color del acero, y una celada
en la cabeza llena de plumages, y una gruesa lanza en la mano mas recia
que larga."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 133.

[182] "Andaba Aben Umeya vistoso delante de todos en un caballo blanco
con una aljuba de grana vestida, y un turbante Turquesco en la
cabeza."--Ibid. p. 134.

[183] "No temiesen el vano nombre del Marques de los Velez, porque en
los mayores trabajos acudia Dios a los suyos; y quando les faltase, no
les podria faltar una honrosa muerte con las armas en las manos, que les
estaba mejor que vivir deshonrados."--Ibid. p. 134.

[184] "Y apeandose del caballo, le hizo desjarretar, y se embreno en las
sierras."--Ibid. loc. cit.

Hita commemorates the flight of the "little king" of the Alpujarras in
one of his ballads.--Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 310.

[185] Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 209.--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada,
tom. ii. p. 150.--Hita, Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 233.

[186] "I tan adelante paso la desorden, que so juntaron quatrocientos
arcabuceros, i con las mechas en las serpentinas salieron a vista del
campo."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 195.

[187] Ibid. p. 198 et seq.--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p.
146.

[188] "Que se publicase la guerra a fuego y a sangre."--Marmol, Rebelion
de Granada, tom. ii. p. 160.

[189] "Vivia ya con estado de Rei, pero con arbitrio de
tirano."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 209.

[190] "Teniendo barreadas las calles del lugar de manera, que nadie
pudiese entrar en el sin ser visto o sentido."--Marmol, Rebelion de
Granada, tom. ii. p. 163.

[191] Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 210.

Such is the Tiberius-like portrait given of him by an enemy--by one
however, it may be added, who for liberal views and for discrimination
of character was not surpassed by any chronicler of his time.

[192] "Los cuales pasaron de trescientos cincuenta, segun yo he sido
informado de varios Moriscos que seguian sus banderas; y de tal manera
procedia el reyecillo, que vino a ser odiosisimo a los suyos por sus
crueldades."--Hita, Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 303.

[193]

    "Que no la hay mas hermosa
    en toda la Andalucia:
    blanca es y colorada,
    como la rosa mas fina;
    Tane, danza, canta a estremo,
    que es un encanto el oirla;
    es moza, bella y graciosa
    nadie vio tal en su vida."--Ibid. tom. ii. p. 324.

The severer pencil of Mendoza does not disdain the same warm colouring
for the portrait of the Morisco beauty.--Guerra de Granada, p. 213.

[194] "Muger igualmente hermosa i de linage."--Ibid.

[195] "Ninguno huvo que tomase las armas, ni bolviese de palabra por
el."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 217.

[196] "Ataronle las manos con un almaizar."--Ibid. p. 218.

[197] "El mismo se dio la buelta como le hiciesen menos mal; concerto la
ropa, cubriose el rostro."--Ibid. p. 219.

[198] There is less discrepancy than usual in the accounts both of
Aben-Humeya's assassination and of the circumstances which led to it.
These circumstances have a certain Oriental colouring, which makes them
not the less probable, considering the age and country in which they
occurred.--Among the different authorities in prose and verse, see
Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. pp. 162-169; Mendoza, Guerra de
Granada, pp. 212-220; Rufo, La Austriada, cantos 13, 14; Hita, Guerras
de Granada, tom. ii. p. 337 et seq. Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria,
fol. 103-105.

[199] "Con la reputacion de valiente i hombre del campo, con la
afabilidad, gravedad, autoridad de la presencia, fue bien quisto,
respetado, obedecido, tenido como Rei generalmente de todos."--Mendoza,
Guerra de Granada, p. 224.

This was painting him _en beau_. For a painting of an opposite
complexion see Miniana, who represents him as "audaz, perfido, suspicaz,
y de pesimas costumbres." (Historia de Espana, p. 378.) Fortunately for
Aben-Aboo, the first-mentioned writer, a contemporary, must be admitted
to be the better authority of the two.

[200] "No pude desear mas, ni contentarme con menos."--Marmol, Rebelion
de Granada, tom. ii. p. 168.

See also, for the account of this martial ceremony, Mendoza, Guerra de
Granada, p. 222.

[201] Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. x. pp. 111-118.--Marmol, Rebelion
de Granada, tom. ii. pp. 169-189.--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 225 et
seq.--Miniana, Hist. d'Espana, p. 378.

[202] "Desta manera quedaron levantados todos los Moriscos del Reino,
sino los de la Hoya de Malaga i Serrania de Ronda."--Mendoza, Guerra de
Granada, p. 241.

[203] "Llevando los escuderos las cabezas y las manos de los Moros en
los hierros de las lanzas."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p.
159.

The head of an enemy was an old perquisite of the victor--whether
Christian or Moslem--in the wars with the Spanish Arabs. It is
frequently commemorated in the Moorish _romances_ as among the most
honourable trophies of the field, down to as late a period as the war of
Granada. See, among others, the ballad beginning

    "A vista de los dos Reyes."


[204] "Y que salir a tales rebatos es desautoridad vuestra, siendo quien
sois y teniendo el cargo que tenis."--Carta de Felipe Segundo a Don Juan
de Austria, 30 de Setiembre, 1569, MS.

[205] "Le suplico mire que ni a quien soy, ni a la edad que tengo ni a
otra cosa alguna conviene encerrarme, cuando mas razon es que me
muestre."--Carta de Don Juan de Austria al Rey, 23 de Setiembre, 1569,
MS.

[206] "Entendiose por Espana la fama de su ida sobre Galera, i moviose
la nobleza della con tanto calor, que fue necesario dar al Rei a
entender que no era con sua voluntad ir Cavalleros sin licencia a servir
en aquella empresa."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 256.

[207] "Havian las desordenes pasad tan adelante, que fue necesario para
remediallas hacer demostracion no vista ni leida en los tiempos pasados,
en la guerra: suspandar treinta i dos capitanes de quarenta i uno que
havia, con nombre de reformacion."--Ibid. p. 237.

[208] "Tambien la gente embiada por los senores, escogida, igual,
disciplinada, movidos por obligacion de virtud i deseo de acreditar sus
personas."--Ibid. p. 234.

[209] "Pusieronsele los ojos encendidos como brasa de puro
corage."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 224.

[210] "Sin comer bocado en todo aquel dia se volvio a la ciudad de
Granada."--Ibid. p. 225.

[211] "Y porque podria ser que ordenase al marques de los Velez que
quedase con vos y os aconsejase, convendra en este caso que vos le
mostreis muy buena cara y le trateis muy bien y le deis a entender que
tomais su parecer, mas que en efecto tomeis el de los que he dicho
cuando fuesen diferentes del suyo."--Carta del Rey a D. Juan de Austria,
26 de Noviembre, 1569, MS.

[212] "Y que os goberneis como si hubiesedes visto mucha guerra y
halladoos en ella, que os digo que comigo y con todos ganeis harta mas
reputacion en gobernaros desta manera, que no haciendo alguna mocedad
que a todos nos costare caro."--Ibid. MS.

[213] "I que seais obedecido de toda mi gente, haciendolo yo asimismo
como hijo vuestro, acatando vuestro valor i canas, i amparandome en
todas ocasiones de vuestros consejos."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p.
260.

[214] "Pues no conviene a mi edad anciana haver de ser cabo de
esquadra."--Ibid. loc. cit.

[215] The marquis of Los Velez was afterwards summoned to Madrid, where
he long continued to occupy an important place in the council of state,
apparently without any diminution of the royal favour.

For the preceding pages consult Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii.
pp. 229-232; Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, pp. 257-260; Herrera, Hist.
General, tom. i, pp. 777, 778; Bleda, Cronica, pp. 733, 734.

[216] The punning attractions of the name were too strong to be resisted
by the ballad-makers of the day. See in particular the _romance_ (one of
the best, it may be added--and no great praise--in Hita's second volume)
beginning--

    "Mastredages marineros
    de Huescar y otro lugar
    han armado una Galera
    que no la hay tal en la mar.
    No tiene velas, ni remos,
    y navegar, y hace mal,"--

and so on, for more stanzas than the reader will care to see.--Guerras
de Granada, tom. ii. p. 469.

[217] "Las tenian los Moros barreadas de cincuenta en cincuenta pasos, y
hechos muchos traveses de una parte y de otro en las puertas y paredes
de las casas, para herir a su salvo a los que fuesen pasando."--Marmol,
Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 234.

The best and by far the most minute account of the topography of Galera
is given by this author.

[218] Ibid. p. 233 et seq.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 112,
113.--Hita, Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 377 et seq.

Hita tells us he was not present at the siege of Galera; but he had in
his possession the diary of a Murcian officer named Tomas Perez de
Hevia, who served through the siege, and of whom Hita speaks as a person
well known for his military science. He says he has conformed implicitly
to Hevia's journal which he commends for its scrupulous veracity.
According to the judgment of some critics, the Murcian officer, if he
merits this encomium, may be thought to have the advantage of Hita
himself.

[219] "Para que los soldados se animasen al trabajo, iba delante de
todos a pie, y traia su haz acuestas como cada uno, hasta ponerlo en la
trinchea."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 237.

[220] Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, pp. 236-238.--Hevia, ap. Hita,
Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. pp. 386, 387.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de
Austria, fol. 113.--Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. x. p. 140.

[221] "Convendra por no aventurar mas gente buena que se haga todo lo
que sea posible con las minas y artilleria, antes de venir a las
manos."--Carta del Rey a D. Juan de Austria, 6 de Febrero, 1570, MS.

[222]

   "Unos llaman a Mahoma
    otros dicen _Santiago_,
    Otros gritan _cierra Espana,_
    _muera el bando renegado_."

    Romance, ap. Hita, Guerras de Granada.

[223] No less than eighteen, according to Hevia. But this number,
notwithstanding Hita's warrant for the writer's scrupulous accuracy, is
somewhat too heavy a tax on the credulity of the reader.--"Esta brava
mora se llamaba a Zarzamodonia, era corpulenta, recia de miembros, y
alcanzaba grandisima fuerza; se averiguo que en este dia mato ella sola
por su mano a diez y ocho soldados, na de los peores del campo."--Hita,
Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 393.

[224] For an account of the second assault see Mendoza, Guerra de
Granada, pp. 264, 265; Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. pp.
240-243; Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 113, 114; Hevia, ap.
Hita, Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 389 et seq.; Cabrera, Filipe
Segundo, pp. 629, 630.

[225] "Yo hundire a Galera, y la asolare, y sembrare toda de sal; y por
el riguroso filo de la espada pasaran chicos y grandes, quantos estan
dentro, por castigo de su pertinacia, y en venganza de la sangre que han
derramado."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 244.

[226] "No puedo yo dejar de encargaros que le engais muy grande de que
el no sea deservido en ese campo, ni haya las maldades y desordenes que
decis, que siendo tales no pueden hacer cosa buena, y asi lo procurad, y
que no haya juramentos ni otras ofensas de Dios, que con esto el nos
ayudara y todo se hara bien."--Carta del Rey a D Juan de Austria, 6 de
Febrero, 1570, MS.

[227] "Y con esa gente, segun lo que decis, mas importara estar detras
dellos deteniendolos y castigandolos que no delante, pues para los que
lo estan y hacen lo que deben no es menester."--Ibid.

[228] It is singular that no one of the chroniclers gives us the name of
the Moorish chief who commanded in Galera. A romance of the time calls
him Abenhozmin.

    "Marinero que la rige
    Sarracino es natural,
    criado aca en nuestra Espana
    por su mal y nuestro mal:
    Abenhozmin ha por nombre,
    y es hombre de gran caudal."

    Hita, Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 470.


[229] "Relumbrante y fortisimo morrion adornado de un penacho bello y
elegante, sentado sobre una rica medalla de la imagen de nuestra Senora
de la Concepcion."--Hevia, ap. Hita, Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p.
429.

[230] "Igualmente se arreo lo mejor que pado toda la caballeria, y era
cosa digna de ver la elegancia y hermosura de un ejercito tan lucido y
gallardo."--Hevia, ap. Hita, Guerras de Granada, loc. cit.

[231] These anecdotes are given by Hevia, ap. Hita, Guerras de Granada,
tom. ii. pp. 449-451.

[232] "Los quales mataron mas de quatrocientas mugeres y ninos... y ansi
hizo matar muchos en su presencia a los alabarderos de su
guardia."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 248.

[233] "Duro el combate, despues de entrado el lugar, desde las ocho de
la manana hasta las cinco de la tarde."--Hevia, ap. Hita, Guerras de
Granada, tom. ii. p. 448.

[234] "Y no pararan hasta acabarlas a todas, si las quejas de los
soldados, a quien se quitaba el premio de la vitoria, no le movieran;
mas esto fue quando se entendio que la villa estaba ya por nosotros, y
no quiso que se perdonase a varon que pasase de doce anos."--Marmol,
Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 248.

[235] "Se cautivaron hasta otras mil y quinientas personas de mugeres y
ninos, porque a hombre ninguno se tomo con vida, habiendo muerto todos
sin quedar uno en este dia, y en los asaltos pasados."--Hevia, ap. Hita,
Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 448.

Marmol, while he admits that not a man was spared, estimates the number
of women and children saved at three times that given in the text.

[236] "Si Africa llora, Espana no rie."

[237] For the account of the final assault, as told by the various
writers, with sufficient inconsistency in the details, compare Marmol,
Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. pp. 244-249; Mendoza, Guerra de Granada,
pp. 266-268; Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 114, 115; Hevia,
ap. Hita, Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 429 et seq.; Cabrera, Filipe
Segundo, pp. 630, 631; Bleda, Cronica, p. 734; Ferreras, Hist.
d'Espagne, tom. x. pp. 143, 144.

[238] "Tanto le crecia la ira, pensando en el dano que aquellos hereges
habian hecho."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 248.

[239] "Solo dar gracias a Dios y a la gloriosa virgen Maria,
encomendandoles el Catholico Rey aquel negocio, por ser de calidad, que
deseaba mas gloria de la concordia y paz, que de la vitoria
sangrienta."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 249.

[240] "Cela faict, par sa renommee qui voloit par le monde, tant des
chrestiens que des infidelles, il fut faict general de la saincte
ligue."--Brantome, OEuvres, tom. i. p. 326.

[241] "Que es esto, Espanoles? de que huis? donde esta la honra de
Espana? No teneis delante a Don Juan de Austria, vuestro capitan? de que
temeis? Retiraos con orden como hombres de guerra con el rostro al
enemigo."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 257.

[242] "Acudiendo a todas las necesidades con peligro de su persona,
porque le dieron un escopetazo en la cabeza sobre una celada fuerte que
llevaba, que a no ser tan buena, le mataran."--Ibid. p. 258.

[243] Carta de D. Juan de Austria al Rey, 19 de Febrero, 1570,
MS.--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 253 et seq.--Mendoza,
Guerra de Granada, p. 273.--Villafane, Vida de Magdalena de
Ulloa.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 116, 117.

[244] "Conforme a esto entendera V. M. la poca costancia y aficion que
tienen a la guerra, estos que la dejan al mejor tiempo sin poderles
reprimir galeras, ni horca ni cuantas diligencias se hacen. Y plega a
Dios que el amor de los hijos y parientes sea la causa y no miedo de los
enemigos."--Carta de D. Juan de Austria al Rey, 19 de Febrero, 1570, MS.

[245] Ibid.

[246] "Que cada uno ha de hacer su oficio y no el general de soldado, ni
el soldado el de general."--Carta del Rey a D. Juan de Austria, 24 de
Febrero, 1570, MS.

[247] One evidence of this is afforded by the frankness of his friend,
Ruy Gomez de Silva. "La primera," he writes to Don John, "que por cuanto
V. Ex.ª esta reputado de atrevido y de hombre que quiere mas ganar
credito de soldado que de general, que mude este estilo y se deje
gobernar."--(Carta de 4 de Marzo, 1570, MS.) It is to Don John's credit
that, in his reply, he thanks Ruy Gomez warmly for his admonition, and
begs his monitor to reprove him without hesitation, whenever he deems it
necessary, since, now that his guardian is gone, there is no other who
can take this liberty.--Carta de D. Juan de Austria a Ruy Gomez de
Silva, MS.

[248] According to Villafane, Dona Magdalena left Madrid on learning her
husband's illness, and travelled with such despatch that she arrived in
time to receive his last sighs. Hita also speaks of her presence at his
bedside. But as seven days only elapsed between the date of the knight's
wound and that of his death, one finds it difficult to believe that this
could have allowed time for the courier who brought the tidings, and for
the lady afterwards, whether in the saddle or litter, to have travelled
a distance of over four hundred and fifty miles, along execrable roads,
with much of the way lying through the wild passes of the Alpujarras.

[249] "Creemos piadosamente que el alma de D. Luis subiria al ciclo con
el oloroso incienso que se quemo en los altares de S. Geronimo, porque
siempre habia empleado la vida en pelear contra enemigos de nuestra
santa fe, y por ultimo murio batallando con ellos como soldado
valeroso."--Hita, Guerras de Granada, tom. ii. p. 487.

[250] Carta del Rey a D. Juan de Austria, 3 de Marzo, 1570, MS.

[251] The letter is translated by Stirling from a manuscript, entitled
"Joannis Austriaci Vita, auctore Antonio Ossorio," in the National
Library at Madrid.--See Cloister Life of Charles the Fifth (Am. ed.), p.
286.

[252] Tijola is the scene of the story, familiar to every lover of
Castilian romance, and better suited to romance than history, of the
Moor Tuzani and his unfortunate mistress, the beautiful Maleha. It forms
the most pleasing episode in Hita's second volume (pp. 523-540), and is
translated with pathos and delicacy by Circourt, Hist. des Arabes
d'Espagne, tom. iii. p. 345 et seq.

[253] Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. pp. 290-320,
340-346.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 119 et seq.--Ferreras
Hist. d'Espagne, tom. x. p. 170 et seq.

[254] Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 271 et seq.--Marmol, Rebelion de
Granada, tom. ii. pp. 283-289, 303-315, 321 et seq.

In a letter without date, of the duke of Sesa, forming part of a mass of
correspondence which I was so fortunate as to obtain from the collection
at Holland House, he insists on starvation as a much more effectual
means of reducing the enemy than the sword. "Esta guerra parece que no
puede acabarse por medio mas cierto que el de la hambre que necesitara a
los enemigos a rendirse o perecer, y esta los acabara primero que el
espada."--MS.

[255] "Con estas cosas y otras particulares que El Habaqui pidio para
Aben Aboo, y para los amigos, y para si mismo, que todas se le
concedieron."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 360.

[256] "Misericordia, Senor, misericordia nos conceda vuestra Alteza en
nombre de su Magestad, y perdon de nuestras culpas, que conocemos haber
sido graves."--Ibid. p. 361.

[257] The fullest account of these proceedings is to be found in Marmol,
Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. pp. 355-362.

[258] "Predicando en los pulpitos publicamente contra la benignidad y
clemencia que V. M. ha mandado usar con esta gente."--Carta de D. Juan
de Austria al Rey, 7 de Junio, 1570, MS.

[259] "Que los religiosos que habrian de interceder con V. M. por estos
miserables, que cierto la mayor parte ha pecado con ignorancia, hagan su
esfuerzo en reprender la clemencia."--Ibid.

[260] "The wise king," as Bleda tells us, "did not forget Deza's eminent
services. He became one of the richest cardinals, passing the remainder
of his days in Rome, where he built a sumptuous palace for his
residence."--(Cronica de Espana, p. 753.) Unfortunately this happy
preferment did not take place till some time later--too late for the
poor Moriscoes to profit by it.

[261] "Que El Habaqui habia mirado mal por el bien comun, contendandose
con lo que solamente Don Juan de Austria le habia querido conceder, y
procurando el bien y provecho para si y para sus deudos."--Marmol,
Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 390.

[262] "En lo que a esto toca, no tengo mas prendas que la palabra del
Habaqui, el cual me podria enganar; pero certifico a V. M. que en su
manera de proceder ma paresce hombre que tracta verdad, y tal fama
tiene."--Carta de D. Juan de Austria al Rey, 21 de Mayo, 1570, MS.

[263] "Que quando Aben Aboo de su voluntad no lo hiciese, le llevaria el
atado a la cola de su caballo."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii.
p. 392.

[264] "Lo hizo ahogar secretamente, y mando echar el cuerpo en un
muladar envuelto en un zarzo de canas, donde estuvo mas de treinta dias
sin saberse de su muerte."--Ibid. p. 393.

[265] "Que quando no quedase otro sino el en la Alpuxarra con sola la
camisa que tenia vestida, estimaba mas vivir y morir Moro, que todas
quantas mercedes el Rey Filipe le podia hacer; y que fuese cierto, que
en ningun tiempo, ni por ninguna manera, se pondria en su
poder."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 410.

[266] It is the language of Marmol, who will not be suspected of
exaggerating the cruelties of his countrymen. He does not seem, indeed,
to regard them as cruelties. "Unos enviaba el Comendador mayor a las
galeras, otros hacia justicia de ellos, y los mas consentia que los
vendiesen los soldados para que fuesen aprovechados."--Rebelion de
Granada, tom. ii. p. 436.

[267] Ibid. p. 433.

[268] Circourt gives a precise enumeration of the fortresses in
different districts of the country.--Hist. des Arabes d'Espagne, tom.
iii. pp. 135, 136.

[269] "Llevando cerca de si a su hijo, mozo quasi de trece anos Don Luis
Ponce de Leon, cosa usada en otra edad en aquella Casa de los Ponces de
Leon, criarse los muchachos peleando con los Moros, i tener a sus padres
por maestros."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 318.

[270] For the celebrated description of this event by Mendoza, see
Guerra de Granada, pp. 301, 302. The Castilian historian, who probably
borrowed the hint of it from Tacitus (Annales, lib. i. sec. 31), has
painted the scene with a consummate art that raises him from the rank of
an imitator to that of a rival. The reader may find a circumstantial
account of Alonso de Aguilar's disastrous expedition, in 1501, in the
History of Ferdinand and Isabella, part ii. chap. 7.

[271] Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, pp. 298-314.--Marmol, Rebelion de
Granada, tom. ii. pp. 425-431.

[272] Circourt quotes a remarkable passage from the _Ordenanzas de
Granada_, which well illustrates the _conscientious manner_ in which the
government dealt with the Moriscoes. It forms the preamble of the law of
February 24, 1571. "The Moriscoes who took no part in the insurrection
ought not to be punished. We should not desire to injure them; but they
cannot hereafter cultivate their lands; and then it would be an endless
task to attempt to separate the innocent from the guilty. We shall
indemnify them certainly. Meanwhile their estates must be confiscated,
like those of the rebel Moriscoes."--Hist. des Arabes d'Espagne, tom.
iii. p. 148.

[273] "Que las casas fuesen y estuviesen juntas; porque aunque lo
merecian poco, quiso su Magestad que se les diese esto
contento."--Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. p. 439.

[274] "Saquearon los soldados las casas del lugar, y tomaron todas las
mugeres por esclavas; cosa que dio harta sospecha de que la desorden
habia nacido de su cudicia."--Ibid. p. 444.

The better feelings of the old soldier occasionally--and it is no small
praise, considering the times--triumph over his national antipathies.

[275] For the removal and dispersion of the Moriscoes, see Marmol,
Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. pp. 437-444; Ferraras, Hist. d'Espagne,
tom. x. pp. 227, 228; Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 126.

It may well seem strange that an event of such moment as the removal of
the Moriscoes should have been barely noticed, when indeed noticed at
all, by the general historian. It is still more strange that it should
have been passed over in silence by a writer like Mendoza, to whose
narrative it essentially belonged, and who could bestow thirty pages of
more on the expedition into the Serrania de Ronda. But this was a tale
of Spanish glory. The haughty Castilian chronicler held the race of
unbelievers in too great contempt to waste a thought on their
calamities, except so far as they enabled him to exhibit the prowess of
his countrymen.

[276] "Querria tambien que alla se entendiese que ya no soy mochacho, y
que puedo, a Dios gracias, comenzar en alguna manera a volar sin alas
ajenas, y sospecho ques ya tiempo de salir de panales."--Carta de D.
Juan de Austria a Ruy Gomez de Silva, 16 de Mayo, 1570, MS.

[277] "No teniendo el lugar y auctoridad que ha de tener hijo de tal
padre, y hermano de tal hermano."--Ibid., 4 de Junio, 1570, MS.

[278] Marmol, Rebelion de Granada, tom. ii. pp. 449-454.--Mendoza,
Guerra de Granada, pp. 324-327.--Bleda, Cronica de Espana, p.
752.--Herrera, Historia General, tom. i. p. 781.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan
de Austria, fol. 123.

[279] "Esta es la cabeza del traidor de Abenabo. Nadie la quite so pena
de muerte."--Mendoza, Guerra de Granada, p. 329.--Marmol, Rebelion de
Granada, tom. ii. pp. 455, 456--Bleda, Cronica de Espana, p.
752.--Miniara, Hist. de Espana, p. 383.

[280] Ante, p. 40.

[281] Nueva Recopilacion, lib. viii. tit. ii. ley 19.

[282] "Si estos tales que se huyieren huydo, y ausentado fueren hallados
en el dicho Reyno de Granada, o dentro de diez leguas cercanas a el,
caygan e incurran en pena de muerte que sea en sus personas
executada."--Ibid. ubi supra.

[283] Nueva Recopilacion, lib. viii. tit. ii. ley 19.

[284] Examples of this are cited by Circourt, Hist. des Arabes
d'Espagne, tom. iii. pp. 150, 151.

[285] Ibid. p. 163.

M. de Circourt has collected, from some authentic and not very
accessible sources, much curious information relative to this part of
his subject.

[286] Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. x. p. 227.

[287] "Ils representerent que ce recensement allait leur reveler la
secret de leur nombre effrayant; qu'ils fourmillaient."--Circourt, Hist.
des Arabes d'Espagne, tom. iii. p. 164.

[288] "Qu'ils accapareaint tous les metiers, teut le commerce."--Ibid.
loc. cit.

[289] Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. x. pp. 239, 240.--Cabrera, Filipe
Segundo, p. 641.--Zuniga, Anales de Sevilla, pp. 536-538.

The chroniclers paint in glowing colours the splendours of the royal
reception at Seville, which, enriched by the Indian trade, took its
place among the great commercial capitals of Christendom in the
sixteenth century. It was a common saying,

    "Quien no ha visto a Sevilla
     No ha visto a maravilla."


[290] Herrera, Historia General, tom. i. p. 798 et seq.--Cabrera, Filipe
Segundo, lib. vi. cap. 17.--Sagredo, Monarcas Othomanos, p. 277.

[291] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, p. 667.--Sagredo, Monarcas Othomanos, p.
277.

[292] A copy of the treaty in Latin, dated May 25, 1571, exists in the
library of the Academy of History, at Madrid. Senor Rosell has
transferred it to the appendix of his work, Historia del Combate Naval
de Lepanto (Madrid, 1853), pp. 180-189.

[293] A copy from the first draft of the treaty, as prepared in 1570, is
incorporated in the Documentos Ineditos (tom. iii. pp. 337 et seq.). The
original is in the library of the duke of Ossuna.

[294] Rosell, Combate Naval de Lepanto, p. 56.

[295] Paruta, Guerra di Cipro, p. 120 et seq.--Herrera, Hist. General,
tom. ii. pp. 14, 15.

[296] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. ix. cap. 22.--Ferreras, Hist.
d'Espagne, tom. x. pp. 247, 248.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria,
fol. 152.

[297] "No poco se maravillaron los curiosos, viendole, o por casualidad
o bien de intento, terciar llanamente en la conversacion, contra las
etiquetas hasta entonces observadas."--Rosell, Combate Naval de Lepanto,
p. 59.

[298] "Y concede dozientos anos de perdon a los
presentes."--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 152.

[299] "_De las mejores que jamas se han visto_,"--"among the best
galleys that were ever seen,"--says Don John in a letter, from Messina,
to Don Garcia de Toledo.--Documentos Ineditos, tom. iii. p. 15.

The earlier part of the third volume of the Documentos Ineditos is taken
up with the correspondence between John of Austria and Garcia de Toledo,
in which the former asks information and advice in respect to the best
mode of conducting the war. Don Garcia de Toledo, fourth marquis of
Villafranca, was a man of high family, and of great sagacity and
experience. He had filled some of the highest posts in the government,
and, as the reader may remember, was viceroy of Sicily at the time when
Malta was besieged by the Turks. The coldness which on that occasion he
appeared to show to the besieged, excited general indignation; and I
ventured to state, on an authority which I did not profess to esteem the
best, that in consequence of this he fell into disgrace, and was
suffered to pass the remainder of his years in obscurity. (Ante, vol.
ii. circ. fin.) An investigation of documents which I had not then seen
shows this to have been an error. The ample correspondence which both
Philip the Second and Don John carried on with him, gives undeniable
proofs of the confidence which he continued to enjoy at court, and the
high deference which was paid to his opinion.

[300] Authorities differ as usual as to the precise number both of
vessels and troops. I have accepted the estimate of Rosell, who
discreetly avoids the extremes on either side.

[301] Vanderhammen has been careful to transcribe this precious
catalogue.--Don Juan de Austria, fol. 156 et seq.

[302] Ibid. fol. 159 et seq.--Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. x. p.
251.--Herrera, Hist. General, tom. ii. p. 15 et seq.

[303] "Luego su Alteza, el Coro, y Pueblo dixeron con musica, vozes, y
alegria; Amen."--Vanderhammen, Juan de Austria, fol. 159.

[304] For a minute account of these arches and their manifold
inscriptions, see Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 160-162.

[305] Rosell, Combate Naval de Lepanto, p. 84.

[306] Don John, in his correspondence with his friend Don Garcia de
Toledo, speaks with high disgust of the negligence shown in equipping
the Venetian galleys. In a letter dated Messina, August 30, he says:
"Poneme cierta congoja ver que el mundo me obliga a hacer alguna cosa de
momento, contando las galeras pro numero y no por cualidad."--Documentos
Ineditos, tom. iii. p. 18.

[307] Rosell, Combate Naval de Lepanto, p. 82.

The clearest and by far the most elaborate account of the battle of
Lepanto is to be found in the memoir of Don Cayetan Rosell, which
received the prize of the Royal Academy of History of Madrid, in 1853.
It is a narrative which may be read with pride by Spaniards, for the
minute details it gives of the prowess shown by their heroic ancestors
on that memorable day. The author enters with spirit into the stormy
scene he describes. If his language may be thought sometimes to betray
the warmth of national partiality, it cannot be denied that he has
explored the best sources of information, and endeavoured to place the
result fairly before the reader.

[308] Torres y Aguilera, Chronica de Guerra que ha acontescido en Italia
y partes de Levante y Berberia desde 1570 en 1574 (Caragoca, 1579), fol.
54.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 165 et seq.--Cabrera,
Filipe Segundo, lib. lx. cap. 23.

[309] Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 64.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de
Austria, fol. 173.--Paruta, Guerra di Cipro, p. 149.--Relacion de la
Batalla Naval que entre Christianos y Turcos hubo el ano 1571, MS.--Otra
Relacion, Documentos Ineditos, tom. iii. p. 365.

[310] Paruta, Guerra di Cipro, pp. 143, 144.--"Despues hizo que lo
degollassen vivo, y lleno el pellejo de paja lo hizo colgar de la entena
de una galeota, y desta manera lo llevo pol toda la ribera de la
Suria."--Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 45.

[311] Ibid. fol. 44, 45.--Paruta, Guerra di Cipro, pp.
130-144.--Sagredo, Monarcas Othomanos, pp. 283-289.

[312] Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 65.--Documentos Ineditos, tom.
iii. p. 241.--Rosell, Historia del Combate Naval, pp. 93, 94.

[313] Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 53.--Herrera, Hist. General,
tom. ii. p. 30.--Relacion de la Batalla Naval, MS.--Rosell, Historia del
Combate Naval, pp. 95, 99, 100.

[314] Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 67 et seq.--Relacion de la
Batalla Naval, MS.--Otras Relaciones, Documentos Ineditos, tom. iii. pp.
242, 262.

[315] Most of the authorities notice this auspicious change of the wind.
Among others, see Relacion de la Batalla Naval, MS.; Relacion escrita
por Miguel Servia, confesor de Don Juan, Documentos Ineditos, tom. xi.
p. 368: Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 75. The testimony is that of
persons present in the action.

[316] Amidst the contradictory estimates of the number of the vessels
and the forces to the Turkish armada to be found in the different
writers, and even in official relations, I have conformed to the
statement given in Senor Rosell's _Memoria_, prepared after a careful
comparison of the various authorities.--Historia del Combate Naval, p.
94.

[317] "Si hoy es vuestro dia, Dios os lo de; pero estad ciertos que si
gano la jornada, os dare libertad: por lo tanto haced lo que debeis a
las obras que de mi habeis recebido."--Rosell, Historia del Combate
Naval, p. 101.

For the last pages see Paruta, Guerra di Cipro, pp. 150, 151; Sagrado,
Monarcas Othomanos, p. 292; Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 65, 66;
Relacion de la Batalla Naval, MS.

[318] This fact is told by most of the historians of the battle. The
author of the manuscript so often cited by me further says, that it was
while the fleet was thus engaged in prayer for aid from the Almighty
that the change of wind took place. "Y en este medio, que en la oracion
se pedia a Dios la victoria, estaba el mar alterado de que nuestra
armada recibia gran dano y antes que se acabase la dicha oracion el mar
estuvo tan quieto y sosegado que jamas se a visto, y fue fuerca a la
armada enemiga amainar y venir al remo."

[319] Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 71.--Paruta, Guerra di Cipro, p.
156.--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, p. 688.--Relacion de la Batalla Naval,
MS.--Otra Relacion, Documentos Ineditos, tom. xi. p. 368.

The inestimable collection of the Documentos Ineditos contains several
narratives of the battle of Lepanto by contemporary pens. One of these
is from the manuscript of Fray Miguel Servia, the confessor of John of
Austria, and present with him in the engagement. The different
narratives have much less discrepancy with one another than is usual on
such occasions.

[320] Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 72.--Relacion de la Batalla
Naval, MS.

The last-mentioned manuscript is one of many left us by parties engaged
in the fight. The author of this relation seems to have written it on
board one of the galleys, while lying at Petala, during the week after
the engagement. The events are told in a plain, unaffected manner, that
invites the confidence of the reader. The original manuscript, from
which my copy was taken, is to be found in the library of the University
of Leyden.

[321] A minute description of the Ottoman standard, taken from a
manuscript of Luis del Marmol, is given in the Colleccion de Documentos
Ineditos, tom. iii. pp. 270 et seq.

[322] Documentos Ineditos, tom. iii. p. 265; tom. xi. p. 368.--Torres y
Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 70.--Paruta, Guerra di Cipro, pp. 156,
157.--Relacion de la Batalla Naval, MS.

[323] Herrera notices one galley, "_La Piamontesa de Saboya_ degollada
en ella toda la gente de cabo y remo y despedazado con once heridas D.
Francisco de Saboya." Another, "_La Florencia_," says Rosell, "perdio
todos los soldados, chusma, galeotes y caballeros de San Esteban que en
ella habia, excepto su capitan Tomas de Medicis y diez y seis hombres
mas, aunque todos heridos y estropeados."--Historia del Combate Naval,
p. 113.

[324] "Tomo una Alabarda o Pertesana, y ligando en ella el Sancto
Crucifixo, verdadera pendon, se puso delante de todos assi desarinado
como estava, y fue el primero que entro en la Galera Turquesca, haziendo
con su Alabarda cosas que ponian admiracion."--Torres y Aguilera,
Chronicas, fol. 75.

[325] "Vivio hasta que sabiendo que la vitoria era ganada dijo: que daba
gracias a Dios que lo hubiese guardado tanto que viese vencida la
batalla y roto aquel comun enemigo que tanto deseo ver
destruido."--Herrera, Relacion de la Guerra de Cipro, Documentos
Ineditos, tom. xxi. p. 360.

[326] Relacion de la Batalla Naval, MS.--Herrera, Hist. General, tom.
ii. p. 33.--Paruta, Guerra di Cipro, pp. 157, 158.--Documentos Ineditos,
tom. iii. p. 244.

Torres y Aguilera tells a rather extraordinary anecdote respecting the
great standard of the League in the _Real_. The figure of Christ
emblazoned on it was not hit by ball or arrow during the action,
notwithstanding every other banner was pierced in a multitude of places.
Two arrows, however, lodged on either side of the crucifix, when a
monkey belonging to the galley ran up the mast, and, drawing out the
weapons with his teeth, threw them overboard! (Chronica, fol. 75)
Considering the number of ecclesiastics on board the fleet, it is
remarkable that no more miracles occurred on this occasion.

[327] Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 72 et seq.--Relacion de la
Batalla Naval, MS.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol.
182.--Documentos Ineditos, tom. iii. p. 247 et seq.--Paruta, Guerra di
Cipro, p. 160.--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. ix. cap. 25, 26.

    "Do el estandarte barbaro abatido
    la Cruz del Redentor fue enarbolada
    con un triunfo solene y grande gloria,
    cantando abiertamente la vitoria."

    Ercilla, La Araucana, par. ii. canto 24.


[328] The loss of the Moslems is little better than matter of
conjecture, so contradictory are the authorities. The author of the
Leyden MS. dismisses the subject with the remark, "La gente muerta de
Turcos no se ha podido saber por que la que se hecho en la mar fuera de
los degollados fueron infinitos." I have conformed, as in my other
estimates, to those of Senor Rosell, Historia del Combate Naval, p. 118.

[329] Rosell computes the total loss of the allies at not less than
seven thousand six hundred; of whom one thousand were Romans, two
thousand Spaniards, and the remainder Venetians.--Ibid. p. 113.

[330] Ibid. ubi supra.--Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 74 et
seq.--Documentos Ineditos, tom. iii. pp. 246-249; tom. xi. p.
370.--Sagredo, Monarcas Othomanos, pp. 295, 296.--Relacion de la Batalla
Naval, MS.

[331] Relacion de la Batalla Naval, MS.

Don John notices this achievement of his gallant kinsman in the first
letter which he wrote to Philip after the action. The letter, dated at
Petala, October 10, is published by Aparici, Documentos Ineditos
relativos a la Batalla de Lepanto, p. 26.

[332] Navarrete, Vida de Cervantes (Madrid, 1819), p. 19.

Cervantes, in the prologue to the second part of "Don Quixote," alluding
to Lepanto, enthusiastically exclaims, that, for all his wounds, he
would not have missed the glory of being present on that day. "Quisiera
antes haberme hallado en aquella faccion prodigiosa, que sano ahora de
mis heridas, sin haberme hallado en ella."

[333] This humane conduct of Don John is mentioned, among other writers,
by the author of the Relacion de la Batalla Naval, whose language shows
that his manuscript was written on the spot: "El queda visitando los
heridos y procurando su remedio haziendoles merced y dandoles todo lo
que aviase menester."--MS.

[334] "Lo qual toda esta corte tuvo a gran gentileza, y no hazen sino
alabar la virtud y grandeza de vuestra Alteza."

The letter of Fatima is to be found in Torres y Aguilera, Chronica (fol.
92). The chronicler adds a list of the articles sent by the Turkish
princess to Don John, enumerating, among other things, robes of sable,
brocade, and various rich stuffs, fine porcelain, carpets, and tapestry,
weapons curiously inlaid with gold and silver, and Damascus blades
ornamented with rubies and turquoises.

[335] "El presente que me embio dexe de rescibir, y le huvo el mismo
Mahamet Bey, no por no preciarle como cosa venida de su mano, sino por
que la grandeza de mis antecessores no acostumbra rescibir dones de los
necessitados de favor, sino darios y hazeries gracias."--Ibid. fol. 94.

[336] According to some, Don John was induced, by the persuasion of his
friends, to make these advances to the Venetian admiral. (See Torres y
Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 75; Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol.
123.) It is certain he could not erase the memory of the past from his
bosom, as appears from more than one of his letters, in which he speaks
of the difficulty he should find, in another campaign, in acting in
concert with a man of so choleric a temper. In consequence the Venetian
government was induced, though very reluctantly, to employ Veniero on
another service. In truth, the conduct which had so much disgusted Don
John and the allies seems to have found favour with Veniero's
countrymen, who regarded it as evidence of his sensitive concern for the
honour of his nation. A few years later they made ample amends to the
veteran for the slight put on him, by raising him to the highest dignity
in the republic. He was the third of his family who held the office of
doge, to which he was chosen in 1576, and in which he continued till his
death.

[337] The spoil found on board the Turkish ships was abandoned to the
captors. There was enough of it to make many a needy adventurer rich.
"Assi por la victoria havida como porque muchos venian tan ricos y
prosperados que no havia hombre que se preciasse de gastar moneda de
plata sino Zequies, ni curasse de regatear en nada que
comprasse."--Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 79.

[338] For the preceding pages see Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria,
fol. 186; Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 79; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo,
p. 696; Herrera, Historia General, tom. ii. p. 37; Ferreras, Hist.
d'Espagne, tom. x. p. 261.

[339] An old _romance_ thus commemorates this liberal conduct of Don
John:--

    "Y ansi seda como de oro
    Ninguna cosa ha querido
    Don Juan, como liberal,
    Por mostrar do ha descendido,
    Sino que entre los soldados
    Fuese todo repartido
    En premio de sus trabajos
    Pues lo habian merecido."

    Duran, Romancero General (Madrid, 1851), tom. ii. p. 185.


[340] Lorea, Vida de Pio Quinto, cap. xxiv. Sec. ii.--Torres y Aguilera,
Chronica, fol. 80.--Rosell, Historia del Combate Naval, pp. 124, 125.

[341] Philip, in a letter to his brother, dated from the Escorial in the
following November, speaks of his delight at receiving this trophy from
the hands of Figueroa. (See the letter, ap. Rosell, Hist. del Combate
Naval, Apend. No. 15.) The standard was deposited in the Escorial, where
it was destroyed by fire in the year 1671.--Documentos Ineditos tom.
iii. p. 256.

[342] "Y S. M. no se altero, ni demudo, ni hizo sentimiento alguno, y se
estuvo con el semblante y serenidad que antes estaba, con el qual
semblante estuvo hasta que se acabaron de cantar las
visperas."--Memorias de Fray Juan de San Geronimo, Documentos Ineditos,
tom. iii. p. 258.

[343] The third volume of the Documentos Ineditos contains a copious
extract from a manuscript in the Escorial written by a Jeronymite monk.
In this the writer states that Philip received intelligence of the
victory from a courier despatched by Don John, while engaged at vespers
in the palace monastery of the Escorial. This account is the one
followed by Cabrera (Filipe Segundo, p. 696) and by the principal
Castilian writers. Its inaccuracy, however, is sufficiently attested by
two letters written at the time to Don John of Austria, one by the royal
secretary Alzamora, the other by Philip himself. According to their
account, the person who first conveyed the tidings was the Venetian
minister; and the place where they were received by the king was the
private chapel of the palace of Madrid, while engaged at vespers on
All-Saints eve. It is worthy of notice, that the secretary's letter
contains no hint of the _nonchalance_ with which Philip is said to have
heard the tidings. The originals of these interesting despatches still
exist in the National Library at Madrid. They have been copied by Senor
Rosell for his memoir (Apend. Nos. 13, 15). One makes little progress in
history before finding that it is much easier to repeat an error than to
correct it.

[344] "Y ansi a vos (despues de Dios) se ha de dar el parabien y las
gracias della, como yo os las doy, y a mi de que por mano de persona que
tanto me toca como la vuestra, y a quien yo tanto quiero, se haya hecho
un tan gran negocio, y ganado vos tanta honra y gloria con Dios y con
todo el mundo."--Rosell, Historia del Combate Naval, Apend. No. 15.

[345] Carta del secretario Alzamora a Don Juan de Austria, Madrid, Nov.
11, 1571, ap. Rosell, Historia del Combate Naval, Apend. No. 13.

[346] See Ford, Handbook for Spain, vol. ii. p. 697.

[347] Ercilla has devoted the twenty-fourth canto of the Araucana to the
splendid episode of the battle of Lepanto. If Ercilla was not, like
Cervantes, present in the fight, his acquaintance with the principal
actors in it makes his epic, in addition to its poetical merits, of
considerable value as historical testimony.

[348] The letter, which is dated Brussels, Nov. 17, 1571, is addressed
to Juan de Zuniga, the Castilian ambassador at the court of Rome. A copy
from a manuscript of the sixteenth century, in the library of the duke
of Ossuna, is inserted in the Documentos Ineditos, tom. iii. pp.
292-303.

[349] "Ya havreis entendido la orden que se os ha dado de que inverneis
en Mecina, y las causas dello."--Carta del Rey a su hermano, ap. Rosell,
Historia del Combate Naval, Apend. No. 15.

[350] See Rosell, Historia del Combate Naval, p. 157; Lafuente, Historia
de Espana (Madrid, 1850), tom. xiii. p. 538. Ranke, who has made the
history of the Ottoman empire his particular study, remarks: "The Turks
lost all their old confidence after the battle of Lepanto. They had no
equal to oppose to John of Austria. The day of Lepanto broke down the
Ottoman supremacy."--Ottoman and Spanish Empires (Eng. tr.), p. 23.

[351] "Su Santidad ha de querer que de gane Constantinopla y la Casa
Santa, y que tendra muchos que le querran adular con facilitarselo, y
que no faltaran entre estos algunos quo hacen profesion de soldados y
que como su Beatitud no pueden entender estas cosas."--Carta del Duque
de Alba, ap. Documentos Inedites, tom. iii. p. 300.

[352] Ranke, History of the Popes (Eng. tr.), vol i. p. 384.

[353] Lafuente, Historia de Espana, tom. xiii. p. 530.

[354] "Breves de fuego."--Ibid, p. 529.

[355] "E si e veduto, che quando gli fu data la gran rotta, in sei mesi
rifabbrico canto venti galere, oltre quelle che si trovavano in essere,
cosa che essendo preveduta e scritta da me, fu giudicata piuttosto
impossibile che creduta."--Relazione di Marcantino Barbaro 1573, Alberi,
Relazioni Venete, tom. iii, p. 306.

[356] For the preceding pages see Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol.
87-89; Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. x. cap. 5; Vanderhammen, Don Juan
de Austria, fol. 159 et seq.; Paruta, Guerra di Cipro, p. 206 et seq.;
Sagredo, Monarcas Othomanos, pp. 301, 302.

[357] It is Voltaire's reflection: "Il semblait que les Turques eussent
gagne la bataille de Lepante."--Essais sur les Moeurs, chap. 160.

[358] The treaty is to be found in Dumont, Corps Diplomatique, tom. v.
par. 1 pp. 218, 219.

[359] Rosell, Historia del Combate Naval, p. 149.--Cabrera, Filipe
Segundo, p. 747.--Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 95.

[360] Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 172.

[361] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, p. 765.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan de
Austria, fol. 174, 175--Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 103 et
seq.--The author last cited who was present at the capture of Tunis,
gives a fearful picture of the rapacity of the soldiers.

[362] The Castilian writers generally speak of it as the _peremptory
command_ of Philip. Cabrera, one of the best authorities, tells us:
"Mandio el Rey Catolico a Don Juan de Austria enplear su armada en la
conquista de Tunez, i que le desmantelase, i la Goleta." But soon after
he remarks: "Olvidando el _buen acuerdo_ del Rey, por consejo de
lisongeros determino de conservar la ciudad." (Filipe Segundo, pp. 763,
764.) From this qualified language we may infer that the king meant to
give his brother his decided opinion, not amounting, however, to such an
absolute command as would leave him no power to exercise his discretion
in the matter. This last view is made the more probable by the fact that
in the following spring a correspondence took place between the king and
his brother, in which the former, after stating the arguments both for
preserving and for dismantling the fortress of Tunis, concludes by
referring the decision of the question to Don John himself.
"Representadas todas estas dificultades, manda remitir S. M. al Senor
Don Juan que el tome la resolucion que mas convenga."--Documentos
Ineditos, tom. iii. p. 139.

[363] "Porque la gentileza de la tierra i de las damas en su
conservacion agradaba a su gallarda edad."--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, p.
755.--Also Vanderhammen, Don Juan de Austria, fol. 176.

[364] Ferreras, Hist. d'Espagne, tom. x. p. 286.--Vanderhammen, Don Juan
de Austria, fol. 178.

[365] Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 116 et seq.--Relacion particular
de Don Juan Sanogera, MS.

Vanderhammen states the loss of the Moslems at thirty-three thousand
slain. (Don Juan de Austria, fol. 189.) But the arithmetic of the
Castilian is little to be trusted as regards the infidel.

[366] For a brief but very perspicuous view of the troubles of Genoa,
see San Migual, Hist. de Flipe Segundo (tom. ii. cap. 36). The care of
this judicious writer to acquaint the reader with contemporary events in
other countries, as they bore more or less directly on Spain, is a
characteristic merit of his history.

[367] Torres y Aguilera, Chronica, fol. 113.

[368] The principal cause of Granvelle's coldness to Don John, as we are
told by Cabrera (Filipe Segundo, p. 794), echoed, as usual, by
Vanderhammen (Don Juan de Austria, fol. 184), was envy of the fame which
the hero of Lepanto had gained by his conquests both in love and in war.
"La causa principal era el poco gasto que tenia de acudir a Don Juan,
invidioso de sus favores de Marte i Venus." Considering the cardinal's
profession, he would seem to have had no right to envy any one's success
in either of these fields.

[369] "Questa oppinione, che di lui si ha, rende le sue leggi piu
sacrosancte et inviolabili."--Relazione di Contarini, MS.

[370] A manuscript, entitled "_Origen de los Consejos_," without date or
the name of the author, in the library of Sir Thomas Phillips, gives a
minute account of the various councils under Philip the Second.

[371] "Sono XI.; il consiglio dell' Indie, Castiglia, d'Aragona,
d'inquisitione, di camera, dell' ordini, di guerra, di hazzienda, dl
giustizia, d'Italia, et di stato."--Sommario del' ordine che si tiene
alla corte di Spagna circa il governo delli stati del Re Catholico, MS.

[372] Ibid. The date of this manuscript is 1570.

[373] Relazione di Badoer, MS.

[374] Instead of "Ruy Gomez," Badoer tells us they punningly gave him
the title of "Rey Gomez," to denote his influence over the king. "Il
titolo principal che gli vien dato e di Rey Gomez e non Ruy Gomez,
perche pare che non sia stato mai alcun privato con principe del mondo
di tanta autorita e cosi stimato dal signor suo come egli e da questa
Maesta."--Relazione, MS.

[375] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, pp. 712, 713.

Cabrera has given us, in the first chapter of the tenth book of his
history, a finished portrait of Ruy Gomez, which for the niceness of its
discrimination and the felicity of its language may compare with this
best compositions of the Castilian chroniclers.

[376] "El senor Ruy Gomez no fue de los mayores consejeros que ha
habido, pero del humor y natural de los reyes le roconozco por tan gran
maestro, que todos los que por aqui dentro andamos tenemos la cabeza
donde pensamos que traemos los pies."--Bermudez de Castro, Antonio Perez
(Madrid, 1841), p. 28.

[377] "Fue Rui Gomez el primero piloto que en trabajos tan grandes vivio
y murio seguro, tomando sienpre el mejor puerto."--Cabrera, p. 713.

[378] "Vivo conservo la gracia de su Rey, muerto le dolio su falta, i la
lloro su Reyno, que en su memoria le a conservado paro exemplo de fieles
vasallos i prudentes privados de los mayores Principes."--Ibid. ubi
supra.

[379] "Puede ser, pero el Cardenal Espinosa me consulto en saliendo del
consejo, i provei la placa."--Cabrera, p. 700.

[380] "Que en principe tan zeloso de su immunidad i oficio parecio
increible su tolerancia hasta alli."--Ibid. ubi supra.

[381] The anonymous author of a contemporary relation speaks of the king
as a person little subject to passions of any kind. The language is
striking: "E questo Re poco soggetto alle pasioni, venga cio, o per
inclinazione naturale, o per costume; e quasi non appariscono in lui i
primi movimenti ne dell' allegrezza, ne del dolore, ne dell' ira
ancora."--MS.

[382] "El Rey le hablo tan asperamente sobre el afinar una verdad, que
le mato brevemente," says Cabrera emphatically.--Filipe Segundo, p. 699.

[383] "Perche chi vuole il favore del duoa d'Alva perde quello di Ruy
Gomez, e chi cerca il favore di Ruy Gomez, non ha quello del duca
d'Alva."--Relazione di Soriano, MS.

[384] Ranke has given some pertinent examples of this in an interesting
sketch which he has presented of the relative positions of these two
statesmen in the cabinet of Philip.--Ottoman and Spanish Empires (Eng.
trans.), p. 38.

[385] "Non si trova mai S.M. presente alle deliberationi ne i consigli,
ma deliberato chiama una delle tre consulte.... alla qual sempre si
ritrova, onde sono lette le risolutioni del consiglio."--Relazione di
Tiepolo, MS.

[386] Ranke, Ottoman and Spanish Empires, p. 32.

[387] "El dia que iva a caca bolvia con ansias de bolver al trabajo,
como un oficial pobre que huviera de ganar la comida con ello."--Los
Dichos y Hechos, del Rey Phelipe II. (Brusselas, 1666), p. 214.--See
also Relazione di Pigafetta, MS.

[388] Relazione di Vandramino, MS.--Relazione di Contarini, MS.

"Distribuia las horas del dia, se puede decir, todas en los negocios,
quando yo lo conoci; porque aunque las tenia de ocio u ocupaciones
forcosas de su persona, las gastava con tales criados elegidos tan a
proposito que quanto hablava venia a ser informarse mucho, descanso en
lo que a otro costara nota y fatiga."--MS. Anon. in the Library of the
dukes of Burgundy.

[389] Dichos y Hechos de Phelipe II., pp. 339, 340.

[390] "A estos estando turbados, y desalentados, los animava
diziendoles, Sossegaos."--Dichos y Hechos de Phelipe II., p. 40.

[391] "Diziendole si lo traeis escrito, lo vere, y os hare
despachar."--Ibid. p. 41.

[392] "Quando esce di Palazzo, suole montare in un cocchio coperto di
tela incerata, et serrata a modo che non si vede..... Suole quando va in
villa ritornare la sera per le porte del Parco, senza esser veduto da
alcuno."--Relazione di Pigafetta, MS.

[393] Ranke, Ottoman and Spanish Empires, p. 32.

Inglis speaks of seeing this work in the library when he visited the
Escorial.--Spain in 1830, vol. i. p. 348.

[394] Ranke, Ottoman and Spanish Empires, p. 33.

[395] See ante, vol. ii. circ. fin.

[396] Lafuente, Historia de Espana, tom. xiv. p. 44.

The historian tells us he has seen the original letter with the changes
made in it by Philip.

[397] "Chi comincia a servirlo puo tener per certa la remunerazione, se
il difetto non vien da rei."--Relazione Anon. MS.

[398] Relazione della Corte di Spagna, MS.--Relazione di Badoer,
MS.--Etiquetas de Palacio, MS.

[399] Relazione di Badoer, MS.

[400] "Ha tre guardie die 100 persone l'una; la piu honorata e di
Borgognoni e Fiamminghi, che hanno ad esser ben nati e servono a
cavallo, e si dicono Arcieri accompagnando bene il Re per la citta a
piede non in fila, ma alla rinfusa intorno alla persona reale; l'altri
sono d'Albardieri 100 di nazion tedesca, et altri e tanti
Spagnuoli."--Relazione della Corte di Spagna, MS.

[401] Raumer, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, vol. i. p. 106.

[402] Ibid. p. 105.

[403] Cortes of 1558, peticion 4.

[404] "Questi habiti sempre sono nuovi et puliti, perche ogni mese se
gli muta, et poi gli dona quando ad uno, e quando ad un
altro."--Relazione di Pigafetta, MS.

[405] Gachard cites a passage from one of Granvelle's unpublished
letters, in which he says, "Suplico a V. M., con la humildad qua devo,
que considerando quanto su vida importa al principe nuestro senor, a
todos sus reynos y Estados, y vasallos suyos, y aun a toda la
christiandad, mirando en que miserando estado quedaria sin V. M., sea
servido mirar adelante mas por su salud, descargandose de tan grande y
continuo trabajo, que tanto dano le haze."--Rapport prefixed to the
Correspondance de Philippe II. (tom. i. p. li.), in which the Belgian
scholar, with his usual conscientiousness and care, enters into an
examination of the character and personal habits of Philip.

[406] "Habiendo en otra ocasion avisado a vuestra magestad de la publica
querella y desconsuelo que habia del estilo que vuestra magestad habia
tomado de negociar, estando perpetuamente asido a los papeles, por tener
mejor titulo para huir de la gente, ademas de no quererse fiar de
nadie."--Carta que escrivio al Senor Rey Felipe Segundo Don Luis
Manrique, su limosnero mayor, MS.

[407] "No embio Dios a vuestra magestad y a todos los otros Reyes, que
tienen sus veces en la tierra, para que se extravien leyendo ni
escribiendo ni aun contemplando ni rezando, si no para que fuesen y sean
publicos y patentes oraculos a donde todos sus subditos vengan por sus
respuestas.... Y si a algun Rey en el mundo dio Dios esta gracia, es a
vuestra magestad y por eso es mayor la culpa de no manifestarse a
todos."--Ibid.

A copy of this letter is preserved among the Egerton MSS. in the British
Museum.

[408] Nota di tutti li Titolati di Spagna con li loro casate et rendite,
&c. fatta nel 1581, MS.

[409] Ibid.

The Spanish aristocracy, in 1581, reckoned twenty-three dukes, forty-two
marquises, and fifty-six counts. All the dukes and thirteen of the
inferior nobles were grandees.

[410] "La corte e muta; in publico non si ragiona di nuove, et chi pure
le sa, se le trace."--Relazione di Pigafetta, MS.

[411] "Sono d'animo tanto elevato... che e cosa molto difficile da
credere.... e quando avviene che incontrino o nunzi del pontefice o
ambasciadori di qualehe testa cororata o d'altro stato, pochissimi son
quelli che si levin la berreta."--Relazione di Badoero, MS.

[412] "Non si attende a lettere, ma la Nobilita e a maraviglia ignorante
e ritirata, mantenenda una certa sua alterigia, ehe loro clriamano
_sussiego_, che vuol dire tranquillita et sicurezza, et quasi
serenita."--Relazione di Pigafette, MS.

[413] "Non si convita, non si cavalca, si giuoca, et si fa all'
amore."--Ibid.

See also the Relazioni of Badoero and Contarini.

[414] Dr. Salazar y Mendoza takes a very exalted view of the importance
of this right to wear the hat in the presence of the king,--"a
prerogative," he remarks, "so illustrious in itself and so admirable in
its effects, that it alone suffices to stamp its peculiar character on
the dignity of the grandee."--Dignidades de Castilla, p. 34.

[415] Ranke, Ottoman and Spanish Empires, p. 57.

[416] Relazione di Tiepolo, MS.--Relazione Anon. MS.--Relazione di
Contarini, MS.

[417] "Che per contrario affligiono i loro proprii sudditi ende
incorrono nel loro odio."--Relazione di Contarini, MS.

[418] "Temono Sua Maesta, dove, quando si governassero prudentemente,
sarieno da essa per le loro forze temuti."--Ibid.

[419] "Que bastaran para conquistar y ganar un reyno."--Cortes of
Valladolid of 1558, pet. 4.

[420] Cortes of Toledo of 1559, pet. 3.

[421] Lafuente, Historia de Espana, tom. xiii. p. 118.

[422] Ibid. tom. xiv. p. 397.

[423] Cortes of Valladolid of 1558, pet. 12.

[424] Lafuente, Historia de Espana, tom. xiii. p. 125.

[425] The history of luxury in Castile, and of the various enactments
for the restraint of it, forms the subject of a work by Sempere y
Guarinos, containing many curious particulars, especially in regard to
the life of the Castilians at an earlier period of their
history.--Historia del Luxo (Madrid, 1788, 2 tom. 12mo.).

[426] "Anssi mismo mandamos que ninguna persona de ninguna condicion ni
calidad que sea, no pueda traer ni traya en ropa ni en vestido, ni en
calzas, ni jubon, ni en gualdrapa, ni guarnicion de mula ni de cavallo,
ningun genero de bordado ni recamado, ni gandujado, ni entorchado, ni
chaperia de oro ni de plata, ni de oro de canutillo, ni de martillo, ni
ningun genero de trenza ni cordon ni cordoncillo, ni franja, ni
pasamano, ni pespunte, ni perfil de oro ni plata ni seda, ni otra cosa,
aunque el dicho oro y plata sean falsos," &c.--Pracmatica expedida a
peticion de la Cortes de Madrid de 1563.

[427] "Ocupados en este oficio y genero de vivienda de coser, que habia
de se para las mugeres, muchos hombres que podrian servir a S. M. en la
guerra dejaban de ir a ella, y dejaban tambien de labrar los
campos."--Cortes of 1573, pet. 75, ap. Lafuente, Hist. de Espana, tom.
xiv. p. 407.

[428] Cortes of 1573, pet. 75, ap. Lafuente, Hist. de Espana, tom. xiv.
p. 408.

[429] Ranke, Ottoman and Spanish Empires, p. 59.

[430] "Que cada semana o cada mes se nombren en los ayuntamientos de
cada ciudad o villa destos Reynos, dos Regidores, los quales se hallen a
la vision y visitas de la carcel."--Cortes of Toledo of 1559, 1560, pet.
102.

[431] Provision real para que los mesones del reyno esten bien proveidos
de los mantenimientos necesarios para los caminantes, Toledo, 20 de
Octubre de 1560.

[432] "Como los mancebos y las donzellas por su ociosidad se
principalmente ocupan en aquello [leer libros de mentiras y vanidades],
desvanecense y aficionanse en cierta manera a los casos que leen en
aquellos libros haver acontescido, ansi da amores como de armas y otras
vanidades: y afficionados, quando se offrece algun caso semejante, danse
a el mas a rienda suelta que si no lo huviessen leydo."--Cortes of 1558,
pet. 107, cited by Ranke, Ottoman and Spanish Empires, p. 60.

[433] Pracmatica para que ningun natural de estos reynos vaya a estudiar
fuera de ellos, Aranjuez, 22 de Noviembre de 1559.

[434] Marina, Teoria de las Cortes, tom. ii. p. 219.

[435] See the "Pragmaticas del Reyno," first printed at Alcala de
Henares, at the close of Isabella's reign, in 1503. This famous
collection was almost wholly made up of the ordinances of Ferdinand and
Isabella. After passing through several editions, it was finally
absorbed in the "Nueva Recopilacion" of Philip the Second.

[436] Relazione di Contarini, MS.

[437] "Vos ni yo no avenios de subir donde los Sacerdotes."--Dichos y
Hechos de Phelipe II., p. 96.

[438] Catrera, Filipe Segundo, p. 894.

[439] L. Marineo Siculo, Cosas Memorabiles, fol. 23.

[440] Nota di tutti li Titolati di Spagna, MS.

[441] Lafuente, Historia de Espana, tom. xiv. p. 416.

[442] Lafuente, Historia de Espana, tom. xiii. p. 261.--Cabrera, Filipe
Segundo, pp. 432, 433.

[443] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. xi. cap. 11; lib. xii. cap.
21.--Relazione Anon. 1588, MS.

[444] "Otras vezes presentaba para Obispos Canonigos tan particulares i
presbiteros tan apartados no solo de tal esperanca, mas pensamiento en
si mismos, i en la comun opinion, que la cedula de su presentacion no
admitia su rezelo de ser enganados o burlados. Eligia a quien no pedia,
i merecia."--Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, p. 891.

[445] Cabrera, Filipe Segundo, lib. xi. cap. 11.

[446] Relazione di Contarini, MS.--Ranke, Ottoman and Spanish Empires,
p. 61.

[447] The document alluded to is a letter, without date or signature,
but in the handwriting of the sixteenth century, and purporting to be
written by a person entrusted with the task of drafting the necessary
legal instruments or the foundation of the convent. He inquires whether
in the preamble he shall make mention of his majesty's vow. "_El voto
que S. M. hijo_, si S. M. no lo quiere poner ni declarar, bien puede,
porque no hay para que; pero si S. M. quisiere que se declare en las
escrituras, avisemelo v. m."--Documentos Ineditos, tom. xxviii. p. 567.

[448] Examples equally ancient, of both forms of spelling the name, may
be found; though _Escorial_, now universal in the Castilian, seems to
have been also the more common from the first. The word is derived from
_scoriae_, the dross of iron-mines, found near the spot.--See Ford,
Handbook for Spain (3rd edition), p. 751.

[449] A letter of the royal founder, published by Siguenca, enumerates
the objects to which the new building was to be specially
devoted.--Historia de la Orden de San Geronimo, tom. iii. p. 534.

[450] "The Escorial is placed by some geographers in Old Castile; but
the division of the provinces is carried on the crest of the _Sierra_
which rises behind it."--Ford, Handbook for Spain, p. 750.

[451] Siguenca, Hist. de la Orden de San Geronimo, tom. iii. p.
549.--Memorias de Fray Juan de San Geronimo, Documentos Ineditos, tom.
vii. p. 22.

[452] "Tenia de ordinario una banquetilla de tres pies, batisima y
grosera, por silla, y cuando iba a misa porque estuviese con algun
decencia se le ponia un pano viejo frances de Almaguer el contador, que
ya de gastado y deshilado hacia harto lugar por sus agujeros a los que
querian ver a la Persona Real."--Memorias de Fray Juan de San Geronimo,
Documentos Ineditos, tom. vii. p. 22.

[453] "Jurabame muchas veces llorando el dicho fray Antonio que muchas
veces alzando cautamente los ojos vio correr por los de S. M. lagrimas;
tanta era su devocion mezclada con el alegria de verse en aquella
pobreza y ver tras esto aquella alta idea que en su mente traia de la
grandeza a que pensaba levantar aquella pequenez del divino
culto."--Ibid., ubi supra.

[454] "Para levantar tanta fabrica menester eran actos de humildad tan
profunda!"--Ibid., p. 23.

[455] Ibid., p. 25 et seq.--Siguenca, Hist. de la Orden de San Geronimo,
tom. iii. p. 546.

[456] "Tenia tanta destreca en disponer las tracas de Palacios,
Castillos, Jardines, y otras cosas, que quando Francisco de Mora mi Tio
Tracador mayor suyo, y Juan de Herrara su Antecessor le traian la
primera planta, assi mandava quitar, o poner, o mudar, como si fuera on
Vitrubio."--Dichos y Hechos de Phelipe II., p. 181.

[457] Lafuente, Historia de Espana, tom. xiii. p. 253.

[458] "Sabese de cierto que se negociava aqui mas en un dia que en
Madrid en quatro."--Siguenca, Hist. de la Orden de San Geronimo, tom.
iii. p. 575.

[459] "El buen Duque de Alba, aunque su vejez y gota no le daban lugar,
se subio a lo alto de la torre a dar animo y esfuerzo a los oficiales y
gente;.... y esto lo hacia S.E. como diestro capitan y como quien se
habia visto en otros mayores peligros en la guerra."--Memorias de Fray
Juan de San Geronimo, Documentos Ineditos, tom. vii. p. 197.

[460] Memorias de Fray Juan de San Geronimo, Documentos Ineditos, tom.
vii. p. 201.

[461] Siguenca, Hist. de la Orden de San Geronimo, tom. iii. p.
596.--Dichos y Hechos de Phelipe II., p. 289.--Lafuente, Hist. de
Espana, tom. xiv. p. 427.

[462] Stirling, Annals of the Artists of Spain, tom. i. p. 211.

[463] Stirling, Annals of the Artists of Spain, tom. i. p. 203.

[464] Dichos y Hechos de Phelipe II., p. 81.

[465] One of its historians, Father Francisco de los Santos, styles it
on his title-page, "_Unica Maravilla del Mundo_."--Descripcion del Real
Monasterio de San Lorenzo de el Escorial (Madrid, 1698).

[466] Los Santos, Descripcion del Escorial, fol. 116.

[467] Siguenca, Hist. de la Orden de San Geronimo, tom. iii. p. 862.

[468] The enthusiasm of Fray Alonso de San Geronimo carries him so far,
that he does not hesitate to declare that the Almighty owes a debt of
gratitude to Philip the Second for the dedication of so glorious a
structure to the Christian worship! "Este Templo, Senor, deve a Filipo
Segundo vuestra Grandeza; con que gratitud le estara mirando, en el
Impireo, vuestra Divinidad!"

This language, so near akin to blasphemy, as it would be thought in our
day, occurs in a panegyric delivered at the Escorial on the occasion of
a solemn festival in honour of the hundredth anniversary of its
foundation. A volume compiled by Fray Luis de Santa Maria is filled with
a particular account of the ceremonies, under the title of "Octava
sagradamente culta, celebrada en la Octava Maravilla," &c. (Madrid,
1664, folio).

[469] Florez, Reynas Catholicas, tom. ii. p. 905.

[470] Ibid. p. 908.

[471] "Realzada con gracia por el mismo trage del camino, sombrero alto
matizado con plumas, capotillo de terciopelo carmesi, bordado de oro a
la moda Bohema."--Florez, Reynas Catholicas, tom. ii. p. 907.

[472] Ibid., ubi supra.

[473] Ante, vol. i. circ. fin.

[474] Florez, Reynas Catholicas, tom. ii. p. 908.--Cabrera, Filipe
Segundo, p. 661.

[475] "En el sarao bailaron Rey y Reyna, estando de pie toda la
Corte."--Florez, Reynas Catholicas, tom. ii. p. 908.

[476] "El efecto dijo, que oyo Dios su oracion: pues mejorando el Rey,
cayo mala la Reyna."--Ibid., p. 913.

[Illustration: image of book's back cover]






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of History of The Reign of Philip The
Second King of Spain, by William H. Prescott

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