Читать книгу The First Governess of the Netherlands, Margaret of Austria - Eleanor E. Tremayne - Страница 8

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Charles VIII. was hardly free from his sister's tutelage when he dreamt of conquering the kingdom of Naples, which he claimed as heir to the house of Anjou. An embassy which he received from Ludovico Sforza, afterwards Duke of Milan, made him the more determined to carry out this project.

By the Treaty of Barcelona (January 1493) Charles had agreed to restore to Ferdinand of Aragon the counties of Roussillon and Cerdagne in return for Ferdinand's assurance that he would leave him a free hand in Italy and elsewhere, and would not form matrimonial alliances with the houses of England, Austria, or Naples; but when, in 1494, Charles informed Ferdinand of his intentions against Naples, and claimed his aid in accordance with the treaty, the King of Aragon pretended to be shocked and surprised, and quietly set to work to circumvent his plans and to side with his enemies.

On the 10th of July 1494 the Duke of Orleans crossed the Alps with the advance guard of the French army. Charles soon followed, and was received with great honour by Ludovico Sforza and the Duke of Ferrara. After crossing Italy in triumph, he arrived at Naples without having broken a single lance, and made a solemn entry into the town, whilst the King of Naples, abandoned by his subjects and betrayed by his generals, fled to Sicily.

But in the midst of his triumphs Charles learned, through the historian Commines, his ambassador in Venice, of the perfidy of his allies and of the new league that was formed against him by Henry VII. of England, Ferdinand of Aragon, Maximilian (recently elected emperor after the death of his father), the Pope Alexander VI., the Republic of Venice, and the Duke of Milan. All these confederates combined in a common interest to drive the French out of Italy, and to attack France from different sides at the same time.

'The ambitious schemes of Charles VIII. established a community of interests among the great European states, such as had never before existed, or at least been understood; and the intimate relations thus introduced naturally led to intermarriages between the principal powers, who until this period seemed to have been severed almost as far asunder as if oceans had rolled between them.... It was while Charles VIII. was wasting his time at Naples that the marriages were arranged between the royal houses of Spain and Austria, by which the weight of these great powers was thrown into the same scale, and the balance of Europe unsettled for the greater part of the following century.

'The Treaty of Venice provided that Prince John, the heir of the Spanish monarchies, then in his eighteenth year, should be united with the Princess Margaret, daughter of the Emperor Maximilian, and that the Archduke Philip, his son and heir, and sovereign of the Low Countries in his mother's right, should marry Joanna, second daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella. No dowry was to be required with either princess.'[6]

The conditions of this double marriage were drawn up by Francisco de Rojas, sent to Flanders by Ferdinand and Isabella for this purpose. The proposals were agreed to by both sides, and it was arranged that the fleet which brought Joanna of Castile to Flanders should carry Margaret of Austria to Spain.

The following amusing anecdote is from Zurita, and mentioned in A. R. Villa's Life of Doña Juana la Loca. Francisco de Rojas, who was chosen by Isabella to marry Margaret by proxy, was presented with a brocade garment by Antonio de Valle on his arrival in Flanders, and was told that he must see that he was tidy at the ceremony of betrothal, as according to the German custom he would have to undress as far as his doublet and hose. This he promised to do, but when he came to remove his coat, it was seen that his shirt protruded from his hose at the back. This carelessness caused him to be much teased by the courtiers, who with difficulty concealed their smiles at the time.

By the end of the summer in 1496 a fleet, consisting of one hundred and thirty vessels, large and small, strongly manned and thoroughly equipped, was got ready for sea in the ports of Guipuzcoa and Biscay. The whole was placed under the command of Don Fadrique Enriquez, Admiral of Castile, who carried with him a splendid array of chivalry. A more gallant and beautiful Armada never before quitted the shores of Spain. The Infanta Joanna, attended by a numerous suite, embarked towards the end of August at the port of Laredo, on the eastern borders of Asturias, where she bade farewell to her mother, Queen Isabella, who travelled through Spain to take leave of her seventeen-year-old daughter. On August the 20th the queen wrote to Doctor de Puebla (Ferdinand's envoy in England) from Laredo to inform him that the fleet that was taking her daughter to Flanders, and bringing the Infanta Margaret to Spain, was to sail the next day. 'If they should enter an English port, she hopes that they will be treated in England as though they were the daughters of Henry VII. himself.'[7] The queen also addressed a letter to the King of England begging for the same favours. A navy of fifteen thousand armed men was needed to escort the bride to Flanders and bring back Prince John's betrothed to Spain. For two nights after the embarkation Isabella slept on the ship with her daughter, and when at last the fleet sailed on August 22nd, she turned her back on the sea, and rode with a heavy heart back to Burgos.

The weather soon after Joanna's departure became extremely tempestuous, and the poor princess had a terrible voyage; her fleet was driven into Portland, and one of the largest ships came into collision and foundered. But this was not the end of her troubles, for on the Flemish coast another great ship was wrecked, with most of her household, trousseau, and jewels. Several vessels were lost, and many of her attendants perished from the hardships they had to endure, amongst them the old Bishop of Jaen, who had accompanied her to give state and dignity to her suite. Eventually the whole fleet arrived at Ramua, sorely disabled and needing a long delay for refitting before it could return to Spain.[8] Soon after her arrival in Flanders her marriage with the Archduke Philip was celebrated with much pomp at Lille. At a tournament given in her honour at Brussels, three knights wearing her colours entered the lists and fought against three of Margaret's knights; the latter were dressed in white, and wore 'marguerites' embroidered as their badge. Philip neglected and ill-treated his wife's countrymen to the extent of allowing nine thousand of the men on the fleet at Antwerp to die from cold and privation, without trying to help them; his young wife's Spanish household were unpaid, and even the income settled upon her by Philip was withheld, on the pretext that Ferdinand had not fulfilled his part of the bargain agreed upon in the marriage settlements.

The fleet was detained until the following winter to carry the destined bride of the young Prince of Asturias to Spain. Margaret was now in her eighteenth year, and already distinguished for those intellectual qualities which made her later one of the most remarkable women of her time. She must have been a lovely girl, tall and fair, with masses of waving golden hair, a brilliant complexion, soft brown eyes, and a rather long narrow face, with the full under-lip so peculiar to the house of Austria. It is no wonder that Prince John fell in love with her, or that his parents welcomed her with admiration. In the spring of 1497 Margaret left Flushing and started on her long journey to Spain. She had an even worse voyage than her sister-in-law. A fearful storm arose, and her vessel was nearly wrecked. When the tempest had somewhat subsided, she and her companions amused themselves with each writing her own epitaph. Margaret composed the following well-known distich, which she bound to her arm for identification, and jokingly said might be engraved on her tomb, in case her body should be washed ashore:—

'Cy gist Margot la gentil' Damoiselle,

Qu' ha deux marys et encor est pucelle.'

Fortunately this witty epitaph was not needed. The fleet passed the English Channel in the beginning of February, and was compelled through stress of weather to take refuge in the harbour of Southampton. On February the 3rd Henry VII. wrote the following letter to the Princess Margaret:—

Most illustrious and most excellent Princess, our dearest and most beloved cousin,—With all our heart we send to greet you, and to recommend ourself. We have received through the most renowned, most prudent, and most discreet ambassador of our most beloved cousins the King and Queen of Spain, at our Court, the letters of the admiral and ambassador of the said King and Queen, who accompany your Excellence. By them we are informed that your Highness, enjoying the best of health, has entered with your whole fleet and suite our harbour of Southampton. Our subjects of that neighbourhood had already communicated to us the arrival of your Highness. As soon as we heard of it, we sent our well-beloved and trustworthy vassals and servants, the seneschal of our palace, and Sir Charles Somerset, our captain and guardian of our body, and also a doctor utriusque juris, and keeper of our Privy Seal, to see, visit, and consult you in our name, and to tell you how agreeable and delightful to us was the arrival of your Excellence in our dominions, especially as it has pleased God to give you and your company (to whom we recommend ourself likewise) good health and cheerful spirits. Our servants are to place at your disposal our person, our realm, and all that is to be found in it. They are to provide you with whatever you wish, and serve and obey you as ourself. You will more fully learn our intentions from them and from the letters of the Spanish ambassador who resides at our Court.'

The following is in the king's handwriting:—

'Dearest and most beloved cousin,—Desirous the more to assure your Excellence that your visit to us and to our realm is so agreeable and delightful to us, that the arrival of our own daughter could not give us greater joy, we write this portion of our letter with our own hand, in order to be able the better to express to you that you are very welcome, and that you may more perfectly understand our good wishes. We most earnestly entreat and beseech your Highness, from the bottom of our heart, to be as cheerful as though you were with the dearest and most beloved King and Queen of Spain, our cousins, and that you will stay in whatever part of our realms as cheerfully and without fear as though you were in Spain. In all and everything you want, do not spare us and our realms, for you will render us a great and most acceptable service by accepting anything from us.—Palace, Westminster, 3rd February.'[9]

The king then begs her to stay at Southampton, and even offers to pay her a visit there:—

'Most illustrious and most excellent Princess, our most noble and most beloved cousin,—We have received to-day the letter of the 2nd instant, which your Highness has written from the harbour of Southampton, and are much pleased with it. We are also very glad to learn the good news contained in your letter and the letter of the illustrious ambassador, whom our dearest cousins, the King and Queen of Spain, your most pious parents, have ordered to accompany you. He informs us of your prosperity and good success. We, on our part, have sent to inform you of our inviolable friendship, and to tell you how agreeable in every respect your arrival in our harbour has been to us. On Friday we sent you our servants and domestics, with injunctions to serve you in the same way as they serve ourselves; and a short time after they had left we wrote to your Excellence a letter with our own hand, to give you a hearty welcome in our harbour. We beseech you to have a cheerful face and a glad heart, to be happy and enjoy yourself as safely as though you were our own daughter, or had already reached the dominions of our said cousins the King and Queen of Spain, your pious parents. We pray your Highness, with all our heart, to dispose of us and of everything that is to be found in our realms, and to spare us in nothing, even if the thing is not to be had in our dominions, and to order any service which we are able to execute. For, by doing so, you will bestow on us a signal and most acceptable favour. As we hear that the wind is contrary to the continuation of your voyage, wishing that your Highness would repose and rest, our advice is, that you take lodgings in our said town of Southampton, and remain there until the wind becomes favourable and the weather clears up. We believe that the movement and the roaring of the sea is disagreeable to your Highness and to the ladies who accompany you. If you accept our proposal, and remain so long in our said town of Southampton that we can be informed of it, and have time to go and to see you before your departure, we certainly will go and pay your Highness a visit. In a personal communication we could best open our mind to you, and tell you how much we are delighted that you have safely arrived in our port, and how glad we are that the (friendship) with you and our dearest cousins the King and Queen of Spain, your most benign parents, is increasing from day to day. We desire to communicate to you in the best manner our news, and to hear from you of your welfare. May your Highness be as well and as happy as we wish.—From our Palace of Westminster.... February.'[10]

We have no account of Margaret's accepting Henry's invitation, or of their meeting at this time. After these various adventures the princess at length arrived safely at the port of Santander in the early days of March 1497. An ambassador was sent to meet her with a train of one hundred and twenty mules laden with plate and tapestries. The young Prince of Asturias, accompanied by the king his father, hastened towards the north to meet his bride, whom they met at Reynosa and escorted to Burgos. When Margaret saw her future husband and the king approach, she attempted to kiss the latter's hands, which he tried to prevent her from doing, but she persevered, and kissed the king's hands as well as those of her future husband. On her arrival at Burgos she was received with the greatest marks of pleasure and satisfaction by the queen and the whole Court. Preparations were at once made for solemnising the marriage after the expiration of Lent, in a style of magnificence never before witnessed. The wedding ceremony took place on Palm Sunday, the 3rd of April, and was performed by the Archbishop of Toledo in the presence of the grandees and principal nobility of Castile, the foreign ambassadors and delegates from Aragon. Among these latter were the magistrates of the principal cities, wearing their municipal insignia and crimson robes of office, who seem to have had quite as important parts assigned by their democratic communities as any of the nobility or gentry. The wedding was followed by a brilliant succession of fêtes, tourneys, tilts of reeds, and other warlike spectacles, in which the matchless chivalry of Spain poured into the lists to display their prowess in the presence of their future queen. The chronicles of the day remark on the striking contrast exhibited at these entertainments between the gay and familiar manners of Margaret and her Flemish nobles, and the pomp and stately ceremonial of the Castilian Court, to which the Austrian princess, brought up as she had been at the Court of France, could never be wholly reconciled. The following quaint passage is from Abarca's Reyes de Aragon:—'And although they left the princess all her servants, freedom in behaviour and diversions, she was warned that in the ceremonial affairs she was not to treat the royal personages and grandees with the familiarity and openness usual with the houses of Austria, Burgundy, and France, but with the gravity and measured dignity of the kings and realms of Spain.'

An inventory of the rich plate and jewels presented to Margaret on the day of her marriage is to be found in the sixth volume of memoirs of the Spanish Academy of History. The plate and jewels are said to be 'of such value and perfect workmanship that the like was never seen.'

Nothing seemed wanting to the happiness of the young bride and bridegroom, and that summer they made a kind of triumphal progress through the great cities of the land. The marriage of the heir-apparent could not have been celebrated at a happier time. It took place in the midst of negotiations for a general peace, to which the nation looked for repose after so many years of uninterrupted war. The Court of the Spanish sovereigns was at the height of its splendour; Ferdinand and Isabella seemed to have reached the zenith of their ambitious dreams, when death stepped in, and destroyed their fondest hopes.

Seven months after Prince John's marriage, his sister, Isabella, was united to the King of Portugal. The wedding took place at the frontier town of Valencia de Alcantara, in the presence of the Catholic sovereigns, without pomp or parade of any kind.

While they were detained there, an express messenger brought tidings of the dangerous illness of their son, the Prince of Asturias. Prince John, accompanied by his youthful bride, had been on his way to his sister's wedding when he fell a victim to a malignant fever at Salamanca. The symptoms speedily assumed an alarming character. The prince's constitution, naturally delicate, sunk under the violence of the attack; and when his father, who came with all possible speed to Salamanca, arrived there, no hopes were entertained of his recovery.

Ferdinand, however, tried to cheer his son with hopes he did not feel himself; but the young prince told him that it was too late to be deceived; that he was prepared to die, and that all he now desired was that his parents might feel the same resignation to the divine will which he experienced himself. Ferdinand took fresh courage from the heroic example of his son, whose forebodings were unhappily too soon realised. The doctors fearing to alarm Margaret, who was expecting shortly to become a mother, had kept from her the serious state of her husband's health as long as possible. Knowing that he was ill, she was anxious to go on a pilgrimage to pray for his recovery. 'When at last she was allowed to enter his room on the 4th October 1497 she was shocked to see the change which a few days had wrought in him. Her dying husband bade her farewell in a broken voice, recommending their unborn child to her tender care. Margaret pressed her lips to his, but when she found them already cold, overcome by emotion, she had to be carried half-dead from the room.' Bowed down with grief, she did not recover from the shock of her sudden bereavement, and soon after her husband's death, gave birth to a still-born child.[11]

This double tragedy is pathetically described by the historian, Peter Martyr, who draws an affecting picture of the anguish of the young widow, and the bereaved parents. 'Thus was laid low the hope of all Spain.' 'Never was there a death which occasioned such deep and general lamentation throughout the land.' Ferdinand, fearful of the effect which the sudden news of this calamity might have on the queen, caused letters to be sent at brief intervals, containing accounts of the gradual decline of the prince's health, so as to prepare her for the inevitable stroke. Isabella, however, received the fatal tidings in a spirit of humble resignation, saying, 'The Lord hath given and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be his name!'[12]

Another historian relates that Ferdinand, fearing that the sudden news of John's death would kill Isabella with grief, caused her to be told that it was her husband, Ferdinand himself, that had died, so that when he presented himself before her, the—as he supposed—lesser grief of her son's death should be mitigated by seeing that her husband was alive. The experiment does not appear to have been very successful, as Isabella was profoundly affected when she heard the truth. (Florez, Reinas Catolicas.) The blow was one from which she never recovered. John was her only son, her 'angel' from the time of his birth, and the dearest wish of her heart had been the unification of Spain under him and his descendants.[13] Every honour which affection could devise was paid to Prince John's memory. The Court, to testify its unwonted grief, put on sackcloth instead of white serge usually worn as mourning. All offices, public and private, were closed for forty days; and every one dressed in black. The nobles and wealthy people draped their mules with black cloth down to the knees, showing only their eyes, and black flags were suspended from the walls and gates of the cities. Such extraordinary signs of public sorrow show in what regard the young prince was held. Peter Martyr, his tutor, is unbounded in his admiration of his royal pupil's character, whose brilliant promise and intellectual and moral excellence gave the happiest hopes for the future of his country. These hopes, alas, were destroyed by his untimely death, and that of his infant child.

Prince John's funeral was celebrated on a magnificent scale, and his body laid in the Dominican Monastery of Saint Thomas at Avila, which had been erected by his parents. A few years later his treasurer, Juan Velasquez, caused a beautiful monument to be raised to his memory, and himself added a short but pathetic epitaph. This tomb is the masterpiece of Micer Domenico of Florence, and resembles the exquisite royal sepulchres at Granada. It is placed under an elliptical arch, in front of the high altar, and is one of the finest specimens of an Italian Renaissance tomb. The handsome young prince is depicted lying full length on his marble couch, his hands together as if in prayer. The whole figure is exquisitely simple and dignified in its perfect repose; and if the beautiful marble effigy was true to life, we can understand the overwhelming grief of Spain at his loss.

TOMB OF DON JOHN, PRINCE OF ASTURIAS,

ONLY SON OF FERDINAND AND ISABELLA AVILA

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After her husband's death Margaret became so popular 'that she was often obliged to wait in the fields under the shade of the olives till night fell, as she dared not enter the towns and cities by day, because the people pressed with affectionate tumult round her litter to see her face, crying aloud that they wished for her alone, for their lady and princess, although when the Queen of Portugal, the heiress, made her solemn and pompous entries in broad daylight, they hardly greeted her.'[14] Prince John's eldest sister, the Queen of Portugal, was next in the succession, but by her death in the following year, and that of her infant son two years later, her sister Joanna, wife of the Archduke Philip, became heiress to the thrones of Aragon and Castile.

Margaret was treated most affectionately by the king and queen, who made her a very liberal provision, and tried in every way to comfort and console her. Whilst she was at the Spanish Court we hear of her teaching French to her little sister-in-law, Katharine, who was betrothed to Arthur, Prince of Wales. On July 17th, 1498, De Puebla is instructed to write to the Spanish sovereigns that 'the Queen and the mother of the King wish that the Princess of Wales should always speak French with the Princess Margaret, who is now in Spain, in order to learn the language, and to be able to converse in it when she comes to England. This is necessary, because these ladies do not understand Latin, and much less Spanish. They also wish that the Princess of Wales should accustom herself to drink wine. The water of England is not drinkable, and even if it were, the climate would not allow the drinking of it.'[15]

Margaret spent nearly two years at the Spanish Court. After the first anniversary of her husband's death had passed, and his memory been duly honoured by pompous services at Avila, her return to Germany was discussed. Her Flemish attendants had never become accustomed to the wearisome etiquette and stately ceremonial of the Court of Spain, and by their unreasonable demands stirred up discord between her and the king and queen. Maximilian hearing disquieting reports, urged his daughter to lose no time in returning to him, which the princess decided to do. Ferdinand and Isabella seem to have had a real affection for their widowed daughter-in-law, and when the time for parting came, expressed much sorrow at losing her. At last she set out on her long journey back to Flanders (1499). Her former husband, Charles VIII., had died suddenly in April 1498, leaving his kingdom to his cousin, the Duke of Orleans, who ascended the throne as Louis XII. Hearing that his old friend and playfellow was returning to Flanders, Louis wrote a most affectionate letter offering her a safe conduct through his dominions. Margaret was now twenty years old, but in spite of her youth she had seen much sorrow. Twice through a cruel fate she had missed the proud position of queen—first of France, then of Spain. For the second time she returned to her father without husband or child; but sorrow had deepened and enriched her character, and the time she spent at the Castilian Court was not wasted, as it gave her an insight into the management of state affairs and political intrigues, which with her knowledge of Spanish was of infinite importance to her in later life, and helped to form the able politician and wise administrator who, as Governess of the Netherlands, commanded the admiration and respect of the cleverest men in Europe.