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Table of Contents

WAR WITH THE POPE.

Guise enters Italy.—Operations in the Abruzzi.—Siege of Civitella.—Alva drives out the French.—Rome menaced by the Spaniards.—Paul consents to Peace.—Paul's subsequent Career.

1557.

While the events recorded in the preceding pages were passing in Italy, the French army, under the duke of Guise, had arrived on the borders of Piedmont. That commander, on leaving Paris, found himself at the head of a force consisting of twelve thousand infantry, of which five thousand were Swiss, and the rest French, including a considerable number of Gascons. His cavalry amounted to two thousand, and he was provided with twelve pieces of artillery. In addition to this, Guise was attended by a gallant body of French gentlemen, young for the most part, and eager to win laurels under the renowned defender of Metz.

The French army met with no opposition in its passage through Piedmont. The king of Spain had ordered the government of Milan to strengthen the garrisons of the fortresses, but to oppose no resistance to the French, unless the latter began hostilities.[155] Some of the duke's counsellors would have persuaded him to do so. His father-in-law, the duke of Ferrara, in particular, who had brought him a reinforcement of six thousand troops, strongly pressed the French general to make sure of the Milanese before penetrating to the south; otherwise he would leave a dangerous enemy in his rear. The Italian urged, moreover, the importance of such a step in giving confidence to the Angevine faction in Naples, and in drawing over to France those states which hesitated as to their policy, or which had but lately consented to an alliance with Spain.

France, at this time, exercised but little influence in the counsels of the Italian powers. Genoa, after an ineffectual attempt at revolution, was devoted to Spain. The coöperation of Cosmo de'Medici, then lord of Tuscany, had been secured by the cession of Sienna. The duke of Parma, who had coquetted for some time with the French monarch, was won over to Spain by the restoration of Placentia, of which he had been despoiled by Charles the Fifth. His young son, Alexander Farnese, was sent as a hostage, to be educated under Philip's eye, at the court of Madrid—the fruits of which training were to be gathered in the war of the Netherlands, where he proved himself the most consummate captain of his time. Venice, from her lonely watch-tower on the Adriatic, regarded at a distance the political changes of Italy, prepared to profit by any chances in her own favor. Her conservative policy, however, prompted her to maintain things as far as possible in their present position. She was most desirous that the existing equilibrium should not be disturbed by the introduction of any new power on the theatre of Italy; and she had readily acquiesced in the invitation of the duke of Alva, to mediate an accommodation between the contending parties. This pacific temper found little encouragement from the belligerent pontiff who had brought the war upon Italy.

The advice of the duke of Ferrara, however judicious in itself, was not relished by his son-in-law, the duke of Guise, who was anxious to press forward to Naples as the proper scene of his conquests. The pope, too, called on him, in the most peremptory terms, to hasten his march, as Naples was the object of the expedition. The French commander had the address to obtain instructions to the same effect from his own court, by which he affected to be decided. His Italian father-in-law was so much disgusted by this determination, that he instantly quitted the camp, and drew off his six thousand soldiers, declaring that he needed all he could muster to protect his own states against the troops of Milan.[156]

Thus shorn of his Italian reinforcement, the duke of Guise resumed his march, and, entering the States of the Church, followed down the shores of the Adriatic, passing through Ravenna and Rimini; then, striking into the interior, he halted at Gesi, where he found good accommodations for his men and abundant forage for the horses.

Leaving his army in their pleasant quarters, he soon after repaired to Rome, in order to arrange with the pope the plan of the campaign. He was graciously received by Paul, who treated him with distinguished honor as the loyal champion of the Church. Emboldened by the presence of the French army in his dominions, the pope no longer hesitated to proclaim the renewal of the war against Spain. The Roman levies, scattered over the Campagna, assaulted the places but feebly garrisoned by the Spaniards. Most of them, including Tivoli and Ostia, were retaken; and the haughty bosom of the pontiff swelled with exultation as he anticipated the speedy extinction of the Spanish rule in Italy.

After some days consumed in the Vatican, Guise rejoined his army at Gesi. He was fortified by abundant assurances of aid from his holiness, and he was soon joined by one of Paul's nephews, the duke of Montebello, with a slender reinforcement. It was determined to cross the Neapolitan frontier at once, and to begin operations by the siege of Campli.

This was a considerable place, situated in the midst of a fruitful territory. The native population had been greatly increased by the influx of people from the surrounding country, who had taken refuge in Campli as a place of security. But they did little for its defence. It did not long resist the impetuosity of the French, who carried the town by storm. The men—all who made resistance—were put to the sword. The women were abandoned to the licentious soldiery. The houses, first pillaged, were then fired; and the once flourishing place was soon converted into a heap of smouldering ruins. The booty was great, for the people of the neighborhood had brought their effects thither for safety, and a large amount of gold and silver was found in the dwellings. The cellars, too, were filled with delicate wines; and the victors abandoned themselves to feasting and wassail, while the wretched citizens wandered like spectres amidst the ruins of their ancient habitations.[157]

SIEGE OF CIVITELLA.

The fate of Italy, in the sixteenth century, was hard indeed. She had advanced far beyond the age in most of the arts which belong to a civilized community. Her cities, even her smaller towns, throughout the country, displayed the evidences of architectural taste. They were filled with stately temples and elegant mansions; the squares were ornamented with fountains of elaborate workmanship; the rivers were spanned by arches of solid masonry. The private as well as public edifices were furnished with costly works of art, of which the value was less in the material than in the execution. A generation had scarcely passed since Michael Angelo and Raphael had produced their miracles of sculpture and of painting; and now Correggio, Paul Veronese, and Titian were filling their country with those immortal productions which have been the delight and the despair of succeeding ages. Letters kept pace with art. The magical strains of Ariosto had scarcely died away when a greater bard had arisen in Tasso, to take up the tale of Christian chivalry. This extraordinary combination of elegant art and literary culture was the more remarkable, from the contrast presented by the condition of the rest of Europe, then first rising into the light of a higher civilization. But, with all this intellectual progress, Italy was sadly deficient in some qualities found among the hardier sons of the north, and which seem indispensable to a national existence. She could boast of her artists, her poets, her politicians; but of few real patriots, few who rested their own hopes on the independence of their country. The freedom of the old Italian republics had passed away. There was scarcely one that had not surrendered its liberties to a master. The principle of union for defence against foreign aggression was as little understood as the principle of political liberty at home. The states were jealous of one another. The cities were jealous of one another, and were often torn by factions within themselves. Thus their individual strength was alike ineffectual, whether for self-government or self-defence. The gift of beauty which Italy possessed in so extraordinary a degree only made her a more tempting prize to the spoiler, whom she had not the strength or the courage to resist. The Turkish corsair fell upon her coasts, plundered her maritime towns, and swept off their inhabitants into slavery. The Europeans, scarcely less barbarous, crossed the Alps, and, striking into the interior, fell upon the towns and hamlets that lay sheltered among the hills and in the quiet valleys, and converted them into heaps of ruins. Ill fares it with the land which, in an age of violence, has given itself up to the study of the graceful and the beautiful, to the neglect of those hardy virtues which can alone secure a nation's independence.

From the smoking ruins of Campli, Guise led his troops against Civitella, a town but a few miles distant. It was built round a conical hill, the top of which was crowned by a fortress well lined with artillery. It was an important place for the command of the frontier, and the duke of Alva had thrown into it a garrison of twelve hundred men under the direction of an experienced officer, the marquis of Santa Fiore. The French general considered that the capture of this post, so soon following the sack of Campli, would spread terror among the Neapolitans, and encourage those of the Angevine faction to declare openly in his favor.

As the place refused to surrender, he prepared to besiege it in form, throwing up intrenchments, and only waiting for his heavy guns to begin active hostilities. He impatiently expected their arrival for some days, when he caused four batteries to be erected, to operate simultaneously against four quarters of the town. After a brisk cannonade, which was returned by the besieged with equal spirit, and with still greater loss to the enemy, from his exposed position, the duke, who had opened a breach in the works, prepared for a general assault. It was conducted with the usual impetuosity of the French, but was repulsed with courage by the Italians. More than once the assailants were brought up to the breach, and as often driven back with slaughter. The duke, convinced that he had been too precipitate, was obliged to sound a retreat, and again renewed the cannonade from his batteries, keeping it up night and day, though, from the vertical direction of the fire, with comparatively little effect. The French camp offered a surer mark to the guns of Civitella.

The women of the place displayed an intrepidity equal to that of the men. Armed with buckler and cuirass, they might be seen by the side of their husbands and brothers, in the most exposed situations on the ramparts; and, as one was shot down, another stepped forward to take the place of her fallen comrade.[158] The fate of Campli had taught them to expect no mercy from the victor, and they preferred death to dishonor.

As day after day passed on in the same monotonous manner, Guise's troops became weary of their inactive life. The mercurial spirits of the French soldier, which overleaped every obstacle in his path, were often found to evaporate in the tedium of protracted operations, where there was neither incident nor excitement. Such a state of things was better suited to the patient and persevering Spaniard. The men began openly to murmur against the pope, whom they regarded as the cause of their troubles. They were led by priests, they said, "who knew much more of praying than of fighting."[159]

Guise himself had causes of disgust with the pontiff which he did not care to conceal. For all the splendid promises of his holiness, he had received few supplies either of men, ammunition, or money; and of the Angevine lords not one had ventured to declare in his favor or to take service under his banner. He urged all this with much warmth on the pope's nephew, the duke of Montebello. The Italian, recriminated as warmly, till the dialogue was abruptly ended, it is said, by the duke of Guise throwing a napkin, or, according to some accounts, a dish, at the head of his ally.[160] However this may be, Montebello left the camp in disgust and returned to Rome. But the defender of the Church was too important a person to quarrel with, and Paul deemed it prudent, for the present, at least, to stifle his resentment.

Meanwhile heavy rains set in, causing great annoyance to the French troops in their quarters, spoiling their provisions, and doing great damage to their powder. The same rain did good service to the besieged, by filling their cisterns. "God," exclaimed the profane Guise, "must have turned Spaniard."[161]

While these events were taking place in the north of Naples, the duke of Alva, in the south, was making active preparations for the defence of the kingdom. He had seen with satisfaction the time consumed by his antagonist, first at Gesi, and afterwards at the siege of Civitella; and he had fully profited by the delay. On reaching the city of Naples, he had summoned a parliament of the great barons, had clearly exposed the necessities of the state, and demanded an extraordinary loan of two millions of ducats. The loyal nobles readily responded to the call; but as not more than one third of the whole amount could be instantly raised, an order was obtained from the council, requiring the governors of the several provinces to invite the great ecclesiastics in their districts to advance the remaining two thirds of the loan. In case they did not consent with a good grace, they were to be forced to comply by the seizure of their revenues.[162]

By another decree of the council, the gold and silver plate belonging to the monasteries and churches, throughout the kingdom, after being valued, was to be taken for the use of the government. A quantity of it, belonging to a city in the Abruzzi, was in fact put up to be sent to Naples; but it caused such a tumult among the people, that it was found expedient to suspend proceedings in the matter for the present.

SIEGE OF CIVITELLA.

The viceroy still further enlarged his resources by the sequestration of the revenues belonging to such ecclesiastics as resided in Rome. By these various expedients the duke of Alva found himself in possession of sufficient funds, for carrying on the war as he desired. He mustered a force of twenty-two, or, as some accounts state, twenty-five thousand men. Of these three thousand only were Spanish veterans, five thousand were Germans, and the remainder Italians, chiefly from the Abruzzi—for the most part raw recruits, on whom little reliance was to be placed. He had besides seven hundred men-at-arms and fifteen hundred light horse. His army, therefore, though, as far as the Italians were concerned, inferior in discipline to that of his antagonist, was greatly superior in numbers.[163]

In a council of war that was called, some were of opinion that the viceroy should act on the defensive, and await the approach of the enemy in the neighborhood of the capital. But Alva looked on this as a timid course, arguing distrust in himself, and likely to infuse distrust into his followers. He determined to march at once against the enemy, and prevent his gaining a permanent foothold in the kingdom.

Pescara, on the Adriatic, was appointed as the place of rendezvous for the army, and Alva quitted the city of Naples for that place on the eleventh of April, 1557. Here he concentrated his whole strength, and received his artillery and military stores, which were brought to him by water. Having reviewed his troops, he began his march to the north. On reaching Rio Umano, he detached a strong body of troops to get possession of Giulia Nuova, a town of some importance lately seized by the enemy. Alva supposed, and it seems correctly, that the French commander had secured this as a good place of retreat in case of his failure before Civitella, since its position was such as would enable him readily to keep up his communications with the sea. The French garrison sallied out against the Spaniards, but were driven back with loss; and, as Alva's troops followed in their rear, the enemy fled in confusion through the streets of the city, and left it in the hands of the victors. In this commodious position, the viceroy for the present took up his quarters.

On the approach of the Spanish army, the duke of Guise saw the necessity of bringing his operations against Civitella to a decisive issue. He accordingly, as a last effort, prepared for a general assault. But, although it was conducted with great spirit, it was repulsed with still greater by the garrison; and the French commander, deeply mortified at his repeated failures, saw the necessity of abandoning the siege. He could not effect even this without sustaining some loss from the brave defenders of Civitella, who sallied out on his rear, as he drew off his discomfited troops to the neighboring valley of Nireto. Thus ended the siege of Civitella, which, by the confidence it gave to the loyal Neapolitans throughout the country as well as by the leisure it afforded to Alva for mustering his resources, may be said to have decided the fate of the war. The siege lasted twenty-two days, during fourteen of which the guns from the four batteries of the French had played incessantly on the beleaguered city. The viceroy was filled with admiration at the heroic conduct of the inhabitants; and, in token of respect for it, granted some important immunities, to be enjoyed for ever by the citizens of Civitella. The women, too, came in for their share of the honors, as whoever married a maiden of Civitella was to be allowed the same immunities, from whatever part of the country he might come.[164]

The two armies were now quartered within a few miles of each other. Yet no demonstration was made, on either side, of bringing matters to the issue of a battle. This was foreign to Alva's policy, and was not to be expected from Guise, so inferior in strength to his antagonist. On the viceroy's quitting Giulia Nuova, however, to occupy a position somewhat nearer the French quarters, Guise did not deem it prudent to remain there any longer, but, breaking up his camp, retreated, with his whole army, across the Tronto, and, without further delay, evacuated the kingdom of Naples.

The Spanish general made no attempt to pursue, or even to molest his adversary in his retreat. For this he has been severely criticized, more particularly as the passage of a river offers many points of advantage to an assailant. But, in truth, Alva never resorted to fighting when he could gain his end without it. In an appeal to arms, however favorable may be the odds, there must always be some doubt as to the result. But the odds here were not so decisively on the side of the Spaniards as they appeared. The duke of Guise carried off his battalions in admirable order, protecting his rear with the flower of his infantry and with his cavalry, in which last he was much superior to his enemy. Thus the parts of the hostile armies likely to have been brought into immediate conflict would have afforded no certain assurance of success to the Spaniards. Alva's object had been, not so much to defeat the French as to defend Naples. This he had now achieved, with but little loss; and rather than incur the risk of greater, he was willing, in the words of an old proverb, to make a bridge of silver for the flying foe.[165] In the words of Alva himself, "he had no idea of staking the kingdom of Naples against the embroidered coat of the duke of Guise."[166]

On the retreat of the French, Alva laid siege at once to two or three places, of no great note, in the capture of which he and his lieutenants were guilty of the most deliberate cruelty; though, in the judgment of the chronicler, it was not cruelty, but a wholesome severity, designed as a warning to such petty places not to defy the royal authority.[167] Soon after this, Alva himself crossed the Tronto, and took up a position not far removed from the French, who lay in the neighborhood of Ascoli. Although the two armies were but a few miles asunder, there was no attempt at hostilities, with the exception of a skirmish in which but a small number on either side were engaged, and which terminated in favor of the Spaniards. This state of things was at length ended by a summons from the pope to the French commander to draw nearer to Rome, as he needed his presence for the protection of the capital. The duke, glad, no doubt, of so honorable an apology for his retreat, and satisfied with having so long held his ground against a force superior to his own, fell back, in good order, upon Tivoli, which, as it commanded the great avenues to Rome on the east, and afforded good accommodations for his troops, he made his head quarters for the present. The manner in which the duke of Alva adhered to the plan of defensive operations settled at the beginning of the campaign, and that, too, under circumstances which would have tempted most men to depart from such a plan, is a remarkable proof of his perseverance and inflexible spirit. It proves, moreover, the empire which he held over the minds of his followers, that, under such circumstances, he could maintain implicit obedience to his orders.

ROME MENACED BY THE SPANIARDS.

The cause of the pope's alarm was the rapid successes of Alva's confederate, Mark Antony Colonna, who had defeated the papal levies, and taken one place after another in the Campagna, till the Romans began to tremble for their capital. Colonna was now occupied with the siege of Segni, a place of considerable importance; and the duke of Alva, relieved of the presence of the French, resolved to march to his support. He accordingly recrossed the Tronto, and, passing through the Neapolitan territory, halted for some days at Sora. He then traversed the frontier, but had not penetrated far into the Campagna when he received tidings of the fall of Segni. That strong place, after a gallant defence, had been taken by storm. All the usual atrocities were perpetrated by the brutal soldiery. Even the sanctity of the convents did not save them from pollution. It was in vain that Colonna interfered to prevent these excesses. The voice of authority was little heeded in the tempest of passion.—It mattered little, in that age, into whose hands a captured city fell; Germans, French, Italians, it was all the same. The wretched town, so lately flourishing, it might be, in all the pride of luxury and wealth, was claimed as the fair spoil of the victors. It was their prize-money, which served in default of payment of their long arrears—usually long in those days; and it was a mode of payment as convenient for the general as for his soldiers.[168]

The fall of Segni caused the greatest consternation in the capital. The next thing, it was said, would be to assault the capital itself. Paul the Fourth, incapable of fear, was filled with impotent fury. "They have taken Segni," he said in a conclave of the cardinals; "they have murdered the people, destroyed their property, fired their dwellings. Worse than this, they will next pillage Palliano. Even this will not fill up the measure of their cruelty. They will sack the city of Rome itself; nor will they respect even my person. But, for myself, I long to be with Christ, and await without fear the crown of martyrdom."[169] Paul the Fourth, after having brought this tempest upon Italy, began to consider himself a martyr!

Yet even in this extremity, though urged on all sides to make concessions, he would abate nothing of his haughty tone. He insisted, as a sine qua non, that Alva should forthwith leave the Roman territory and restore his conquests. When these conditions were reported to the duke, he coolly remarked, that "his holiness seemed to be under the mistake of supposing that his own army was before Naples, instead of the Spanish army being at the gates of Rome."[170]

After the surrender of Segni, Alva effected a junction with the Italian forces, and marched to the town of Colona, in the Campagna, where for the present he quartered his army. Here he formed the plan of an enterprise, the adventurous character of which it seems difficult to reconcile with his habitual caution. This was a night assault on Rome. He did not communicate his whole purpose to his officers, but simply ordered them to prepare to march on the following night, the twenty-sixth of August, against a neighboring city, the name of which he did not disclose. It was a wealthy place, he said, but he was most anxious that no violence should be offered to the inhabitants, in either their persons or property. The soldiers should be forbidden even to enter the dwellings; but he promised that the loss of booty should be compensated by increase of pay. The men were to go lightly armed, without baggage, and with their shirts over their mail, affording the best means of recognizing one another in the dark.

The night was obscure, but unfortunately a driving storm of rain set in, which did such damage to the roads as greatly to impede the march, and the dawn was nigh at hand when the troops reached the place of destination. To their great surprise, they then understood that the object of attack was Rome itself.

Alva halted at a short distance from the city, in a meadow, and sent forward a small party to reconnoitre the capital, which seemed to slumber in quiet. But, on a nearer approach, the Spaniards saw a great light, as if occasioned by a multitude of torches, that seemed glancing to and fro within the walls, inferring some great stir among the inhabitants of that quarter. Soon after this, a few horsemen were seen to issue from one of the gates, and ride off in the direction of the French camp at Tivoli. The duke, on receiving the report, was satisfied that the Romans had, in some way or other, got notice of his design; that the horsemen had gone to give the alarm to the French in Tivoli; and that he should soon find himself between two enemies. Not relishing this critical position, he at once abandoned his design, and made a rapid countermarch on the place he had left the preceding evening.

In his conjectures the duke was partly in the right and partly in the wrong. The lights which were seen glancing within the town were owing to the watchfulness of Caraffa, who, from some apprehensions of an attack, in consequence of information he had received of preparations in the Spanish camp, was patrolling this quarter before daybreak to see that all was safe; but the horsemen who left the gates at that early hour in the direction of the French camp were far from thinking that hostile battalions lay within gunshot of their walls.[171]

Such is the account we have of this strange affair. Some historians assert that it was not the duke's design to attack Rome, but only to make a feint, and, by the panic which he would create, to afford the pope a good pretext for terminating the war. In support of this, it is said that he told his son Ferdinand, just before his departure, that he feared it would be impossible to prevent the troops from sacking the city, if they once set foot in it.[172] Other accounts state that it was no feint, but a surprise meditated in good earnest, and defeated only by the apparition of the lights and the seeming state of preparation in which the place was found. Indeed, one writer asserts that he saw the scaling-ladders, brought by a corps of two hundred arquebusiers, who were appointed to the service of mounting the walls.[173]

The Venetian minister, Navagero, assures us that Alva's avowed purpose was to secure the person of his holiness, which, he thought, must bring the war at once to a close. The duke's uncle, the cardinal of Sangiacomo, had warned his nephew, according to the same authority, not to incur the fate of their countrymen who had served under the Constable de Bourbon, at the sack of Rome, all of whom, sooner or later, had come to a miserable end.[174]

ROME MENACED BY THE SPANIARDS.

This warning may have made some impression on the mind of Alva, who, however inflexible by nature, had conscientious scruples of his own, and was, no doubt, accessible, as others of his time, to arguments founded on superstition.

We cannot but admit that the whole affair—the preparations for the assault, the counsel to the officers, and the sudden retreat on suspicion of a discovery—all look very much like earnest. It is quite possible that the duke, as the Venetian asserts, may have intended nothing beyond the seizure of the pope. But that the matter would have stopped there, no one will believe. Once fairly within the walls, even the authority of Alva would have been impotent to restrain the licence of the soldiery; and the same scenes might have been acted over again as at the taking of Rome under the Constable de Bourbon, or on the capture of the ancient capital by the Goths.

When the Romans, on the following morning, learned the peril they had been in during the night, and that the enemy had been prowling round, like wolves about a sheepfold, ready to rush in upon their sleeping victims, the whole city was seized with a panic. All the horrors of the sack by the Constable de Bourbon rose up to their imaginations—or rather memories, for many there were who were old enough to remember that terrible day. They loudly clamored for peace before it was too late; and they pressed the demand in a manner which showed that the mood of the people was a dangerous one. Strozzi, the most distinguished of the Italian captains, plainly told the pope that he had no choice but to come to terms with the enemy at once.[175]

Paul was made more sensible of this by finding now, in his greatest need, the very arm withdrawn from him on which he most leaned for support. Tidings had reached the French camp of the decisive victory gained by the Spaniards at St. Quentin, and they were followed by a summons from the king to the duke of Guise, to return with his army, as speedily as possible, for the protection of Paris. The duke, who was probably not unwilling to close a campaign which had been so barren of laurels to the French, declared that "no chains were strong enough to keep him in Italy." He at once repaired to the Vatican, and there laid before his holiness the commands of his master. The case was so pressing, that Paul could not in reason oppose the duke's departure. But he seldom took counsel of reason, and in a burst of passion exclaimed to Guise, "Go, then; and take with you the consciousness of having done little for your king, still less for the Church, and nothing for your own honor."[176]

Negotiations were now opened for an accommodation between the belligerents, at the town of Cavi. Cardinal Caraffa appeared in behalf of his uncle, the pope, and the duke of Alva for the Spaniards. Through the mediation of Venice, the terms of the treaty were finally settled, on the fourteenth of September, although the inflexible pontiff still insisted on concessions nearly as extravagant as those he had demanded before. It was stipulated in a preliminary article, that the duke of Alva should publicly ask pardon, and receive absolution, for having borne arms against the holy see. "Sooner than surrender this point," said Paul, "I would see the whole world perish; and this, not so much for my own sake as for the honor of Jesus Christ."[177]

It was provided by the treaty, that the Spanish troops should be immediately withdrawn from the territory of the Church, that all the places taken from the Church should be at once restored, and that the French army should be allowed a free passage to their own country. Philip did not take so good care of his allies as Paul did of his. Colonna, who had done the cause such good service, was not even reinstated in the possessions of which the pope had deprived him. But a secret article provided that his claims should be determined hereafter by the joint arbitration of the pontiff and the king of Spain.[178]

The treaty was, in truth, one which, as Alva bitterly remarked, "seemed to have been dictated by the vanquished rather than by the victor." It came hard to the duke to execute it, especially the clause relating to himself. "Were I the king," said he haughtily, "his holiness should send one of his nephews to Brussels, to sue for my pardon, instead of my general's suing for his."[179] But Alva had no power to consult his own will in the matter. The orders from Philip were peremptory, to come to some terms, if possible, with the pope. Philip had long since made up his own mind, that neither profit nor honor was to be derived from a war with the Church—a war not only repugnant to his own feelings, but which placed him in a false position, and one most prejudicial to his political interests.

The news of peace filled the Romans with a joy great in proportion to their former consternation. Nor was this joy much diminished by a calamity which at any other time would have thrown the city into mourning. The Tiber, swollen by the autumnal rains, rose above its banks, sweeping away houses and trees in its fury, drowning men and cattle, and breaking down a large piece of the wall that surrounded the city. It was well that this accident had not occurred a few days earlier, when the enemy was at the gates.[180]

On the twenty-seventh of September, 1557, the duke of Alva made his public entrance into Rome. He was escorted by the papal guard, dressed in its gay uniform. It was joined by the other troops in the city, who, on this holiday service, did as well as better soldiers. On entering the gates, the concourse was swelled by thousands of citizens, who made the air ring with their acclamations, as they saluted the Spanish general with the titles of Defender and Liberator of the capital. The epithets might be thought an indifferent compliment to their own government. In this state the procession moved along, like the triumph of a conqueror returned from his victorious campaigns to receive the wreath of laurel in the capitol.

On reaching the Vatican, the Spanish commander fell on his knees before the pope, and asked his pardon for the offence of bearing arms against the Church. Paul, soothed by this show of concession, readily granted absolution. He paid the duke the distinguished honor of giving him a seat at his own table; while he complimented the duchess by sending her the consecrated golden rose, reserved only for royal persons and illustrious champions of the Church.[181]

PAUL CONSENTS TO PEACE.

Yet the haughty spirit of Alva saw in all this more of humiliation than of triumph. His conscience, like that of his master, was greatly relieved by being discharged from the responsibilities of such a war. But he had also a military conscience, which seemed to be quite as much scandalized by the conditions of the peace. He longed to be once more at Naples, where the state of things imperatively required his presence. When he returned there, he found abundant occupation in reforming the abuses which had grown out of the late confusion, and especially in restoring, as far as possible, the shattered condition of the finances—a task hardly less difficult than that of driving out the French from Naples.[182]

Thus ended the war with Paul the Fourth—a war into which that pontiff had plunged without preparation, which he had conducted without judgment, and terminated without honor. Indeed, it brought little honor to any of the parties concerned in it, but, on the other hand, a full measure of those calamities which always follow in the train of war.

The French met with the same fate which uniformly befell them, when, lured by the phantom of military glory, they crossed the Alps to lay waste the garden of Italy—in the words of their own proverb, "the grave of the French." The duke of Guise, after a vexatious campaign, in which it was his greatest glory that he had sustained no actual defeat, thought himself fortunate in being allowed a free passage, with the shattered remnant of his troops, back to his own country. Naples, besides the injuries she had sustained on her borders, was burdened with a debt which continued to press heavily for generations to come. Nor were her troubles ended by the peace. In the spring of the following year, 1558, a Turkish squadron appeared off Calabria; and, running down the coast, the Moslems made a landing on several points, sacked some of the principal towns, butchered the inhabitants, or swept them off into hopeless slavery.[183] Such were some of the blessed fruits of the alliance between the grand seignior and the head of the Catholic Church. Solyman had come into the league at the invitation of the Christian princes. But it was not found so easy to lay the spirit of mischief as it had been to raise it.

The weight of the war, however, fell, as was just, most heavily on the author of it. Paul, from his palace of the Vatican, could trace the march of the enemy by the smoking ruins of the Campagna. He saw his towns sacked, his troops scattered, his very capital menaced, his subjects driven by ruinous taxes to the verge of rebellion. Even peace, when it did come, secured to him none of the objects for which he had contended, while he had the humiliating consciousness that he owed this peace, not to his own arms, but to the forbearance—or the superstition of his enemies. One lesson he might have learned—that the thunders of the Vatican could no longer strike terror into the hearts of princes, as in the days of the Crusades.

In this war Paul had called in the French to aid him in driving out the Spaniards. The French, he said, might easily be dislodged hereafter; "but the Spaniards were like dog-grass, which is sure to strike root wherever it is cast."—This was the last great effort that was made to overturn the Spanish power in Naples; and the sceptre of that kingdom continued to be transmitted in the dynasty of Castile, with as little opposition as that of any other portion of its broad empire.

Being thus relieved of his military labors, Paul set about those great reforms, the expectation of which had been the chief inducement to his election. But first he gave a singular proof of self-command, in the reforms which he introduced into his own family. Previously to his election, no one, as we have seen, had declaimed more loudly than Paul against nepotism—the besetting sin of his predecessors, who, most of them old men and without children, naturally sought a substitute for these in their nephews and those nearest of kin. Paul's partiality for his nephews was made the more conspicuous by the profligacy of their characters. Yet the real bond which held the parties together was hatred of the Spaniards. When peace came, and this bond of union was dissolved, Paul readily opened his ears to the accusations against his kinsmen. Convinced at length of their unworthiness, and of the flagrant manner in which they had abused his confidence, he deprived the Caraffas of all their offices, and banished them to the farthest part of his dominions. By the sterner sentence of his successor, two of the brothers, the duke and the cardinal, perished by the hand of the public executioner.[184]

After giving this proof of mastery over his own feelings, Paul addressed himself to those reforms which had engaged his attention in early life. He tried to enforce a stricter discipline and greater regard for morals, both in the religious orders and the secular clergy. Above all, he directed his efforts against the Protestant heresy, which had begun to show itself in the head of Christendom, as it had long since done in the extremities. The course he adopted was perfectly characteristic. Scorning the milder methods of argument and persuasion, he resorted wholly to persecution. The Inquisition, he declared, was the true battery with which to assail the defences of the heretic. He suited the action so well to the word, that in a short time the prisons of the Holy Office were filled with the accused. In the general distrust no one felt himself safe; and a panic was created, scarcely less than that felt by the inhabitants when the Spaniards were at their gates.

Happily, their fears were dispelled by the death of Paul, which took place suddenly, from a fever, on the eighteenth of August, 1559, in the eighty-third year of his age, and fifth of his pontificate. Before the breath was out of his body, the populace rose en masse, broke open the prisons of the Inquisition, and liberated all who were confined there. They next attacked the house of the grand-inquisitor, which they burned to the ground; and that functionary narrowly escaped with his life. They tore down the scutcheons, bearing the arms of the family of Caraffa, which were affixed to the public edifices. They wasted their rage on the senseless statue of the pope, which they overturned, and, breaking off the head, rolled it, amidst the groans and execrations of the by-standers, into the Tiber. Such was the fate of the reformer, who, in his reforms, showed no touch of humanity, no sympathy with the sufferings of his species.[185]

Yet, with all its defects, there is something in the character of Paul the Fourth that may challenge our admiration. His project—renewing that of Julius the Second—of driving out the barbarians from Italy, was nobly conceived, though impracticable. "Whatever others may feel, I at least will have some care for my country," he once said to the Venetian ambassador.