Читать книгу History of the Reign of Philip the Second, King of Spain, Vols. 1 and 2 - William Hickling Prescott - Страница 22

HIS MODE OF LIFE.

He derived an additional pleasure, in his spiritual exercises, from his fondness for music, which enters so largely into those of the Romish Church. He sung well himself, and his clear, sonorous voice might often be heard through the open casement of his bedroom, accompanying the chant of the monks in the chapel. The choir was made up altogether of brethren of the order, and Charles would allow no intrusion from any other quarter. His ear was quick to distinguish any strange voice, as well as any false note in the performance—on which last occasion he would sometimes pause in his devotions, and, in half-suppressed tones, give vent to his anger by one of those scurrilous epithets, which, however they may have fallen in with the habits of the old campaigner, were but indifferently suited to his present way of life.[299]

Such time as was not given to his religious exercises was divided among various occupations, for which he had always had a relish, though hitherto but little leisure to pursue them. Besides his employments in his garden, he had a decided turn for mechanical pursuits. Some years before, while in Germany, he had invented an ingenious kind of carriage for his own accommodation.[300] He brought with him to Yuste an engineer named Torriano, famous for the great hydraulic works he constructed in Toledo. With the assistance of this man, a most skilful mechanician, Charles amused himself by making a variety of puppets representing soldiers, who went through military exercises. The historian draws largely on our faith, by telling us also of little wooden birds which the ingenious pair contrived, so as to fly in and out of the window before the admiring monks![301] But nothing excited their astonishment so much as a little hand-mill, used for grinding wheat, which turned out meal enough in a single day to support a man for a week or more. The good fathers thought this savored of downright necromancy; and it may have furnished an argument against the unfortunate engineer in the persecution which he afterwards underwent from the Inquisition.

Charles took, moreover, great interest in the mechanism of timepieces. He had a good number of clocks and watches ticking together in his apartments; and a story has obtained credit, that the difficulty he found in making any two of them keep the same time drew from him an exclamation on the folly of attempting to bring a number of men to think alike in matters of religion, when he could not regulate any two of his timepieces so as to make them agree with each other; a philosophical reflection for which one will hardly give credit to the man who, with his dying words, could press on his son the maintenance of the Inquisition as the great bulwark of the Catholic faith. In the gardens of Yuste there is still, or was lately, to be seen, a sun-dial constructed by Torriano to enable his master to measure more accurately the lapse of time as it glided away in the monotonous routine of the monastery.[302]

Though averse to visits of curiosity or idle ceremony,[303] Charles consented to admit some of the nobles whose estates lay in the surrounding country, and who, with feelings of loyal attachment to their ancient master, were anxious to pay their respects to him in his retirement. But none who found their way into his retreat appear to have given him so much satisfaction as Francisco Borja, duke of Gandia, in later times placed on the roll of her saints by the Roman Catholic Church. Like Charles, he had occupied a brilliant eminence in the world, and like him had found the glory of this world but vanity. In the prime of life, he withdrew from the busy scenes in which he had acted, and entered a college of Jesuits. By the emperor's invitation, Borja made more than one visit to Yuste; and Charles found much consolation in his society, and in conversing with his early friend on topics of engrossing interest to both. The result of their conferences was to confirm them both in the conviction, that they had done wisely in abjuring the world, and in dedicating themselves to the service of Heaven.

The emperor was also visited by his two sisters, the dowager queens of France and Hungary, who had accompanied their brother, as we have seen, on his return to Spain. But the travelling was too rough, and the accommodations at Yuste too indifferent, to encourage the royal matrons to prolong their stay, or, with one exception on the part of the queen of Hungary, to repeat their visit.

But an object of livelier interest to the emperor than either of his sisters was a boy, scarcely twelve years of age, who resided in the family of his major-domo, Quixada, in the neighboring village of Cuacos. This was Don John of Austria, as he was afterwards called, the future hero of Lepanto. He was the natural son of Charles, a fact known to no one during the father's lifetime, except Quixada, who introduced the boy into the convent as his own page. The lad, at this early age, showed many gleams of that generous spirit by which he was afterwards distinguished—thus solacing the declining years of his parent, and affording a hold for those affections which might have withered in the cold atmosphere of the cloister.

Strangers were sure to be well received who, coming from the theatre of war, could furnish the information he so much desired respecting the condition of things abroad. Thus we find him in conference with an officer arrived from the Low Countries, named Spinosa, and putting a multitude of questions respecting the state of the army, the organization and equipment of the different corps, and other particulars, showing the lively interest taken by Charles in the conduct of the campaign.[304]

HIS INTEREST IN PUBLIC AFFAIRS.

It has been a common opinion, that the emperor, after his retirement to Yuste, remained as one buried alive, totally cut off from intercourse with the world;—"as completely withdrawn from the business of the kingdom and the concerns of government," says one of his biographers, "as if he had never taken part in them;"[305]—"so entirely abstracted in his solitude," says another contemporary, "that neither revolutions nor wars, nor gold arriving in heaps from the Indies, had any power to affect his tranquillity."[306]

So far from this being the case, that not only did the emperor continue to show an interest in public affairs, but he took a prominent part, even from the depths of his retreat, in the management of them.[307] Philip, who had the good sense to defer to the long experience and the wisdom of his father, consulted him, constantly, on great questions of public policy. And so far was he from the feeling of jealousy often imputed to him, that we find him on one occasion, when the horizon looked particularly, dark, imploring the emperor to leave his retreat, and to aid him not only by his counsels, but by his presence and authority.[308] The emperor's daughter Joanna, regent of Castile, from her residence at Valladolid, only fifty leagues from Yuste, maintained a constant correspondence with her father, soliciting his advice in the conduct of the government. However much Charles may have felt himself relieved from responsibility for measures, he seems to have been as anxious for the success of Philip's administration as if it had been his own. "Write more fully," says one of his secretaries in a letter to the secretary of the regent's council; "the emperor is always eager to hear more particulars of events."[309] He showed the deepest concern in the conduct of the Italian war. He betrayed none of the scruples manifested by Philip, but boldly declared that the war with the pope was a just war, in the sight of both God and man.[310] When letters came from abroad, he was even heard to express his regret that they brought no tidings of Paul's death, or Caraffa's![311] He was sorely displeased with the truce which Alva granted to the pontiff, intimating a regret that he had not the reins still in his own hand. He was yet more discontented with the peace, and the terms of it, both public and private; and when Alva talked of leaving Naples, his anger, as his secretary quaintly remarks, was "more than was good for his health."[312]

The same interest he showed in the French war. The loss of Calais filled him with the deepest anxiety. But in his letters on the occasion, instead of wasting his time in idle lament, he seems intent only on devising in what way he can best serve Philip in his distress.[313] In the same proportion he was elated by the tidings of the victory of St. Quentin. His thoughts turned upon Paris, and he was eager to learn what road his son had taken after the battle.[314] According to Brantôme, on hearing the news, he abruptly asked, "Is Philip at Paris?"—He judged of Philip's temper by his own.[315]

At another time, we find him conducting negotiations with Navarre;[316] and then, again, carrying on a correspondence with his sister, the regent of Portugal, for the purpose of having his grandson, Carlos, recognized as heir to the crown, in case of the death of the young king, his cousin. The scheme failed, for it would be as much as her life was worth, the regent said, to engage in it. But it was a bold one, that of bringing under the same sceptre these two nations, which, by community of race, language, and institutions, would seem by nature to have been designed for one. It was Charles's comprehensive idea; and it proves that, even in the cloister, the spirit of ambition had not become extinct in his bosom. How much would it have rejoiced that ambitious spirit, could he have foreseen that the consummation so much desired by him would be attained under Philip![317]

HIS INTEREST IN PUBLIC AFFAIRS.

But the department which especially engaged Charles's attention in his retirement, singularly enough, was the financial. "It has been my constant care," he writes to Philip, "in all my letters to your sister, to urge the necessity of providing you with funds—since I can be of little service to you in any other way."[318] His interposition, indeed, seems to have been constantly invoked to raise supplies for carrying on the war. This fact may be thought to show that those writers are mistaken who accuse Philip of withholding from his father the means of maintaining a suitable establishment at Yuste. Charles, in truth, settled the amount of his own income; and in one of his letters we find him fixing this at twenty thousand ducats, instead of sixteen thousand, as before, to be paid quarterly and in advance.[319] That the payments were not always punctually made may well be believed, in a country where punctuality would have been a miracle.

Charles had more cause for irritation in the conduct of some of those functionaries with whom he had to deal in his financial capacity. Nothing appears to have stirred his bile so much at Yuste as the proceedings of some members of the board of trade at Seville. "I have deferred sending to you," he writes to his daughter, the regent, "in order to see if, with time, my wrath would not subside. But, far from it, it increases, and will go on increasing till I learn that those who have done wrong have atoned for it. Were it not for my infirmities," he adds, "I would go to Seville myself, and find out the authors of this villany, and bring them to a summary reckoning."[320] "The emperor orders me," writes his secretary, Gaztelu, "to command that the offenders be put in irons, and in order to mortify them the more, that they be carried, in broad daylight, to Simancas, and there lodged, not in towers or chambers, but in a dungeon. Indeed, such is his indignation, and such are the violent and bloodthirsty expressions he commands me to use, that you will pardon me if my language is not so temperate as it might be."[321] It had been customary for the board of trade to receive the gold imported from the Indies, whether on public or private account, and hold it for the use of the government, paying to the merchants interested an equivalent in government bonds. The merchants, naturally enough, not relishing this kind of security so well as the gold, by a collusion with some of the members of the board of trade, had been secretly allowed to remove their own property. In this way the government was defrauded—as the emperor regarded it—of a large sum on which it had calculated. This, it would seem, was the offence which had roused the royal indignation to such a pitch. Charles's phlegmatic temperament had ever been liable to be ruffled by these sudden gusts of passion; and his conventual life does not seem to have had any very sedative influence on him in this particular.

For the first ten months after his arrival at Yuste, the emperor's health, under the influence of a temperate climate, the quiet of monastic life, and more than all, probably, his exemption from the cares of state, had generally improved.[322] His attacks of gout had been less frequent and less severe than before. But in the spring of 1558, the old malady returned with renewed violence. "I was not in a condition," he writes to Philip, "to listen to a single sermon during Lent."[323] For months he was scarcely able to write a line with his own hand. His spirits felt the pressure of bodily suffering, and were still further depressed by the death of his sister Eleanor, the queen-dowager of France and Portugal, which took place in February, 1558.

A strong attachment seems to have subsisted between the emperor and his two sisters. Queen Eleanor's sweetness of disposition had particularly endeared her to her brother, who now felt her loss almost as keenly as that of one of his own children. "She was a good Christian," he said to his secretary, Gaztelu; and, as the tears rolled down his cheeks, he added, "We have always loved each other. She was my elder by fifteen months; and before that period has passed I shall probably be with her."[324] Before half that period, the sad augury was fulfilled.

At this period—as we shall see hereafter—the attention of the government was called to the Lutheran heresy, which had already begun to disclose itself in various quarters of the country. Charles was possessed of a full share of the spirit of bigotry which belonged to the royal line of Castile, from which he was descended. While on the throne, this feeling was held somewhat in check by a regard for his political interests. But in the seclusion of the monastery he had no interests to consult but those of religion; and he gave free scope to the spirit of intolerance which belonged to his nature. In a letter addressed, the third of May, 1558, to his daughter Joanna, he says: "Tell the grand-inquisitor from me to be at his post, and lay the axe at the root of the evil before it spreads further. I rely on your zeal for bringing the guilty to punishment, and for having them punished, without favor to any one, with all the severity which their crimes demand."[325] In another letter to his daughter, three weeks later, he writes: "If I had not entire confidence that you would do your duty, and arrest the evil at once by chastising the guilty in good earnest, I know not how I could help leaving the monastery, and taking the remedy into my own hands."[326] Thus did Charles make his voice heard from his retreat among the mountains, and by his efforts and influence render himself largely responsible for the fiery persecution which brought woe upon the land after he himself had gone to his account.

HE CELEBRATES HIS OBSEQUIES.

About the middle of August, the emperor's old enemy, the gout, returned on him with uncommon force. It was attended with symptoms of an alarming kind, intimating, indeed, that his strong constitution was giving way. These were attributed to a cold which he had taken, though it seems there was good reason for imputing them to his intemperate living; for he still continued to indulge his appetite for the most dangerous dishes, as freely as in the days when a more active way of life had better enabled him to digest them. It is true, the physician stood by his side, as prompt as Sancho Panza's doctor, in his island domain, to remonstrate against his master's proceedings. But, unhappily, he was not armed with the authority of that functionary; and an eel-pie, a well-spiced capon, or any other savory abomination, offered too great a fascination for Charles to heed the warnings of his physician.

The declining state of the emperor's health may have inspired him with a presentiment of his approaching end, to which, we have seen, he gave utterrance some time before this, in his conversation with Gaztelu. It may have been the sober reflections which such a feeling would naturally suggest that led him, at the close of the month of August, to conceive the extraordinary idea of preparing for the final scene by rehearsing his own funeral. He consulted his professor on the subject, and was encouraged by the accommodating father to consider it as a meritorious act. The chapel was accordingly hung in black, and the blaze of hundreds of wax-lights was not sufficient to dispel the darkness. The monks in their conventual dresses, and all the emperor's household, clad in deep mourning, gathered round a huge catafalque, shrouded also in black, which had been raised in the centre of the chapel. The service for the burial of the dead was then performed; and amidst the dismal wail of the monks, the prayers ascended for the departed spirit, that it might be received into the mansions of the blessed. The sorrowful attendants were melted to tears, as the image of their master's death was presented to their minds, or they were touched, it may be, with compassion for this pitiable display of his weakness. Charles, muffled in a dark mantle, and bearing a lighted candle in his hand, mingled with his household, the spectator of his own obsequies; and the doleful ceremony was concluded by his placing the taper in the hands of the priest, in sign of his surrendering up his soul to the Almighty.

Such is the account of this melancholy farce given us by the Jeronymite chroniclers of the cloister life of Charles the Fifth, and which has since been repeated—losing nothing in the repetition—by every succeeding historian, to the present time.[327] Nor does there seem to have been any distrust of its correctness till the historical scepticism of our own day had subjected the narrative to a more critical scrutiny. It was then discovered that no mention of the affair was to be discerned in the letters of any one of the emperor's household residing at Yuste, although there are letters extant written by Charles's physician, his major-domo, and his secretary, both on the thirty-first of August, the day of the funeral, and on the first of September. With so extraordinary an event fresh in their minds, their silence is inexplicable.

One fact is certain, that, if the funeral did take place, it could not have been on the date assigned to it; for on the thirty-first the emperor was laboring under an attack of fever, of which his physician has given full particulars, and from which he was destined never to recover. That the writers, therefore, should have been silent in respect to a ceremony which must have had so bad an effect on the nerves of the patient, is altogether incredible.

Yet the story of the obsequies comes from one of the Jeronymite brethren then living at Yuste, who speaks of the emotions which he felt, in common with the rest of the convent, at seeing a man thus bury himself alive, as it were, and perform his funeral rites before his death.[328] It is repeated by another of the fraternity, the prior of Escorial, who had ample means of conversing with eye-witnesses.[329] And finally, it is confirmed by more than one writer near enough to the period to be able to assure himself of the truth.[330] Indeed, the parties from whom the account is originally derived were so situated that, if the story be without foundation, it is impossible to explain its existence by misapprehension on their part. It must be wholly charged on a wilful misstatement of facts. It is true, the monkish chronicler is not always quite so scrupulous in this particular as would be desirable—especially where the honor of his order is implicated. But what interest could the Jeronymite fathers have had in so foolish a fabrication as this? The supposition is at variance with the respectable character of the parties, and with the air of simplicity and good faith that belongs to their narratives.[331]

We may well be staggered, it is true, by the fact that no allusion to the obsequies appears in any of the letters from Yuste; while the date assigned for them, moreover, is positively disproved. Yet we may consider that the misstatement of a date is a very different thing from the invention of a story; and that chronological accuracy, as I have more than once had occasion to remark, was not the virtue of the monkish, or indeed of any other historian of the sixteenth century. It would not be a miracle if the obsequies should have taken place some days before the period assigned to them. It so happens that we have no letters from Yuste between the eighteenth and twenty-eighth of August. At least, I have none myself, and have seen none cited by others. If any should hereafter come to light, written during that interval, they may be found possibly to contain some allusion to the funeral. Should no letters have been written during the period, the silence of the parties who wrote at the end of August and the beginning of September may be explained by the fact, that too long a time had elapsed since the performance of the emperor's obsequies, for them to suppose it could have any connection with his illness, which formed the subject of their correspondence. Difficulties will present themselves, whichever view we take of the matter. But the reader may think it quite as reasonable to explain those difficulties by the supposition of involuntary error, as by that of sheer invention.

Nor is the former supposition rendered less probable by the character of Charles the Fifth. There was a taint of insanity in the royal blood of Castile, which was most fully displayed in the emperor's mother, Joanna. Some traces of it, however faint, may be discerned in his own conduct, before he took refuge in the cloisters of Yuste. And though we may not agree with Paul the Fourth in regarding this step as sufficient evidence of his madness,[332] we may yet find something in his conduct, on more than one occasion, while there, which is near akin to it. Such, for example, was the morbid relish which he discovered for performing the obsequies, not merely of his kindred, but of any one whose position seemed to him to furnish an apology for it. Not a member of the toison died, but he was prepared to commemorate the event with solemn funeral rites. These, in short, seemed to be the festivities of Charles's cloister life. These lugubrious ceremonies had a fascination for him, that may remind one of the tenacity with which his mother, Joanna, clung to the dead body of her husband, taking it with her wherever she went. It was after celebrating the obsequies of his parents and his wife, which occupied several successive days, that he conceived, as we are told, the idea of rehearsing his own funeral—a piece of extravagance which becomes the more credible when we reflect on the state of morbid excitement to which his mind may have been brought by dwelling so long on the dreary apparatus of death.

But whatever be thought of the account of the mock funeral of Charles, it appears that on the thirtieth of August he was affected by an indisposition which on the following day was attended with most alarming symptoms. Here also we have some particulars from his Jeronymite biographers which we do not find in the letters. On the evening of the thirty-first, according to their account, Charles ordered a portrait of the empress, his wife, of whom, as we have seen, he had more than one in his collection, to be brought to him. He dwelt a long while on its beautiful features, "as if," says the chronicler, "he were imploring her to prepare a place for him in the celestial mansions to which she had gone."[333] He then passed to the contemplation of another picture—Titian's "Agony in the Garden," and from this to that immortal production of his pencil, the "Gloria," as it is called, which is said to have hung over the high altar at Yuste, and which, after the emperor's death, followed his remains to the Escorial.[334] He gazed so long and with such rapt attention on the picture, as to cause apprehension in his physician, who, in the emperor's debilitated state, feared the effects of such excitement on his nerves. There was good reason for apprehension; for Charles, at length, rousing from his reverie, turned to the doctor, and complained that he was ill. His pulse showed him to be in a high fever. As the symptoms became more unfavorable, his physician bled him, but without any good effect.[335] The Regent Joanna, on learning her father's danger, instantly despatched her own physician from Valladolid to his assistance. But no earthly remedies could avail. It soon became evident that the end was approaching.[336]

Charles received the intelligence, not merely with composure, but with cheerfulness. It was what he had long desired, he said. His first care was to complete some few arrangements respecting his affairs. On the ninth of September, he executed a codicil to his will. The will, made a few years previous, was of great length, and the codicil had not the merit of brevity. Its principal object was to make provision for those who had followed him to Yuste. No mention is made in the codicil of his son Don John of Austria. He seems to have communicated his views in regard to him to his major-domo, Quixada, who had a private interview of some length with his master a few days before his death. Charles's directions on the subject appear to have been scrupulously regarded by Philip.[337]

HIS LAST ILLNESS.

One clause in the codicil deserves to be noticed. The emperor conjures his son most earnestly, by the obedience he owes him, to follow up and bring to justice every heretic in his dominions; and this without exception, and without favor or mercy to any one. He conjures Philip to cherish the Holy Inquisition, as the best instrument for accomplishing this good work. "So," he concludes, "shall you have my blessing, and the Lord shall prosper all your undertakings."[338] Such were the last words of the dying monarch to his son. They did not fall on a deaf ear; and the parting admonition of his father served to give a keener edge to the sword of persecution which Philip had already begun to wield.

On the nineteenth of September, Charles's strength had declined so much that it was thought proper to administer extreme unction to him. He preferred to have it in the form adopted by the friars, which, comprehending a litany, the seven penitential psalms, and sundry other passages of Scripture, was much longer and more exhausting than the rite used by the laity. His strength did not fail under it, however; and the following day he desired to take the communion, as he had frequently done during his illness. On his confessor's representing that, after the sacrament of extreme unction, this was unnecessary, he answered, "Perhaps so, but it is good provision for the long journey I am to set out upon."[339] Exhausted as he was, he knelt a full quarter of an hour in his bed during the ceremony, offering thanks to God for his mercies, and expressing the deepest contrition for his sins, with an earnestness of manner that touched the hearts of all present.[340]

Throughout his illness he had found consolation in having passages of Scripture, especially the Psalms, read to him. Quixada, careful that his master should not be disquieted in his last moments, would allow very few persons to be present in his chamber. Among the number was Bartolomé de Carranza, who had lately been raised to the archiepiscopal see of Toledo. He had taken a prominent part in the persecution in England under Mary. For the remainder of his life he was to be the victim of persecution himself, from a stronger arm than his, that of the Inquisition. Even the words of consolation which he uttered in this chamber of death were carefully treasured up by Charles's confessor, and made one of the charges against him in his impeachment for heresy.

On the twenty-first of September, St. Matthew's day, about two hours after midnight, the emperor, who had remained long without speaking, feeling that his hour had come, exclaimed, "Now it is time!" The holy taper was placed lighted in his right hand, as he sat up leaning on the shoulder of the faithful Quixada. With his left he endeavored to clasp a silver crucifix. It had comforted the empress, his wife, in her dying hour; and Charles had ordered Quixada to hold it in readiness for him on the like occasion.[341] It had lain for some time on his breast; and as it was now held up before his glazing eye by the archbishop of Toledo, Charles fixed his gaze long and earnestly on the sacred symbol—to him the memento of earthly love as well as heavenly. The archbishop was repeating the psalm De Profundis—"Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord!"—when the dying man, making a feeble effort to embrace the crucifix, exclaimed, in tones so audible as to be heard in the adjoining room, "Ay Jesus!" and sinking back on the pillow, expired without a struggle.[342] He had always prayed—perhaps fearing the hereditary taint of insanity—that he might die in possession of his faculties.[343] His prayer was granted.

The emperor's body, after being embalmed, and placed in its leaden coffin, lay in state in the chapel for three days, during which three discourses were pronounced over it by the best preachers in the convent. It was then consigned to the earth, with due solemnity, amidst the prayers and tears of the brethren and of Charles's domestics, in presence of a numerous concourse of persons from the surrounding country.

The burial did not take place, however, without some difficulty. Charles had requested by his will that he might be laid partially under the great altar, in such a manner that his head and the upper part of his body might come under the spot where the priest stood when he performed the service. This was dictated in all humility by the emperor; but it raised a question among the scrupulous ecclesiastics as to the propriety of permitting any bones save those of a saint to occupy so holy a place as that beneath the altar. The dispute waxed somewhat warmer than was suited to the occasion; till the momentous affair was finally adjusted by having an excavation made in the wall, within which the head was introduced, so as to allow the feet to touch the verge of the hallowed ground.[344] The emperor's body did not long abide in its resting-place at Yuste. Before many years had elapsed, it was transported, by command of Philip the Second, to the Escorial, and in that magnificent mausoleum it has continued to repose, beside that of the Empress Isabella.

The funeral obsequies of Charles were celebrated with much pomp by the court of Rome, by the Regent Joanna at Valladolid, and, with yet greater magnificence, by Philip the Second at Brussels. Philip was at Arras when he learned the news of his father's death. He instantly repaired to a monastery in the neighborhood of Brussels, where he remained secluded for several weeks. Meanwhile he ordered the bells in all the churches and convents throughout the Netherlands to be tolled thrice a day for four mouths, and during that time that no festivals or public rejoicings of any kind should take place. On the twenty-eighth of December the king entered Brussels by night, and on the following day, before the hour of vespers, a procession was formed to the church of St. Gudule, which still challenges the admiration of the traveller as one of the noblest monuments of mediæval architecture in the Netherlands.

HIS DEATH AND CHARACTER.

The procession consisted of the principal clergy, the members of the different religious houses, bearing lighted tapers in their hands, the nobles and cavaliers about the court, the great officers of state and the royal household, all clad in deep mourning. After these came the knights of the Golden Fleece, wearing the insignia and the superb dress of the order. The marquis of Aguilar bore the imperial sceptre, the duke of Villahermosa the sword, and the prince of Orange carried the globe and the crown of the empire. Philip came on foot, wrapped in a sable mantle, with his head buried in a deep cowl. His train was borne by Ruy Gomez de Silva, the favorite minister. Then followed the duke of Savoy, walking also alone, with his head covered, as a prince of the blood. Files of the Spanish and German guard, in their national uniforms, formed an escort to the procession, as it took its way through the principal streets, which were illumined with a blaze of torchlight, that dispelled the gathering shadows of evening.

A conspicuous part of the procession was a long train of horses led each by two gentlemen, and displaying on their splendid housings, and the banners which they carried, the devices and arms of the several states over which the emperor presided.

But no part of the pageant attracted so much notice from the populace as a stately galley, having its sides skilfully painted with battle-pieces suggested by different actions in which Charles had been engaged; while its sails of black silk were covered with inscriptions in letters of gold, that commemorated the triumphs of the hero.

Although the palace was at no great distance from St. Gudule's, the procession occupied two hours in passing to the church. In the nave of the edifice stood a sort of chapel, constructed for the occasion. Its roof, or rather canopy, displaying four crowns embroidered in gold, rested on four Ionic pillars curiously wrought. Within lay a sarcophagus covered with a dark pall of velvet, surmounted by a large crimson cross. The imperial crown, together with the globe and sceptre, was deposited in this chapel, which was lighted up with three thousand wax tapers.

In front of it was a scaffolding covered with black, on which a throne was raised for Philip. The nobles and great officers of the crown occupied the seats, or rather steps, below. Drapery of dark velvet and cloth of gold, emblazoned with the imperial arms, was suspended across the arches of the nave; above which ran galleries, appropriated to the duchess of Lorraine and the ladies of the court.[345]

The traveller who at this time visits this venerable pile, where Charles the Fifth was wont to hold the chapters of the Golden Fleece, while he gazes on the characteristic effigy of that monarch, as it is displayed on the superb windows of painted glass, may call to mind the memorable day when the people of Flanders, and the rank and beauty of its capital, were gathered together to celebrate the obsequies of the great emperor; when, amidst clouds of incense and the blaze of myriads of lights, the deep tones of the organ, vibrating through the long aisles, mingled with the voices of the priests, as they chanted their sad requiem to the soul of their departed sovereign.[346]

I have gone somewhat into detail in regard to the latter days of Charles the Fifth, who exercised, in his retirement, too important an influence on public affairs for such an account of him to be deemed an impertinent episode to the history of Philip the Second. Before parting from him for ever, I will take a brief view of some peculiarities in his personal, rather than his political character, which has long since been indelibly traced by a hand abler than mine.

Charles, at the time of his death, was in the fifty-eighth year of his age. He was older in constitution than in years. So much shaken had he been, indeed, in mind as well as body, that he may be said to have died of premature old age. Yet his physical development had been very slow. He was nearly twenty-one years old before any beard was to be seen on his chin.[347] Yet by the time he was thirty-six, gray hairs began to make their appearance on his temples. At forty the gout had made severe inroads on a constitution originally strong; and before he was fifty, the man who could keep the saddle day and night in his campaigns, who seemed to be insensible to fatigue as he followed the chase among the wild passes of the Alpuxarras, was obliged to be carried in a litter, like a poor cripple, at the head of his armies.[348]

His mental development was equally tardy with his bodily. So long as Chievres lived—the Flemish noble who had the care of his early life—Charles seemed to have no will of his own. During his first visit to Spain, where he came when seventeen years old, he gave so little promise, that those who approached him nearest could discern no signs of his future greatness. Yet the young prince seems to have been conscious that he had the elements of greatness within him, and he patiently bided his time. "Nondum"—"Not yet"—was the motto which he adopted for his maiden shield, when but eighteen years old, at a tournament at Valladolid.

HIS DEATH AND CHARACTER.

But when the death of the Flemish minister had released the young monarch from this state of dependence, he took the reins into his own hands, as Louis the Fourteenth did on the death of Mazarin. He now showed himself in an entirely new aspect. He even displayed greater independence than his predecessors had done. He no longer trusted everything, like them, to a council of state. He trusted only to himself; and if he freely communicated with some one favorite minister, like the elder Granvelle, and the cardinal, his son, it was in order to be counselled, not to be controlled by their judgments. He patiently informed himself of public affairs; and when foreign envoys had their audiences of him, they were surprised to find him possessed of everything relating to their own courts and the objects of their mission.

Yet he did not seem to be quick of apprehension, or, to speak more correctly, he was slow in arriving at his results. He would keep the courier waiting for days before he could come to a decision. When he did come to it, no person on earth could shake it. Talking one day with the Venetian Contarini about this habit of his mind, the courtly minister remarked, that "it was not obstinacy to adhere to sound opinions." "True," said Charles, "but I sometimes adhere to those that are unsound."[349]

His indefatigable activity both of mind and body formed a strong contrast to the lethargy of early years. His widely scattered empire, spreading over the Low Countries, Spain, Germany, and the New World, presented embarrassments which most princes would have found it impossible to overcome. At least they would have been compelled to govern, in a great measure, by deputy—to transact their business by agents. But Charles chose to do everything himself—to devise his own plans, and to execute them in person. The number of his journeys by land and by water, as noticed in his farewell address, is truly wonderful; for that was not the day of steamboats and railways. He seemed to lead the life of a courier. But it was for no trivial object that he made these expeditions. He knew where his presence was needed; and his promptness and punctuality brought him, at the right time, on the right spot. No spot in his broad empire was far removed from him. He seemed to possess the power of ubiquity.

The consciousness of his own strength roused to a flame the spark of ambition which had hitherto slept in his bosom. His schemes were so vast, that it was a common opinion he aspired to universal monarchy. Like his grandfather, Ferdinand, and his own son, Philip, he threw over his schemes the cloak of religion. Or, to deal with him more fairly, religious principle probably combined with personal policy to determine his career. He seemed always ready to do battle for the Cross. He affected to identify the cause of Spain with the cause of Christendom. He marched against the Turks, and stayed the tide of Ottoman inroad in Hungary. He marched against the Protestants, and discomfited their armies in the heart of Germany. He crossed the Mediterranean, and humbled the Crescent at Algiers. He threw himself on the honor of Francis, and travelled through France to take vengeance on the rebels of Flanders. He twice entered France as an enemy, and marched up to the gates of Paris. Instead of the modest legend on his maiden shield; he now assumed the proud motto, "Plus ultra;" and he vindicated his right to it, by sending his fleets across the ocean, and by planting the banner of Castile on the distant shores of the Pacific. In these enterprises he was generally successful. His success led him to rely still more on himself. "Myself and the lucky moment," was his favorite saying. The "star of Austria," was still a proverb. It was not till the evening of life that he complained of the fickleness of fortune; that his star, as it descended to the horizon, was obscured by clouds and darkness.

Thus Charles's nerves were kept in a state of perpetual excitement. No wonder that his health should have sunk under it; like a plant forced by extraordinary stimulants to an unnatural production at the expense of its own vitality.

His habits were not all of them the most conducive to health. He slept usually only four hours; too short a time to repair the waste caused by incessant toil.[350] His phlegmatic temperament did not incline him to excess. Yet there was one excess of which he was guilty—the indulgence of his appetite to a degree most pernicious to his health. A Venetian contemporary tells us, that, before rising in the morning, potted capon was usually served to him, dressed with sugar, milk, and spices. At noon he dined on a variety of dishes. Soon after vespers he took another meal; and later in the evening supped heartily on anchovies, or some other gross and savory food of which he was particularly fond.[351] On one occasion, complaining to his maître d'hôtel that the cook sent him nothing but dishes too insipid and tasteless to be eaten, the perplexed functionary, knowing Charles's passion for timepieces, replied, that "he did not know what he could do, unless it were to serve his majesty a ragout of watches!" The witticism had one good effect, that of provoking a hearty laugh from the emperor—a thing rarely witnessed in his latter days.[352]

It was in vain that Cardinal Loaysa, his confessor, remonstrated, with an independence that does him credit, against his master's indulgence of his appetite, assuring him that resistance here would do more for his soul than any penance with the scourge.[353] It seems a pity that Charles, considering his propensities, should have so easily obtained absolution from fasts, and that he should not, on the contrary, have transferred some of the penance which he inflicted on his back to the offending part. Even in the monastery of Yuste he still persevered in the same pernicious taste. Anchovies, frogs' legs, and eel-pasties were the dainty morsels with which he chose to be regaled, even before the eyes of his physician. It would not have been amiss for him to have exchanged his solitary repast more frequently for the simpler fare of the refectory.

With these coarser tastes Charles combined many others of a refined and intellectual character. We have seen his fondness for music, and the delight he took in the sister art of design—especially in the works of Titian. He was painted several times by this great master, and it was by his hand, as we have seen, that he desired to go down to posterity. The emperor had, moreover, another taste, perhaps talent, which, with a different training and in a different sphere of life, might have led him to the craft of authorship.

A curious conversation is reported as having been held by him with Borja, the future saint, during one of the visits paid by the Jesuit to Yuste. Charles inquired of his friend whether it were wrong for a man to write his autobiography, provided he did so honestly, and with no motive of vanity. He said that he had written his own memoirs, not from the desire of self-glorification, but to correct manifold mistakes which had been circulated of his doings, and to set his conduct in a true light.[354] One might be curious to know the answer, which is not given, of the good father to this question. It is to be hoped that it was not of a kind to induce the emperor to destroy the manuscript, which has never come to light.

However this may be, there is no reason to doubt that at one period of his life he had compiled a portion of his autobiography. In the imperial household, as I have already noticed, was a Flemish scholar, William Van Male, or Malinæus, as he is called in Latin, who, under the title of gentleman of the chamber, wrote many a long letter for Charles, while standing by his bedside, and read many a weary hour to him after the monarch had gone to rest—not, as it would seem, to sleep.[355] This personage tells us that Charles, when sailing on the Rhine, wrote an account of his expeditions to as late a date as 1550.[356] This is not very definite. Any account written under such circumstances, and in so short a time, could be nothing but a sketch of the most general kind. Yet Van Male assures us that he had read the manuscript, which he commends for its terse and elegant diction; and he proposes to make a Latin version of it, the style of which should combine the separate merits of Tacitus, Livy, Suetonius, and Cæsar![357] The admiring chamberlain laments that, instead of giving it to the world, Charles should keep it jealously secured under lock and key.[358]

The emperor's taste for authorship showed itself also in another form. This was by the translation of the "Chevalier Délibéré," a French poem then popular, celebrating the court of his ancestor, Charles the Bold of Burgundy. Van Male, who seems to have done for Charles the Fifth what Voltaire did for Frederick, when he spoke of himself as washing the king's dirty linen, was employed also to overlook this translation, which he pronounces to have possessed great merit in regard to idiom and selection of language. The emperor then gave it to Acuña, a good poet of the court, to be done into Castilian verse. Thus metamorphosed, he proposed to give the copy to Van Male. A mischievous wag, Avila the historian, assured the emperor that it could not be worth less than five hundred gold crowns to that functionary. "And William is well entitled to them," said the monarch, "for he has sweat much over the work."[359] Two thousand copies were forthwith ordered to be printed of the poem, which was to come out anonymously. Poor Van Male, who took a very different view of the profits, and thought that nothing was certain but the cost of the edition, would have excused himself from this proof of his master's liberality. It was all in vain; Charles was not to be balked in his generous purpose; and, without a line to propitiate the public favor, by stating in the preface the share of the royal hand in the composition, it was ushered into the world.[360]

Whatever Charles may have done in the way of an autobiography, he was certainly not indifferent to posthumous fame. He knew that the greatest name must soon pass into oblivion, unless embalmed in the song of the bard or the page of the chronicler. He looked for a chronicler to do for him with his pen what Titian had done for him with his pencil—exhibit him in his true proportions, and in a permanent form, to the eye of posterity! In this he does not seem to have been so much under the influence of vanity as of a natural desire to have his character and conduct placed in a fair point of view—what seemed to him to be such—for the contemplation or criticism of mankind.