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ABDICATION OF CHARLES THE FIFTH.

Introductory Remarks.—Spain under Charles the Fifth.—He prepares to resign the Crown.—His Abdication.—His Return to Spain.—His Journey to Yuste.

1555.

In a former work, I have endeavored to portray the period when the different provinces of Spain were consolidated into one empire under the rule of Ferdinand and Isabella; when, by their wise and beneficent policy, the nation emerged from the obscurity in which it had so long remained behind the Pyrenees, and took its place as one of the great members of the European commonwealth. I now propose to examine a later period in the history of the same nation—the reign of Philip the Second; when, with resources greatly enlarged, and territory extended by a brilliant career of discovery and conquest, it had risen to the zenith of its power; but when, under the mischievous policy of the administration, it had excited the jealousy of its neighbors, and already disclosed those germs of domestic corruption which gradually led to its dismemberment and decay.

By the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella, most of the states of the Peninsula became united under one common rule; and in 1516, the sceptre of Spain, with its dependencies both in the Old and the New World, passed into the hands of their grandson, Charles the Fifth, who, though he shared the throne nominally with his mother, Joanna, became, in consequence of her incapacity, the real sovereign of this vast empire. He had before inherited, through his father, Philip the Handsome, that fair portion of the ducal realm of Burgundy which comprehended Franche Comté and the Netherlands. In 1519, he was elected to the imperial crown of Germany. Not many years elapsed before his domain was still further enlarged by the barbaric empires of Mexico and Peru; and Spain then first realized the magnificent vaunt, since so often repeated, that the sun never set within the borders of her dominions.

Yet the importance of Spain did not rise with the importance of her acquisitions. She was, in a manner, lost in the magnitude of these acquisitions. Some of the rival nations which owned the sway of Charles, in Europe, were of much greater importance than Spain, and attracted much more attention from their contemporaries. In the earlier period of that monarch's reign, there was a moment when a contest was going forward in Castile, of the deepest interest to mankind. Unfortunately, the "War of the Comunidades," as it was termed, was soon closed by the ruin of the patriots; and, on the memorable field of Villalar, the liberties of Spain received a blow from which they were destined not to recover for centuries. From that fatal hour—the bitter fruit of the jealousy of castes and the passions of the populace—an unbroken tranquillity reigned throughout the country; such a tranquillity as naturally flows not from a free and well-conducted government, but from a despotic one. In this political tranquillity, however, the intellect of Spain did not slumber. Sheltered from invasion by the barrier of the Pyrenees, her people were allowed to cultivate the arts of peace, so long as they did not meddle with politics or religion—in other words, with the great interests of humanity; while the more adventurous found a scope for their prowess in European wars, or in exploring the boundless regions of the Western world.

While there was so little passing in Spain to attract the eye of the historian, Germany became the theatre of one of those momentous struggles which have had a permanent influence on the destinies of mankind. It was in this reign that the great battle of religious liberty was begun; and the attention and personal presence of Charles were necessarily demanded most in the country where that battle was to be fought. But a small part of his life was passed in Spain, in comparison with what he spent in other parts of his dominions. His early attachments, his lasting sympathies, were with the people of the Netherlands; for Flanders was the place of his birth. He spoke the language of that country more fluently than the Castilian; although he knew the various languages of his dominions so well, that he could address his subjects from every quarter in their native dialect. In the same manner, he could accommodate himself to their peculiar national manners and tastes. But this flexibility was foreign to the genius of the Spaniard. Charles brought nothing from Spain but a religious zeal, amounting to bigotry, which took deep root in a melancholy temperament inherited from his mother. His tastes were all Flemish. He introduced the gorgeous ceremonial of the Burgundian court into his own palace, and into the household of his son. He drew his most trusted and familiar counsellors from Flanders; and this was one great cause of the troubles which, at the beginning of his reign, distracted Castile. There was little to gratify the pride of the Spaniard in the position which he occupied at the imperial court. Charles regarded Spain chiefly for the resources she afforded for carrying on his ambitious enterprises. When he visited her, it was usually to draw supplies from the cortes. The Spaniards understood this, and bore less affection to his person than to many of their monarchs far inferior to him in the qualities for exciting it. They hardly regarded him as one of the nation. There was, indeed, nothing national in the reign of Charles. His most intimate relations were with Germany; and as the Emperor Charles the Fifth of Germany, not as King Charles the First of Spain, he was known in his own time, and stands recorded on the pages of history.

SPAIN UNDER CHARLES THE FIFTH.

When Charles ascended the throne, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, Europe may be said to have been much in the same condition, in one respect, as she was at the beginning of the eighth. The Turk menaced her on the east, in the same manner as the Arab had before menaced her on the west. The hour seemed to be fast approaching which was to decide whether Christianity or Mahometanism should hold the ascendant. The Ottoman tide of conquest rolled up to the very walls of Vienna; and Charles, who, as head of the empire, was placed on the frontier of Christendom, was called on to repel it. When thirty-two years of age, he marched against the formidable Solyman, drove him to an ignominious retreat, and, at less cost of life than is often expended in a skirmish, saved Europe from invasion. He afterwards crossed the sea to Tunis, then occupied by a horde of pirates, the scourge of the Mediterranean. He beat them in a bloody battle, slew their chief, and liberated ten thousand captives from their dungeons. All Europe rang with the praises of the young hero, who thus consecrated his arms to the service of the Cross, and stood forward as the true champion of Christendom.

But from this high position Charles was repeatedly summoned to other contests, of a more personal and far less honorable character. Such was his long and bloody quarrel with Francis the First. It was hardly possible that two princes, so well matched in years, power, pretensions, and, above all, love of military glory, with dominions touching on one another through their whole extent, could long remain without cause of rivalry and collision. Such rivalry did exist from the moment that the great prize of the empire was adjudged to Charles; and through the whole of their long struggle, with the exception of a few reverses, the superior genius of the emperor triumphed over his bold, but less politic adversary.

There was still a third contest, on which the strength of the Spanish monarch was freely expended through the greater part of his reign—his contest with the Lutheran princes of Germany. Here, too, for a long time, fortune favored him. But it is easier to contend against man than against a great moral principle. The principle of reform had struck too deep into the mind of Germany to be eradicated by force or by fraud. Charles, for a long time, by a course of crafty policy, succeeded in baffling the Protestant league; and, by the decisive victory at Muhlberg, seemed, at last, to have broken it altogether. But his success only ministered to his ruin. The very man on whom he bestowed the spoils of victory turned them against his benefactor. Charles, ill in body and mind, and glad to escape from his enemies under cover of the night and a driving tempest, was at length compelled to sign the treaty of Passau, which secured to the Protestants those religious immunities against which he had contended through his whole reign.

Not long after, he experienced another humiliating reverse from France, then ruled by a younger rival, Henry the Second, the son of Francis. The good star of Charles—the star of Austria—seemed to have set; and as he reluctantly raised the siege of Metz, he was heard bitterly to exclaim, "Fortune is a strumpet, who reserves her favors for the young!"

With spirits greatly depressed by his reverses, and still more by the state of his health, which precluded him from taking part in the manly and martial exercises to which he had been accustomed, he felt that he had no longer the same strength as formerly to bear up under the toils of empire. When but little more than thirty years of age, he had been attacked by the gout, and of late had been so sorely afflicted with that disorder, that he had nearly lost the use of his limbs. The man who, cased in steel, had passed whole days and nights in the saddle, indifferent to the weather and the season, could now hardly drag himself along with the aid of his staff. For days he was confined to his bed; and he did not leave his room for weeks together. His mind became oppressed with melancholy, which was, to some extent, a constitutional infirmity. His chief pleasure was in listening to books, especially of a religious character. He denied himself to all except his most intimate and trusted counsellors. He lost his interest in affairs; and for whole months, according to one of his biographers, who had access to his person, he refused to receive any public communication, or to subscribe any document, or even letter.[2] One cannot understand how the business of the nation could have been conducted in such a state of things. After the death of his mother, Joanna, his mind became more deeply tinctured with those gloomy fancies which in her amounted to downright insanity. He imagined he heard her voice calling on him to follow her. His thoughts were now turned from secular concerns to those of his own soul; and he resolved to put in execution a plan for resigning his crown and withdrawing to some religious retreat, where he might prepare for his latter end. This plan he had conceived many years before, in the full tide of successful ambition. So opposite were the elements at work in the character of this extraordinary man!

Although he had chosen the place of his retreat, he had been deterred from immediately executing his purpose by the forlorn condition of his mother, and the tender age of his son. The first obstacle was now removed by the death of Joanna, after a reign—a nominal reign—of half a century, in which the cloud that had settled on her intellect at her husband's death was never dispelled.

The age of Philip, his son and heir, was also no longer an objection. From early boyhood he had been trained to the duties of his station, and, when very young, had been intrusted with the government of Castile. His father had surrounded him with able and experienced counsellors, and their pupil, who showed a discretion far beyond his years, had largely profited by their lessons. He had now entered his twenty-ninth year, an age when the character is formed, and when, if ever, he might be supposed qualified to assume the duties of government. His father had already ceded to him the sovereignty of Naples and Milan, on occasion of the prince's marriage with Mary of England. He was on a visit to that country, when Charles, having decided on the act of abdication, sent to require his son's attendance at Brussels, where the ceremony was to be performed. The different provinces of the Netherlands were also summoned to send their deputies, with authority to receive the emperor's resignation, and to transfer their allegiance to his successor. As a preliminary step, on the twenty-second of October, 1555, he conferred on Philip the grand-mastership—which, as Lord of Flanders, was vested in himself—of the toison d'or, the order of the Golden Fleece, of Burgundy; the proudest and most coveted, at that day, of all the military orders of knighthood.

Preparations were then made for conducting the ceremony of abdication with all the pomp and solemnity suited to so august an occasion. The great hall of the royal palace of Brussels was selected for the scene of it. The walls of the spacious apartment were hung with tapestry, and the floor was covered with rich carpeting. A scaffold was erected, at one end of the room, to the height of six or seven steps. On it was placed a throne, or chair of state, for the emperor, with other seats for Philip, and for the great Flemish lords who were to attend the person of their sovereign. Above the throne was suspended a gorgeous canopy, on which were emblazoned the arms of the ducal house of Burgundy. In front of the scaffolding, accommodations were provided for the deputies of the provinces, who were to be seated on benches arranged according to their respective rights of precedence.[3]

CEREMONY OF ABDICATION.

On the twenty-fifth of October, the day fixed for the ceremony, Charles the Fifth executed an instrument by which he ceded to his son the sovereignty of Flanders.[4] Mass was then performed; and the emperor, accompanied by Philip and a numerous retinue, proceeded in state to the great hall, where the deputies were already assembled.[5]

Charles was, at this time, in the fifty-sixth year of his age. His form was slightly bent—but it was by disease more than by time—and on his countenance might be traced the marks of anxiety and rough exposure. Yet it still wore that majesty of expression so conspicuous in his portraits by the inimitable pencil of Titian. His hair, once of a light color, approaching to yellow, had begun to turn before he was forty, and, as well as his beard, was now gray. His forehead was broad and expansive; his nose aquiline. His blue eyes and fair complexion intimated his Teutonic descent. The only feature in his countenance decidedly bad was his lower jaw, protruding with its thick, heavy lip, so characteristic of the physiognomies of the Austrian dynasty.[6]

In stature he was about the middle height. His limbs were strongly knit, and once well formed, though now the extremities were sadly distorted by disease. The emperor leaned for support on a staff with one hand, while with the other he rested on the arm of William of Orange, who, then young, was destined at a later day to become the most formidable enemy of his house. The grave demeanor of Charles was rendered still more impressive by his dress; for he was in mourning for his mother; and the sable hue of his attire was relieved only by a single ornament, the superb collar of the Golden Fleece, which hung from his neck.

Behind the emperor came Philip, the heir of his vast dominions. He was of a middle height, of much the same proportions as his father, whom he resembled also in his lineaments—except that those of the son wore a more sombre, and perhaps a sinister expression; while there was a reserve in his manner, in spite of his efforts to the contrary, as if he would shroud his thoughts from observation. The magnificence of his dress corresponded with his royal station, and formed a contrast to that of his father, who was quitting the pomp and grandeur of the world, on which the son was about to enter.

Next to Philip came Mary, the emperor's sister, formerly queen of Hungary. She had filled the post of regent of the Low Countries for nearly twenty years, and now welcomed the hour when she was to resign the burden of sovereignty to her nephew, and withdraw, like her imperial brother, into private life. Another sister of Charles, Eleanor, widow of the French king, Francis the First, also took part in these ceremonies, previous to her departure for Spain, whither she was to accompany the emperor.

After these members of the imperial family came the nobility of the Netherlands, the knights of the Golden Fleece, the royal counsellors, and the great officers of the household, all splendidly attired in their robes of state, and proudly displaying the insignia of their orders. When the emperor had mounted his throne, with Philip on his right hand, the Regent Mary on his left, and the rest of his retinue disposed along the seats prepared for them on the platform, the president of the council of Flanders addressed the assembly. He briefly explained the object for which they had been summoned, and the motives which had induced their master to abdicate the throne; and he concluded by requiring them, in their sovereign's name, to transfer their allegiance from himself to Philip, his son and rightful heir.

After a pause, Charles rose to address a few parting words to his subjects. He stood with apparent difficulty, and rested his right hand on the shoulder of the Prince of Orange, intimating, by this preference on so distinguished an occasion, the high favour in which he held the young nobleman. In the other hand he held a paper, containing some hints for his discourse, and occasionally cast his eyes on it, to refresh his memory. He spoke in the French language.

He was unwilling, he said, to part from his people without a few words from his own lips. It was now forty years since he had been intrusted with the sceptre of the Netherlands. He was soon after called to take charge of a still more extensive empire, both in Spain and in Germany, involving a heavy responsibility for one so young. He had, however, endeavored earnestly to do his duty to the best of his abilities. He had been ever mindful of the interests of the dear land of his birth, but, above all, of the great interests of Christianity. His first object had been to maintain these inviolate against the infidel. In this he had been thwarted, partly by the jealousy of neighboring powers, and partly by the factions of the heretical princes of Germany.

In the performance of his great work, he had never consulted his ease. His expeditions, in war and in peace, to France, England, Germany, Italy, Spain, and Flanders, had amounted to no less than forty. Four times he had crossed the Spanish seas, and eight times the Mediterranean. He had shrunk from no toil, while he had the strength to endure it. But a cruel malady had deprived him of that strength. Conscious of his inability to discharge the duties of his station, he had long since come to the resolution to relinquish it. From this he had been diverted only by the situation of his unfortunate parent, and by the inexperience of his son. These objections no longer existed; and he should not stand excused, in the eye of Heaven or of the world, if he should insist on still holding the reins of government when he was incapable of managing them—when every year his incapacity must become more obvious.

CEREMONY OF ABDICATION

He begged them to believe that this, and no other motive, induced him to resign the sceptre which he had so long swayed. They had been to him dutiful and loving subjects; and such, he doubted not, they would prove to his successor. Above all things, he besought them to maintain the purity of the faith. If any one, in these licentious times, had admitted doubts into his bosom, let such doubts be extirpated at once. "I know well," he concluded, "that, in my long administration, I have fallen into many errors, and committed some wrongs, but it was from ignorance; and, if there be any here whom I have wronged, they will believe that it was not intended, and grant me their forgiveness."[7]

While the emperor was speaking, a breathless silence pervaded the whole audience. Charles had ever been dear to the people of the Netherlands—the land of his birth. They took a national pride in his achievements, and felt that his glory reflected a peculiar lustre on themselves. As they now gazed for the last time on that revered form, and listened to the parting admonitions from his lips, they were deeply affected, and not a dry eye was to be seen in the assembly.

After a short interval, Charles, turning to Philip, who, in an attitude of deep respect, stood awaiting his commands, he thus addressed him:—"If the vast possessions which are now bestowed on you had come by inheritance, there would be abundant cause for gratitude. How much more, when they come as a free gift in the lifetime of your father! But, however large the debt, I shall consider it all repaid, if you only discharge your duty to your subjects. So rule over them, that men shall commend, and not censure me for the part I am now acting. Go on as you have begun. Fear God; live justly; respect the laws; above all, cherish the interests of religion; and may the Almighty bless you with a son, to whom, when old and stricken with disease, you may be able to resign your kingdom with the same good-will with which I now resign mine to you."

As he ceased, Philip, much affected, would have thrown himself at his father's feet, assuring him of his intention to do all in his power to merit such goodness; but Charles, raising his son, tenderly embraced him, while the tears flowed fast down his cheeks. Every one, even the most stoical, was touched by this affecting scene; "and nothing," says one who was present, "was to be heard, throughout the hall, but sobs and ill-suppressed moans." Charles, exhausted by his efforts, and deadly pale, sank back upon his seat; while, with feeble accents, he exclaimed, as he gazed on his people, "God bless you! God bless you!"[8]

After these emotions had somewhat subsided, Philip arose, and, delivering himself in French, briefly told the deputies of the regret which he felt at not being able to address them in their native language, and to assure them of the favor and high regard in which he held them. This would be done for him by the bishop of Arras.

This was Antony Perennot, better known as Cardinal Granvelle, son of the famous minister of Charles the Fifth, and destined himself to a still higher celebrity as the minister of Philip the Second. In clear and fluent language, he gave the deputies the promise of their new sovereign to respect the laws and liberties of the nation; invoking them, on his behalf, to aid him with their counsels, and, like royal vassals, to maintain the authority of the law in his dominions. After a suitable response from the deputies, filled with sentiments of regret for the loss of their late monarch, and with those of loyalty to their new one, the Regent Mary formally abdicated her authority, and the session closed. So ended a ceremony, which, considering the importance of its consequences, the character of the actors, and the solemnity of the proceedings, is one of the most remarkable in history. That the crown of the monarch is lined with thorns, is a trite maxim; and it requires no philosophy to teach us that happiness does not depend on station. Yet, numerous as are the instances of those who have waded to a throne through seas of blood, there are but few who, when they have once tasted the sweets of sovereignty, have been content to resign them; still fewer who, when they have done so, have had the philosophy to conform to their change of condition, and not to repent it. Charles, as the event proved, was one of these few.

On the sixteenth day of January, 1556, in the presence of such of the Spanish nobility as were at the court, he executed the deeds by which he ceded the sovereignty of Castile and Aragon, with their dependencies, to Philip.[9]

The last act that remained for him to perform was to resign the crown of Germany in favor of his brother Ferdinand. But this he consented to defer some time longer, at the request of Ferdinand himself, who wished to prepare the minds of the electoral college for this unexpected transfer of the imperial sceptre. But, while Charles consented to retain for the present the title of Emperor, the real power and the burden of sovereignty would remain with Ferdinand.[10]

At the time of abdicating the throne of the Netherlands, Charles was still at war with France. He had endeavored to negotiate a permanent peace with that country; and, although he failed in this, he had the satisfaction, on the fifth of February, 1556, to arrange a truce for five years, which left both powers in the possession of their respective conquests. In the existing state of these conquests, the truce was by no means favorable to Spain. But Charles would have made even larger concessions, rather than leave the legacy of a war to his less experienced successor.

HIS RETURN TO SPAIN

Having thus completed all his arrangements, by which the most powerful prince of Europe descended to the rank of a private gentleman, Charles had no longer reason to defer his departure, and he proceeded to the place of embarkation. He was accompanied by a train of Flemish courtiers, and by the foreign ambassadors, to the latter of whom he warmly commended the interests of his son. A fleet of fifty-six sail was riding at anchor in the port of Flushing, ready to transport him and his retinue to Spain. From the imperial household, consisting of seven hundred and sixty-two persons, he selected a hundred and fifty as his escort; and accompanied by his sisters, after taking an affectionate farewell of Philip, whose affairs detained him in Flanders, on the thirteenth of September he sailed from the harbor of Flushing.

The passage was a boisterous one; and Charles, who suffered greatly from his old enemy, the gout, landed, in a feeble state, at Laredo, in Biscay, on the twenty-eighth of the month. Scarcely had he left the vessel, when a storm fell with fury on the fleet, and did some mischief to the shipping in the harbor. The pious Spaniard saw in this the finger of Providence, which had allowed no harm to the squadron till its royal freight had been brought safely to the shore.[11]

On landing, Charles complained, and with some reason, of the scanty preparations that had been made for him. Philip had written several times to his sister, the regent, ordering her to have everything ready for the emperor on his arrival.[12] Joanna had accordingly issued her orders to that effect. But promptness and punctuality are not virtues of the Spaniard. Some apology may be found for their deficiency in the present instance; as Charles himself had so often postponed his departure from the Low Countries, that, when he did come, the people were, in a manner, taken by surprise. That the neglect was not intentional is evident from their subsequent conduct.[13]

Charles, whose infirmities compelled him to be borne in a litter, was greeted, everywhere on the road, like a sovereign returning to his dominions. It was evening when he reached the ancient city of Burgos; and, as he passed through its illuminated streets the bells rang merrily, to give him welcome. He remained there three days, experiencing the hospitalities of the great constable, and receiving the homage of the northern lords, as well as of the people, who thronged the route by which he was to pass. At Torquemada, among those who came to pay their respects to their former master was Gasca, the good president of Peru. He had been sent to America to suppress the insurrection of Gonzalo Pizarro, and restore tranquillity to the country. In the execution of this delicate mission, he succeeded so well, that the emperor, on his return, had raised him to the see of Plasencia; and the excellent man now lived in his diocese, where, in the peaceful discharge of his episcopal functions, he probably enjoyed far greater contentment than he could have derived from the dazzling, but difficult post of an American viceroy.

From Torquemada, Charles slowly proceeded to Valladolid, where his daughter, the Regent Joanna, was then holding her court. Preparations were made for receiving him in a manner suited to his former rank. But Charles positively declined these honours, reserving them for his two sisters, the dowager queens of France and Hungary, who accordingly made their entrance into the capital in great state, on the day following that on which their royal brother had entered it with the simplicity of a private citizen.

He remained here some time, in order to recover from the fatigue of his journey; and, although he took little part in the festivities of the court, he gave audience to his ancient ministers, and to such of the Castilian grandees as were eager to render him their obeisance. At the court he had also the opportunity of seeing his grandson Carlos, the heir of the monarchy; and his quick eye, it is said, in this short time, saw enough in the prince's deportment to fill him with ominous forebodings.

Charles prolonged his stay fourteen days in Valladolid, during which time his health was much benefited by the purity and the dryness of the atmosphere. On his departure, his royal sisters would have borne him company, and even have fixed their permanent residence near his own. But to this he would not consent; and, taking a tender farewell of every member of his family—as one who was never to behold them again—he resumed his journey.

The place he had chosen for his retreat was the monastery of Yuste, in the province of Estremadura, not many miles from Plasencia. On his way thither he halted near three months at Jarandilla, the residence of the count of Oropesa, waiting there for the completion of some repairs that were going on in the monastery, as well as for the remittance of a considerable sum of money, which he was daily expecting. This he required chiefly to discharge the arrears due to some of his old retainers; and the failure of the remittance has brought some obloquy on Philip, who could so soon show himself unmindful of his obligations to his father. But the blame should rather be charged on Philip's ministers than on Philip, absent as he was at that time from the country, and incapable of taking personal cognizance of the matter. Punctuality in his pecuniary engagements was a virtue to which neither Charles nor Philip—the masters of the Indies—could at any time lay claim. But the imputation of parsimony, or even indifference, on the part of the latter, in his relations with his father, is fully disproved by the subsequent history of that monarch at the convent of Yuste.[14]

BIRTH OF PHILIP.

This place, it is said, had attracted his eye many years before, when on a visit to that part of the country, and he marked it for his future residence. The convent was tenanted by monks of the strictest order of Saint Jerome. But, however strict in their monastic rule, the good fathers showed much taste in the selection of their ground, as well as in the embellishment of it. It lay in a wild, romantic country, embosomed among hills that stretch along the northern confines of Estremadura. The building, which was of great antiquity, had been surrounded by its inmates with cultivated gardens, and with groves of orange, lemon, and myrtle, whose fragrance was tempered by the refreshing coolness of the waters that gushed forth in abundance from the rocky sides of the hills. It was a delicious retreat, and, by its calm seclusion and the character of its scenery, was well suited to withdraw the mind from the turmoil of the world, and dispose it to serious meditation. Here the monarch, after a life of restless ambition, proposed to spend the brief remainder of his days, and dedicate it to the salvation of his soul. He could not, however, as the event proved, close his heart against all sympathy with mankind, nor refuse to take some part in the great questions which then agitated the world. Charles was not master of that ignoble philosophy which enabled Diocletian to turn with contentment from the cares of an empire to those of a cabbage-garden.—In this retirement we must now leave the royal recluse, while we follow the opening career of the prince whose reign is the subject of the present history.