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Ashley Davis

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Data Wrangling with JavaScript
Data Wrangling
with JavaScript
ASHLEY DAVIS

MANNING
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ISBN 9781617294846
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 – SP – 23 22 21 20 19 18
 brief contents
1 ■ Getting started: establishing your data pipeline 1
2 ■ Getting started with Node.js 25
3 ■ Acquisition, storage, and retrieval 59
4 ■ Working with unusual data 99
5 ■ Exploratory coding 115
6 ■ Clean and prepare 143
7 ■ Dealing with huge data files 168
8 ■ Working with a mountain of data 191
9 ■ Practical data analysis 217
10 ■ Browser-based visualization 247
11 ■ Server-side visualization 274
12 ■ Live data 299
13 ■ Advanced visualization with D3 329
14 ■ Getting to production 358

v
 contents
preface xv
acknowledgments xvii
about this book xix
about the author xxiii
about the cover illustration xxv

1 Getting started: establishing your data pipeline

1.1 Why data wrangling? 1
1

1.2 What’s data wrangling? 2

1.3 Why a book on JavaScript data wrangling? 3
1.4 What will you get out of this book? 4
1.5 Why use JavaScript for data wrangling? 5
1.6 Is JavaScript appropriate for data analysis? 6
1.7 Navigating the JavaScript ecosystem 7
1.8 Assembling your toolkit 7
1.9 Establishing your data pipeline 8
Setting the stage 9 The data-wrangling
■

process 10 Planning 10 Acquisition, storage, and

■ ■

retrieval 13 Exploratory coding 15 Clean and

■ ■

prepare 18 Analysis 19 Visualization 20 Getting

■ ■ ■

to production 22

vii
viii CONTENTS

2 Getting started with Node.js

2.1 Starting your toolkit 26
25

2.2 Building a simple reporting system 27

2.3 Getting the code and data 27
Viewing the code 28 Downloading the code 28 Installing
■ ■

Node.js 29 Installing dependencies 29 Running

■ ■

Node.js code 29 Running a web application 30 Getting

■ ■

the data 30 Getting the code for chapter 2 31

■

2.4 Installing Node.js 31

Checking your Node.js version 32

2.5 Working with Node.js 33

Creating a Node.js project 33 Creating a command-line
■

application 36 Creating a code library 38 Creating a

■ ■

simple web server 40

2.6 Asynchronous coding 45

Loading a single file 46 Loading multiple ■

files 49 Error handling 51 Asynchronous coding

■ ■

with promises 52 Wrapping asynchronous operations in

■

promises 55 Async coding with “async” and “await” 57

■

3 Acquisition, storage, and retrieval

3.1 Building out your toolkit 60
59

3.2 Getting the code and data 61

3.3 The core data representation 61
The earthquakes website 62 ■
Data formats covered 64
Power and flexibility 65

3.4 Importing data 66

Loading data from text files 66 Loading data from a REST■

API 69 Parsing JSON text data 70 Parsing CSV text

■ ■

data 74 Importing data from databases 78 Importing

■ ■

data from MongoDB 78 Importing data from MySQL 82

■

3.5 Exporting data 85

You need data to export! 85 Exporting data to text
■

files 85 Exporting data to JSON text files 87

■

Exporting data to CSV text files 89 Exporting data ■

to a database 90 Exporting data to MongoDB 91

■

Exporting data to MySQL 92

 CONTENTS ix

3.6 Building complete data conversions 95

3.7 Expanding the process 95

4 Working with unusual data

4.1 Getting the code and data
99
100
4.2 Importing custom data from text files 101
4.3 Importing data by scraping web pages 104
Identifying the data to scrape 104 ■
Scraping with Cheerio 105

4.4 Working with binary data 107

Unpacking a custom binary file 108 Packing a custom binary
■

file 111 Replacing JSON with BSON 113 Converting JSON

■ ■

to BSON 113 Deserializing a BSON file 114

■

5 Exploratory coding
5.1
115
Expanding your toolkit 116
5.2 Analyzing car accidents 116
5.3 Getting the code and data 117
5.4 Iteration and your feedback loop 117
5.5 A first pass at understanding your data 118
5.6 Working with a reduced data sample 120
5.7 Prototyping with Excel 120
5.8 Exploratory coding with Node.js 122
Using Nodemon 123 Exploring your data 125
■

Using Data-Forge 128 Computing the trend

■

column 130 Outputting a new CSV file 134

■

5.9 Exploratory coding in the browser 135

5.10 Putting it all together 141

6 Clean and prepare

6.1
143
Expanding our toolkit 144
6.2 Preparing the reef data 145
6.3 Getting the code and data 145
6.4 The need for data cleanup and preparation 145
6.5 Where does broken data come from? 145
x CONTENTS

6.6 How does data cleanup fit into the pipeline? 146
6.7 Identifying bad data 147
6.8 Kinds of problems 148
6.9 Responses to bad data 148
6.10 Techniques for fixing bad data 149
6.11 Cleaning our data set 150
Rewriting bad rows 150 ■
Filtering rows of data 155 ■
Filtering
columns of data 158

6.12 Preparing our data for effective use 159

Aggregating rows of data 159 Combining data from different
■

files using globby 161 Splitting data into separate files 163
■

6.13 Building a data processing pipeline with Data-Forge 165

7 Dealing with huge data files

7.1 Expanding our toolkit 169
168

7.2 Fixing temperature data 169

7.3 Getting the code and data 170
7.4 When conventional data processing breaks down 171
7.5 The limits of Node.js 172
Incremental data processing 172 Incremental core
■

data representation 173 Node.js file streams basics

■

primer 174 Transforming huge CSV files 178

■

Transforming huge JSON files 184 Mix and match 190

■

8 Working with a mountain of data

8.1 Expanding our toolkit 192
191

8.2 Dealing with a mountain of data 192

8.3 Getting the code and data 193
8.4 Techniques for working with big data 193
Start small 193 Go back to small 193 Use a more efficient
■ ■

representation 194 Prepare your data offline 194

■

8.5 More Node.js limitations 195

8.6 Divide and conquer 196
 CONTENTS xi

8.7 Working with large databases 196

Database setup 197 Opening a connection to ■

the database 198 Moving large files to your

■

database 199 Incremental processing with a database

■

cursor 201 Incremental processing with data

■

windows 202 Creating an index 205 Filtering using

■ ■

queries 205 Discarding data with projection 207 Sorting

■ ■

large data sets 208

8.8 Achieving better data throughput 210

Optimize your code 210 Optimize your ■

algorithm 210 Processing data in parallel

■
210

9 Practical data analysis

9.1 Expanding your toolkit 218
217

9.2 Analyzing the weather data 219

9.3 Getting the code and data 219
9.4 Basic data summarization 220
Sum 220 ■
Average 221 ■
Standard deviation 221

9.5 Group and summarize 222

9.6 The frequency distribution of temperatures 227
9.7 Time series 231
Yearly average temperature 231 Rolling ■

average 233 Rolling standard deviation 236 Linear

■ ■

regression 236 Comparing time series 239 Stacking time

■ ■

series operations 242

9.8 Understanding relationships 243

Detecting correlation with a scatter plot 243 Types ■

of correlation 243 Determining the strength of the

■

correlation 244 Computing the correlation coefficient

■
245

10 Browser-based visualization
10.1 Expanding your toolkit
247
248
10.2 Getting the code and data 248
10.3 Choosing a chart type 249
xii CONTENTS

10.4 Line chart for New York City temperature 250

The most basic C3 line chart 251 Adding real ■

data 253 Parsing the static CSV file 254 Adding

■ ■

years as the X axis 256 Creating a custom Node.js web

■

server 258 Adding another series to the chart 261 Adding

■ ■

a second Y axis to the chart 263 Rendering a time series

■

chart 264

10.5 Other chart types with C3 266

Bar chart 266 Horizontal bar chart 267 Pie
■ ■

chart 267 Stacked bar chart 269 Scatter plot chart

■ ■
270

10.6 Improving the look of our charts 271

10.7 Moving forward with your own projects 272

11 Server-side visualization
11.1 Expanding your toolkit
274
275
11.2 Getting the code and data 276
11.3 The headless browser 276
11.4 Using Nightmare for server-side visualization 278
Why Nightmare? 278 Nightmare and ■

Electron 278 Our process: capturing visualizations

■

with Nightmare 279 Prepare a visualization to

■

render 280 Starting the web server 282 Procedurally

■ ■

start and stop the web server 283 Rendering the web page to
■

an image 284 Before we move on . . . 285 Capturing

■ ■

the full visualization 287 Feeding the chart with

■

data 289 Multipage reports 292 Debugging code in the

■ ■

headless browser 294 Making it work on a Linux server 296

■

11.5 You can do much more with a headless browser 297

Web scraping 297 ■
Other uses 298

12 Live data 299

12.1 We need an early warning system 300
12.2 Getting the code and data 301
12.3 Dealing with live data 301
12.4 Building a system for monitoring air quality 302
12.5 Set up for development 304
 CONTENTS xiii

12.6 Live-streaming data 305

HTTP POST for infrequent data submission 305 ■
Sockets
for high-frequency data submission 308

12.7 Refactor for configuration 310

12.8 Data capture 312
12.9 An event-based architecture 314
12.10 Code restructure for event handling 316
Triggering SMS alerts 317 ■
Automatically generating a
daily report 318

12.11 Live data processing 321

12.12 Live visualization 322

13 Advanced visualization with D3

13.1 Advanced visualization 330
329

13.2 Getting the code and data 331

13.3 Visualizing space junk 331
13.4 What is D3? 332
13.5 The D3 data pipeline 333
13.6 Basic setup 334
13.7 SVG crash course 335
SVG circle 335 Styling 337
■ ■
SVG text 337
SVG group 338

13.8 Building visualizations with D3 339

Element state 339 Selecting elements 340 Manually
■ ■

adding elements to our visualization 342 Scaling to ■

fit 344 Procedural generation the D3 way 346 Loading

■ ■

a data file 349 Color-coding the space junk 351 Adding

■ ■

interactivity 352 Adding a year-by-year launch

■

animation 353

14 Getting to production
14.1 Production concerns
358
359
14.2 Taking our early warning system to production 360
14.3 Deployment 361
14.4 Monitoring 364
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
imprisoned for religion at all. His catechism was unanimously approved of
by the pope, and by the Congregation of the Index in Rome. The Council of
Trent solemnly and repeatedly protested against his arrest, and for many
years it was a pitched battle between the Inquisition and the king on the one
hand, and all the Catholic Church on the other. The documents in the case
reached 25,000 folios of writing, some of the allegations against the
archbishop being quite ludicrous in their triviality and looseness. In all
probability the first cause of Carranza’s arrest was the jealousy of Valdes,
Archbishop of Seville, the inquisitor-general. He was, like all the chief
inquisitors, a Dominican, and during the many years he had been at the
head of the Holy Office had become intolerably overbearing and ambitious.
Carranza, on the other hand, was a much younger man (fifty-five), and had,
after several years’ absence from Spain, been suddenly lifted from the
position of a simple friar to that of Primate of Spain, the holder of the
richest ecclesiastical benefice in the world. That Valdes should be jealous
was only natural, and in the absence of any adequate reason for his
imprisonment in Carranza’s writings, it is almost certain that the cause for
his first detention must be sought in this direction. Feria, who, of course,
knew him well, writing from Brussels at the date of his first arrest to Bishop
Quadra in England, says: “Things are going so badly in Spain, and they are
coming to such a pass, that we shall soon not know who are the heretics and
who the Christians. I will not believe evil of the archbishop, or of his
companion, or of the Archbishop of Granada, who has also been summoned
by the Inquisitors. What drives me crazy is to see the lives led by the
criminals (i.e. the accused) and those led by their judges, and to compare
their respective intelligence.” The bishop’s (Quadra’s) reply to this is almost
as bold; and a priest sitting at table in Ruy Gomez’s house is reported to
have said without rebuke, speaking of Carranza, “We shall see by and by
whether he is a heretic, but we already see that he is being persecuted by
envy.” When Philip arrived in Spain the archbishop was in the dark
dungeon, where he stayed for two years, and churchmen everywhere were
murmuring at the fate of the primate. Then the matter assumed a very
different complexion. It was now a question of the vindication of Philip’s
favourite tribunal against the demands of Rome, and for many years Philip
held out, making use of every procrastination and subterfuge of which he
was a master, until Pius V. in 1566 threatened to excommunicate Philip
unless Carranza were sent to Rome. Then after some further delay Philip
thought wise to cede the point, and the archbishop left in April 1567. But
his troubles were not at an end. After a weary delay in Rome, he was fully
absolved and restored by the pope, and the decision sent to Spain for the
king’s ratification. This was deferred until Pius V. died (1572), whereupon
the new pope, Gregory XIII., commenced another interrogatory, which
lasted three years. This ended in the absolution of the archbishop after a
light penance, at the end of which, in a few days, Carranza died. Through
all this the monarch seems to have had no personal feeling against the
primate, but it was necessary at all costs to strengthen the Inquisition.
On the arrival of Philip in Spain in the autumn of 1559, his methods and
character were well matured, and he began the regular routine of
government which continued unbroken almost for the next forty years,
endeavouring to rule his wide-spreading dominions from his desk, and
trying to make puppets of all men for his own political ends. The
government was divided into eleven departments, distributed between four
secretaries of state. Letters and documents, after being deciphered, were
sent to the king by the secretary of the department to which they belonged,
often accompanied by a note explaining them or recommending a particular
course. Every letter, to the most trivial detail, was read by Philip himself,
who scrawled over the margins his acceptance or otherwise of the
recommendations, or ordered them to be submitted to the inner council of
state, Ruy Gomez, Alba, the confessor, and one or two other persons. The
results of the conference were sent to the king in a memorandum from the
secretary, and were once more considered. Every paper was therefore before
the king several times. All letters or replies sent were submitted to him in
draft, and frequently amended by him. At the same time his secretaries kept
up a copious semi-private correspondence with all the Spanish ambassadors
and governors, which was also perused by the king, and frequently
contained matters of the highest importance in secret diplomacy, which it
was unadvisable to send by the usual official channels. It will be seen that
this cumbrous system, by which every individual point was brought before
the king’s personal consideration, entailed an immensity of work, and made
prompt action impossible, even if the king’s own character was capable of
promptitude. Ruy Gomez, Duke of Pastrana and Prince of Eboli, was high-
chamberlain and state councillor, the inseparable friend of the king, over
whom his influence was great. He had taken care to place around the king
secretaries of state attached to his party, the principal of whom were Eraso
and the two Perezes successively—Gonzalo and Antonio. The Duke of
Alba, unlike the other political advisers of the king, was a great noble,
ambitious, harsh, and turbulent, but partaking of Philip’s own view of the
sacredness of the power of the crown. We have seen that Philip in his youth
had been warned by his father not to trust Alba, or any other great noble,
with power in Spain, and he never did. But the duke was useful in council,
because he always opposed Ruy Gomez, whose soft and peaceful methods
he contemned. This exactly suited Philip, who invariably wished to hear
both sides of every question, and followed his father’s advice to keep rivals
and enemies near him, in order that he might hear the worst that was to be
said of each, whilst he held the balance.
The king loved to surround himself with mystery, to be unseen by the
crowd except on occasions of great ceremony; and as he got older he
became in public graver and more reserved than ever. He had by this time
probably persuaded himself that he really was a sacred being, specially
selected as the direct representative of the Almighty, to whom Popes and
Churches were merely tools. Certain it is that he considered it unfitting in
him to exhibit any of the usual emotions of humanity. On his marble mask
anger, surprise, or joy left no sign.
Philip landed in Spain on September 8, 1559, in great danger, the ship
and all her rich freight sinking immediately after he left her. He had
previously instructed the Regent Juana that heresy must be pursued without
mercy in Spain, and she and young Carlos had sat through the horrors of a
great auto de fé in Valladolid at the beginning of June, where some of the
principal ladies of her own court were cruelly sacrificed. But this did not
suffice for Philip. If he was to dominate the world from Spain, that country,
at least, must be free from stain or suspicion. So the first great public
ceremony he attended in the country that welcomed him was another stately
auto at Valladolid. On Sunday, October 18, he sat on a splendid platform in
the open space opposite the church of St. Martin. The judges of the Holy
Office surrounded the throne, and the multitude, frantic with joy to see their
beloved Philip again, and to enjoy a brilliant holiday, had flocked in for
many miles around, attracted by the festival, and the forty days’ indulgence
promised to them by the Church as a reward for their presence. Before the
assembled multitude Philip solemnly swore to maintain the purity of the
faith and to support the Holy Office. As the condemned criminals passed his
platform, one of them, a gentleman of high birth, married to a descendant of
the royal house of Castile, cried out to the king, “How is it that a gentleman
like you can hand over another gentleman such as I am to these friars?” “If
my son were as perverse as you are,” said Philip, “I myself would carry the
faggots to burn him.” Twelve poor wretches were then handed over to the
civil power for execution, with a canting request for mercy from the
Inquisition, for the Holy Office itself never officially carried out the last
sentence, and invariably begged hypocritically for mercy for the poor
wracked bodies it had doomed to the fire.
It is probable that Philip’s object in thus celebrating his return to his
country was intended to give additional prestige to the institution which he
intended to use as a main instrument in keeping his country free from the
dissensions, such as he saw spreading over the rest of the world. But it will
be a mistake to conclude that his proceeding, or even the Inquisition itself,
was unpopular with Spaniards. On the contrary, Philip seems in this, as in
most other things, to have been a perfect embodiment of the feeling of his
country at this time. The enormous majority of Spaniards exulted in the idea
that their nation, and especially their monarch, had been selected to make
common cause with the Almighty for the extirpation of His enemies.
CHAPTER VII
 Arrival of Elizabeth de Valois in Spain—Her influence over Philip—
Position of affairs in France—War with England—Philip’s attitude
towards France—Death of Francis II.—Spanish disaster at Los Gelves
—Position of Spain in the Mediterranean.
BUT it was time now for Philip to think of the reception of his new child-
wife, whom Alba had married as his proxy in Paris five months before.
Endless questions of etiquette had to be settled, political arrangements had
to be made in Paris that should ensure to Philip the full benefit of the
marriage, the bribing of ministers and the like; and it was far into the winter
before the bride started from Paris, which she was to see no more. She was
the flower of a bad flock, the most dearly beloved of any of her house, and
her slow journey through France was a triumphal march. The splendid court
in which her life had been passed was very dear to her, and she expected but
little happiness in the rich squalor and rigid grimness of her husband’s
palace. She was going, she knew, to be handed over like a chattel to the
enemy of her country, but she kept up a brave heart, and daily wrote
cheerful letters to her mother. So great was the distrust between the two
countries that the most elaborate precautions were taken on both sides to
prevent surprise or treachery, and Elizabeth was kept for three days in the
snow at Roncesvalles whilst Anthony de Bourbon was bickering with the
Spaniards as to which frontier should be crossed first. Philip was not a very
eager bridegroom this time, for he advanced no farther than Guadalajara to
meet his wife (January 30, 1560). The poor child was so nervous when she
first approached him, that she could only stare dumbly at his grave face, and
made no sign of obeisance. Philip looked older than his thirty-three years,
and doubtless read her dismay aright. His first rough greeting was, “What
are you looking at? Are you looking to see whether my hair is grey?” But
his gentleness soon came back, and, unpromising as was the
commencement, their married life was not unhappy. He proved to be a most
affectionate and devoted husband, as she was a sweet and tactful wife.
He soon had an opportunity of showing his devotion. No sooner had the
marriage ceremony been performed in the cathedral of Toledo than the
queen fell ill of smallpox, and in this crisis her husband’s care and
tenderness to her were unremitting. Regardless of the remonstrances of
those who feared for his own health, he was frequently by her side for long
periods, and all through her tardy and critical convalescence his attentions
and kindness were such as to excite the admiration even of the queen’s
French ladies, who were certainly not prejudiced in Philip’s favour.
Very much depended upon preserving the life, and even the beauty, of
the young queen. After years of neglect Catharine de Medici might now, by
the death of her husband, Henry II., become practically the ruler of France.
She found the country reft in twain by religious faction, and she knew that
the only means by which she could retain her power was by establishing
herself as the balancing influence between the two factions. For the
moment, with the accession of Francis II. and his wife, Mary, Queen of
Scots, to the French throne, the Guises were paramount, and almost before
the inauguration of the new policy of friendship between France and Spain,
Catharine had begun to cast her eyes towards Vendôme, the Montmorencis
and the Protestants to counterbalance them. The idea of Henry II. in giving
his daughter to Philip was to cement a league of Catholics against the
Huguenots; his widow’s aim was to secure a hold over Philip through his
wife which should enable her to establish and retain her supremacy in
France, come what might. The Guises had soon shown their power on the
accession of their nephew to the throne by assuming in Mary Stuart’s name
so aggressive an attitude towards Elizabeth that the latter was forced to
resent it. An English force of 8000 infantry, 2000 cavalry, and 32 armed
ships was sent to Scotland and attacked Leith, aided by a considerable
Scottish rebel force. Opposed to them the Queen-mother of Scotland, Mary
of Lorraine, had 5000 Frenchmen and a number of Scotsmen. Guise
clamoured for Philip’s help to beat the English in the interests of his niece.
But this was no part of Philip’s bargain. The most untoward thing that could
happen to him was the deposition of Elizabeth and the union of England
and Scotland under a French sovereign, and the next most inconvenient
thing was that Elizabeth should be victorious over his allies, the French. So
he exerted every effort to frighten both sides into making a peace. Envoys
were sent from Flanders and Spain to assure Elizabeth that if she did not
withdraw her troops from Scotland he would send a great force to help the
French, whilst the Guises were significantly told that they must be cautious,
as their enemies in France were numerous. Philip’s envoys in England
might threaten, but Elizabeth knew well that Spanish troops would never
put a Frenchman in her place, and she made the most of her knowledge. The
English troops in Scotland were victorious, and Elizabeth now could afford
to hector about the terms of peace. She wanted Calais to be restored, a large
indemnity, and much else, but she ended by accepting terms which
humiliated the Guises, and ensured her against future French aggression
from Scotland.
Materially the peace of Cateau Cambresis had been all in Philip’s favour,
but he had hoped for advantages in other ways as well. The original idea
had been to present a united front to advancing Protestantism both in France
and Flanders, to which end he had hoped to make a tool of France. But the
death of Henry II. and the appearance of Catharine de Medici in front of the
stage had changed the problem. He now saw a clever intriguing woman,
with no religious convictions at all, ready to rally to either party, and
seeking to make a tool of him. This was a rôle that never suited Philip, and
he soon made it clear that his marriage with a French princess had drawn
him no closer to French interests than he was before. Frenchmen suspected
of heresy in Spain were persecuted with greater barbarity than ever by the
Inquisition. French commercial interests were as ruthlessly disregarded as
those of Protestant England itself, whilst the French expeditions to Florida
and elsewhere aroused Philip to the utmost point of arrogance against his
wife’s country. A bitter feud between the Spanish and French ambassadors
in Rome on the point of precedence appears to have been directly fomented
by Philip. The influence, therefore, of Philip’s young French wife had to be
exerted to its utmost to prevent an open rupture between her brother and her
husband.
Suddenly the whole prospect was again changed by the death of Francis
II. There was no fear now of the French nation becoming dominant in
Scotland and England through Mary Stuart, for Catharine de Medici hated
her daughter-in-law and the Guises, and would not raise a finger to make
them more powerful than they were. But the death of Francis made more
difficult than ever a lasting and sincere alliance between Spain and France,
for Catharine de Medici could not afford to adopt for long an extreme
Catholic policy. Philip at this time was in the very depth of penury. Every
ducat that could be extorted from the Seville merchants or borrowed from
the Fuggers had been obtained. The revenues and remittances from the
Indies had long been anticipated, the Spanish troops in Flanders were
unpaid, and Philip was surrounded by claims that he could not meet. Under
these circumstances he was fain to shut his eyes for a time to the favour
Catharine was showing to the reformers in France, although he allowed his
wife to threaten her with Spanish troops to help the Catholic party in France
if necessary. Catharine knew that his hands were full, and practically defied
him, and Elizabeth of England did the same. He was powerless to injure
them now, for his system of jealous centralisation and his cumbrous
methods were already producing their disastrous effects.
The first misfortune, one of the greatest of his life, which resulted from
the confusion of his administration, was the complete destruction of his
fleet in the Mediterranean. When in 1558 the pope and Henry II. had not
hesitated to accept the aid of the infidel against Philip, a hundred Turkish
galleys had sailed from Constantinople under Piali Pacha, an Italian
renegade, and, with the aid of the famous Barbary corsair, Dragut Reis, had
scourged the coasts of Sicily and Naples, overrun Minorca, and even
attacked Nice, and then had captured the fortress of Tripoli, which belonged
to the Knights of St. John of Malta. When peace was made between France
and Spain at Cateau Cambresis in the following year, the Grand Master of
St. John urged Philip to employ the large force he then had free in Italy and
elsewhere to recover Tripoli for the Order. The enterprise, he said, would be
easy now, if it were done swiftly and secretly, for Dragut, who governed the
new conquest, was busy raiding the interior, and the Barbary Moors,
groaning under the yoke of the Turk, would aid the Christians. Philip’s
viceroy in Sicily, the Duke of Medina Celi, anxious for personal distinction,
seconded the petition of the Grand Master, and Philip consented. Medina
Celi was appointed to the command, and orders were given to Andrea
Doria, commanding the Spanish galleys, and to the viceroys of Naples and
Milan, to aid the expedition with all the forces in their power. The Turkish
fleet was, however, still in the neighbourhood, and the viceroys did not
think prudent to send any of their troops away until it had gone. Delay after
delay took place whilst dispatches were slowly being exchanged and Philip
continually being consulted on points of detail. The men-at-arms in large
numbers broke up and went to their homes, and when at last the troops were
got together and reached Genoa, they found that the Spanish ambassador
there had dismissed the ships that had been freighted, in the belief that the
expedition had been abandoned. Then when fresh ships had been obtained
the soldiers refused to go on board until they received their over-due pay.
With much persuasion and many promises they were at length embarked,
and a shipload of them, 1500 in number, was wrecked at the mouth of the
harbour, causing renewed delay. Then it was found that the aged Andrea
Doria could not accompany the ships, and had delegated the command to
his nephew, John Andrea, under whom some of the Spanish generals would
not serve. But withal, by the beginning of October 1559, 12,000 good
troops were mustered in Messina under Medina Celi. The Grand Master had
originally, six months before, made promptness and secrecy conditions of
success, but long ere this all the Mediterranean was ringing with the news,
and Dragut was on the alert. Whilst Philip was tardily sending cautious
dispatches to his viceroys, the Sultan had crowded men, ammunition, and
stores into Tripoli, and when after two months’ further delay the Spanish
force was ready to sail, it was found that the rascally contractors had
provided rations which were mostly rotten—just as they did to the
Invincible Armada thirty years afterwards. When finally the fleet sailed
(November 20, 1559) the men were sick and discontented, 3000 of them
having already died or deserted. Many of the soldiers mutinied the first day.
Head winds and want of food held them for weeks, and it was January 10,
1560, before the fleet was assembled at Malta. There fresh men had to be
shipped to fill the places of those who had died, and sound rations procured,
and finally, on February 10, 1560, the fleet, 100 sail and a contingent of
galleys and men belonging to the Knights, left Malta. The small island of
Gelves, in the Gulf of Khabes, was easily captured, but the next day there
appeared a fleet of 74 great Turkish galleys full of janissaries, and 12 others
under Dragut from Tripoli. Medina Celi lost his head, Doria lost his
courage, and a hideous panic seized the Spaniards at the onslaught of the
Turks. The commanders fled shamefully, and 65 ships and 5000 men fell to
the tender mercies of the infidel. The Spaniards entrenched on the island of
Gelves under the brave Alvaro de Sande, held out against terrible odds,
8000 men of them almost without provisions, quite without water, for six
weeks, and then all that were left of them, about 1000, starved and naked,
stood shoulder to shoulder in the breach to be killed by the victors or
carried to Constantinople to a less worthy fate.
The Christian power in the Mediterranean was tottering; the fortresses
held by Spain in North Africa especially seemed doomed to destruction, and
Philip was forced to make a supreme effort, and was able in the next year,
1561, to send out a fresh fleet of 70 galleys, nearly all hired, to fight the
Turk. The whole fleet was lost in a storm before it left the coast of Spain,
and the Turk once more seemed destined to dominate the Mediterranean.
The defence of the Spanish settlement of Mers el Kebir in the spring of
1563 will always remain one of the most heroic in history. There a little
garrison of barely 200 men held out against a Turkish force of 20,000, and
although they were almost within sight of the Spanish coast, so cumbrous
was Philip’s administration that it took two months for relief to reach them.
 CHAPTER VIII
Don Carlos—His relations with Elizabeth de Valois—French intrigues for
his marriage—His illness—The Cortes of Aragon—Jeanne d’Albret and
Henry of Navarre—The Council of Trent and the Inquisition—Philip
and the pope—Renewed struggles with the Turks—Siege of Malta.
DON CARLOS, Philip’s only son and heir, had grown to be a boy of fourteen.
Considering his descent, it is not surprising that he was deformed both in
mind and body, lame and stunted, an epileptic semi-imbecile. He had been
left in charge of his widowed aunt, the Regent Juana, a gloomy, religious
mystic, to whom he was violently attached, and whose side he could only
with difficulty be prevailed upon to leave. Philip had appointed as his tutor
the learned Honorato Juan, who certainly did his best for the royal pupil.
But he could do little for such a mind as his. As early as October 1558 the
tutor wrote to the king, then in Flanders, that his pupil obstinately refused to
study anything and was beyond control. The king himself, he said, was the
only person who could bring him to order. Philip’s answer was
characteristically cold and inexpressive. Honorato Juan must continue to
look after the prince’s education and separate him from any companions
who might divert him from his studies. But dry as was Philip’s letter to the
tutor, it is clear that the news struck sorrow to his heart, for he loved his
children dearly, and had great hopes for his heir. On a letter written on
March 6, 1559, to Cardinal Pacheco respecting the need for settling
ecclesiastical matters in the Netherlands, the king wrote the following
words in his own hand: “Perhaps the prince my son will not be so careful of
this as I am, and the people here may not try so hard as I should about it,
seeing how desirable it is for the service of God, which is evidently the only
end I aim at.” One of the first acts of Philip on his arrival in Spain was to
take his son under his own care. When the new queen entered Toledo in
state for the marriage ceremony (February 12, 1560) she was received by
her stepson Carlos, yellow with recent fever, on his left being his young
uncle, Don Juan of Austria, and on the right Alexander Farnese, the son and
grandson, respectively, of the emperor.
 When Elizabeth had left France, her mother, Catharine, had secretly
instructed her to use every effort to win Don Carlos for her younger sister,
Margaret de Valois, afterwards the famous first wife of Henry IV.
Elizabeth’s fascination was great, and she very soon obtained absolute
dominion over the sickly boy. The romantic stories of mutual love between
them may be dismissed now as utterly exploded fables. Elizabeth had been
born and bred in an atmosphere of political intrigue, she had gone to Spain
purely for political reasons, and she was entrusted with the task of trying to
win the greatest matrimonial prize in Europe for her sister, and to strengthen
the union between France and Spain. She naturally carried out her mission
to the best of her ability. Her efforts with regard to the marriage were utterly
fruitless, for Philip was in no mood for a closer alliance with Catharine de
Medici; but she attached her stepson to her to such an extent by her pity and
kindness during his continual attacks of fever, that at length the French
ambassador could write to Catharine, “The more the prince hates his father,
the greater grows his affection for his stepmother, the queen, for she has all
his regard, and her Majesty is so wise that she discreetly manages to please
both her husband and her stepson.”
Catharine de Medici’s instructions to her daughter were that if she could
not bring about a marriage between Carlos and her sister Margaret, she was
to strive to forward his union with his aunt, the former Regent Juana, who
was herself anxious for marriage with her nephew of half her age—
anything rather than allow the heir of Spain to marry Mary Stuart. This
latter would have been the best match for Philip, and he knew it. England
would once more have been brought into his grasp, France checkmated
effectually, and Flanders safe. Mary and her minister, Lethington, were
eager for it. But time went on whilst Philip was procrastinating—probably
in consequence of the condition of Carlos. Elizabeth, Catharine, and the
emperor who wanted the heir for his granddaughter Anne, all intrigued
actively against the match, Mary drifted into her marriage with Darnley, and
Philip once more missed his chance.
On February 22, 1560, Carlos received the oath of allegiance from the
Cortes of Castile in Toledo, and afterwards returned to the University of
Alcalá, where he was supposed to be studying. His life there was violent
and licentious, and in April 1562, in descending a dark stair to keep an
assignation, he fell and suffered a severe fracture of the skull. The king, on
receiving the news, at once set out from Madrid, his new capital, travelling
through the night, full of anxiety for his son. He found him unconscious and
partially paralysed; the doctors, ignorant beyond conception, treated him in
a way that seems to us now to have made his death almost inevitable.
Purges and bleedings, unguents and charms, ghastly quackery, such as
putting a skeleton in bed with the invalid, were all tried in turn, until the
Italian surgeon Vesale arrived and performed the operation of trepanning.
The prince then recovered: but if he had been a semi-imbecile before, he
now became at intervals a raving homicidal maniac. The prince and those
around him attributed his recovery entirely to the skeleton of the monk that
had been put to bed with him, and he promised to give four times his weight
in gold for religious purposes. He was then seventeen years of age, and was
found to weigh only 5 stone 6 lbs.
It was necessary that the heir should receive the oath of allegiance of the
Cortes of Aragon, Cataluña, and Valencia. The Cortes of Castile, more
submissive than the Aragonese, had, though not without some murmuring,
voted the supplies needed by Philip, and were at once dismissed. The
Aragonese Parliament, proud of its privileges, stubborn to rudeness
whenever it was convoked, had not been called together since 1552,
although the king was bound by oath to summon it every three years. The
very existence of representative assemblies was opposed to Philip’s dream
of personal centralisation of power, and he detested the Aragonese Cortes
heartily. The French ambassador at the time wrote to Catharine that the
king, when he took the oath, secretly meant “to cut their claws and dock the
privileges that make them insolent and almost free.” The court was
therefore transferred in the autumn of 1563 to the obscure Aragonese town
of Monzon, the king on his way from Madrid laying the first stone of his
vast granite palace of St. Laurence of the Escorial. He found the rough
Aragonese inclined to be fractious, jealous as usual at any interference of
Castilians in their affairs. But Philip was pressed for money, and was
obliged to dissemble. A crisis nearly occurred when the Cortes touched the
mainspring of his governmental system. The members adopted a protest
against the extending power of the Inquisition, and its interference with
other matters than those of theology. Philip was cold and evasive; he said he
would consider the matter when he returned to Castile. But the Cortes
understood the rule of “grievance first” as well as the English Commons,
and replied that no money should be voted until a satisfactory reply was
given to them. Philip fell ill with rage, but money he must have; and at last
he promised that a regular inspection and inquiry should be instituted into
the powers of the Aragonese Inquisition. With this the Cortes voted him
1,350,000 ducats. They then took the oath of allegiance to Carlos, and were
promptly dismissed. Philip did not forget his grudge against them, and it
went hard with Aragon and its liberties when they gave him a chance for
revenge.
France had been engaged in the first war of religion, and the Catholic
party had been hardly pressed. The Duke of Guise had recently been killed
(February 24, 1563), the peace of Amboise had been patched up, and
toleration had been established. Anthony de Bourbon, who had married
Jeanne d’Albret, titular Queen of Navarre, had also been killed, and his
widow and ten-year-old son, Henry, had retired to her castle at Pau to
mourn their loss. For many years the rights of the royal house of Navarre to
the kingdom which had been dishonestly filched from them by Ferdinand
the Catholic had been a thorn in the side of Spanish sovereigns, for the
Navarres were still powerful French tributary princes across the Pyrenees.
After Philip’s own projected marriage with the heiress of the house in his
boyhood had fallen through, she had married Anthony de Bourbon, Duc de
Vendôme, a prince of the blood royal of France, and this had made the
claim more dangerous for Philip. But worst of all, Jeanne was a strong
Calvinist, and only three lives stood between her little son and the crown of
France. The Guises and their Catholic followers saw that if he came to the
throne their day was gone, and cast about for means to avert such a
catastrophe. Pau was near the Spanish frontier. Why not seize the queen and
two children and hand them over to the tender mercies of Philip? If they
were out of the way, Navarre could cause no more anxiety, and the
stronghold of Protestantism in France would be empty. So a certain Captain
Dimanche was sent by the Guises secretly to Monzon to broach the matter
to Philip. He was raising a large force at Barcelona to fight the Turks in the
Mediterranean. What would be easier than to send 10,000 of them secretly
to creep along the Pyrenees, make a dash to Pau, and capture Jeanne
d’Albret and her children? What indeed? This was exactly the enterprise to
suit Philip, and Captain Dimanche saw him more than once at dead of night,
and the whole plot was settled. The Guisan Monlucs and their Catholic
friends were to hold the Protestants in check, whilst Philip’s men kidnapped
their quarry. But Dimanche fell ill. He was a Frenchman, and sought aid of
a countryman who lodged in the same house, an underling in the household
of Philip’s French wife. Dimanche let out his secret to his countryman, who
conveyed it to the queen. She was loyal to her husband’s country, but she
was a Frenchwoman, a dear friend of Jeanne d’Albret, and a daughter of
Catharine de Medici, so the news of the treachery went flying across the
Pyrenees, and Jeanne, and Henry of Navarre were saved. Philip probably to
the end of his life never knew that his wife had frustrated this dangerous
plot against France, but it is all clear to us now, who have her secret
correspondence before us.
But Philip was threatened at this time (the autumn of 1562) with a
greater danger nearer home than France. As the French ambassador wrote,
“The king intends principally to establish obedience to him by means of the
Inquisition.” We have seen how the remonstrances of the Cortes of Aragon
were received; we will now consider how Philip met a more dangerous
attack upon his favourite institution. The Council of Trent, which had
always been a trouble to Philip and his father, met, after several years’
suspension, early in 1562. Various moderate resolutions were discussed, but
when the French prelates arrived late in the year with Cardinal Lorraine at
their head the blow fell. The French and German bishops, who had seen the
effects of wars of religion, proposed a radical reform. The priests were to be
allowed to marry and the sacrament to be administered in two kinds. This
was bad enough, but, worst of all, some of the bishops—Philip’s own
subjects—tried to shake off the heavy yoke of the Inquisition. The
prosecution of Carranza had shown to the Spanish bishops that there was no
safety for any of them. Prelates hitherto could only be tried for heresy by
the pope, but now the weak Medici Pope, Pius IV., had been induced to
delegate this power to the inquisitor-general. Most of the Spanish bishops
had been in favour of strengthening the power of the monarch over the
Church, but when it came to handing over their own liberties to the
Inquisition it was another matter. Philip wrote in December 1562 deploring
that the Spanish bishops were not showing fit zeal for the Holy Office,
“which subject must not be touched upon either directly or indirectly.” The
pope was also appealed to, to prevent the Council from interfering in any
way with the Inquisition. When Pius IV., humble servant as he then was of
Philip, mildly remonstrated with him for meddling with the Council,
Vargas, the Spanish ambassador, scolded his Holiness roundly for his want
of consideration for the interests of “God and his Majesty.” Gradually even
Pius IV. began to lose patience. Philip’s grand promises to him and his
needy nephews had been very sparely kept, and it was clear to the meanest
intellect that his pious professions of attachment for the Church were only
with the object of making use of it for his own interests. At last Philip
threatened to withdraw his ambassador, and the now angry pope defied him,
threatening above all to withdraw from him the right of selling the Crusade
bulls of indulgence, which produced a large revenue. He also began
clamouring about Carranza’s treatment by the Inquisition, and the revenues
of the archbishopric. When Philip asked in 1564 for a renewal of the
subsidy he received from Rome, nothing but evasive answers were given to
him. The breach grew wider and wider. “In Spain,” said the pontiff, “you all
want to be popes and bring the king into everything. If the king wished to
be King of Spain, he” (the pope) “intended to be Pope of Rome. Never,” he
said, “was a pope so ill-treated as he was by the King of Spain and his
ministers.” The death of Guise and the religious settlement in France,
however, caused the withdrawal of many of the French bishops from the
Council of Trent, and Philip, by bribes and threats, once more gained the
upper hand in the assembly. Heretics were excluded, the celibacy of the
clergy decided upon, and the administration of the sacrament in two kinds
prohibited; but a decision was also arrived at which seemed distantly to
affect the omnipotence of the king over the Spanish clergy. It gave the
power to the provincial synods, and as a last resource to the pope, to
examine into the morality of recipients of benefices. A slight attempt was
also made to deprecate the extreme severity of the Inquisition. These mild
resolutions were called by Philip’s ambassador “works of the devil,” and for
over a year the decisions of the Council of Trent were not published in
Spain. When, indeed, they were promulgated, it was with the saving clause
from the king that they should in no way abrogate or weaken his rights over
the clergy, the benefices, or the tithes. The condition of armed truce
between Philip and Rome continued until the death of Pius IV. in December
1565.
An attempt to introduce an inquisition of the Spanish type into Naples,
with the avowed object of suppressing political disaffection, nearly lost
Philip the realm. The city rose in revolt against it, and after a struggle Philip
was obliged to give way, and consented to abolish the dreaded tribunal
(1565). He was indeed at the time not in a condition to coerce Naples. The
struggle with the Turks in the Mediterranean had dragged on almost without
intermission. Don Garcia de Toledo had in the autumn of 1564 managed to
capture Peñon de los Velez, a nest of pirates in the kingdom of Fez, which
had been Philip’s main object for a year previously; but this was no check
to the power of the Constantinople Turks, who were fitting out a great
expedition for the purpose of hurling the Knights of St. John from their last
stronghold at Malta. Don Garcia de Toledo, now Viceroy of Sicily, joined
with the Grand Master Parisot in clamouring for Philip’s aid, unless, he
said, all the Mediterranean was to fall under the rule of the infidel. But
clamour as they might, no hurry could be expected from the king. Toledo
was a host in himself. Men were sent from Sicily, others recruited in
Corsica; Naples was put into a condition of defence, and Toledo, “bigger in
spirit than in body,” complained, and rated soundly, almost rudely, the slow
methods of his master in so great a crisis. At last, on May 19, Piali Pacha
and Dragut Reis, with a vast force of 100,000 men, appeared before Malta.
There were about a tenth of that number of Christian fighting men on the
island, but the isolated fort of St. Elmo, with a garrison of 600 men, had to
bear the brunt of the Turkish attack. After a month’s hard fighting, when at
length the Turks stormed the place only nine Christians were left alive.
From this point of vantage the siege of the main fortress by the Turks was
commenced, with the assistance of the fleet. The Grand Master had
continued to reinforce St. Elmo with his best men until it fell, and now
found himself short-handed. Fresh prayers went forth to distant Philip and
persistent Don Garcia de Toledo. Strong swimmers carried the Master’s
beseeching letters beyond the reach of the Turkish ships. He could only
hold out, he said, twenty days at most. Sixteen thousand cannon-shots had
been fired against his forts in the first month. All Christianity looked on
aghast whilst Philip was spending his time in religious processions, fasts,
and rogations for the delivery of Malta. Don Garcia’s activity made up for
his master’s tardiness, and, thanks to him mainly, Malta was able to hold
out month after month. When at last a relief squadron was got together
somehow in Sicily, consisting of 28 galleys and 10,000 men, storm and
tempest scattered it again and again, and it was not until the beginning of
September 1565 that it approached Malta, landing its men and provisions.
The defenders were at their last gasp, but this relief raised their hearts.
Again Don Garcia returned with more men and stores, and after one last
attempt to storm the stronghold, the Turks gave up the game and raised the
siege. Malta was saved, but Philip complained that he did not get full credit
for it, because the Grand Master was a Frenchman and the pope himself
was jealous.
 CHAPTER IX
Troubles in the Netherlands—Granvelle’s unpopularity—William of
Orange and Egmont—Their resignation and protest—Margaret of
Parma—Assembly of the Chapter of the Golden Fleece—Riots at
Valenciennes—Discontent of the Flemish nobles—They retire from
government—Granvelle’s dismissal—The maladministration of the
States—Egmont’s mission to Spain—Philip’s policy in the States—The
Beggars—Orange’s action—Philip determines to exterminate heresy in
the States—Philip’s projected voyage thither.
WE have seen that Philip had left his Flemish subjects (August 1559) in no
very amiable mood. The opulent, independent communities of the Low
Countries held firmly by the liberties they enjoyed. Every ruler had to swear
—as Philip had done—to uphold and preserve them intact; on that point
nobles and burghers were at one, and amongst the rights they prized most
was that no foreigner should be appointed to any administrative post. The
Burgundian rulers, although foreigners, had got on well enough with them,
and so had the emperor. It was more a question of tastes and manners than
of blood; superabundant hospitality, heavy eating, deep drinking, and rough
speaking quickly commended a man to the Flemings. The Spaniard of that
day was, as he still remains, sober and abstemious to the highest degree,
reticent, sensitive, and proud, and Philip was a Spaniard to the finger-tips.
The natural want of sympathy between sovereign and people arising out
of these circumstances doubtless began the trouble which ended in Spain’s
downfall. No part of Philip’s career shows so clearly as his treatment of the
Netherlands the limited and inelastic character of his policy, the lack of
adaptability of his methods; for how should a man be yielding or
conciliatory who supposed that he was part and parcel of Divine
Providence, the one man on earth selected by the Almighty to carry out His
irresistible decrees? There is no reason to suppose that when he first
decided upon the rearrangement of the Flemish dioceses he desired to
offend his subjects; it was probably only a step in his persistent policy of
bringing the clergy of his dominions under his more immediate control. But
in order to pay his new bishops he designed to appropriate the large
revenues of the conventual houses, and he thus raised up against him all the
cloistered clergy. The pope was bribed to agree to the change, but the
Flemings, already sulky, were willing to listen to the monks, who
denounced the innovations of the foreigner which were to deprive them of
their revenues, and what would have been under other circumstances a not
unwelcome reform became a fruitful source of trouble. There is no doubt,
moreover, that before the king attended the States-General just prior to his
departure he had every intention of withdrawing the Spanish infantry from
Flanders now that peace had been made with France, and the men were
badly wanted in Naples, where his principal danger at present lay. But when
the States-General so roughly demanded of their sovereign the immediate
withdrawal of the troops, Philip’s heart must have hardened and his pride
revolted that these independent-minded Flemings should question his
omnipotence. Another difficulty was that the troops obstinately refused to
budge until they were paid, and the treasury was empty. The Flemings, who
had been bled freely during the war, professed inability to find any more
resources, and the Antwerp bankers shut their money-bags until some of
their previous advances were paid. When Philip arrived in Spain, his sister
Margaret, Duchess of Parma, governess of the Netherlands, ceaselessly
urged him to withdraw the troops. She assured him that their further stay
would cause trouble, and Granvelle warned him gravely of the results. With
the first half of his French wife’s dowry of 400,000 ducats Philip was able
to pay the troops in the autumn of 1560, and they left in January 1561; but
by that time the evil seed had been sown, and Philip was pestered in every
letter with reminders of the various rights and privileges which he had
sworn to uphold in the respective states. Most of the unpopularity fell upon
Granvelle, who had to carry out the arrangements for the new bishoprics.
He found his task so difficult that before long he “wished to God that the
erection of these new sees had never been thought of,” although the change
made him Primate of the Netherlands, and gave the king the advantage of
thirteen nominated members in the Assembly of Nobles. This latter fact,
indeed, probably to a great extent was the original aim of the project, and
was certainly one of the principal reasons why the Flemish nobles opposed
it so bitterly.
Granvelle himself, be it recollected, was a foreigner, a Franche-Comtois,
and his luxurious, ostentatious mode of life was an additional reason for his
unpopularity. Margaret, on the other hand, whose mother had been a
Fleming, and whose masculine manners and purely Flemish tastes
commended her to her countrymen, was far from being unpopular.
The nobles who had first distinguished themselves by resisting the
further stay of the Spanish troops were William, Prince of Orange, and
Count Egmont. The former was not a Fleming in blood or education, his
principality of Orange being in the south of France, and his descent mainly
German Lutheran. By his county of Nassau, however, he was a Flemish
prince, and had been brought up in the court of the emperor, of whom he
had been a great favourite. His historical name of “the taciturn” gives a very
false idea of his character, especially in his youth. He was like a Southern
Frenchman in manners, gay, fascinating, prodigal, and voluble. His
religious opinions, if he had any, were extremely lax, and he was as ready to
seek his advantage on one side as another. His religion indeed was as purely
political as that of Philip, but as a statesman he must be ranked far higher,
for he had all Philip’s tenacity and foresight, with an opportunism almost as
great as that of Elizabeth herself.
Count Egmont, on the other hand, was a dashing and fortunate soldier,
chief of the Flemish nobility, handsome, vain, proud, and honest, but of
limited intelligence, and exceedingly credulous. The first overt step of these
two nobles was to resign the commands they held over the Spanish troops,
on the ground that, if they continued to hold them, they would lose all
influence in the country. When the Spanish troops had left, Orange and
Egmont continued, as usual, to attend the Flemish council of state appointed
by Philip to advise Margaret. But the king before he departed had arranged
that his own Spanish method of administration should be followed, namely,
that the regent and the secretary of state, Granvelle, should practically
manage everything, referring to the council only such points as they
considered necessary.
As time went on, and Granvelle became more unpopular about the
bishoprics, he referred less and less to the council, and in July 1561 Orange
and Egmont wrote to the king resigning their seats and complaining bitterly.
They had, they said, to bear a share of the unpopularity of the measures
adopted, but had no part in controlling the policy of the Government. To
this Philip returned, as was usual with him, a temporising answer. He
would, he said, consider the matter and reply at length when Count Horn
returned from Madrid to Flanders.
 Horn’s mission to Flanders was to endeavour to reconcile Granvelle with
the nobles, but this was a well-nigh impossible task. It was said that the
cardinal and his parasites were plundering right and left, whilst public
officers were unpaid and the treasury empty, that he was trying to substitute
the unobnoxious inquisition of the Netherlands by the terrible tribunal of
Spain, which certainly was not true, and that his arrogance and tyranny had
become unbearable. Granvelle indeed was the scapegoat, and had become
hateful both to the nobles and to “that perverse animal called the people,” to
use his own words. So Horn’s mission was too late, like most of Philip’s
attempts at conciliation, and in the spring of 1562 Orange petitioned the
Regent Margaret to convoke the States-General. The regent herself, though
full of praise for the cardinal in her letters to Philip, had no desire to share
his unpopularity, and consented to summon, not the States-General, but a
Chapter of the Knights of the Golden Fleece, or in effect the high nobility
of Flanders. The pretext for the assembly was that Philip had sent orders
that a force of men should be raised in Flanders to be sent to the aid of the
Catholic party in France, now in the midst of their first struggle with the
Huguenots. The discontented Flemish nobles were in no humour to aid in
this, and before the assembly Orange held a private meeting of them, to
press upon them the undesirability of allowing Granvelle to have the
disposal of troops. This was known to the regent, and she dismissed the
assembly as soon as possible, an arrangement being settled for sending a
money subsidy to the French Catholics instead of an armed force. But
before the nobles separated they decided to send as a delegate to Philip one
of their number, Florence de Montmorenci, Baron de Montigny, the brother
of Count Horn, to represent to the king the unsatisfactory state of the
country with regard to religion and the public finances. He and his brother
were Catholics, but firm upholders of the autonomy of the States. Before he
left, religious matters were indeed in a disturbed condition. Hainhault, on
the French border, with its great commerce and industry in the cities of
Tournai, and Valenciennes especially, had largely accepted the Protestant
faith from the neighbouring French Calvinists. Philip urged his sister to
severity against them, but the magistrates, themselves Flemings, hesitated
to torture their fellow-citizens, whose political privileges protected them
against such treatment. Margaret threatened the magistrates, and the people
of Valenciennes took the matter in their own hands, broke open the prison,
and released the accused. Margaret might storm, as she did, Philip might
cynically recommend that heads should be lopped, bodies burnt, and
mouths gagged, but the Marquis de Bergues, the governor of Hainhault, was
a Fleming, and would not countenance any infringement on the rights of his
people. Upon him then fell the blame. Nothing that Granvelle could say to
the king was bad enough for Bergues, and in return Egmont, Orange, and
Horn ceaselessly cast the responsibility upon Granvelle. Letter after letter
went to the king in this sense. Philip, as usual, was cool and unmoved. He is
not, he says, in the habit of punishing his ministers without just cause. But
proud Alba did not take it so coolly. “Every time I see the letters of these
three Flemish lords I fall into such a rage, that, if I did not make a great
effort to control myself, your Majesty would think me frantic.” Granvelle,
on his part, tried to fan the flame. “They want to reduce this country to a
sort of republic, in which the king can do more than they like,” and when
the Marquis de Bergues was asked by the Duke of Arschot what course he
would take if the king would not give way, his reply, as repeated to Philip,
was, “By God! we will make him swallow it.”
Things thus went from bad to worse. Granvelle at length saw that he
must bend before the storm, and offered concessions to the nobles. But it
was too late. Nearly all the nobles, governors, and Knights of Golden
Fleece had now sworn to stand together to overthrow the hated foreign
cardinal, and a formal letter was sent to the king in March 1563, signed by
Orange, Egmont, and Horn, resigning all share in the government. The
reply was again in Philip’s temporising vein. He was coming to Flanders
himself shortly, and would then inquire into their complaints. In the
meanwhile he could not dismiss Granvelle. The nobles sent another, and a
stronger, letter to the king in answer to this (July 29, 1563), and said that in
future they should absent themselves from the council. At the same time a
formal “remonstrance” was addressed to the regent, and thenceforward she
and Granvelle were left to govern alone. Margaret had no wish to be
dragged down by the impending fall of the minister, and bluntly told Philip,
by her trusty secretary, Armenteros, that, if the cardinal were maintained
against the will of nobles and people, a revolution might result. Granvelle
was assured by the king’s secretary that Philip would rather lose the States
than sacrifice his minister. The king sent a curt peremptory letter to the
nobles reproaching them for deserting the council for a trifle, and assured
the cardinal that he would not deprive himself of his services. But they
arranged between them that the cardinal should beg for leave of absence to
visit his mother in the Franche Comté and, after much pretended reluctance
on the part of Philip, Granvelle was allowed to depart, to the open rejoicing
of the nobles, the people, and even of the regent. An elaborate appearance
of his departure being spontaneous and only temporary was made, but when
two years afterwards his leave of absence had expired and he wanted to go
back, the king advised him to pass a short time in Rome, and then he knew
for certain that disgrace had fallen upon him. He would go thither—or to
the farthest end of the world—he said, if the king ordered him, but he much
feared that his absence from Flanders would not mend matters.
He had departed from Brussels in the spring of 1564, and the three
nobles at once wrote dutiful letters to Philip, who replied graciously. They
once more took an active part in the government, and in the first few
months after Granvelle left, the relief and rejoicing were great. But the sore
still remained behind. Granvelle, indeed, had only carried out the policy
inaugurated by Philip of governing Flanders as a Spanish province. The
policy was not dead though the instrument was disgraced. Such a system of
government, where popular control is loosened, invariably leads to
corruption; and this case was no exception to the rule. Granvelle’s parasites
—Morillon, Bave, Bordey, and the rest of them—had made his patronage a
crying scandal, the judges were shamelessly bought and sold, the
administration was a sink of iniquity, the inquisitor Titelmans was
ferociously hounding to death inoffensive citizens, even good Catholics,
without legal form of trial, and now Margaret of Parma herself, and her pet
secretary, Armenteros, thought it was time that they should reap a fat
harvest; so, after the first joy of Granvelle’s retreat had passed, it was
decided by the nobles to send Egmont to Spain to explain to the king how
the rights he swore to maintain were still being violated. Egmont might take
with him the vigorous protest of his peers, but Egmont was one of those
men whom princes like Philip have no cause to fear. He was vain and
superficial, and easily soothed into satisfaction. Philip made much of him,
promised him “mounts and marvels,” chided him a little; and sent him
home rejoicing, full of praises for the generosity and magnanimity of the
king. But Philip’s policy was not varied a hair’s-breadth nevertheless. On
the contrary, there is no room for doubt that he had now made up his mind
to break the spirit of the stubborn Flemings for once and for all, and to
stamp out the rebellious talk about rights and privileges which he had sworn
to maintain. There were no mundane rights and privileges that should stand
against the will of God’s own vice-regent upon earth. “God and his
Majesty” had willed that the Flemings must be governed like the Spaniards,
and that was enough. No sooner had Egmont left Madrid than the king sent
strict orders that nothing was to be changed, and that heresy was to be
pursued without mercy or truce. Thousands of industrious citizens were
flocking over to England, carrying their looms and their household gods
with them, and English Protestants looked more sourly than ever upon
Philip and all his works. Philip remained unmoved. The fewer heretics there
were in Flanders the easier would it be for him to have his way later. “Kill!
kill!” wrote one of Philip’s Spanish friars to him; “we must kill 2000 people
all over the States. Your Majesty has the weapon which God has placed in
your hand. Draw it, bathe it in the blood of heretics, unless you wish the
blood of Christ to cry to God. Moderation touches not your Majesty. Let
them seek moderation in their heresies to save their lives.”
But Philip was in no hurry; he only told his sister that nothing was to be
changed. “You know,” answered she, “how the Spanish Inquisition is hated
here. I have already told you that to suppress heresy here I am asked to cast
into the flames 60,000 or 70,000 people, and the governors of the provinces
will not allow it. They wish to resign, and I also shall be obliged to do so.”
Philip’s answer in a few words gives a clearer idea of his character than
a volume could do. For months he did not answer at all, and then wrote,
“Why all these disquietudes? Are not my intentions understood? Is it
believed that I have any intentions than the service of God and the good of
the States?” Persecution might crush Latin peoples if continued long
enough, but it could not crush the stubborn Dutchmen. There arose now a
new element in the strife. Hitherto the motive power had mostly been the
great nobles, Catholics nearly all of them, whose object was to prevent the
extinction of the political liberties of the States; but now the religious power
of resistance was aroused, and the bourgeoisie stood shoulder to shoulder
crying aloud that no papist should burn them or theirs for the faith. Many
such had fled to England, but the towns of Holland and Zeeland were full of
them still. First the landed gentlemen protested, under the leadership of
Orange’s brother, Louis of Nassau, and Saint Aldegonde, against the
proceedings of the Inquisition; and they bound themselves by solemn oath
to follow the recent example of the Neapolitans and withstand the “gang of
strangers,” who were seeking to impose the Spanish form of the Holy
Office upon them. Then Brederode, the man of highest lineage and most
insatiable thirst in Holland, joined them, and together they went, a couple of
hundred of them, to hand their solemn protest to the regent. Tears fell from
Margaret’s eyes as they filed past her, for she knew now that her brother’s
stubborn spirit had met its match, and in future it must be war to the knife.
Then the Gargantuan banquet at the hostelry of Culemburg unlocked their
tongues still further, and tippling Brederode gave his memorable toast to the
“Beggars.” No one knew what he meant, perhaps he did not himself know
at the end of such an orgy, but the name caught on, and the sturdy
“Beggars” arose thenceforward from their dykes and marshes to be quelled
no more for good, but to hold for all time to come the country which they
themselves had rescued from the sea.
The new turn of affairs did not please the great nobles. They were
Catholics, though patriots, and they saw that the championship of the
national cause was about to fall into the hands of the Protestants; so
Egmont, Horn, Montigny, Arschot, and the rest of them did their best to
stem the tide. All but Orange. He knew Philip better than any of them, and
he foresaw that there would be no surrender or conciliation from him. Why
should there be? Could the lieutenant of the Most High stoop to palter with
sottish Brederode and his crew? If Philip had spies in Flanders, so had
Orange in Madrid, and nothing passed without his knowledge. He had
learned of the king’s plans of vengeance, but he could not afford yet to cast
himself into the scale alone with Brederode and the little gentry, leaving the
great nobles on the side of the Spaniard; so for the moment he stood aloof
saying no word either of praise or condemnation, but seeking to moderate
the storm on both sides. But the spark had caught the tinder. Protestant
fervour blazed up in every town in Flanders in open defiance of the edicts.
The regent was powerless. She could not punish all Flanders, and violent
councillors of the Alba school whispered distrust to Philip even of her, for
she wrote ceaselessly to her brother urging him to gentler methods. His
action was characteristic: at first he authorised his sister to pardon the
confederates and suppress the Inquisition, and with reassuring words sought
to gain Orange to his side. But only a week after (August 9, 1566) he signed
a solemn document before a notary, setting forth that he was not bound by
his promise, and would punish all those who had directly or indirectly aided
the disturbances. He avowed to the pope that the Inquisition in Flanders
should be upheld at all costs, and that his promise to suppress it was void.
“Before allowing any backsliding in religion, or in the service of God, I will
lose all my dominions and a hundred lives, if I had them, for I will never be
a ruler of heretics.” Thus Philip threw down the gage. Then came the
sacking of Catholic churches by the mob in Antwerp, St. Omer, Malines,
and elsewhere, sacred images profaned, sacrilegious mockeries perpetrated,
holy mysteries blasphemously parodied, and priceless treasures of art
wantonly wrecked. The Protestant mob, in fact, was paramount, and the
regent and her inquisition could only look on in dismay, until the former fell
ill and lost all heart. Philip was very far from doing that. Away in distant
Spain, trying to pull the wires that move humanity from his work-room, his
only policy was extermination of heresy, utter and complete.
Wise Granvelle, even the pope himself, warned him that too much
severity might defeat his own purpose. The king scornfully and coldly
rebuked even the pontiff for his weakness. In the meanwhile Alba was
storming in the council at Philip’s delay in giving the orders for
extermination. But Philip looked upon himself as one who turned the
handle of the wheels of fate, and was in no hurry. He wanted to watch
closely which were the tallest heads to be stricken first. The regent was
working night and day, making such concessions as she dared, whilst
putting down tumult by force of arms. The Catholic nobles too, Egmont
especially, were doing their best with their armed Walloons to suppress with
a strong hand rebellion at Valenciennes and elsewhere, but Orange was in
Antwerp standing apart from both factions, and Saint Aldegonde with a
rabble was in arms outside the city. At length even diplomatic Orange had
to quit the mask. Distrusted by both parties, but idolised by the peaceful
citizens of Antwerp, who only asked to be allowed to live in quietude, he
saw the time had come; and early in 1567 reverted to the faith of his fathers,
and promised to lead the cause of reform. Tumult immediately ceased; the
regent’s severity and conciliation together, and the blind adhesion of the
nobles, except Orange and Brederode, had suppressed all disorder by the
spring, and “all the cities are coming now to us with halters round their
necks.” Orange was in Germany making preparations for the fray, whilst
Flemish Protestants were flying to England again by the hundred, crying
out that Orange and Brederode had betrayed and abandoned them. Margaret
entered Antwerp in state and rejoicing, and all looked calm and happy,
except to those who were led to the halter and the stake for the service of
“God and his Majesty.” It was but the calm that precedes the storm; and if
no one else perceived this, Philip and Orange certainly did so. The former
knew that he must crush the national feeling, and the nobles that started it,
that he must make Flanders a province of Spain before he could have his
own way in all things, and he decided to go himself with Alba and
superintend the killing, or at least he announced his intention of making the
voyage, which gave him an excuse for raising a considerable fleet and a
large force as an escort. The Queen of England affected to rejoice at her
“good brother’s” coming; but the English fleet was hastily fitted out, and all
England was in a panic of apprehension as to what it might forebode. In
vain the Regent Margaret assured the king that all was quiet, and that no
more punishment was now needed. The king replied that he wished
personally to thank her and others who had brought about the pacification.
At last when all was ready in Spain, vast sums of money collected, and
the troops under arms—no longer an escort but an avenging army—Philip
announced that he could not go himself, but would send the Duke of Alba
alone. Then all the world saw what it meant. The regent protested that the
presence of Alba would be fatal, “as he is so detested in this country that his
coming itself will be sufficient to make all the Spanish nation hated.” If he
comes she must retire; and retire she did. The news of Alba’s coming sped
across the Channel by the Protestant fugitives, and Elizabeth at once
retorted by renewed severity against the Catholics in England. Huguenots in
France, Lutherans in Germany, Protestants in England, all knew now that
the time of struggle was approaching for the faith, and messages of help and
mutual support crossed from one to another. Philip, slaving night and day at
his desk, had quietly planned long before that all the nobles who had dared
to raise their voices in the national cause should be struck at first, and then
that the brand of Spain should be stamped for ever on the rich and
industrious burgesses of the Netherlands.
 CHAPTER X
Renewed contest between Philip and the papacy—Condition of Don
Carlos—His arrest and imprisonment—Philip’s explanations—His last
illness and death—Death of Elizabeth de Valois—The interviews of
Bayonne and the Catholic League—Catharine de Medici—Philip face
to face with Protestantism—Philip and the Moriscos—Rising of the
Moriscos—Deza at Granada—Don Juan of Austria—Expulsion of the
Moriscos from Andalucia.
WHILST Philip was engaged in his hopeless efforts to extirpate national
feeling and the Protestant faith in his Flemish dominions, he was, on the
other hand, carrying on a bitter contest with the Holy See. His arrogant
claims had tired out even the erstwhile obedient Pius IV., but on his death in
December 1565 a man of Philip’s own stamp mounted the chair of St. Peter.
Michael Ghislieri, Pius V., was consumed with the one idea that the Church
must be absolutely omnipotent through Christendom in all ecclesiastical
affairs; and this was in direct opposition to the keynote of Philip’s policy,
namely, that all power within his dominions must be concentrated in the
sovereign. It did not take long, therefore, for matters to reach a crisis, the
main bone of contention being the king’s direct control of the clergy, and
his claim to withhold the papal bulls from promulgation in Spain. The new
pope issued a number of fresh orders for Church administration and
discipline, which were promptly set aside by Philip’s council, and the
contest then opened.
First, the pope turned his hand to the Spanish possessions in Italy,
sending peremptory orders to the Neapolitan bishops for them to
promulgate and obey the papal bulls without waiting for the royal
confirmation. This was met by the viceroy, the Duke of Alcalá, by
threatening any bishop who did so with summary imprisonment. Pius tried
by every device imaginable for three years to circumvent the Spanish
position in Naples, but at last in February 1569 had to confess himself
beaten. The patronage was in the hands of Philip, which necessarily made
the bishops his creatures. The pope was equally unsuccessful in Sicily and
in Milan, notwithstanding the efforts of the great cardinal, Charles
Borromeo, and the excommunication of Philip’s governor, the Duke of
Albuquerque. The pope’s action in Spain itself was more effectual. The
various pontiffs had from time to time regranted to the Spanish monarchs
the revenues arising from the sale of the so-called Crusade bulls granting
certain indulgences. Pius V. now refused to do this, on the ground that the
government traffic in these indulgences had become a scandal. He also
continued to worry Philip about Carranza and the appropriation of the great
revenues of his vacant see of Toledo to the cost of the building of the
Escorial. Bitter words and reproaches were used on both sides. Philip gave
way on secondary points, such as the sending of Carranza to Rome, but he
kept fast to his main idea of retaining control over the clergy and benefices;
and the constant menaces of the Turks in the Mediterranean made it
impossible for the pope to carry to the last extreme the quarrel with the only
prince to whom he could look for protection. Philip, indeed, was assailed by
trouble at all points. His married life, in a domestic sense, was a happy one,
though his constant labour left him but small leisure to enjoy it. All else was
bitterness and disappointment, mostly, it is true, the result of his rigid
unadaptability to circumstances.
His greatest trouble was undoubtedly the state of his son. His frantic
excesses had become more and more scandalous as he grew older. The
marriage with Mary Stuart had fallen through, in consequence of the
superior quickness of Elizabeth of England, and perhaps in consequence of
Carlos’s own condition. The emperor was working incessantly to gain the
prince’s hand for his daughter Anne; and this was the match which seemed
most probable, and indeed was in principle accepted by Philip. But the
delicate state of health of the prince was Philip’s constant excuse for not
carrying the project into effect. The matter was a delicate one, and the king
was naturally desirous of making it as little public as possible, but as early
as 1562 the king had clearly hinted to the imperial ambassador that the
prince’s judgment and understanding were defective. Dietrichstein, the
emperor’s envoy, saw the prince in 1564, and confirmed the impression
already given of him. The Venetian ambassador in 1563 bluntly reported
that the prince was a chronic lunatic. The oft-told story of his forcing a
bootmaker to eat a pair of boots he had made too tight for him, and also of
his murderous attack on Cardinal Espinosa, need not be repeated here, but
they are well authenticated; and although too much weight need not be
given to Brantome’s repulsive account of the prince’s behaviour in the
streets of Madrid, it is quite consistent with what we know positively of his
character. Philip’s hopes and ambitions for his heir had been great, and he
strove long before he abandoned them. In the hope that serious work might
fix the prince’s mind, his father appointed him in 1567 to the presidency of
the Council of State, but in this position his excesses and aberrations
became the more conspicuous. He openly mocked at and derided his father,
whom he cordially hated, and delighted to thwart. He had extorted a
promise from the king that he should accompany him to Flanders, but when
he learnt at length that Alba was going instead, his fury passed all bounds.
When the duke went to take leave of the prince, the latter cast himself upon
him with his dagger, and only with difficulty could the old warrior escape
from his maniacal violence; and on another occasion in January 1567, when
the Cortes of Castile presented a petition to the king that the prince should
remain in Spain if his father went to Flanders, he made an open scandal,
threatening with death those deputies who voted in favour of such a
petition. This public exhibition of his lunacy opened the eyes of the world
as to his condition, which could no longer be concealed, and in September
of 1567 Ruy Gomez told the French ambassador that after the impending
delivery of the queen of what, no doubt, would be a son, the future fate of
Carlos would be decided.
But Carlos himself precipitated events. Philip had decided that his son
should remain in Spain. The prince was determined that he would not.
Philip had gone in December 1567 to pass Christmas in his devotions at the
Escorial as usual, and during his absence, on December 23, Carlos informed
his young uncle, Juan of Austria, of his intention to escape. Don Juan lost
no time. The next day he rode post-haste to the Escorial and told the king.
Philip’s thoughts must have been bitter indeed that Heaven had afflicted
him with such a son. He must have seen that the great patriotic task to
which he had devoted all his life would be frustrated if handed to such a
successor. But he was calm and rigid in outward guise, and returned to
Madrid as intended on January 17, 1568. The next day he saw the French
ambassador, and went with his son to mass, but still made no sign. Don
Juan had before this endeavoured to dissuade the prince from his intention,
and the madman had attempted to kill even him. It was evident now to the
king that he must strike, however reluctantly. When he consulted his closest
councillors on the subject, for once his feelings broke through his reserve,
and his emotion was terrible. It was a duty he owed to his country and to the
cause for which he lived, to protect them against falling into the hands of a
congenital madman, and he took the course which duty dictated. Late at
night, when the prince was asleep, the king himself, with five gentlemen
and twelve guards, entered the chamber, in spite of the secret bolts and bars
with which it was provided. The prince woke from sleep, started up, and
tried to grasp a weapon; but the weapons were gone. The unhappy young
man then tried to lay violent hands upon himself, but was restrained. The
issues of the room barred, the secret receptacles opened, the papers taken,
himself restrained, the prince recognised his helplessness, and casting
himself on to his bed he sobbed out, “But I am not mad! I am only
desperate.” From that hour he was dead to the world, which saw him no
more.
Couriers flew with the news all over Europe. Explanations must not be
sought in Philip’s cold diplomatic letters giving foreign courts information
of the event, but in other quarters. The Queen of England learnt the news on
February 2, and on the 6th saw the Spanish ambassador, when she
expressed her surprise, said that the king had acted with all dignity in the
matter, but that she had not been informed of the reason for the arrest.
Letters had come from France even thus early by which Cecil learnt that the
prince had been implicated in a plot against his father’s life. The
ambassador was very indignant at such an idea, which, he said, could only
have emanated from heretics, children of the devil.
But it is clear to see that the ambassador himself is as much in the dark
as every one else, for he prays his master to instruct him what attitude he is
to assume, “as the matter has made great noise here, and no doubt
elsewhere.” To this the king coldly replied that no more was to be said
about it. Ruy Gomez was less reticent. He told the French and English
ambassadors in Spain that the prince’s mind was as defective as his body,
and had been getting steadily worse. The king had dissembled as long as he
could, in the hope of improvement, but the prince’s violence had now
become intolerable, and it had been necessary to place him under restraint.
Dr. Man, the English ambassador, fully agreed that the step had become
inevitable, as did all the ambassadors then resident in Madrid. “It was not a
punishment,” wrote Philip to his aunt and mother-in-law, the grandmother
of Don Carlos, “if it were, there would be some limit to it; but I never hope
to see my son restored to his right mind again. I have chosen in this matter
to make a sacrifice to God of my own flesh and blood, preferring His
service and the universal good to all other human considerations.”
It was a humiliating position for Philip, who had been so dutiful a son
himself, and had such far-reaching ambitions to hand down to his heir. It is
not surprising that he avoided reference to it as much as possible. Some sort
of trial or examination of the prince took place in secret before Ruy Gomez,
Cardinal Espinosa, and Muñatones, but the documents have never been
found. The rumour that Carlos plotted against his father’s life was
repudiated vigorously by the king and his ministers, but that he had been
disobedient and rebellious is certain, and probably this was the foundation
of the charge of treason brought against him. The Protestant party, in France
and Flanders especially, were willing enough to wound Philip and discredit
the Inquisition by saying that Carlos was punished for supposed Protestant
leanings; and even in Spain such things were cautiously whispered. There
is, however, not the slightest indication that such was really the case from
the papers of the prince himself and those who surrounded him, unless
perhaps the letter from his friend and almoner, Suarez, to him, in which he
reproaches him for not going to confession, and warns him that if he
persisted in his present course every one would think him mad; “things so
terrible, that in the case of other persons they have caused the Inquisition to
inquire whether they were Christians.” Certainly to all appearance the
prince was as devout a Catholic as his father, and the idea of attributing to
this epileptic imbecile elevated ideas of political and religious reform is
obviously absurd.
If we must hold Philip blameless with respect to his son’s imprisonment,
we must still keep in suspense our judgment with regard to his
responsibility for the prince’s death, because the evidence as to what passed
after his arrest comes mainly from persons in the king’s interest and pay,
and because the accusation that Carlos was murdered was formulated by
Philip’s bitterest enemy, Antonio Perez, a man, moreover, utterly unworthy
of credit, a murderer, a perjurer, and a traitor to his country.
The long secret trial of the prince dragged on. Neither his aunt Juana nor
his beloved stepmother was allowed to see him, and Philip even forbade his
brother, Don Juan, to wear mourning for the trouble that had befallen the
royal house.
 In the meanwhile the prince’s health visibly declined. At best he had
been a continual invalid, burned up with fever and ague, but in captivity and
under examination he became worse. He refused to receive the consolations
of the Church, a freak upon which much superstructure has been raised. As
his madness increased, like many lunatics he took to swallowing inedible
things, jewelry, and other objects of the same sort, and finally refused to eat
anything at all for eleven days. Then in reply to the king’s remonstrances,
he gorged himself, and this brought him a return of his fever in the worst
form. Every sort of mad proceeding was adopted in turn by the unhappy
youth. He would half roast himself by a fire, and then put ice in his bed.
First he would scornfully refuse the sacraments, and then fulfil scrupulously
all the forms of his Church. At length, probably from weakness, he became
calmer, and there was a momentary hope of his recovery. Llorente (whose
authority is not, however, to be accepted unquestioned) says that the result
of his trial was that he was “found guilty of implication in a plot to kill the
king and to usurp the sovereignty of the Netherlands, and that the only
punishment for this was death.” There are no trustworthy official
documents known which prove this to have been the case, but nature and
the prince’s mad excesses had apparently condemned him to death,
independently of his faults and failings. When he was told that he was dying
he conformed fervently to the rites of his Church, and sent Suarez to beg his
father’s forgiveness. On July 21 the French ambassador wrote to his master
that Don Carlos had eaten nothing but a few plums and sweetmeats for
eight days, and was dying of weakness. “The king, his father, is much
grieved, because, if he die, the world will talk. I understand that if he live,
the castle of Arevalo is to be put in order, so that he may be lodged in safety
and comfort.”
On July 26 the same ambassador writes to Catharine de Medici saying
that the prince had died the previous day. He attributes the death entirely to
his curious eccentricities of diet and hygiene. Llorente, enemy of Philip
though he was, says that Carlos died a natural death. In face of this
testimony it appears that Philip should be given the benefit of the doubt. In
any case, the Abbé de St. Real’s romantic fictions, which have been drawn
upon by so many historians, may be confidently dismissed as unworthy of
any credit whatever, and Perez’s source is too tainted to be accepted. When
the French ambassador notified the death of Don Carlos, he told Catharine
de Medici that her daughter, the queen, was ill. The death, however, of her