Paul had all his life declaimed against nepotism as an opprobrious sin in the head of the Church. Yet no sooner did he put on the tiara than he gave a glaring example of the sin he had denounced, in the favors which he lavished on three of his own nephews. This was the more remarkable, as they were men whose way of life had given scandal even to the Italians, not used to be too scrupulous in their judgments.

The eldest, who represented the family, he raised to the rank of duke, providing him with an ample fortune from the confiscated property of the Colonnas,—which illustrious house was bitterly persecuted by Paul, for its attachment to the Spanish interests.

Another of his nephews he made a cardinal,—a dignity for which he was indifferently qualified by his former profession, which was that of a soldier, and still less fitted by his life, which was that of a libertine. He was a person of a busy, intriguing disposition, and stimulated his uncle's vindictive feelings against the Spaniards, whom he himself hated, for some affront which he conceived had been put upon him while in the emperor's service.[137]

But Paul needed no prompter in this matter. He very soon showed that, instead of ecclesiastical reform, he was bent on a project much nearer to his heart,—the subversion of the Spanish power in Naples. Like Julius the Second, of warlike memory, he swore to drive out the barbarians from Italy. He seemed to think that the thunders of the Vatican were more than a match for all the strength of the empire and of Spain. But he was not weak enough to rely wholly on his spiritual artillery in such a contest. Through the French ambassador at his court, he opened negotiations with France, and entered into a secret treaty with that power, by which each of the parties agreed to furnish a certain contingent of men and money to carry on the war for the recovery of Naples. The treaty was executed on the sixteenth of December, 1555.[138]

In less than two months after this event, on the fifth of February, 1556, the fickle monarch of France, seduced by the advantageous offers of Charles, backed, moreover, by the ruinous state of his own finances, deserted his new ally, and signed the treaty of Vaucelles, which secured a truce for five years between his dominions and those of Philip.

Paul received the news of this treaty while surrounded by his courtiers. He treated the whole with scepticism, but expressed the pious hope, that such a peace might be in store for the nations of Christendom. In private he was not so temperate. But without expending his wrath in empty menaces, he took effectual means to bring things back to their former state,—to induce the French king to renew the treaty with himself, and at once to begin hostilities. He knew the vacillating temper of the monarch he had to deal with. Cardinal Caraffa was accordingly despatched on a mission to Paris, fortified with ample powers for the arrangement of a new treaty, and with such tempting promises on the part of his holiness as might insure its acceptance by the monarch and his ministers.

The French monarchy was, at that time, under the sceptre of Henry the Second, the son of Francis the First, to whose character his own bore no resemblance;{64} or rather the resemblance consisted in those showy qualities which lie too near the surface to enter into what may be called character. He affected a chivalrous vein, excelled in the exercises of the tourney, and indulged in vague aspirations after military renown. In short, he fancied himself a hero, and seems to have imposed on some of his own courtiers so far as to persuade them that he was designed for one. But he had few of the qualities which enter into the character of a hero. He was as far from being a hero as he was from being a good Christian, though he thought to prove his orthodoxy by persecuting the Protestants, who were now rising into a formidable sect in the southern parts of his kingdom. He had little reliance on his own resources, leading a life of easy indulgence, and trusting the direction of his affairs to his favorites and his mistresses.

The most celebrated of these was Diana of Poictiers, created by Henry duchess of Valentinois, who preserved her personal charms and her influence over her royal lover to a much later period than usually happens. The persons of his court in whom the king most confided were the Constable Montmorency and the duke of Guise.

Anne de Montmorency, constable of France, was one of the proudest of the French nobility,—proud alike of his great name, his rank, and his authority with his sovereign. He had grown gray in the service of the court, and Henry, accustomed to his society from boyhood, had learned to lean on him for the execution of his measures. Yet his judgments, though confidently given, were not always sound. His views were far from being enlarged; and though full of courage, he showed little capacity for military affairs. A consciousness of this, perhaps, may have led him to recommend a pacific policy, suited to his own genius. He was a stanch Catholic, extremely punctilious in all the ceremonies of devotion, and, if we may credit Brantôme, would strangely mingle together the military and the religious. He repeated his Pater-Noster at certain fixed hours, whatever might be his occupation at the time. He would occasionally break off to give his orders, calling out, "Cut me down such a man!" "Hang up another!" "Run those fellows through with your lances!" "Set fire to that village!"—and so on; when, having thus relieved the military part of his conscience, he would go on with his Pater-Nosters as before.[139]

A very different character was that of his younger rival, Francis, duke of Guise, uncle to Mary, queen of Scots, and brother to the regent. Of a bold, aspiring temper, filled with the love of glory, brilliant and popular in his address, he charmed the people by his manners and the splendor of his equipage and dress. He came to court, attended usually by three or four hundred cavaliers, who formed themselves on Guise as their model. His fine person was set off by the showy costume of the time,—a crimson doublet and cloak of spotless ermine, and a cap ornamented with a scarlet plume. In this dress he might often be seen, mounted on his splendid charger and followed by a gay retinue of gentlemen, riding at full gallop through the streets of Paris, and attracting the admiration of the people.

But his character was not altogether made up of such vanities. He was sagacious in counsel, and had proved himself the best captain of France. It{65} was he who commanded at the memorable siege of Metz, and foiled the efforts of the imperial forces under Charles and the duke of Alva. Caraffa found little difficulty in winning him over to his cause, as he opened to the ambitious chief the brilliant perspective of the conquest of Naples. The arguments of the wily Italian were supported by the duchess of Valentinois. It was in vain that the veteran Montmorency reminded the king of the ruinous state of the finances, which had driven him to the shameful expedient of putting up public offices to sale. The other party represented that the condition of Spain, after her long struggle, was little better; that the reins of government had now been transferred from the wise Charles to the hands of his inexperienced son; and that the coöperation of Rome afforded a favorable conjunction of circumstances, not to be neglected. Henry was further allured by Caraffa's assurance that his uncle would grant to the French monarch the investiture of Naples for one of his younger sons, and bestow Milan on another. The offer was too tempting to be resisted.

One objection occurred, in certain conscientious scruples as to the violation of the recent treaty of Vaucelles. But for this the pope, who had anticipated the objection, readily promised absolution. As the king also intimated some distrust lest the successor of Paul, whose advanced age made his life precarious, might not be inclined to carry out the treaty, Caraffa was authorized to assure him that this danger should be obviated by the creation of a batch of French cardinals, or of cardinals in the French interest.

All the difficulties being thus happily disposed of, the treaty was executed in the month of July, 1556. The parties agreed each to furnish about twelve thousand infantry, five hundred men-at-arms, and the same number of light horse. France was to contribute three hundred and fifty thousand ducats to the expenses of the war, and Rome one hundred and fifty thousand. The French troops were to be supplied with provisions by the pope, for which they were to reimburse his holiness. It was moreover agreed, that the crown of Naples should be settled on a younger son of Henry, that a considerable tract on the northern frontier should be transferred to the papal territory, and that ample estates should be provided from the new conquests for the three nephews of his holiness. In short, the system of partition was as nicely adjusted as if the quarry were actually in their possession, ready to be cut up and divided among the parties.[140]

Finally, it was arranged that Henry should invite the Sultan Solyman to renew his former alliance with France, and make a descent with his galleys on the coast of Calabria. Thus did his most Christian majesty, with the pope for one of his allies and the Grand Turk for the other, prepare to make war on the most Catholic prince in Christendom![141]

Meanwhile, Paul the Fourth, elated by the prospect of a successful negotiation, threw off the little decency he had hitherto preserved in his deportment. He launched out into invectives more bitter than ever against Philip, and in a tone of defiance told such of the Spanish cardinals as were present that they might repeat his sayings to their master. He talked of instituting a legal process against the king for the recovery of Naples, which he had forfeited by omitting to pay the yearly tribute to the holy see. The pretext was ill-founded, as the pope well knew. But the process went on with suitable gravity, and a sentence of forfeiture was ultimately pronounced against the Spanish monarch.{66}

With these impotent insults, Paul employed more effectual means of annoyance. He persecuted all who showed any leaning to the Spanish interest. He set about repairing the walls of Rome, and strengthening the garrisons on the frontier. His movements raised great alarm among the Romans, who had too vivid a recollection of their last war with Spain, under Clement the Seventh, to wish for another. Garcilasso de la Vega, who had represented Philip, during his father's reign, at the papal court, wrote a full account of these doings to the viceroy of Naples. Garcilasso was instantly thrown into prison. Taxis, the Spanish director of the posts, was both thrown into prison and put to the torture. Saria, the imperial ambassador, after in vain remonstrating against these outrages, waited on the pope to demand his passport, and was kept standing a full hour at the gate of the Vatican, before he was admitted.[142]

Philip had full intelligence of all these proceedings. He had long since descried the dark storm that was mustering beyond the Alps. He had provided for it at the close of the preceding year, by committing the government of Naples to the man most competent to such a crisis. This was the duke of Alva, at that time governor of Milan, and commander-in-chief of the army in Italy. As this remarkable person is to occupy a large space in the subsequent pages of this narrative, it may be well to give some account of his earlier life.

Fernando Alvarez de Toledo was descended from an illustrious house in Castile, whose name is associated with some of the most memorable events in the national history. He was born in 1508, and while a child had the misfortune to lose his father, who perished in Africa, at the siege of Gelves. The care of the orphan devolved on his grandfather, the celebrated conqueror of Navarre. Under this veteran teacher the young Fernando received his first lessons in war, being present at more than one skirmish when quite a boy. This seems to have sharpened his appetite for a soldier's life, for we find him at the age of sixteen, secretly leaving his home and taking service under the banner of the Constable Velasco, at the siege of Fontarabia. He was subsequently made governor of that place. In 1527, when not twenty years of age, he came, by his grandfather's death, into possession of the titles and large patrimonial estates of the house of Toledo.

The capacity which he displayed, as well as his high rank, soon made him an object of attention; and as Philip grew in years, the duke of Alva was placed near his person, formed one of his council, and took part in the regency of Castile. He accompanied Philip on his journeys from Spain, and, as we have seen, made one of his retinue both in Flanders and in England. The duke was of too haughty and imperious a temper to condescend to those arts which are thought to open the most ready avenues to the favor of the sovereign. He met with rivals of a finer policy and more accommodating disposition. Yet Philip perfectly comprehended his character. He knew the strength of his understanding, and did full justice to his loyalty; and he showed his confidence in his integrity by placing him in offices of the highest responsibility.

The emperor, with his usual insight into character, had early discerned the military talents of the young nobleman. He took Alva along with him on his campaigns in Germany, where from a subordinate station he rapidly rose to the first command in the army. Such was his position at the unfortunate{67} siege of Metz, where the Spanish infantry had nearly been sacrificed to the obstinacy of Charles.

In his military career the duke displayed some of the qualities most characteristic of his countrymen. But they were those qualities which belong to a riper period of life. He showed little of that romantic and adventurous spirit of the Spanish cavalier, which seemed to court peril for its own sake, and would hazard all on a single cast. Caution was his prominent trait, in which he was a match for any graybeard in the army;—a caution carried to such a length as sometimes to put a curb on the enterprising spirit of the emperor. Men were amazed to see so old a head on so young shoulders.

Yet this caution was attended by a courage which dangers could not daunt, and by a constancy which toil, however severe, could not tire. He preferred the surest, even though the slowest, means to attain his object. He was not ambitious of effect; he never sought to startle by a brilliant coup-de-main. He would not have compromised a single chance in his own favor by appealing to the issue of a battle. He looked steadily to the end, and he moved surely towards it by a system of operations planned with the nicest forecast. The result of these operations was almost always success. Few great commanders have been more uniformly successful in their campaigns. Yet it was rare that these campaigns were marked by what is so dazzling to the imagination of the young aspirant for glory,—a great and decisive victory.—Such were some of the more obvious traits in the military character of the chief to whom Philip, at this crisis, confided the post of viceroy of Naples.[143]

Before commencing hostilities against the Church, the Spanish monarch determined to ease his conscience, by obtaining, if possible, a warrant for his proceedings from the Church itself. He assembled a body composed of theologians from Salamanca, Alcalá, Valladolid, and some other places, and of jurists from his several councils, to resolve certain queries which he propounded. Among the rest, he inquired whether, in case of a defensive war with the pope, it would not be lawful to sequestrate the revenues of those persons, natives or foreigners, who had benefices in Spain, but who refused obedience to the orders of its sovereign;—whether he might not lay an embargo on all revenues of the Church, and prohibit any remittance of moneys to Rome;—whether a council might not be convoked to determine the validity{68} of Paul's election, which, in some particulars, was supposed to have been irregular;—whether inquiry might not be made into the gross abuses of ecclesiastical patronage by the Roman see, and effectual measures taken to redress them. The suggestion of an ecclesiastical council was a menace that grated unpleasantly on the pontifical ear, and was used by European princes as a sort of counterblast to the threat of excommunication. The particular objects for which this council was to be summoned were not of a kind to soothe the irritable nerves of his holiness. The conclave of theologians and jurists made as favorable responses as the king had anticipated to his several interrogatories; and Philip, under so respectable a sanction, sent orders to his viceroy to take effectual measures for the protection of Naples.[144]

Alva had not waited for these orders, but had busily employed himself in mustering his resources, and in collecting troops from the Abruzzi and other parts of his territory. As hostilities were inevitable, he determined to strike the first blow, and carry the war into the enemy's country, before he had time to cross the Neapolitan frontier. Like his master, however, the duke was willing to release himself, as far as possible, from personal responsibility before taking up arms against the head of the Church. He accordingly addressed a manifesto to the pope and the cardinals, setting forth in glowing terms the manifold grievances of his sovereign; the opprobrious and insulting language of Paul; the indignities offered to Philip's agents, and to the imperial ambassador; the process instituted for depriving his master of Naples; and, lastly, the warlike demonstrations of the pope along the frontier, which left no doubt as to his designs. He conjured his holiness to pause before he plunged his country into war. As the head of the Church, it was his duty to preserve peace, not to bring war into Christendom. He painted the inevitable evils of war, and the ruin and devastation which it must bring on the fair fields of Italy. If this were done, it would be the pope's doing, and his would be the responsibility. On the part of Naples, the war would be a war of defence. For himself, he had no alternative. He was placed there to maintain the possessions of his sovereign; and, by the blessing of God, he would maintain them to the last drop of his blood.[145]

Alva, while making this appeal to the pope, invoked the good offices of the Venetian government in bringing about a reconciliation between Philip and the Vatican. His spirited manifesto to the pope was intrusted to a special messenger, a person of some consideration in Naples. The only reply which the hot-headed pontiff made to it was to throw the envoy into prison, and, as some state, to put him to the torture.

Meanwhile, Alva, who had not placed much reliance on the success of his appeal, had mustered a force, amounting in all to twelve thousand infantry,{69} fifteen hundred horse, and a train of twelve pieces of artillery. His infantry was chiefly made up of Neapolitans, some of whom had seen but little service. The strength of his army lay in his Spanish veterans, forming one third of his force. The place of rendezvous was San Germano, a town on the northern frontier of the kingdom. On the first of September, 1556, Alva, attended by a gallant band of cavaliers, left the capital, and on the fourth arrived at the place appointed. The following day he crossed the borders at the head of his troops, and marched on Pontecorvo. He met with no resistance from the inhabitants, who at once threw open their gates to him. Several other places followed the example of Pontecorvo; and Alva, taking possession of them, caused a scutcheon displaying the arms of the sacred college to be hung up in the principal church of each town, with a placard announcing that he held it only for the college, until the election of a new pontiff. By this act he proclaimed to the Christian world that the object of the war, as far as Spain was concerned, was not conquest, but defence. Some historians find in it a deeper policy,—that of exciting feelings of distrust between the pope and the cardinals.[146]

Anagni, a place of some strength, refused the duke's summons to surrender. He was detained three days before his guns had opened a practicable breach in the walls. He then ordered an assault. The town was stormed and delivered up to sack,—by which phrase is to be understood the perpetration of all those outrages which the ruthless code of war allowed, in that age, on the persons and property of the defenceless inhabitants, without regard to sex or age.[147]

One or two other places which made resistance shared the fate of Anagni; and the duke of Alva, having garrisoned his new conquests with such forces as he could spare, led his victorious legions against Tivoli,—a town strongly situated on elevated ground, commanding the eastern approaches to the capital. The place surrendered without attempting a defence; and Alva, willing to give his men some repose, made Tivoli his head-quarters; while his army spread over the suburbs and adjacent country, which afforded good forage for his cavalry.

The rapid succession of these events, the fall of town after town, and, above all, the dismal fate of Anagni, filled the people of Rome with terror. The women began to hurry out of the city; many of the men would have followed but for the interference of Cardinal Caraffa. The panic was as great as if the enemy had been already at the gates of the capital. Amidst this general consternation, Paul seemed to be almost the only person who retained his self-possession. Navagero, the Venetian minister, was present when he received tidings of the storming of Anagni, and bears witness to the composure with which he went through the official business of the morning, as if nothing had happened.[148] This was in public; but the shock was sufficiently strong to strike out some sparkles of his fiery temper, as those found who met him that day in private. To the Venetian agent who had come to Rome{70} to mediate a peace, and who had pressed him to enter into some terms of accommodation with the Spaniards, he haughtily replied, that Alva must first recross the frontier, and then, if he had aught to solicit, prefer his petition like a dutiful son of the Church. This course was not one very likely to be adopted by the victorious general[149]

In an interview with two French gentlemen, who, as he had reason to suppose, were interesting themselves in the affair of a peace, he exclaimed: "Whoever would bring me into a peace with heretics is a servant of the Devil. Heaven will take vengeance on him. I will pray that God's curse may fall on him. If I find that you intermeddle in any such matter, I will cut your heads off your shoulders. Do not think this an empty threat. I have an eye in my back on you,"—quoting an Italian proverb,—"and if I find you playing me false, or attempting to entangle me a second time in an accursed truce, I swear to you by the eternal God, I will make your heads fly from your shoulders, come what may come of it!" "In this way," concludes the narrator, one of the parties, "his holiness continued for nearly an hour, walking up and down the apartment, and talking all the while of his own grievances and of cutting off our heads, until he had talked himself quite out of breath."[150]

But the valor of the pope did not expend itself in words. He instantly set about putting the capital in the best state of defence. He taxed the people to raise funds for his troops, drew in the garrisons from the neighboring places, formed a body-guard of six or seven hundred horse, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing his Roman levies, amounting to six thousand infantry, well equipped for the war. They made a brave show, with their handsome uniforms and their banners richly emblazoned with the pontifical arms. As they passed in review before his holiness, who stood at one of the windows of his palace, he gave them his benediction. But the edge of the Roman sword, according to an old proverb, was apt to be blunt; and these holiday troops were soon found to be no match for the hardy veterans of Spain.

Among the soldiers at the pope's disposal was a body of German mercenaries, who followed war as a trade, and let themselves out to the highest bidder. They were Lutherans, with little knowledge of the Roman Catholic religion, and less respect for it. They stared at its rites as mummeries, and made a jest of its most solemn ceremonies, directly under the eyes of the pope. But Paul, who at other times would have punished offences like these with the gibbet and the stake, could not quarrel with his defenders, and was obliged to digest his mortification as he best might. It was remarked that the times were sadly out of joint, when the head of the Church had heretics for his allies and Catholics for his enemies.[151]

Meanwhile the duke of Alva was lying at Tivoli. If he had taken advantage of the panic caused by his successes, he might, it was thought, without much difficulty, have made himself master of the capital. But this did not suit his policy, which was rather to bring the pope to terms than to ruin him. He was desirous to reduce the city by cutting off its supplies. The possession of Tivoli, as already noticed, enabled him to command the eastern approaches to Rome, and he now proposed to make himself master of Ostia and thus destroy the communications with the coast.{71}

Accordingly, drawing together his forces, he quitted Tivoli, and directed his march across the Campagna, south of the Roman capital. On his way he made himself master of some places belonging to the holy see, and in the early part of November arrived before Ostia, and took up a position on the banks of the Tiber, where it spread into two branches, the northern one of which was called the Fiumicino, or little river. The town, or rather village, consisted of only a few straggling houses, very different from the proud Ostia, whose capacious harbor was once filled with the commerce of the world. It was protected by a citadel of some strength, garrisoned by a small but picked body of troops, so indifferently provided with military stores, that it was clear the government had not anticipated an attack in this quarter.

The duke ordered a number of boats to be sent round from Nettuno, a place on the coast, of which he had got possession. By means of these he formed a bridge, over which he passed a small detachment of his army, together with his battering train of artillery. The hamlet was easily taken, but, as the citadel refused to surrender, Alva laid regular siege to it. He constructed two batteries, on which he planted his heavy guns, commanding opposite quarters of the fortress. He then opened a lively cannonade on the outworks, which was returned with great spirit by the garrison.

Meanwhile he detached a considerable body of horse, under Colonna, who swept the country to the very walls of Rome. A squadron of cavalry, whose gallant bearing had filled the heart of the old pope with exultation, sallied out against the marauders. An encounter took place not far from the city. The Romans bore themselves up bravely to the shock; but, after splintering their lances, they wheeled about, and, without striking another blow, abandoned the field to the enemy, who followed them up to the gates of the capital. They were so roughly handled in their flight, that the valiant troopers could not be induced again to leave their walls, although Cardinal Caraffa—who had a narrow escape from the enemy—sallied out with a handful of his followers, to give them confidence.[152]

During this time Alva was vigorously pressing the siege of Ostia; but though more than a week had elapsed, the besieged showed no disposition to surrender. At length, the Spanish commander, on the seventeenth of November, finding his ammunition nearly expended and his army short of provisions, determined on a general assault. Early on the following morning, after hearing mass as usual, the duke mounted his horse, and, riding among the ranks to animate the spirits of his soldiers, gave orders for the attack. A corps of Italians was first detached, to scale the works; but they were repulsed with considerable loss. It was found impossible for their officers to rally them, and bring them back to the assault. A picked body of Spanish infantry was then despatched on this dangerous service. With incredible difficulty they succeeded in scaling the ramparts, under a storm of combustibles and other missiles hurled down by the garrison, and effected an entrance into the place. But here they were met with a courage as dauntless as their own. The struggle was long and desperate. There had been no such fighting in the course of the campaign. At length, the duke, made aware of the severe loss sustained by his men, and of the impracticability of the attempt, as darkness was setting in, gave the signal for retreat. The assailants had doubtless the worst of it in the conflict; but the besieged, worn out with fatigue, with their ammunition nearly exhausted, and almost without food, did not feel themselves in condition to sustain another assault on the following day. On the nineteenth of November, therefore, the morning after the{72} conflict, the brave garrison capitulated, and were treated with honor as prisoners of war.[153]

The fate of the campaign seemed now to be decided. The pope, with, his principal towns in the hands of the enemy, his communications cut off both with the country and the coast, may well have felt his inability to contend thus single-handed against the power of Spain. At all events, his subjects felt it, and they were not deterred by his arrogant bearing from clamoring loudly against the continuance of this ruinous war. But Paul would not hear of a peace. However crippled by his late reverses, he felt confident of repairing them all on the arrival of the French, who, as he now learned with joy, were in full march across the territory of Milan. He was not so disinclined to a truce, which might give time for their coming.

Cardinal Caraffa, accordingly, had a conference with the duke of Alva, and entered into negotiations with him for a suspension of arms. The proposal was not unwelcome to the duke, who, weakened by losses of every kind, was by no means in condition at the end of an active campaign to contend with a fresh army under the command of so practised a leader as the duke of Guise. He did not care to expose himself a second time to an encounter with the French general, under disadvantages nearly as great as those which had foiled him at Metz.

With these amiable dispositions, a truce was soon arranged between the parties, to continue forty days. The terms were honorable to Alva, since they left him in possession of all his conquests. Having completed these arrangements, the Spanish commander broke up his camp on the southern bank of the Tiber, recrossed the frontier, and in a few days made his triumphant entry, at the head of his battalions, into the city of Naples.[154]

So ended the first campaign of the war with Rome. It had given a severe lesson, that might have shaken the confidence and humbled the pride of a pontiff less arrogant than Paul the Fourth. But it served only to deepen his hatred of the Spaniards, and to stimulate his desire for vengeance.{73}

CHAPTER VI.

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

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

The advice of the duke of Ferrara, however judicious in itself, was not relished by his son-in-law, the duke of Guise, who was anxious to press forward{74} to Naples as the proper scene of his conquests. The pope, too, called on him, in the most peremptory terms, to hasten his march, as Naples was the object of the expedition. The French commander had the address to obtain instructions to the same effect from his own court, by which he affected to be decided. His Italian father-in-law was so much disgusted by this determination, that he instantly quitted the camp, and drew off his six thousand soldiers, declaring that he needed all he could muster to protect his own states against the troops of Milan.[156]

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

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

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

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

The fate of Italy, in the sixteenth century, was hard indeed. She had advanced far beyond the age in most of the arts which belong to a civilized community. Her cities, even her smaller towns, throughout the country, displayed the evidences of architectural taste. They were filled with stately temples and elegant mansions; the squares were ornamented with fountains of elaborate workmanship; the rivers were spanned by arches of solid masonry. The private as well as public edifices were furnished with costly works of art, of which the value was less in the material than in the execution. A generation had scarcely passed since Michael Angelo and Raphael{75} had produced their miracles of sculpture and of painting; and now Correggio, Paul Veronese, and Titian were filling their country with those immortal productions which have been the delight and the despair of succeeding ages. Letters kept pace with art. The magical strains of Ariosto had scarcely died away when a greater bard had arisen in Tasso, to take up the tale of Christian chivalry. This extraordinary combination of elegant art and literary culture was the more remarkable, from the contrast presented by the condition of the rest of Europe, then first rising into the light of a higher civilization. But, with all this intellectual progress, Italy was sadly deficient in some qualities found among the hardier sons of the north, and which seem indispensable to a national existence. She could boast of her artists, her poets, her politicians; but of few real patriots, few who rested their own hopes on the independence of their country. The freedom of the old Italian republics had passed away. There was scarcely one that had not surrendered its liberties to a master. The principle of union for defence against foreign aggression was as little understood as the principle of political liberty at home. The states were jealous of one another. The cities were jealous of one another, and were often torn by factions within themselves. Thus their individual strength was alike ineffectual, whether for self-government or self-defence. The gift of beauty which Italy possessed in so extraordinary a degree only made her a more tempting prize to the spoiler, whom she had not the strength or the courage to resist. The Turkish corsair fell upon her coasts, plundered her maritime towns, and swept off their inhabitants into slavery. The Europeans, scarcely less barbarous, crossed the Alps, and, striking into the interior, fell upon the towns and hamlets that lay sheltered among the hills and in the quiet valleys, and converted them into heaps of ruins. Ill fares it with the land which, in an age of violence, has given itself up to the study of the graceful and the beautiful, to the neglect of those hardy virtues which can alone secure a nation's independence.

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

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

The women of the place displayed an intrepidity equal to that of the men. Armed with buckler and cuirass, they might be seen by the side of their husbands and brothers, in the most exposed situations on the ramparts; and, as{76} one was shot down, another stepped forward to take the place of her fallen comrade.[158] The fate of Campli had taught them to expect no mercy from the victor, and they preferred death to dishonor.

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

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

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

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

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