Philip established his capital at Madrid, and commenced the Palace
of the Escurial, nineteen miles distant, which stands to-day as his
monument. His coronation was celebrated by an auto-da-fé at
Valladolid, which it is said “he attended with much devotion.” One of
the victims, an officer of distinction, while awaiting his turn said to
him: “Sire, how can you witness such tortures?” “Were my own son in
your place I should witness it,” was the reply; which was a key to the
character of the man.
[Illustration: From the painting by Velasquez.
The Surrender of Breda.]
He asserted his claim through his mother, the Princess Isabel of
Portugal, to the throne of that country, and after a stubborn contest
with the Lusitanians, the long-desired union of Spain and Portugal was
accomplished. This event was celebrated by Cervantes in a poem which
extravagantly lauds his sovereign. Henry VIII. had been succeeded in
England by Mary, daughter of his unhappy Queen, Catherine of Aragon,
who, it will be remembered, was the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella.
Mary had inherited the intense religious fervor and perhaps the cruel
instincts of her mother's family, and she quickly set about restoring
Protestant England to the Catholic faith. Philip saw in a union with
Mary and a joint sovereignty over England, such as he hoped would
follow, an immense opportunity for Spain. The marriage took place with
great splendor, and in the desire to please her handsome husband, of
whom she was very fond, she commenced the work which has given her the
title, “Bloody Mary.” In vain were human torches lighted to lure Philip
from Spain, where he lingered. She did not win his love, nor did Philip
reign conjointly with his royal consort in England. Mary died in 1558,
and her Protestant sister Elizabeth, daughter of Anne Boleyn, was Queen
of England.
Philip had made up his mind that Protestantism should be
exterminated in his kingdom of the Netherlands. He could not go there
himself, so he looked about for a suitable instrument for his purpose.
The Duke of Alva was the man chosen. He was appointed Viceroy, with
full authority to carry out the pious design. Heresy must cease to
exist in the Netherlands. The arrival of Alva, clothed with such
despotic powers, and the atrocities committed by him, caused the
greatest indignation in the Netherlands. The Prince of Orange, aided by
the Counts Egmont and Horn, organized a party to resist him, and a
revolution was commenced which lasted for forty years, affording one of
the blackest chapters in the history of Europe. The name of Alva stands
at the head of the list of men who have wrought desolation and
suffering in the name of religion. The other European states protested,
and Elizabeth, in hot indignation, gave aid to the persecuted states.
Philip had contracted a marriage, after Mary's death, with the
daughter of that terrible woman Catherine de Medici, widow of Henry II.
of France, and there is much reason to believe that it was this Duke of
Alva who planned the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. There were sinister
conferences between Catherine, Philip, and Alva, and little doubt
exists that the hideous tragedy which occurred in Paris on the night of
August 24, 1572, was arranged in Madrid, and had its first inception in
the cruel breast of Alva.
There had not been much love existing before between Philip and
Elizabeth, who it is said had refused the hand of her Spanish
brother-in-law. But after her interference in the Netherlands, and when
her ships were intercepting and waylaying Spanish ships returning with
treasure from the West, and when at last the one was the accepted
champion of the Protestant, and the other of the Catholic cause, they
became avowed enemies. Philip resolved to prepare a mighty armament for
the invasion of England.
In 1587 Elizabeth sent Sir Francis Drake to reconnoiter and find out
what Philip was doing. He appeared with twenty-five vessels before
Cadiz. Having learned all he wanted, and burned a fleet of merchant
vessels, he returned to his Queen.
In May, 1588, a fleet of one hundred and thirty ships, some “the
largest that ever plowed the deep,” sailed from Lisbon for the English
coast. We may form some idea to-day of what must have been the feeling
in England when this Armada, unparalleled in size, appeared in the
English Channel! If Sir Francis Drake's ships were fewer and smaller,
he could match the Spaniards in audacity. He sent eight fireships right
in among the close-lying vessels. Then, in the confusion which
followed, while they were obstructed and entangled with their own
fleet, he swiftly attacked them with such vigor that ten ships were
sunk or disabled, and the entire fleet was demoralized. Then a storm
overtook the fleeing vessels, and the winds and the waves completed the
victory. As in the Spanish report of the disaster thirty-five is the
number of ships acknowledged to be lost, we may imagine how great was
the destruction. So ended Philip's invasion of England, and the great
Spanish “Armada.”
Philip II. died, 1598, in the Palace of the Escurial which he had
built, and with that event ends the story of Spain's greatness. The
period of one hundred and twenty-five years, including the reigns of
Ferdinand and Isabella, of Charles V., and of Philip II., is, in a way,
one of unmatched splendor. Spain had not like England by slow degrees
expanded into great proportions, but through strange and perfectly
fortuitous circumstances, she had, from a proud obscurity, suddenly
leaped into a position of commanding power and magnificence. Fortune
threw into her lap the greatest prize she ever had to bestow, and at
the same time gave her two sovereigns of exceptional qualities and
abilities. The story of this double reign is the romance, the fairy
tale of history. Then came the magnificent reign of Charles V. with
more gifts from fortune—the imperial crown, if not a substantial
benefit to Spain, still bringing dignity and éclat. But under this
glittering surface there had commenced even then a decline. Under
Philip II. she was still magnificent, Europe was bowing down to her,
but the decline was growing more manifest; and with the accession of
his puny son, Philip III., there was little left but a brilliant past,
which a proud and retrospective nation was going to feed upon for over
three centuries. But it takes some time for such dazzling effulgence to
disappear. The glamour of the Spanish name was going to last a long
time and picturesquely veil her decay. The memory of such an ascendancy
in Europe nourished the intense national pride of her people. The name
Castilian took on a new significance.
Nor can we wonder at their pride in the name “Castilian.” Its glory
was not the capricious gift of fortune, but won by a devotion, a
constancy, and a fidelity of purpose which are unique in the history of
the world. For seven hundred years the race for which that name stands
had kept alive the national spirit, while their land was occupied by an
alien civilization. These were centuries of privation and suffering and
hardship; but never wavering in their purpose, and by brave deeds which
have filled volumes, they reclaimed their land and drove out the Moors.
This is what gives to the name “Castilian,” its proud significance.
But when degenerate Hidalgos and Grandees, debauched by wealth and
luxury, gloried in the name; when by rapacity and cruelty they
destroyed the lands their valor had won; and when the Inquisition
became their pastime and the rack and the wheel their toys—then the
name Castilian began to take on a sinister meaning. Spain's most
glorious period was not when she was converting the Indies and Mexico
and Peru into a hell, not when Charles V. was playing his great game of
diplomacy in Europe, but in that pre-Columbian era when a brave and
rugged people were keeping alive their national life in the mountains
of the Asturias. Well may Spain do honor to that time by calling the
heir to her throne the “Prince of the Asturias!”