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TABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
THE ITALIAN WARS, 1494–1518
INTERNAL HISTORY OF FRANCE, SPAIN, AND GERMANY, 1494–1519
FROM THE ELECTION OF CHARLES TO THE BATTLE OF PAVIA
FROM THE TREATY OF MADRID TO THE TREATY OF CRESPI
FROM THE WAR OF SCHMALKALDE TO THE TREATY OF CATEAU CAMBRESIS
THE COUNTER-REFORMATION AND CALVINISM
PHILIP AND SPAIN
THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS
THE REFORMATION AND THE CIVIL WARS IN FRANCE
The division of history into periods may be very misleading if its true purport be not understood. One age can no more be isolated from the universal course of history than one generation from another. The ideas, the principles, the aims of man change indeed, but change slowly, and in their very change are the outcome of the past. The old generation melts into the new, as the night melts into the day. None the less, just as the night differs from the day, although it is impossible to say when the dawn begins, and when the day, so does the Modern differ from that which has been termed the Middle age. This once granted, the importance of the later years of the fifteenth century may be easily grasped. The mediæval conception of the great World-Church under Pope and Emperor had by this time lost all practical power. The authority of the Emperor was confined to Germany, and was even there disputed, and, if the Papacy still retained its pretensions, they no longer had their old weight. Not only had they been resisted by the various powers of Europe in turn, they had even been severely criticised by two General Councils. Already the man was born who was to take the lead in the final overthrow of the unity of the Western Church. Meanwhile, the older society was breaking up: the links which in binding a man to his lord, his fields, his trade, or his town, bound him to his fellows, and his livelihood to him, were falling to pieces, and the ‘individual’ of modern life was emerging. To this change many things contributed. The movement of the Renaissance emancipated men from the somewhat narrow limits of mediævalism; it opened to them the knowledge of the ancients, and gave them a glimpse of the worlds of thought beyond, of which the New World about to be discovered to the west seemed but a type. The economic revolution had a like effect. The break-up of the older organisation of trades under the system of close guilds, was accompanied by the rise of modern competition. In life, as in thought, the individual was asserting himself.
Amidst the clashing of rival interests which this revolution necessitated, a new principle of unity—that of nationality—arose. This conception, due to an appreciation of the identity of interest based on such things as common language, common religion, natural boundaries, common hopes and fears, was, if a less attractive one than that of the Holy Roman Empire, at least more capable of realisation, and alone seemed able to control the spirit of individualism from running riot. It was in France, Spain, and England that this new spirit of nationality had been most successful: but, if Germany was no more than a loose confederation of princes, the Hapsburgs had already laid the foundation of a monarchy of their own, while the Pope was becoming more and more the prince of a temporal kingdom in Italy. The first result of this triumph of nationality was not surprising. When once a people have realised the identity of their interests, they are apt to be aggressive. This now occurred. England indeed, isolated from the Continent and absorbed in domestic questions, did not take much part as yet; but the others began to look abroad, and Italy, where alone no political unity existed, offered fair hopes of spoil. No sooner had France made the first move in pursuit of her claims on Naples than their cupidity was aroused, and Western Europe was involved in a series of wars which continued, with but little intermission, until the Peace of Vervins, 1598. The circumstances of the age gave to this struggle its peculiar character. National consolidation had been accompanied by the triumph of the monarchical principle, after its long struggle with aristocracy—a struggle which of late had not been confined to the temporal sphere, but had been illustrated also within the Church by the conflict between the Papacy and the General Councils. It followed that the dynastic interests of the reigning families predominated. The monarchs, no doubt, represented the passions and aspirations of their subjects. Nevertheless, their policy was deeply coloured by their personal and family rivalries, and hence the wars were more prolonged than otherwise they might have been. To this also must in part be attributed the shifting combinations of alliances and counter-alliances, which change with the variety and rapidity of a kaleidoscope, and which make the period, so far as its wars are concerned, one of the most confused in history. In the struggle which ensued, the Romance and the Teutonic nations came into close though hostile contact; the theory of the Balance of Power became a guiding principle of politics; and diplomacy found its birth.
Before many years were passed, the unity of the Church of the West was broken by the Reformation. It was inevitable that the religious and the political questions
should become involved. The struggle for supremacy in Europe, the internal politics of the several kingdoms, were deeply affected by the religious issues. The web of European complications became more confused than ever, and, if the interest of the period before us is thus enhanced, its difficulty is certainly increased. Into it all the problems of the Middle Age became absorbed, and out of it Modern Europe was to arise.
§ 1. The Expedition of Charles VIII.
At the date of the Italian expedition, Charles viii. had been eleven years on the throne of France. The monarchy to which he succeeded was, perhaps, less controlled by constitutional checks than any other in Europe. The crown had earned popularity as the leader in the struggle against the English—a struggle which had created the French nation; and as the patron of the middle classes against the feudal nobles. The Estates-General, the deliberative assembly of the kingdom, had never succeeded in vindicating its claims. The class divisions which divided it, as they did the people, had prevented united action. The third estate did not adequately represent the middle classes; the knights of the shire, those valuable representatives of the country districts, who had formed the backbone of the English House of Commons, did not exist. With these defects, the Estates-General had failed to secure the command of the purse, or to control the legislation and administration of the country. All power accordingly lay with the Royal Council, a body of royal nominees who issued ordinances and levied taxes at their will, so long as they did not entrench on the privileges of the nobility to be free from all direct taxation beyond their feudal dues.
True, the ‘Parlement’ of Paris, the supreme judicial court of the realm, tried to exercise a power of veto by insisting on its right of registering, and therefore of refusing to register, the royal edicts. The King, however, could easily overcome this opposition by holding a ‘Lit de Justice,’—that is, by summoning the members of the Parlement before the Great Council, and ordering them to register; and under a strong King, at least, the Parlement became the humble instrument rather than the opponent of the crown.
As Charles was in his fourteenth year on the death of his father Louis xi. in 1483, a regency was not necessary according to the ordinance of Charles v. (1374). But Louis xi., conscious of the way in which he had from policy or from cynicism neglected his son’s education, had intrusted him to the guardianship of his daughter Anne, wife of the Sire de Beaujeu, who, on the death of his elder brother in 1488, became Duke of Bourbon.
Of Anne Louis xi. had said ‘she is the least foolish woman in France.’ But her conduct during the earlier years of Charles’ reign belied his further remark that ‘of wise women he knew none.’ She had, in the interests of centralisation at least, though perhaps to the permanent loss of her country, successfully evaded the claims made by the States-General of 1484 to share in the government. She had defeated the repeated attempts of the nobility headed by Louis of Orleans, the heir-presumptive, to oust her from power, and to restore feudal licence—a movement which had been supported by Francis ii. Duke of Brittany, by Maximilian, then King of the Romans, by Richard iii., and subsequently by Henry vii. of England.
On the death of Francis, Duke of Brittany (1488), she had interfered in the affairs of the duchy and won by arms the hand of Anne, the Bretonne heiress, for the young King. By the marriage-contract the autonomy of Brittany was indeed acknowledged, but it was agreed that the duchy should fall to the survivor, and the Duchess Anne bound herself, in the event of her husband dying before her without children, to marry the next possessor of the French throne. Thus the way was prepared for the final incorporation into the monarchy of the last great semi-independent feudatory state, so long a thorn in the side of France.
This brilliant triumph of diplomacy aroused all the enemies of France. Maximilian had a double affront to avenge. He himself had been married by proxy to Anne of Brittany, while Charles viii. had at the Treaty of Arras, 1482, plighted his troth to Margaret, Maximilian’s daughter. Thus, by Charles’ marriage with the Breton Duchess, both the Emperor and his daughter were jilted. Stung by this twofold insult, Maximilian forthwith laid claim to Margaret’s dower, Artois and Franche-Comté, and tried to enforce his claims by arms. Henry vii. attempted to prevent the union of Brittany with France, and Ferdinand of Aragon seized the opportunity to reclaim Roussillon, which had been ceded to Louis xi.
The claim of Maximilian to the dower of his daughter was a just one and could scarce be denied. But the cession of Roussillon should have been resisted at all hazards, while the interference of Henry vii. might have been answered by a resolute attempt to regain Calais and drive the English finally from the kingdom. Whether France was strong enough for so bold a stroke may perhaps be doubted, but at least her policy should have been devoted to the strengthening of her frontiers and the consolidation of the kingdom.
Unfortunately at this moment Charles had become infatuated with the idea of the Italian expedition. Being now old enough to act independently of his sister, he hurriedly yielded to the demands of his enemies. Henry vii. was bought off by the Treaty of Étaples, November 1492. Cerdagne and Roussillon were ceded to Ferdinand by the Treaty of Barcelona, January 1493, and by the Treaty of Senlis, May 1493, the princess Margaret was restored to her father with Artois and Franche-Comté. Having thus evaded his difficulties near home, Charles hurried on his preparations for the Italian campaign.
After the fall of the Roman Empire, Italy had rapidly lost all national cohesion. In spite of fruitless attempts which were made now and again to establish a united kingdom in the Peninsula, the principle of disintegration had finally triumphed. The Emperors of the West indeed had claimed supremacy, but, since the close of the thirteenth century, this had ceased to be a reality, and on the ruins of those claims, amidst numerous smaller states, five had risen to special prominence.
In the centre of the plain of Lombardy stood Milan, which at the close of the thirteenth century had fallen to the Visconti. That cruel but capable family, while they destroyed the liberties, extended the dominion of the republic, and absorbed most of the smaller states of the plain which escaped the rule of Venice. The territory, which on the extinction of the male line of the Visconti was seized by the Condottiere, Francesco Sforza (1450), stretched from the river Adda, where it marched with the Venetian lands, to the Sesia, where it met Piedmont then under the Duke of Savoy, and the Marquisate of Montferrat. In 1476, the son of Francesco, Galeazzo Maria, had paid the penalty of his tyranny, lust, and cruelty at the hands of three Milanese nobles who, if tyrannicide may ever be defended, are worthy of the name of patriots. He left a widow Bona of Savoy, who ruled in the name of her infant son Gian Galeazzo, aided by her husband’s wisest counsellor, Francesco Simonetta. Three years later, 1479, Ludovico ‘Il Moro,’ uncle of the young Gian, overthrew her rule, caused Simonetta to be executed, and assumed the regency. Ludovico, though ambitious, unscrupulous, and a lover of intrigue, was not wantonly cruel as many of his predecessors had been, and, if his rule was a despotic one, he was a liberal patron of the arts and kept his dominions contented and at peace.
To the east of the Duchy of Milan stood the republic of Venice. Once a democracy, she had by the close of the thirteenth century become a commercial oligarchy. At the close of the fifteenth century, not only did the Great Council monopolise the electoral functions of the state, but the Doge himself had become little more than an ornamental figure-head. Venice originally had concerned herself little with the politics of the mainland. Entrenched behind her lagoons, she had turned her attention to the Mediterranean and the East, from whence came her commerce, the source of her wealth. At the commencement of the fifteenth century, however, she had turned her eye westward to form a territory on the mainland. In this venture she had indeed met with great success, and, besides her possessions on the east of the Adriatic, in the Morea, and the Ægean Sea, she now ruled a large territory north of the Po, which stretched westwards to the Adda and northwards to the spurs of the Alps. But this policy had drawn her into the troubled tangle of Italian politics, and aroused the jealousy of the Italian states. Still Venice was formidable. By the treaty of 1479, she had surrendered indeed Scutari, Negropont, and most of her possessions in the Morea, but had retained her commercial privileges, and secured a temporary peace with the Turk. In 1488, she annexed, by a fiction of remarkable ingenuity, the island of Cyprus.
The rule of her aristocracy was far less corrupt and far more consistent than that of other Italian states. The stability of her Government and her immunity from those revolutions to which the other states of Italy were ever subject excited the envy of her neighbours. The leniency and wisdom with which she governed her dependencies secured her the loyalty of her subjects. Her riches were still great; her patronage of art magnificent; and if the tone of private morality was low, it was not lower than in the rest of Italy.
To the south and south-west of Venice lay the two independent territories of Mantua and of Ferrara. Of these Mantua, situated amid the marshy flats of the Mincio, belonged to the warrior family of the Gonzagas, while Ferrara, commanding the mouths of the Po, was ruled by the ancient house of Este.
Nestling under the Apennines, Florence held the watershed of the Arno with her dependent cities of Volterra, Arezzo, Cortona, Pistoja, and Pisa. To the north-west and to the south of her lay the independent states of Lucca and Siena, long her deadly enemies.
Nominally a republic based on a system of trade-guilds, Florence was practically in the hands of the Medici, who, while they left the outward form of the constitution intact, kept the government in the hands of their partisans. From time to time a packed ‘Parliament’ of the citizens elected committees or Balías, under whose control the Signory and other officials were selected. Finally, in 1480, a college of seventy, practically nominated by Lorenzo, took for a time the place of the Balías. This college not only nominated the Signory, but elected the Consiglio Maggiore, the legislative body of the republic, and thus became master of the city. A clever manipulation of the taxes, by which they struck at the rich, gained the Medici the support of the lower classes, while the confusion of the public treasury with the finances of their banking-house gave them the final control of the administration. The rule of the Medici was a far more temperate one than that of the Sforza of Milan. Their power was the result of real political genius. By that alone they had succeeded in controlling the most restless, the most acute, and the most brilliant people the world had yet seen since the days of the Athenians. In Florence was concentrated the essence of Italian art and literature, and with it, alas, much of that immorality and licence which stains the glory of the Renaissance. Unfortunately, at this crisis of her history, Lorenzo the Magnificent, the type of a Medicean prince, died (April 1492), and, under the incapable rule of his son Piero, the authority of the family was being rapidly undermined.
Encircling the territories of Siena and Florence on the south and the east, and stretching across the centre of Italy from sea to sea, stood the Papal States, formed of the Patrimony of St. Peter, the Campagna, the Duchy of Spoleto, the March of Ancona and the Romagna.
Of these territories all, except the two first, while acknowledging the suzerainty of the Pope, were practically independent, and in the Patrimony and in the Campagna, the powerful families of the Orsini and the Colonna were ever setting his authority at defiance. It had been of late the policy of the Popes to enforce their rule in these districts and to organise a strong temporal dominion, a policy definitely begun by Sixtus iv. (1471–1484). They are probably right who maintain that by this means alone could the Papacy hope to survive. The mediæval conception of the Holy Roman Empire had gone beyond recall. The idea of a united Christendom under one faith was no longer a reality. Largely, though by no means entirely, through its own deficiencies, the Papacy had lost its moral hold on Europe, and the attempt of Nicolas v. (1447–1455) and Pius ii. (1458–1464) to regain the intellectual leadership of Europe had met with scant success. During the period of the captivity of Avignon (1309–1377), and the great Schism (1378–1417), the power of the larger Italian states, and the lust for further extension, had grown. Under these circumstances, if the Papacy was to save itself from falling as low as it had fallen in the tenth century, when it was the puppet of the neighbouring nobles, it must needs follow suit, and form a strong and united dominion. Yet the necessity cost it dear. Sucked into the vortex of political intrigue, the Papacy prostituted its spiritual powers for these secular objects and shocked the conscience of Europe. Unfortunately the Popes who ascended the papal throne at this moment were men of low principle. Sixtus iv. (1471–1484) was venal, and sacrificed everything for the advancement of his nephews. Innocent viii. (1484–1492), hopelessly corrupt and indolent, was the first Pope who openly acknowledged his children; while of Rodrigo Borgia, who ruled as Pope Alexander vi. from 1492 to 1503, it is difficult to speak with moderation. To enumerate the charges which have been brought against him would exhaust the crimes of the decalogue. Even if we dismiss those charges on which the evidence is not conclusive, it cannot be denied that Alexander was profligate beyond ordinary profligacy, contemptuous of the ordinary conventionalities of decency, avaricious and cruel, and in statesmanship absolutely without scruple.
The desire of the Popes to form a temporal dominion was also injurious to Italy. Not strong enough to unite the Peninsula under their own sway, they were determined to prevent its union under any other hands. In this attempt to reconcile their interests as head of the Church with those of a temporal prince, they were ever ready to barter away their country’s liberties. They had more than once before this summoned the foreigner to their aid, and, if they were not responsible for the first invasion of the French, they went far to make the foreign dominion permanent.
The extremity of the Peninsula formed the kingdom of Naples, now in the hands of Ferrante i. (1458–1494), illegitimate son of Alfonso the Magnanimous, of Aragon; while Sicily and Sardinia belonged, with Aragon, to the legitimate branch represented just now by Ferdinand the Catholic (1479–1516). Always the most disturbed of the Italian states, Naples had in 1485 been the scene of a baronial revolt against the tyranny of Ferrante. The King, indeed, by cunning and ability had triumphed, but his faithlessness and inhuman cruelties had made him most unpopular, and his rule most insecure. He died in January 1494, to be succeeded by his son Alfonso ii. (1494–1495), who, according to the French chronicler Commines, though not so dangerous, was a worse man than his father, since ‘never was any prince more bloody, wicked, inhuman, lascivious, or gluttonous than he.’
The rivalry of these five states, mutually repellent, yet unable to establish complete independence, was to cause the ruin of Italy. Too equally balanced to allow of the supremacy of one, too jealous of each other and too divergent in the character of their peoples and the form of their governments to unite in a federal bond, they lost all sense of common national interest. The existence of numerous petty states between their frontiers, which could only hope to survive by dexterous intrigue, excited their cupidity and thickened the thread of treacherous diplomacy which was now to call the foreigner into Italy.
But if the quarrels of these Italian rulers led to the first invasion, and subsequently prevented any permanent coalition, the condition of the people of Italy destroyed all hope of successful resistance. In reading the social history of Italy during the fifteenth century two lessons are forced upon us: first, the fatal effect of the loss of liberty, and of political faction on the moral fibre of a people; secondly, the danger of luxury, and of devotion to art and literature, if not chastened by the religious spirit.
In states like Milan and Naples, where all political liberty had been destroyed, the only weapons of the oppressed were those the tyrant had taught them—intrigue and assassination. In cities like Florence, where constitutional forms remained but the spirit had fled, and where the state was torn by deadly feuds which vented themselves in cruel proscription and exile of the defeated, the people were inspired by mutual suspicion and deep political hatreds. To lose power was to lose everything. Hence men became desperate, forgot the necessity for patience, the duty of a minority, and sought to overthrow their enemies by secret conspiracy or open revolt. In the smaller states things were worse. There was even less stability, the factions were more bitter, the chance of successful revolt greater. No doubt Venice and the Papal Dominions were more stable than the rest of the Peninsula, but even there intrigue, corruption, and conspiracies were not uncommon.
Amid such political circumstances as these, not only did all feeling of Italian nationality perish, but patriotism for city or kingdom died before the imperative instincts of self-preservation. The worship of success replaced devotion to principle and obedience to authority, while cleverness and selfishness flourished at the expense of morality. Moreover, to protect themselves or to pursue their schemes of conquest, the tyrants introduced the Condottieri. The republics, partly from indolence, partly from the difficulty of resisting the trained soldier with a half-disciplined militia, followed suit, and Italy became the victim of mercenaries. Of war these made a game: with no interest in the quarrels beyond their wage, or their individual ambitions, they loved the battlefield by which they lived, yet did not wish the battle to be decisive. Ever ready to change sides at the dictates of self-interest, or for higher pay, they set up and overthrew states and spread confusion around. Meanwhile the citizens forgot the art of war, and, when the moment of their trial came, finding themselves no match for the martial nations of the North, were frightened at the fury of their onslaught.
The rapid increase of luxury and the development of literature and art tended to the same results. Undue devotion to material comfort made the Italians cowardly, selfish, and indolent. The revival of the critical faculty led to scepticism; the critic destroyed indeed, but had not the enthusiasm nor the faith to reconstruct. The return to classical ideals caused a revival of paganism, while the concentration of man’s mind on the pleasures of art, on the sensuous delight in beauty of form and colour, led many on to sensuality. The history of the Renaissance stands as a warning that the æsthetic spirit is not necessarily religious or even moral. No doubt it is easy to exaggerate. No doubt there were to be found many who lived a pure and simple life. Perhaps the denunciations of an enthusiast like Savonarola are too extravagant. But the contemporary evidence against the Italians is overwhelming. The literature of the time must have found readers. The cynical frankness with which Machiavelli disregards all moral scruples in his treatises on the art of government are without parallel in the history of political literature, and the carnival songs of Lorenzo are of themselves enough to convince us of the depths of degradation to which Italian morality had sunk. Thus Italy, without any sense of nationality or patriotism, and devoid of those more sterling qualities which might have rendered resistance possible, was to see her fair plains the scene of other nations’ rivalries, and to fall eventually under the yoke of a foreign dominion which lasted till our own day.
The French claims on Italy were twofold, and were of long standing. The House of Orleans, in virtue of their descent from Valentina, heiress of the Visconti of Milan, looked upon themselves as the legitimate aspirants to the ducal throne, and considered the Sforzas usurpers. The House of Anjou disputed the title of the Aragonese kings of Naples and declared that Joanna ii., who died in 1435, had left her territories to René, the head of their house. The claims of the House of Orleans were now represented by Louis of Orleans, cousin of Charles viii., who already held Asti, while those of the House of Anjou had in 1481 fallen to the crown, together with Anjou and Provence, according to the will of René i., the last Duke of Anjou. Louis xi. had contented himself with Anjou and Provence, but his foolish and ambitious son, fascinated with the dream of a southern kingdom which might serve as a starting-point for a new crusade against the Turk, was eager to enforce his claims in Italy. Yet even Charles might have hesitated if a quarrel between Milan and Naples had not offered a tempting opportunity.
In 1435, Alfonso the Magnanimous, the rival of René of Anjou for the kingdom of Naples, had warned Filippo Maria, who then ruled Milan, that the French, once masters of Naples, would seek to extend their territories in the north. Francesco Sforza, who secured Milan shortly after Filippo’s death (1450), conscious that the legitimate claim to Milan had passed with the hand of Valentina to the French House of Orleans, needed no convincing. The result had been a close alliance between these two powers, which had been strengthened by the marriage of Ippolita, Sforza’s daughter, with Alfonso, Prince of Calabria. Lorenzo, true to the traditional policy of the Medici, had joined this league. He hoped, by a triple alliance of Milan, Naples, and Florence, to maintain the balance of power in Italy, resist the desire for territorial aggression shared by Venice and the Papacy, and, by keeping peace within the Peninsula, deprive the foreigner of all excuse for interference. Whether Lorenzo would have succeeded may well be doubted, but certainly his death (April 1492) removed the only man to whom success was possible.
Even before Lorenzo died, the alliance between Milan and Naples had threatened to break up. The coup d’état of 1479, by which Ludovico ‘Il Moro’ had seized the reins of power from Bona of Savoy, had received the approval of Ferrante of Naples. the following year, however (1480), the death of Ippolita, Ludovico’s sister and wife of Alfonso, son of Ferrante, broke the bond between the two families. The subsequent marriage of the young Gian Galeazzo, with Alfonso’s daughter, Isabella (1489), made matters worse. Alfonso became jealous of Ludovico’s rule and wished to see his son-in-law, who had in the year 1492 reached the age of twenty, recognised as duke. This jealousy was shared by Isabella, who was envious of the higher honours conferred on her kinswoman, Beatrice of Este, the wife of Ludovico.
Piero de Medici, who had just succeeded Lorenzo at Florence (1492), joined Alfonso in a secret league against Ludovico, to which Ferrante of Naples was somewhat unwillingly prevailed upon to accede. Thus the triple alliance of Milan, Naples, Florence, upon which the safety of Italy depended, was broken, and Ludovico was driven to look elsewhere for support. To Maximilian, who in 1493 was elected emperor, he gave the hand of his niece, Bianca, and gained in return the investiture of his duchy, which had hitherto been denied to the Sforza family. Despairing of more effective aid from that impecunious prince, he next turned to France. San Severino, Count of Cajazzo, was sent to ‘tickle Charles, who was but twenty-one years of age, with the vanities and glories of Italy, and to urge the right he had to the fine kingdom of Naples’ (Commines).
The policy of Ludovico has received undue condemnation. Every Italian prince had called upon the French when it suited his purpose. Hitherto Ludovico had been the most strenuous opponent of this policy, and when in 1485, Innocent viii. had urged René ii. of Lorraine to press the Angevin claims on Naples, it was he who had prevented it. Though selfish, and a master of diplomatic treachery, he was by no means the worst of the Italian princes of his day. It was the altered policy of Naples which drove him to the fatal step. Moreover, Gian Galeazzo was an incapable man, and it seems probable that Alfonso, who had an insatiable lust for power, hoped to make him his puppet. Ludovico neither desired nor expected the French to conquer Naples. Italians, indeed, had so often used the threat of foreign intervention that they had forgotten what it might mean. His appeal to Charles was but a move in the game of intrigue which all were playing, and all that can be said is that, while others had tried it without success, Ludovico succeeded, to his own ruin, and that of Italy. Nor was he the only one who at this moment called on Charles. His exhortations were supported by the Prince of Salerno, a Neapolitan fugitive, eager to avenge the cruelties which Ferrante, in violation of his promise, had exercised on the leaders of the revolt of the Barons in 1485. To these were added the solicitations of the Cardinal Julian della Rovere, the rival and deadly enemy of Borgia, who had just ascended the papal throne as Alexander vi. (August 1492).
‘The question of the expedition,’ says Philippe de Commines, ‘was warmly debated, since by all persons of experience and wisdom it was looked upon as a very dangerous undertaking.’ Anne of Beaujeu, her husband, and many others, did their best to dissuade the King, but ‘Charles was foolish and obstinate,’ and was supported in his obstinacy by his favourites, Stephen de Vers, once gentleman of the Chamber, now Seneschal of Beaucaire, and Briçonnet, Bishop of St. Malo; the one hoping for lands in Naples, the other for a cardinal’s hat, promised by the Milanese ambassadors. The younger nobles, eager for the spoils of Italy, joined in the cry, and Charles rashly started on an enterprise ‘for which neither his exchequer, his understanding, nor his preparations sufficed.’
In August, the King, who had wasted the spring and early summer at Lyons, spending on festivities and on amorous intrigues the money he had collected or borrowed for his expedition, passed down the Rhone to Vienne, and thence crossed the Alps by the pass of Mont Genèvre (September 2). His army was not exclusively a French one, for German landsknechts and Swiss mercenaries also accompanied it. Thus it was a fit harbinger of those foreign invasions which were for the next hundred years to desolate the fair plains of Italy.
At Asti, where Ludovico met him, he was delayed first by his gaieties, then by illness, and it was not until the 6th of October that he left Asti for Piacenza. Here the question as to his future course was debated. He was now to leave the territories of his ally. Venice to the north-east was neutral. The Pope, had after some hesitation, decided to resist the French. In Florence, opinion was much divided. The citizens, true to their traditions, were for the French, and were strengthened in their views by the warnings of Savonarola that a scourge should chastise Italy. Piero, on the other hand, was in league with Naples. Finally, it was decided to choose the more western route by the Via di Pontremoli rather than the easier way through Bologna. Charles would thus avoid the Neapolitan Prince, Ferrante, who had been sent by his father, now King Alfonso, to hold the Romagna, and would maintain his communications with the sea which had been won by the victory of the Duke of Orleans over Don Federigo, the brother of the King of Naples, at Rapallo (September 8). Florence, moreover, it was hoped, would declare for France on the king’s approach.
The pass was a difficult one, and the country through which it passed was so barren that it did not even supply forage for the horses. Had the French here been met with stubborn resistance they might never have penetrated into Tuscany, for Ludovico was beginning to repent of having called Charles into Italy. His suspicions of French designs on Milan were already aroused, and the death of his unfortunate nephew, Gian Galeazzo (October 1494), by poison, as was generally believed, removed the need of French assistance against Naples. But the divided counsels of the Florentines came to Charles’ aid. The French were left to pass the defiles undisturbed, and after sacking the town of Fivizzano, sat down before the fortress of Sarzana. Hither Piero, terrified at the disaffection in Florence, hastened, and acceded to Charles’ demands. He promised a sum of money; he surrendered four of the most important cities: Sarzana, Pietra-Santa, Pisa, and Leghorn. These humiliating concessions still further irritated the Florentines. On Piero’s return to Florence (November 8) the citizens rushed to arms, and he was forced to fly in disguise to Venice. The defection of Florence threatened the position of Ferrante in the Romagna and opened the way to Rome. Thither therefore Ferrante retired.
Meanwhile Charles, after granting to the Pisans freedom from their hated mistress Florence, a present which was not his to give, passed on to Florence. Disregarding the warning of Savonarola that he would only be victorious if he showed mercy, especially to Florence, and was not an occasion of stumbling, he entered the city ‘with lance in rest’ as if he came as conqueror (November 17). This threatening attitude was accompanied by extravagant demands. First, he asked for the recall of Piero. That being refused, he insisted that a French lieutenant should be left in the city, whose consent should be necessary for every act. As the Florentines still demurred, the king in anger said: ‘We shall sound our trumpets.’ ‘And,’ we answered, ‘Capponi shall sound our bells.’ Seeing that he might go too far, Charles abated his demands. The Florentines consented to pay 120,000 florins in six months, and to allow two representatives of the king to remain in Florence. But the Medici were not to be recalled, and Charles promised to restore the cities ceded to him by Piero at the end of the war (November 27). Having thus settled the difficulty with Florence, Charles passed through Siena which accepted a French garrison (December 2), and advanced on Rome.
Alexander vi. had done his best for the cause of Naples, but he now became seriously alarmed. His correspondence with the Turkish Sultan, Bajazet ii., in which, in return for help, the murder of the Sultan’s brother, Djem, then in Alexander’s keeping, had been mooted, had fallen into Charles’ hands. His enemies were crying for a General Council. Ostia had been seized by Fabrizio Colonna in the name of his enemy, della Rovere (September 18). He therefore determined to come to terms, and, securing a free retreat for Ferrante and his army, admitted the French within the walls of Rome, while he retired to the castle of St. Angelo. The Cardinals della Rovere and Sforza urged Charles to offer no further concessions, and to summon a General Council which should depose the Pope and proceed to reform the Church. But Briçonnet did not wish for a breach which might endanger his hope of a cardinal’s hat; Charles was scarcely the man for a reformer; the bribes of Alexander had their effect; and finally a compromise was effected. The Pope agreed to surrender Civita Vecchia, Terracina, and Spoleto, for safe keeping till the conclusion of the war, to pardon the rebellious cardinals, and to deliver up Prince Djem. He also conferred on the bishop of St. Malo the coveted cardinal’s hat, and ordered his son, Cardinal Cæsar Borgia, to accompany Charles as a hostage. No sooner had the king left Rome for the south than Cæsar slipped away, and Djem died. The death of the latter, popularly attributed to poison administered by Alexander, was probably due to natural causes; but Cæsar’s disappearance warned Charles that no trust could be placed in the promises of the Pope.
The success of the French had been so extraordinary, that Alfonso might well feel dismay. He knew that his subjects hated him with a deadly hatred, and, with the cowardice so common to cruel men, he now became a victim of superstitious terror. Declaring that ‘the very stones and trees cried France,’ he resigned his crown to his son and fled to Sicily (February 3, 1495).
His son, Ferrante ii., showed more spirit and joined his army at San Germano. Here a mountain pass and the river Garigliano offered a favourable opportunity for defence; but the news of the savage conduct of the French at the storming of Monte San Giovanni spread terror among his troops, and they fell back on Capua. A revolt at Naples recalled Ferrante, to find that his general, Trivulzio, had made terms with Charles. Naples now rose again, and the luckless King, declaring that he suffered for the sins of his fathers, not his own, and promising to come to the aid of his faithless subjects, should the barbarity of the French cause them to wish for his return, sailed for Sicily (February 21). On the following day Charles entered Naples, and within a few weeks all the country, with the exception of one or two fortresses, was in his hands.
‘The success of Charles,’ says Commines, ‘must be considered the work of Providence.’ Almost without breaking a lance, he had traversed the length of Italy and won a kingdom. It seemed as if his boast, that he would lead a crusade against the Turks and conquer Constantinople, would be fulfilled. But his triumph was short-lived, and ‘his fortunes changed as suddenly as the day rises in Norway.’ The French, puffed up by their success, ‘scarce considered the Italians to be men,’ and alienated them by their cruelties and licence. Charles took no steps to secure his conquest, but betook himself to his pleasures. No pains were taken to conciliate the Neapolitan nobles; all offices were conferred on Frenchmen, and the promised remission of taxes was never fulfilled.
Meanwhile a storm was gathering in the North. Ludovico had long repented of his rashness in inviting the French, and feared that Louis of Orleans might lay claim to Milan; the Pope dreaded a General Council, and was only too glad to raise up enemies against the King; Venice, which had at first laughed at the expedition, became seriously alarmed; Ferdinand the Catholic had already remonstrated with Charles, and began to apprehend an attack on Sicily; the dignity of Maximilian was ruffled by the preponderance of the House of Valois. Negotiations between these powers had long been going on at Venice. The conquest of Naples brought matters to a climax, and on March 31, they formed the League of Venice, ostensibly to defend their territories and to prepare for war against the Turks. Guicciardini asserts that they secretly engaged to drive the French from Italy. Their object was more probably to protect themselves against further French aggression. Florence alone refused to break faith with the French, hoping to regain Pisa through their help.
With incredible folly, Charles delayed till May, in the vain hopes of receiving the papal investiture of Naples. Then hastily receiving the crown at the hands of the Archbishop of Naples, he began his retreat with scarce 10,000 men (May 20). The Count of Montpensier, ‘a good soldier,’ says Commines, ‘but with little wisdom, and so indolent that he did not rise till mid-day,’ was left as viceroy. Stephen de Vers, now Duke of Nola, was made governor of Gaëta and controller of the finances, and Stuart d’Aubigny, the best soldier of them all, governor of Calabria. As Charles approached Rome, Alexander fled to Orvieto; and thence to Perugia. Arrived in Tuscany, Charles found all in confusion. Siena, Lucca, and Pisa had formed a league against Florence, and pleaded for French assistance. The Florentines, who had reformed their government after the advice of Savonarola, demanded the restitution of the cities temporarily ceded to the King. Charles, incapable of decision, put them off with negotiations, and leaving French garrisons in the ceded towns, crossed the Apennines, June 23.
But the French were not to escape from Italy without abattle. Their fleet on the west coast protected them from the attack of Venetian or Spanish ships, but on the mainland the forces of Milan and of Venice under the Marquisof Mantua met them at Fornovo on the Taro. The army of the League had the advantage of numbers and position, and had they shown determination, might have inflicted a decisive defeat. But the Italians were little eager to bring the French to bay, and Charles, wisely wishing to pursue his march, pushed on his vanguard. It was met by the Milanese troops under the Count Cajazzo, but the attack was feeble and easily repulsed. This, according to Guicciardini, was due to Ludovico. Fearing that too complete a victory might place him in the power of the Venetian troops, which were far more numerous than his own, and that too crushing a defeat might draw on him the vengeance of the French, he had ordered his captain not to press the French too closely. Meanwhile the assault on the centre and rearguard was far more vigorous, and Charles was in momentary danger. He was, however, saved by the enemies’ want of discipline; many of the Italians turned to plunder his camp, the reserves did not attack, and the French king, with loss of baggage but not of prestige, was able to pursue his way.
At Asti, Charles was delayed by the question of Novara. Louis of Orleans had occupied that town in June, only to be besieged by Ludovico. In vain, Louis begged for instant aid. Charles would not stir till reinforcements came, and meanwhile solaced himself with amorous intrigues. Fortunately Ludovico was anxious to get the French out of Italy, and in October came to terms. Louis surrendered the town, but Ludovico, breaking with the League, promised to give free passage to the French, and even to assist them whenever they might march against Naples. This, however, seemed unlikely for the present.
No sooner had Charles turned his back on Naples than his conquests began to melt away. The Neapolitans, according to Guicciardini, were the most inconstant people of Italy, and the follies of the French reminded them of Ferrante’s words. Ferrante accordingly returned at the end of May, aided by troops sent by Ferdinand the Catholic under Gonzalvo de Cordova, the most brilliant of the Spanish generals. Defeated by Stuart d’Aubigny at Seminara, and driven to Messina, he directed a second attack on Naples. The city rose, the gates were opened, and Montpensier took refuge in the castle (July 7), which he was forced to evacuate shortly after. The Venetians, in return for money, were allowed to occupy Monopoli, Otranto, Brindisi, and Trani. Montpensier struggled on for some time longer, hoping for reinforcements from France. But Charles was immersed in pleasure; Louis of Orleans, who was heir-presumptive to the throne, refused to leave France, and finally Montpensier capitulated at Atella (July 21, 1496). D’Aubigny, though sick with fever, held out a little longer, but by the close of the year 1496, all was lost to France. Ferrante did not live to see the end. He died in September, and his uncle Federigo quietly succeeded him. Thus five kings had sat on the throne of Naples within three years.
Of Charles’ acquisitions, the only traces which remained were the cities ceded to him by Florence. These should have been restored on his retreat, but in hopes of return, Charles had evaded his promise, and the officers he had left in command proceeded to violate it entirely. Leghorn was indeed surrendered in September, but Sarzana was sold to the Genoese, Pietra-Santa to Lucca, and the citadel of Pisa to the Pisans. Of these Pisa was only regained in 1509, after a prolonged struggle which exhausted the republic and contributed materially to its fall, Pietra-Santa not till the Medici had been restored in 1513, and Sarzana not at all. Thus the ally of France was the one to suffer most.
Charles viii. survived the Italian expedition scarce three years. Always indulging in dreams of a renewed attack onNaples, he was at first too much engrossed in his pleasures to carry them into effect. During the last few months of his life he had, according to Commines, ‘resolved within himself to live a more strict and religious life.’ If so, death anticipated him. While staying at the castle of Amboise, which was being embellished by Neapolitan artists, he struck his head against the lintel of a door, and died at the age of twenty-seven of a fit of apoplexy which resulted from it (April 1498).
Contemptible in mind, though with great bodily strength, inspired with chivalrous ideas which he had not the capacity to execute, a victim to profligacy, it is strange that he should have played such a leading part in history, and yet it does not seem altogether unfit that those Italian wars, which caused such infinite misery in Italy, and were so disastrous to the best interests of France, should be associated with his name. His children had all died in infancy, and the crown accordingly passed to his cousin and brother-in-law, Louis, Duke of Orleans, then a man of the age of thirty-six.
§ 2. Savonarola and Florence.
A month after the death of Charles viii., the Friar Savonarola, who had done so much to give an air of mystery to the Italian expedition, fell a victim to his enemies.
This remarkable man was born at Ferrara in 1452. Having gradually won a reputation as a preacher of wonderful power and zeal, he was in the year 1491, elected Prior of the Dominican Convent of San Marco in Florence. In spite of the independent attitude which he here assumed, Lorenzo showed him no ill favour, and even summoned the friar to his deathbed to ask a blessing. In all probability, however, Savonarola would have remained a great revivalist preacher and nothing more, had it not been for the expedition of Charles viii. The constant theme of his sermons had been that the scourge of God should visit Italy to punish her for her sins and purify her by fire. The French invasion, and the rapid success of Charles were looked upon as the fulfilment of his prophecy, and Savonarola became one of the leading men in Florence.
In the overthrow of the Medici he did not take an active part, but on Piero’s flight (November 1494) he was sucked into the politics of the city. Supported by his powerful advocacy from the pulpit in the Duomo, and guided by his advice, the popular party, to which he naturally belonged, was able to introduce and carry a reform of the Constitution. By the decree of December 23, the government was to be as follows:—
A permanent Great Council (Consiglio Maggiore) was to be composed of all eligible ‘citizens,’ that is, of all citizens of the age of thirty whose father, grandfather, or great-grandfather had been elected to the greater offices of state. This Council, numbering some 3000, was to elect out of its own members a ‘senate’ (Consiglio degli ottantaDieci di Libertà e Pace