THE persistent plotting of Cardinal Lorraine and the Monlucs to bring about a union of Spain, France, and the pope, with the object of fighting Protestantism and placing Mary Stuart on the throne of a Catholic united kingdom, had failed. Catharine de Medici hated Mary Stuart and the Guises, and Philip had no wish, if even he had the power, to fight England for the purpose of making Mary’s French uncles paramount. Religion apart, it was better for Philip’s policy that England should remain Protestant than that this should happen, always provided that he could keep Elizabeth friendly, and either frighten or cajole her into a position of neutrality towards his rebellious Protestant subjects in the Netherlands. He could no longer attempt to dictate to her, as he had sought to do at the beginning of her reign, but only strove now to gain her goodwill; and both parties were fully cognisant of their changed position towards each other.

It was only ten years since Elizabeth’s accession, and even in this short period Philip’s perverse and inelastic policy had reduced him to a position of comparative impotence. But with his views, it was hopeless to expect that he should learn wisdom from events. Reverses and disappointments usually make men consider whether the course they are pursuing is a wise one. No such doubt could assail Philip. He was in union with God to do His work, for the success of which it was necessary for Philip to have absolute power; and any reverses which occurred were sent by the Almighty for some good purpose of His own, not to prevent ultimate success, but to make it the more glorious when it came.

With such ideas as these, Philip was proof against adversity; it was impossible to defeat or degrade him. The considerations which rule the conduct of other men had no influence over him; he was above human laws, and, no doubt, thought that he was above human frailty. Subornation, treachery, and secret murder, odious and reprehensible in others, were praiseworthy in him, for was he not working with and for Providence for divine ends, before which all mundane and moral considerations must give way?

His haughty dismissal of the English ambassador in the spring of 1568 on religious grounds had been bitterly resented by Elizabeth, notwithstanding the palliative influence of Philip’s ambassador, Guzman de Silva. This, and rumours that Cardinal Lorraine had at last succeeded in obtaining armed help for Mary Stuart against Murray, caused Elizabeth to repeat her bold and previously successful action. Fresh encouragement was sent to CondÉ and the Huguenots. Protestantism in the Netherlands, under the iron heel of Alba, was accorded a more hearty sympathy than ever, and expeditions of Flemish refugees were now allowed almost openly to fit out in English ports to go over and help their compatriots. Events fought on Elizabeth’s side, and threw Mary Stuart into her grasp, from which she never escaped. The captive queen clamoured for Philip’s help, but Philip had no help to give yet beyond procrastinating generalities. Elizabeth and her ministers were well served by spies, and were quite cognisant of Philip’s impotence for harm at present, so far as open hostility was concerned. All they feared was that he might seek to attain his end by secret plotting, and this was eventually the course he adopted. For the time, however,—in the autumn of 1568—he was sincerely desirous of keeping on good terms with Elizabeth, and instructed his new ambassador, Gerau de Spes, to use every effort to that end. Late in November 1568 the violence and indiscretion of De Spes, who began plotting with the English Catholic party in favour of Mary Stuart as soon as he arrived, had brought matters to a much less peaceful complexion between Philip and Elizabeth. This was from no fault of Philip, and was against the tenor of his instructions. Cardinal Chatillon was in England, arousing sympathy and obtaining aid for the Huguenots, the Flemish refugees were spreading abroad a feeling of indignation against Alba’s atrocities in the Netherlands, and money was being sent daily across to help their brethren against the oppressor. Privateers and pirates, who called themselves such, were swarming in the Channel, and few vessels bearing the flag of Spain escaped their depredations. To escape them, some ships carrying money—mostly borrowed by Philip from Genoese bankers—to pay Alba’s troops had to run for refuge into Southampton, Plymouth, and Falmouth. On the pretence of protecting the specie from the pirates, most of it was landed, and retained by Elizabeth for her own purposes. Promises, professions of honesty, and specious excuses of all sorts were made; negotiations, open and secret, for its recovery went on for years, but the treasure was never restored to Philip. It was a great blow to him and a great help to Elizabeth, who was almost alarmed at her own temerity in seizing the money. Philip retaliated by seizing English property in Spanish and Flemish ports, immensely inferior in value to that seized by England. It was an unwise step, because it gave Elizabeth some ground for retaining what she had taken, and appropriating more, which she promptly did. Even then Philip could only plead futilely for restitution. His ambassador stormed and threatened, urged his master to assert his power and crush Elizabeth. But Philip, and even fiery Alba, knew better now, and both of them strained every nerve to avoid being drawn into open hostility towards England. The keynote of Philip’s foreign policy—that which he had inherited from his Burgundian forefathers—was to keep on good terms with England. It was only after many years that he was for a time absolutely driven by circumstances, and against his will, to fight England outright, and then only with the object of coercing her into a friendly attitude towards him. In view of De Spes’s constant assurance that the time had now come when, by giving a little aid to the English Catholics, Elizabeth might be deposed and Mary Stuart made Queen of England, Philip referred the decision of the matter to Alba (February 1569). But Alba frankly told him that he had neither men nor money for the purpose, and that Elizabeth must be conciliated at all costs. Even when De Spes’s plotting and insolence became too much for Elizabeth to bear and she placed him under arrest, his master told him he must suffer everything patiently for the king’s sake. The humbler became Philip the more aggressive became Elizabeth. She refused to have anything to do with Alba, or to recognise him in any way, and the proud noble took this to heart more even than the seizure of the treasure. So when De Spes sent him news of the plot in progress with Arundel, Norfolk, and Lumley; and Ridolfi the banker went over to Flanders as their envoy to the duke, he was ready enough to listen, and try to effect by treason what he was powerless to do by war, if only it could be done without compromising Philip. The latter was more distrustful even than Alba, and it was only with much apparent hesitation that he consented to lend aid to Norfolk’s plot. After Norfolk’s folly and pusillanimity and Cecil’s vigilance had brought about the collapse of the first conspiracy, and the northern lords were in arms and, in their turn, begging for Philip’s aid, a good instance occurred of the inadequacy of the king’s timid temporising policy to the circumstances of the times. The crisis was really a dangerous one for Elizabeth, and a little prompt aid from Philip might have turned the scale. The Catholic north was all in arms, and Mary Stuart’s party was still a strong one, and yet these are the only words that Philip could find in answer to the appeal written to Alba on December 16, 1569: “English affairs are going in a way that will make it necessary, after all, to bring the queen to do by force what she refuses to reason. Her duty is so clear that no doubt God causes her to ignore it, in order that by these means His holy religion may be restored in that country, and Catholics and good Christians thus be rescued from the oppression in which they live. In case her obstinacy and hardness of heart continue, therefore, you will take into consideration the best direction to be given to this. We think here that the best course will be to encourage with money and secret favour the Catholics of the north, and to help those in Ireland to take up arms against the heretics and deliver the crown to the Queen of Scotland, to whom it belongs. This course, it is presumed, would be agreeable to the pope and all Christendom, and would encounter no opposition from any one. This is only mentioned now in order that you may know what is passing in our minds here, and that, with your great prudence and a full consideration of the state of affairs in general, you may ponder what is best to be done.” What could be weaker than this in a great crisis?

Events marched too quickly for pondering, and the northern rebellion was stamped out by the promptness of Elizabeth’s Government whilst Philip was timidly weighing the chances. This was a fresh triumph for the Protestant cause throughout Europe, and a new impetus was given to it in France, Holland, Germany, and Scotland, as well as in England. De Spes continued to urge upon Philip plans for the overthrow of Elizabeth, but his charming fell upon deaf ears now. Only once was the king tempted into any approach to hostility. Stukeley went to Spain with a great flourish of trumpets, and gave him to understand that Ireland was at his bidding if a little armed help were provided. At Madrid they thought for a time that Stukeley was a great man, and entertained him royally; but Philip and his councillors soon found he was but a windbag, and dropped him promptly.

A good example is provided of Philip’s subordination of religion to politics by his attitude when the pope’s bull excommunicating Elizabeth was fixed by Felton on the Bishop of London’s gate. The English Catholics had long been suggesting to Philip that such a bull should be obtained, but he had no desire to drive Elizabeth farther away from the Catholic Church than necessary. Her religion was a secondary consideration, if she would be friendly with him, and he was coldly irresponsive about the desired excommunication. The English Catholics then addressed the pope direct; and he, having no interests to serve other than those of his religion, promptly granted the bull. But when Philip learnt that the pope had excommunicated Elizabeth without consulting him, he was extremely indignant, and did not mince his words in reprehending the pontiff’s action.

At the instance of his over-zealous ambassador, Philip was induced to receive Ridolfi, who had again gone as an envoy from Norfolk and Mary to the pope, Philip, and Alba (July 1571) to seek aid for Norfolk’s second plot to destroy Elizabeth, whilst at the same time he (Philip) was negotiating in Madrid with Fitzwilliams a pretended plot by which John Hawkins was to place his fleet at the disposal of the Spaniards. Philip’s reference to the subject of killing Elizabeth is characteristic. He “sincerely desires the success of the business, not for his own interest, or for any other worldly object, but purely and simply for the service of God. He was therefore discussing the matter, and in the meanwhile urged all people concerned not to be premature.” Whilst he was discussing with his council the murder of Elizabeth, the queen and Cecil were acting. They had known everything that had been going on in Madrid and elsewhere; Philip had been hoodwinked again. His ambassador was expelled with every ignominy, Norfolk deservedly lost his head, and Philip’s hesitancy once more convinced the English Catholics that no broad, bold, or timely action in their favour could be expected from him.

It had been constantly urged upon Philip that the best way to bring the English to their knees was to stop their trade with his dominions. He had always laid it down as a rule that no ships but Spanish should be allowed to trade in the Spanish territories in America, but the English adventurers made light of the prohibition, and the settlers were quite willing to wink at their distant sovereign’s edicts, if they could profitably exchange their drugs and dyewood for the slaves which the English brought from the African coast. After Elizabeth’s seizure of Spanish property the prohibition against English trade was extended to Spain and the Netherlands. The English clothworkers grumbled, but they found new outlets for their goods at Embden and Hamburg. On the other hand, the wine-growers of Spain and the merchants of Flanders were well-nigh ruined. Spanish ships were harried off the sea, and Philip was ere long forced to connive at the violation of his own edict in face of the clamour of the Andalucian shippers, whose produce rotted for want of sea-carriage and a market. Alba held out as long as he could, but the persuasions of Orange that the Queen of England should assume the protectorate of Holland and Zeeland brought even him to his knees at last. He had always tried to make the restitution of Elizabeth’s seizures a condition of the reopening of trade, but early in 1573 he was obliged to give way, to the immense advantage of Elizabeth, who thus kept the bulk of what she had taken, whilst her subjects again obtained a free market for their cloth. This agreement alone would prove how completely Philip’s cumbrous policy of personal centralisation had failed when applied to a huge disjointed empire such as his. His selfish dread of responsibility and his constant aim of making catspaws of others had alienated him at this time from every power except perhaps for the moment the Venetians and the pope, who both had selfish reasons for adhering to him, the first as their chief bulwark against the Turk in the Mediterranean, and the latter because he was champion of the Church the world over. Alba’s policy of blood and iron had failed too, in the Netherlands. He had only succeeded in making his own and his master’s name execrated. From the day he left Spain his enemies there had been busy. In his absence the party of Ruy Gomez was almost supreme; the clever favourite had taken care to surround the king with promising young secretaries, and the failure of Alba to pacify the Netherlands was made the most of. The duke himself was heartsick of his task, crippled for want of means, his troops unpaid and mutinous, his fleet destroyed; and Holland, Zeeland, and a good part of Flanders were still in the hands of Orange. The constant dropping of detraction at last had its effect upon Philip, and he was induced to try a new policy. Alba was allowed to withdraw, with rage at his heart for his failure, which he ascribed to the lack of support from Madrid, and Luis Requesens was sent by the influence of the Ruy Gomez party, to endeavour to bring about by conciliation and mildness the pacification which severity had been powerless to effect.

This is not the place for any detailed account to be given of the proceedings of Alba in the Netherlands, which have so often been recounted, but it may be interesting to consider how far Philip is personally responsible for them. It may be conceded at once that the king would have no sentimental scruples whatever in ordering the sacrifice of any number of lives he considered necessary for the success of his object, which in his eyes transcended all human interests. There is no doubt that when Alba was first despatched to Flanders it was for the express purpose of utterly stamping out the Flemish claims of autonomy. The first men to be struck at were the great nobles who had dared to formulate such a claim. The Regent Margaret was dismissed with every sign of disgrace. Her edict of toleration was revoked as “illegal and indecent,” and she herself was ordered to obey the Duke of Alba in all things. She was the king’s sister, however, and she was allowed to go to Parma, complaining bitterly of the outrages to which the king had submitted her. But with Orange, Egmont, Horn, Montigny, and Bergues it was another matter. At some time or another all of these had raised their voices, however submissively, in favour of the national rights of self-government. The blow was carefully planned beforehand, and the treacherous seizure of Egmont and Horn after the dinner party on September 9, 1567, immediately after Alba’s arrival in Brussels, was promptly followed by the even more underhand detention and imprisonment of Bergues, Montigny, and Renard in Spain. Fortunately the greater wariness of Orange and Mansfelt saved them from falling victims to Alba’s lying caresses. The charge against the nobles was not religious, but purely political. It is true that Orange in his absence was accused of speaking disrespectfully of the Inquisition, but the real crime was for having requested the convocation of the States-General on the pretext that “the king could not determine anything in these provinces except with the approval of the States-General, which means stripping the king of all authority and power and adorning him merely with the title.” That Alba’s persecution was not a religious but a political one, is also proved by the fact that the conventual clergy were struck at the same time as the Catholic nobles because they had ventured to protest against Philip’s reorganisation of the ecclesiastical establishment in Flanders, which was intended to make him supreme over the clergy, as he was in Spain. The abbots and monks, we are told, were the first that fled on Alba’s advent. They were followed by rich burgesses, Catholics almost to a man. They fled not for religion yet, but because the ruffianly Spanish and Italian soldiers whom Alba had brought with him were quartered in all the houses—six in each house—and were robbing, murdering, and ravishing right and left. They were an unpaid mutinous rabble, who respected no distinction of nationality, faith, or sex, and their function was utterly to terrorise the Flemings into abject submission. When the people began to escape in shoals Alba considered it necessary to prevent this evasion of his terrorism, and began by hanging 500 citizens who were suspected of attempting to emigrate or to send property abroad. The people, in fact, were absolutely unresisting, and flocked to church, as Alba himself records, as plentifully as did “Spaniards at jubilee time.” At the execution of Egmont and Horn, Alba expressed his surprise to the king that the populace was so unmoved—much less so, indeed, than the Spanish soldiers who surrounded the scaffold—and he feared that the king’s clemency might raise their courage. Alba was determined that this should not happen if he could help it. Thus far, then, Philip must be held responsible for Alba’s acts, namely, for the first seizure of the nobles, and their condemnation by the tribunal of blood, to the number of about twenty, and for the terrorism over the friars and the citizens. But here probably Philip’s personal responsibility ends. He was not wantonly and fiercely cruel as Alba was. No consideration of any sort was allowed to stand in the way of what he held to be his sacred task, but he did not kill for the sake of killing. The flight of Orange’s mercenary Germans at Heliger Lee, and the consequent collapse of his first attempt at armed resistance, had been looked upon by most Flemings without any outward sign of sympathy, and the unprovoked, horrible holocaust of innocent citizens all over Flanders and Brabant which followed, must be laid at the door of Alba alone, who intended thus to strike such terror into the townsfolk as should effectually bridle them if Orange tried his fortune again; so with the nobles dead or in exile, the townspeople might be crushed without a show of resistance. As long as only their national or religious liberty was at stake, the Flemings bent their necks to the yoke, and Orange in his despairing attempt depended mainly upon German mercenaries and French Calvinists. On July 14, 1570, Alba the merciless could read from his gold-covered throne in Antwerp the amnesty of forgiveness and peace to all the subjects of the king: but when he ventured to lay hands on the wealth of the Netherlands, then the blood of the burgesses rose, and those who meekly saw themselves despoiled of their national rights stood up sturdily against the depletion of their fat money-bags. The seizure of the treasure by Elizabeth had been the last stroke to complete Alba’s penury. He had been importuning plaintively for money almost since his arrival; his troops had not been paid for two years, and were almost out of hand. Money he must have, and, certainly without Philip’s consent, he took the fatal step that at last aroused the slumbering people. The various provincial assemblies were terrorised into voting a tax of one per cent on all property, five per cent on sales of land, and, above all, ten per cent on sales of all other property. Utrecht refused to accept the impossible tax, and the tribunal of blood condemned the whole property of the citizens to confiscation. A tax of ten per cent upon commodities every time they changed hands was proved to be absurd. Alba’s most faithful henchmen, and even his confessor, pointed this out to him, but to no purpose. Business was suspended, factories closed. Their proprietors were threatened with heavy fines if trade was not carried on as usual. It was obviously impossible, but still the duke would not give way.

Philip’s council were indignant at such a measure, and Alba wrote to Madrid, “Let the tax be reduced as much as may be necessary, but the king cannot have an idea of the obstacles I encounter here. Neither the heads smitten off nor the privileges abolished have aroused so much resistance as this.”

Nearly all the great bankers upon whom Philip had depended for loans became insolvent, and appeals against the unwise tax reached Philip by every post. He knew money must be obtained somehow, and hesitated to condemn Alba unheard, but he ordered an inquiry to be made, and the protests grew louder and deeper. Bishops, councillors, loyal servants of the Spaniards, joined in condemnation. “Everybody turns against me,” wrote the duke, and for once he was right.

The “beggars of the sea” seized Brille on April 1, 1572; all Holland and Zeeland rose. Help and money came from England, and Alba saw himself face to face with an enraged nation instead of downtrodden serfs. First he crushed the south and then held the French Huguenots out of Brabant. Mons was captured, Genlis’s Frenchmen massacred, and swift and relentless as a thunderbolt swept Alba’s vengeance through the southern provinces of Flanders. Submission the most abject, or slaughter was the only alternative. But Holland and Zeeland were made of sterner stuff, and the shambles of Naarden only made Haarlem the more obstinate. Then followed that fell struggle which lasted until Alba’s confession of failure. Cruelty could not crush the Dutchmen, for they were fighting for their faith now as well as their money, and by the end of 1572 Philip had become tired of the useless slaughter. It was difficult for him to revoke or interfere with his commander-in-chief in the midst of such a war, but long before Alba’s final retirement from Flanders at the end of 1573, the king showed his displeasure with his proceedings unmistakably, and it well-nigh broke the old duke’s heart, hard as it was. When at last Philip wrote that his successor, Requesens, was on his way to replace him with an amnesty, these were the king’s words: “I am quite aware that the rebels are perfidious. I understand all your arguments in favour of a continuance of the system of severity, and I agree that they are good; but I see that things have arrived at such an extreme that we shall be obliged to adopt other measures.” Alba’s fall had been decided upon long before, and Medina-Celi had actually been sent to Flanders to replace him, but Philip had always hesitated to withdraw him while he was actually in arms against the enemy. Thirty years before his father had told him that Alba was the best soldier in Spain, and Philip knew that he was so still. But how deeply Philip disapproved of his wanton cruelty in time of peace will be seen by the words already quoted above, and by his sudden degradation of the powerful Cardinal Espinosa when the king discovered that he was being deceived with regard to Alba’s proceedings (September 1572). The number of victims and the reasons for the sacrifices were kept back by the favourite, for Espinosa was for crushing the Dutchmen as he had crushed the Moriscos. But there were others, like Antonio Perez, by Philip’s side to open his eyes to Alba’s enormities, and one day in the council the king turned upon the astounded Espinosa and told him roundly that he lied. When Philip, usually so impassible, said such a thing it meant disgrace and death, and Cardinal Espinosa promptly went home and died the same night.

After that Alba’s disgrace was inevitable, even if it had not been in principle already decided upon. The evidence, therefore, seems to prove that Philip did not consider Alba’s cruelty necessary or politic for the ends he had in view, which, be it repeated, were ultimately political and not religious.

Requesens’ new policy at first was eminently successful in drawing away the Walloons and Catholic Flemings from the side of Orange, and by the late autumn of 1575 the position of the Protestants had become critical. Money was running short, the mercenaries were unpaid, and Elizabeth would not be forced by any persuasion from the position which she had taken up of helping Orange with money and men, but never pledging herself so deeply that she could not recede and become friendly with Philip if it suited her. She had, indeed, managed to get the whole of the cards in her hand, and could secure his friendship at any time without cost to herself. But this non-committal policy did not suit Orange in his present straits, and he began to make approaches to the French Huguenots. Elizabeth was perfectly willing that he should get their aid, as in the long-run they too had mainly to depend upon her; but she changed her tone directly when she learnt that the King of France and his mother where to be parties to the arrangement. Anything that should mean a French national domination of Flanders she would never allow. Better, far better, that Philip and the Spaniards should stay there for ever, than that the French flag should wave over Antwerp. So an English envoy, Henry Cobham, was sent to Madrid in August 1575, with all sorts of loving messages, to open Philip’s eyes to Orange’s intrigues with the French court. Philip received Cobham coldly, and referred him to Alba for his answer, which was to the effect that the king was as willing to be friendly as Elizabeth, and would receive a resident English ambassador, on condition that he made no claim to exercise the reformed religion. Not a word about Orange and the French. Whatever the Huguenots might do, he knew full well that he had only to hold out his hand to the Guises and the Catholic party, and Catharine and her son would be paralysed for harm against him.