The Boys' Book of Rulers

“I will undertake the enterprise for my own crown of Castile; and I will pledge my private jewels to raise the necessary funds.”

Thus the discovery of a continent hung upon the vanity, or heroism, of a woman! But the character of Isabella was equal to the emergency. The matter was quickly settled. A courier was sent to overtake the disappointed Columbus, who was pursuing his weary way through the sand, overwhelmed with gloom. For eighteen years he had been in vain endeavoring to carry out his cherished plans. Joyfully he returned to Santa Fé, where the queen received him with great kindness, and assented to his demands. Columbus succeeded in obtaining three small vessels, – two furnished by the Spanish government, and one by Martin Alonzo Pinzon, a wealthy Spaniard. The total number who joined the expedition was one hundred and fifty.

The enterprise was deemed so hazardous that it was with great difficulty that a crew could be obtained. This was in the fifteenth century. In view of the marvellous progress in knowledge, discovery, invention, and an enlightened Christianity, in the past four hundred years, in comparison with the ignorance and superstitions of preceding epochs, any student of history will be led most emphatically to exclaim, Surely the world was never so advanced in knowledge, true civilization, and pure religion as to-day! With all the wickedness at the present time, the study of history reveals the fact, that the world was never so good, pure, and Christian as now.

On the 3d of August, 1492, the small squadron unfurled its sails for the momentous voyage. At the close of a week they arrived at the Canary Islands, which were on the frontiers of the known world. On the 6th of September, they again set sail.

Day after day passed; but no land came in sight. Sixty-seven days had now passed since the Highlands of Spain had disappeared from their view. They had met with indications which made them hope that land was near. A branch of a shrub, with leaves and berries upon it, had been picked up; and a small piece of wood, curiously carved, had been found drifting upon the water. It was the 11th of October. As the sun went down, and the stars appeared, Columbus took his stand upon the poop of his vessel. About ten o’clock, he was startled by the gleam of what seemed to be a torch far in the distance. For a moment it blazed, then disappeared. Was it a meteor, or a light from the land? Not an eye was closed on the ships that night. At two o’clock in the morning, a sailor at the mast-head shouted, “Land, land, land!” The day dawned; and a glimpse of paradise seemed to have been unveiled before their enraptured gaze. A beautiful island was spread out, luxuriously green, and adorned with every variety of tropical vegetation. The boats were lowered, and manned. The banner of Spain, emblazoned with the cross, floated from every prow. Columbus, richly attired in a scarlet dress, entered his boat, and was rowed towards the shore, where multitudes of the natives stood, gazing, spell-bound, upon the strange sight. Columbus leaped upon the shore, and, falling upon his knees, gave thanks to God. With imposing ceremony, the banner of Spain was planted upon the soil; and the island was called San Salvador, in recognition of the protecting care of Providence. We have not space to note the other discoveries of Columbus upon this voyage. Continuing his explorations in that part of the country, he discovered the islands of Exuma, Yuma, and Cuba. Of Cuba, Columbus wrote, “It is the most beautiful island that eyes ever beheld.” During a short tour up one of the picturesque streams of Cuba, Columbus met with a bulbous root, about as large as an apple, which the natives used as food, roasting it in the ashes. They called it batatas. Columbus and his men were hunting for gold; but this discovery of the indispensable potato has proved a much richer prize to mankind. Here, also, he saw the natives rolling up in their hands dried leaves of a certain plant, which they lighted and smoked. These leaves they called tobacco. This discovery has proved a curse, rather than a blessing, to the world.

After discovering the islands of the Nativity and Hayti, or Saint Domingo, Columbus determined to return to Spain, to secure a more efficient fleet. The return voyage was extremely tempestuous. During the gloomy hours of storm and danger, fearing that they should never see land again, Columbus wrote an account of his discoveries upon parchment, wrapped it in waxed cloth, and, enclosing it in a water-tight cask, set it adrift. A copy, similarly prepared, was kept upon the ship. On the 15th of March, not quite seven months and a half from the time of his departure, Columbus, with his little crew, entered the harbor of Palos. Ferdinand and Isabella were at Barcelona. They immediately wrote to Columbus, requesting him to repair to their court. His journey thither was a triumphal march. Ferdinand and Isabella were seated beneath a silken canopy, to receive him with the most imposing ceremonies of state. As a remarkable act of condescension, both Ferdinand and Isabella rose, upon the approach of Columbus, and offered him their hands to kiss. The Indians and other trophies from the New World which he had brought back with him, occasioned the greatest surprise. Then Columbus narrated to the Spanish sovereigns the story of his voyage. But we are obliged to give an account of the shame, as well as glory, of the Spanish court. Ferdinand and Isabella were rigid Catholics; so much so, that Ferdinand is called in history “Ferdinand the Catholic,” and Isabella received also the same title. The Inquisition, which had existed somewhat mildly before, was re-established by them. We cannot give the details of those persecutions here, which we narrate more fully when the Inquisition appears with greater cruelty and ferocity in the life of Philip II. During the reign of Ferdinand, the persecution fell mostly upon the Jews. Just as the Spanish sovereigns were about entering into engagements with Columbus to send him in search of a new world, that Christianity might be carried to the heathens there, the unchristian and cruel edict was issued for the expulsion of the Jews from Spain. We have not space to describe the heart-rending sufferings of this persecuted people.

While at Barcelona, in 1492, Ferdinand narrowly escaped being killed by an assassin. King Ferdinand had not much intellectual culture; and Isabella was far superior to her husband in literary attainments. But Ferdinand was a capable man in the military and practical affairs of his kingdom. The children of Ferdinand and Isabella received unusual education for those times, and acquired rare attainments. Prince John, heir to their throne, was reared with the greatest care. But just after the marriage of the young prince to Princess Margaret, daughter of the Emperor Maximilian of Austria, which was celebrated with great magnificence, Prince John was stricken with a fever, and died. Thus perished their only son. Their eldest daughter, Isabella, who had married the king of Portugal, died soon after the death of her brother, Prince John. This daughter left a babe, who thus became heir to Portugal, Aragon, and Castile; but ere a year had passed the infant also sank into the grave. Their daughter Joanna was married to the archduke Philip, son and heir of Maximilian. This unhappy princess was the mother of Charles V. of Spain. But her life was clouded with gloom, occasioned by her husband’s neglect, which at last caused her insanity. The youngest daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, Catharine of Aragon, afterwards had the misfortune to marry the infamous Henry VIII. of England. Thus, the last days of these illustrious sovereigns were overshadowed with heart-rending sorrows. We can barely note the subsequent discoveries of Columbus. Before his second voyage, while at Barcelona, he was invited by the grand cardinal of Spain to dine with him. An envious guest inquired of Columbus if he thought that there was no man in Spain capable of discovering the Indies, if he had not made the discovery. Columbus, without replying to the question, took an egg from the table, and asked if there was any one who could make it stand on one end. They all tried, but failed. Whereupon Columbus, by a slight blow, crushed the end of the egg, and left it standing before them, saying, “You see how easy it is to do a thing after some one has shown you how.”

In his second voyage he discovered the island of Jamaica and several other islands. Ferdinand and Isabella received him with kindness upon his return; but two years passed before he could obtain another squadron. It was during this third voyage that complaints reached Isabella that Columbus was enslaving the inhabitants of Hayti. An officer named Bobadilla was sent to Hayti to investigate the matter. He was unscrupulous and envious; and, falsely using his official authority, he ordered Columbus to be sent back to Spain in chains. These outrages, inflicted upon a man so illustrious, roused indignation throughout the world. Ferdinand and Isabella were shocked and alarmed upon hearing of this outrageous treatment, and sent in the greatest haste to release him from his fetters, and to express their sympathy and regret for the indignities he had suffered. Some months after, Columbus started upon his fourth and last voyage. After encountering storms and perils, Columbus reached the continent at what is now called Central America, near Yucatan. Notwithstanding the importance of having at last touched the American continent, this voyage was a series of disappointments and disasters. He was detained for a year on the island of Jamaica, on account of the loss of his ships, which were wrecked in the storms. At length, two vessels arrived at the island, and Columbus embarked for his return to Spain. When he at last reached that country, he was broken down by old age, sickness, and mental suffering. Poverty stared him in the face. Isabella was upon her death-bed; and Ferdinand was heartless, and would not offer him any relief. After all his achievements in behalf of mankind, Columbus thus sadly writes to his son: “I live by borrowing. Little have I profited by twenty years of service, with such toils and perils, since at present I do not own a roof in Spain. If I desire to eat or sleep, I have no resort but an inn, and for the most times have not wherewithal to pay my bill.” In the midst of such sorrow and poverty, the heroic Columbus passed his last days on earth. He was buried in the Convent of St. Francisco, at Seville. Thirty years afterwards, his remains were removed to St. Domingo, on the island of Hayti. Upon the cession of the island to the French, in 1795, they were transferred by the Spanish authorities to the Cathedral of Havana, in Cuba.

Queen Isabella was now broken in health, from her many domestic sorrows. She died in November, 1504. The last years of Ferdinand afford a sad contrast to his early life and brilliant manhood. As the death of Queen Isabella took from Ferdinand the crown of Castile, Philip, the husband of the poor crazy Joanna, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, seized upon the throne of Castile. A bitter family quarrel ensued. In order to secure the help of France, Ferdinand, though it was only eleven months after the death of his deeply loved wife, was married to the princess Germaine, a gay and frivolous girl of eighteen, daughter of one of the sisters of Louis XII.

“It seemed hard,” says one writer, “that these nuptials should take place so soon, and that, too, in Isabella’s own kingdom of Castile, where she had lived without peer, and where her ashes are still held in as much veneration as she enjoyed while living.” The marriage ceremony took place at Duenas, where, thirty-six years before, he had pledged his faith to Isabella. In 1513 the health of Ferdinand began to fail. Dropsy and partial paralysis made his life a torment. Hoping to gain relief, he travelled southward; but, having reached the small village of Madrigalejo, he was unable to proceed farther. On the 22d of January, 1516, in the sixty-fourth year of his age, Ferdinand breathed his last. He died in a small room in an obscure village. “In so wretched a tenement did the lord of so many lands close his eyes upon the world.” Thus ended the lives of Ferdinand and Isabella, shrouded with gloom and disappointment.

“A crown! What is it?It is to bear the miseries of a people,To hear their murmurs, feel their discontents,And sink beneath a load of splendid care.”

PHILIP II. OF SPAIN

1527-1598 A.D

“Princes who would their people should do well,Must at themselves begin, as at the head;For men, by their example, pattern outTheir imitations and regard of laws:A virtuous court a world to virtue draws.” – Ben Jonson.

CHARLES V. of Spain, the father of Philip II., was the grandson of Ferdinand and Isabella. Through his father he inherited the Netherlands and part of Burgundy, and at the age of nineteen became emperor of Germany. He had received the throne of Spain when sixteen years of age. When his son Philip had attained sufficient age to assume the throne, Charles V. abdicated in his favor, and retired to a convent, where he died in 1558 in the fifty-ninth year of his age. Philip II., his son, was born at Valladolid in 1527. His mother, Isabella, was the daughter of Emanuel, king of Portugal. Philip was but twelve years old at the time of his mother’s death. In 1543 Philip married Mary, daughter of the king of Portugal. Both bride and bridegroom were eighteen years of age. Mary died in a short time, leaving an infant son named Don Carlos. Catharine of Aragon, the youngest daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, married King Henry VIII. of England. Their daughter Mary became the second wife of King Philip II. of Spain. She was eleven years older than Philip, and was unattractive in person and a bigot in religion. Her cruelty in persecuting those whom she regarded as heretics has given her in history the name of “Bloody Mary.”

The marriage contract was signed before either of them had seen each other. As the son of an emperor, Philip set out in royal state to obtain his bride. The marriage ceremony was performed in the cathedral at Winchester. Philip was dressed in a suit of white satin, the gift of Mary. It was richly decorated with golden embroidery, and encrusted with precious stones. Mary’s wedding dress was also white satin embroidered with gold. It was thickly studded and fringed with costly jewels.

As Mary was at this time queen of England, her marriage was celebrated with the greatest magnificence. The pompous rites of the wedding ceremony occupied four hours, during which time Philip and Mary were seated upon a throne draped with a royal canopy. The vast edifice was thronged with the nobility of England, Flanders, and Spain. After a few days, devoted to public festivities in Winchester, Philip and Mary went to London, and were received by the people and court with great demonstrations of rejoicing. Her father, King Henry VIII., had quarrelled with the Pope at Rome, but Mary and Philip were zealous Catholics, and desired to re-establish the relations of the English Church with Rome. Parliament met at Whitehall. Mary, the queen of England, sat with Philip under a canopy. By her side sat the Pope’s legate. A petition was presented by the chancellor of the realm, praying for reconciliation with the Papal See. The whole assembly knelt before the Pope’s legate, who pronounced upon them absolution and a benediction. Then began the fires of persecution. Many who would not consent to become Catholics were burned at the stake.

Philip, who had now wearied of his elderly and unattractive wife, and also of being regarded as only the husband of the queen, was rejoiced at the summons of his father, Charles V., who desired him to return to Spain to receive the kingdom, that Charles might retire into convent life. By the abdication of Charles V., Philip II. became one of the most powerful monarchs in the world. He was king of united Spain; he was also king of Naples and Sicily, and duke of Milan; he was sovereign of the Low Countries; and as husband of the queen of England, who was devotedly attached to him, he had great influence in the affairs of that nation. The Cape Verde Islands and the Canaries were under his sway. A large portion of the Mediterranean coast in Africa was under his dominion; also the Philippine and Spice Islands, in Asia. He inherited those islands which Columbus had conferred upon Spain in the West Indies, and also the vast realms of Mexico and Peru.

Such was the immense power now placed in the hands of this young prince not yet thirty years of age. Philip II. established his court at Madrid, and from his palace there sent forth his edicts over his wide domains. In 1558 Queen Mary of England died, being succeeded by her half-sister Elizabeth.

Philip’s only regret for his wife was, no doubt, the loss of his hold upon the English crown. Before a year had elapsed he was married to the daughter of the king of France. This young princess, Elizabeth, – called in Spain, Isabella, – was only fourteen years of age, and had been previously betrothed to the son of Philip, Don Carlos, who was of the same age.

The death of this young prince a few years afterwards, under very suspicious circumstances, caused many to think that he had been poisoned by the command of his father, who had imprisoned the prince at the time. Don Carlos and his father had frequent quarrels, and at last Carlos was said to have confessed to a priest that he desired to kill his father, and he asked absolution, which the priest refused to grant. The king was informed of all this. The young prince was thereupon imprisoned, with a strong guard to watch him, and he was reported to be mad. In the course of a few months Don Carlos died.

Two stories regarding that event were told. Some historians consider Philip innocent of any attempt upon the life of his son, but others state that the physician of the prince was informed that it was very desirable that the death of Carlos should appear to result from natural causes; and that medicine was administered to the unsuspecting patient in such doses as slowly to accomplish the desired end. Philip II. was a fanatic in religion, and the terrible persecution of the Protestants during his reign has filled the world with horror, as the shocking stories have been told.

Philip had not forgotten his father’s command to punish heretics with the utmost rigor. The Reformation had been silently and rapidly advancing in Spain. Now the terrible persecutions of the Inquisition were turned against this heroic little band of fearless Christians by those professing to worship the same merciful God, and to be followers of the same loving and sinless Christ. How such awful crimes could have been perpetrated in the sacred name of religion seems at the present day incomprehensible, and we shudder at the recital of such savage barbarity, more especially when committed by the enlightened and civilized nations of the world less than four centuries ago.

The bigoted Philip issued an edict “that all who bought, sold, or read prohibited works were to be burned alive.” Every person suspected of heresy was arrested and thrown into prison. In Seville alone, eight hundred were arrested in one day. The accused were then dragged from their dungeons and subjected to the horrors of the most merciless tortures to induce them to give up their Protestant faith; and these shocking deeds were performed in the name of religion. The awful details of those barbarous crimes are too horrible to relate. What must the reality have been to the poor victims of this inhuman persecution!

The first act of burning, under the decrees of the Pope, Philip II., and the Spanish inquisitor-general, Valdés, took place in May, 1559, at Valladolid. This terrible ceremony was called auto de fé, or act of faith; and so common did they at length become, that Catholics would engage to meet each other at the “auto de fé,” as in modern times appointments are made to meet at the theatre, opera, or other place of public gathering. One of the historians thus describes the second auto de fé in Valladolid, in October, 1559: “The Pope wished to invest the scene with all the terrors of the Day of Judgment. That he might draw an immense crowd, an indulgence of forty days was granted to all who should be present at the spectacle.

“The tragedy was enacted in the great square of the city. At one end of the square a large platform was erected, richly carpeted and decorated, where seats were arranged for the inquisitors. A royal gallery was constructed for the king and his court. Two hundred thousand spectators surrounded the arena. At six o’clock in the morning all the bells of the city began to toll the funeral knell. A solemn procession emerged from the dismal fortress of the Inquisition. A body of troops led the van. Then came the condemned. There were two classes: the first consisting of those who were to be punished with confiscation and imprisonment; and the second, of those who were to suffer death. The latter were covered with a loose gown of yellow cloth, and wore upon the head a paper cap of conical form. Both the gown and cap were covered with pictures of flames fanned and fed by demons. Two priests were by the side of each one of the victims, urging him to abjure his errors. Those who were merely to endure loss of property and to be thrown into the dungeons of the Inquisition were clothed in garments of black. A vast concourse of dignitaries of state, and of the common people, closed the procession. The fanaticism of the times was such, that probably but few of the people had any sympathy with the sufferers. The ceremonies were opened with a sermon by the bishop of Zamora. Then the whole assembled multitude took an oath, upon their knees, to defend the Inquisition and the purity of the Catholic faith, and to inform against any one who should swerve from the faith. Then those who, to escape the flames, had expressed penitence for their errors, after a very solemn recantation, were absolved from death. But heresy was too serious a crime to be forgiven, even upon penitence. All were doomed to the confiscation of property, and to imprisonment – some for life – in the dungeons of the Inquisition. Their names were branded with infamy, and in many cases their immediate descendants were rendered ineligible to any public office. These first received their doom, and under a strong guard were conveyed back to prison.

“And now all eyes were turned to the little band of thirty, who, in the garb of ignominy, and with ropes around their necks, were waiting their sentence. Many of these were men illustrious for rank, and still more renowned for talents and virtues. Their countenances were wan and wasted, their frames emaciated, and many of them were distorted by the cruel ministry of the rack. Those who were willing to make confession were allowed the privilege of being strangled before their bodies were exposed to the torture of the fire. After being strangled by the garrote, their bodies were thrown into the flames. Enfeebled by suffering, all but two of them thus purchased exemption from being burned alive.

“One of these, Don Carlos de Seso, was a Florentine noble. He had married a Spanish lady of high rank, and had taken up his residence in Spain, where he had adopted the principles of the Reformation. For fifteen months, with unshaken constancy, he had suffered in the dungeons of the Inquisition. When sentence of death at the stake was pronounced upon him, he called for pen and paper in his cell. His judges supposed that he intended to make confession. Instead of that he wrote a very eloquent document, avowing his unshaken trust in the great truths of the Reformation. De Seso had stood very high in the regards of Philip’s father, Charles V. As he was passing before the royal gallery to be chained to the stake, he looked up to Philip, and said, ‘Is it thus that you allow your innocent subjects to be persecuted?’ The king replied, ‘If it were my own son, I would fetch the wood to burn him, were he such a wretch as thou art.’

“He was chained to the stake. As the flames slowly enveloped him in their fiery wreaths, he called upon the soldiers to heap up the fagots, that his agonies might sooner terminate. Soon life was extinct, and the soul of the noble martyr was borne on angel wings to heaven. The fellow-sufferer of De Seso was Domingo de Rexas, son of the marquis of Posa. Five of this noble family, including the eldest son, had been victims of the Inquisition. De Rexas had been a Dominican monk. In accordance with usage, he retained his sacerdotal habit until he stood before the stake. Then in the midst of the jeers of the populace his garments were one by one removed, and the vestments of the condemned, with their hideous picturings, were placed upon him. He attempted to address the spectators. Philip angrily ordered him to be gagged. A piece of cleft wood was thrust into his mouth, causing great pain. He was thus led to the stake and burned alive. The cruel exhibition occupied from six o’clock in the morning until two o’clock in the afternoon.”