Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 56, No. 345, July, 1844

"I cannot but suppose it more than occasional," rejoined Gonzaga; "for I must pay your highness the ill compliment of avowing, that you appear more worn by fatigue and weather at this moment, and in this sunless clime, than at the height of your glorious labours in the Mediterranean! Namur has already ploughed more wrinkles on your brow than Barbary or Lepanto."

"Say rather in my heart!" cried the impetuous prince. "Since you quitted me, six months ago, my dear Gonzaga, I have known nothing but cares! To you I have no scruple in avowing, that my position in this country is hateful. So long accustomed to war against a barbarous enemy, I could almost fancy myself as much a Moor at heart, as I appeared in visage, when in your service on my way to Luxembourg, whenever I find my sword uplifted against a Christian breast!—Civil war, Ottavio, is a hideous and repugnant thing!"—

"The report is true, then, that your highness has become warmly attached to the people of these rebel provinces?" demanded Gonzaga, not choosing to declare the rumour prevalent in Spain, that an opportunity had been afforded to the prince by the Barlaimont faction, of converting his viceroyalty into the sway of absolute sovereignty.

"So much the reverse, that the evil impression they made on me at my arrival, has increased a hundred-fold! I abhor them yet more and more. Flemings or Brabançons, Hainaulters or Walloons, Catholic or Calvinist, the whole tribe is my aversion; and despite our best endeavours to conceal it, I am convinced the feeling is reciprocal!"

"If your highness was equally candid in your avowals to the Queen of Navarre," observed Gonzaga gravely,—"I can scarcely wonder at the hopes she is said to entertain of having won over the governor of Mons to the French interest, during her transit through Flanders."

"Ay, indeed? Is such her boast?" cried the prince, laughing. "It may indeed be so!—for never saw I a woman less scrupulous in the choice or use of arms to fight her battles. But, trust me, whatever her majesty may have accomplished, is through no aiding or abetting of mine."

"Yet surely the devoted attentions paid her by your highness"—

"My highness made them appear devoted in proportion to his consciousness of their hollowness! But I promise you, my dear Ottavio, there is no tenderer leaning in my heart towards Margaret de Valois, than towards the most thicklipped of the divinities who competed for our smiles at Tunis." Gonzaga shrugged his shoulders. He was convinced that, for once, Don John was sinking the friend in the prince. His prolonged absence had perhaps discharged him from his post as confidant.

"Trust me," cried the young soldier, discerning his misgivings—"I am as sincere in all this as becomes our friendship. But that God has gifted me with a happy temperament, I should scarcely support the disgusts of my present calling. It is much, my dear Gonzaga, to inherit as a birthright the brand of such an ignominy as mine. But as long as I trusted to conquer a happier destiny—to carve out for myself fortunes as glorious as those to which my blood all but entitles me—I bore my cross without repining. It was this ardent hope of distinction that lent vigour to my arm in battle—that taught prudence to my mind in council. I was resolved that even the base-born of Charles V. should die a king!"—

Gonzaga listened in startled silence. To hear the young viceroy thus bold in the avowal of sentiments, which of late he had been hearing imputed to him at the Escurial as the direst of crimes, filled him with amazement.

"But these hopes have expired!" resumed Don John. "The harshness with which, on my return triumphant from Barbary, my brother refused to ratify the propositions of the Vatican in my favour, convinced me that I have nothing to expect from Philip beyond the perpetual servitude of a satellite of the King of Spain."

Gonzaga glanced mechanically round the chamber at the emission of these treasonable words. But there was nothing in its rude stone walls to harbour an eavesdropper.

"Nor is this all!" cried his noble friend. "My discovery of the unbrotherly sentiments of Philip has tended to enlighten me towards the hatefulness of his policy. The reserve of his nature—the harshness of his soul—the austerity of his bigotry—chill me to the marrow!—The Holy Inquisition deserves, in my estimation, a name the very antithesis of holy."

"I beseech your highness!" cried Ottavio Gonzaga—clasping his hands together in an irrepressible panic.

"Never fear, man! There be neither spies nor inquisitors in our camp; and if there were, both they and you must even hear me out!" cried Don John. "There is some comfort in discharging one's heart of matters that have long lain so heavy on it; and I swear to you, Gonzaga, that, instead of feeling surprised to find my cheeks so lank, and my eyes so hollow, you would rather be amazed to find an ounce of flesh upon my bones, did you know how careful are my days, and how sleepless my nights, under the perpetual harassments of civil war!—The haughty burgesses of Ghent, whom I could hate from my soul but that they are townsmen of my illustrious father, the low-minded Walloons, the morose Brugeois, the artful Brabançons—all the varied tribes, in short, of the old Burgundian duchy, seem to vie with each other which shall succeed best in thwarting and humiliating me. And for what do I bear it? What honour or profit shall I reap on my patience? What thanks derive for having wasted my best days and best energies, in bruising with my iron heel the head of the serpent of heresy? Why, even that Philip, for some toy of a mass neglected or an ave forgotten, will perchance give me over to the tender questioning of his grand inquisitor, as the shortest possible answer to my pretensions to a crown,—while the arrogant nobility of Spain, when roused from their apathy towards me by tidings of another Lepanto, a fresh Tunis, will exclaim with modified gratification—'There spoke the blood of Charles the Fifth! Not so ill fought for a bastard!'"

Perceiving that the feelings of his highness were chafed, the courtier, as in vocation bound, assured him he underrated the loyalty towards him of his fellow countrymen of the Peninsula; and that his services as governor of the Low Countries were fully appreciated.

"So fully, that I should be little surprised to learn the axe was already sharpened that is to take off my head!" cried Don John, with a scornful laugh. "And such being the exact state of my feelings and opinions, my trusty Gonzaga, I ask you whether I am likely to have proved a suitable Petrarch for so accomplished a Laura as the sister of Henry III?"—

"I confess myself disappointed," replied the crafty Italian.—"I was in hopes that your highness had found recreation as well as glory in Belgium. During my sojourn at the court of Philip, I supported with patience the somewhat ceremonious gravity of the Escurial, in the belief that your highness was enjoying meanwhile those festal enlivenments, which none more fully understand how to organize and adorn."

"If such an expectation really availed to enliven the Escurial," cried Don John recklessly, "your friendship must indeed possess miraculous properties! However, you may judge with your own eyes the pleasantness of my position; and every day that improves your acquaintance with the ill blood and ill condition of this accursed army of the royalists, ill-paid, ill-disciplined, and ill-intentioned, will inspire you with stronger yearnings after our days of the Mediterranean, where I was master of myself and of my men."

"And all this was manifested to Margaret, and all this will serve to comfort the venomous heart of the queen mother!"—ejaculated Gonzaga, shrugging his shoulders.

"Not a syllable, not a circumstance! The Queen of Navarre was far too much engrossed by the manoeuvres of her own bright eyes, to take heed of those of my camp."

"Your highness is perhaps less well aware than might be desirable, of how many things a woman's eyes are capable of doing, at one and the same time!"—retorted the Italian.

"I only wish," cried Don John impatiently, "that instead of having occasion to read me those Jeremiads, you had been here to witness the friendship you so strangely exaggerate! A ball, an excursion on the Meuse, a boar hunt in the forest of Marlagne, constitute the pastimes you are pleased to magnify into an imperial ovation."

"Much may be confided amid the splendour of a ball-room,—much in one poor half hour of a greenwood rendezvous!"—persisted the provoking Ottavio.

"Ay—much indeed!" responded Don John, with a sigh so deep that it startled by its significance the attention of his brother in arms. "But not to such a woman as the Queen of Henri the Béarnais!" returned the Prince. "By our Lady of Liesse! I wish no worse to that heretic prince, than to have placed his honour in the keeping of the gente Margot."

Fain would Gonzaga have pursued the conversation, which had taken a turn that promised wonders for the interest of the despatches he had undertaken to forward to the Escurial, in elucidation of the designs and sentiments of Don John,—towards whom his allegiance was as the kisses of Judas! But the imperial scion, (who, when he pleased, could assume the unapproachability of the blood royal,) made it apparent that he was no longer in a mood to be questioned. Having proposed to the new-comer (to whom, as an experienced commander, he destined the colonelship of his cavalry,) that they should proceed to a survey of the fortifications at Bouge, they mounted their horses, and, escorted by Nignio di Zuniga, the Spanish aide-de-camp of the prince, proceeded to the camp.

The affectionate deference testified towards the young governor by all classes, the moment he made his appearance in public, appeared to Gonzaga strangely in contradiction with the declarations of Don John that he was no favourite in Belgium. The Italian forgot that the Duke of Arschot, the Counts of Mansfeld and Barlaimont, while doffing their caps to the representative of the King of Spain, had as much right to behold in him the devoted friend of Don John of Austria, as he to regard them as the faithful vassals of his government.

A fair country is the country of Namur!—The confluent streams—the impending rocks—the spreading forests of its environs, comprehend the finest features of landscape; nor could Ottavio Gonzaga feel surprised that his prince should find as much more pleasure in those breesy plains than in the narrow streets of Brussels, as he found security and strength.

On the rocks overhanging the Meuse, at some distance from the town, stands the village of Bouge, fortified by Don John; to attain which by land, hamlets and thickets were to be traversed; and it was pleasant to see the Walloon peasant children run forth from the cottages to salute the royal train, making their heavy Flemish chargers swerve aside and perform their lumbering cabrioles far more deftly than the cannonading of the rebels, to which they were almost accustomed.

As they cut across a meadow formed by the windings of the Meuse, they saw at a distance a group formed, like most groups congregated just then in the district, of soldiers and peasants; to which the attention of the prince being directed, Nignio di Zuniga, his aide-de-camp, was dispatched to ascertain the cause of the gathering.

"A nothing, if it please your highness!" was the reply of the Spaniard—galloping back, hat in hand, with its plumes streaming in the breeze;—that the Prince's train, which had halted, might resume its pace.

"But a nothing of what sort?" persisted Don John, who appreciated the trivialties of life very differently from those by whom he was surrounded.

"A village grievance!—An old woman roaring her lungs out for a cow which has been carried off by our troopers!"—grumbled the aide-de-camp, with less respect than was usual to him.

"And call you that a nothing?"—exclaimed his master. "By our lady of Liesse, it is an act of cruelty and oppression—a thing calculated to make us hateful in the eyes of the village!—And many villages, my good Nignio, represent districts, and many districts provinces, and provinces a country; and by an accumulation of such resentments as the indignation of this old crone, will the King of Spain and the Catholic faith be driven out of Flanders!—See to it! I want no further attendance of you this morning! Let the cow be restored before sunset, and the marauders punished."

"But if, as will likely prove the case, the beast is no longer in its skin?"—demanded the aide-de-camp. "If the cow should have been already eaten, in a score of messes of pottage?"

"Let her have compensation."

"The money chest at headquarters, if it please your highness, is all but empty," replied Nignio, glancing with a smile towards Gonzaga,—as though they were accustomed to jest together over the reckless openness of heart and hand of their young chief.

"Then, by the blessed shrine of St Jago, give the fellows at least the strappado," cried Don John, out of all patience. "Since restitution may not be, be the retribution all the heavier."

"It is ever thus," cried he, addressing himself to Gonzaga, as the aide-de-camp resumed his plumed beaver, and galloped off with an imprecation between his lips, at having so rustic a duty on his hands, instead of accompanying the parade of his royal master. "It goes against my conscience to decree the chastisement of these fellows. For i' faith, they that fight, must feed; and hunger, that eats through stone walls, is apt to have a nibble at honesty. My royal brother, or those who have the distribution of his graces, is so much more liberal of edicts and anathemas than of orders on the treasury of Spain, that money and rations are evermore wanting. If these Protestants persist in their stand against us, I shall have to go forth to all the Catholic cities of the empire, preaching, like Peter the hermit, to obtain contributions from the pious!"

"His Majesty is perhaps of opinion," observed Gonzaga, "that rebels and heretics ought to supply the maintenance of the troops sent to reduce them to submission."

"A curious mode of engaging their affections towards either the creed or prince from which they have revolted!" cried Don John. "But you say true, Ottavio. Such are precisely the instructions of my royal brother; whom the Almighty soften with a more Christian spirit in his upholding of the doctrines of Christianity!—I am bidden to regard myself as in a conquered country. I am bidden to feel myself as I may have felt at Modon or Lepanto. It may not be, it may not be!—These people were the loyal subjects of my forefathers. These people are the faithful followers of Christ."

"Let us trust that the old woman may get back her cow, and your highness's tender conscience stand absolved,"—observed Gonzaga with a smile of ill-repressed derision. "I fear, indeed, that the Court of the Escurial is unprepared with sympathy for such grievances."

"Gonzaga!"—exclaimed Don John, suddenly reining up his horse, and looking his companion full in the face, "these are black and bitter times; and apt to make kings, princes, nobles, ay, and even prelates, forget that they are men; or rather that there be men in the world beside themselves."—Then allowing his charger to resume its caracolling, to give time to his startled friend to recover from the glow of consciousness burning on his cheek,—he resumed with a less stern inflexion. "It is the vexation of this conviction that hath brought my face to the meagreness and sallow tint that accused the scorching sun of Barbary. I love the rush of battle. The clash of swords or roaring of artillery is music to me. There is joy in contending, life for life, with a traitor, and marshaling the fierce battalions on the field. But the battle done, let the sword be sheathed! The struggle over, let the blood sink into the earth, and the deadly smoke disperse, and give to view once more the peace of heaven!—The petty aggravations of daily strife,—the cold-blooded oppressions of conquest,—the contest with the peasant for his morsel of bread, or with his chaste wife for her fidelity,—are so revolting to my conscience of good and evil, that as the Lord liveth there are moments when I am tempted to resign for ever the music I love so well of drum and trumpet, and betake myself, like my royal father, to some drowsy monastery, to listen to the end of my days to the snuffling of Capuchins!"

Scarce could Ottavio Gonzaga, so recently emancipated from the Escurial, refrain from making the sign of the cross at this heinous declaration!—But he contained himself.—It was his object to work his way still further into the confidence of his royal companion.

"The chief pleasure I derived from the visit of the French princess to Namur," resumed Don John, "was the respite it afforded from the contemplation of such miseries and such aggressions. I was sick at heart of groans and murmurs,—weary of the adjustment of grievances. To behold a woman's face, whereof the eyes were not red with weeping, was something!"—

"And the eyes of the fair Queen of Navarre are said to be of the brightest!" observed Gonzaga with a sneer.

"As God judgeth my soul, I noted not their hue or brightness!" exclaimed Don John. "Her voice was a woman's—her bearing a woman's—her tastes a woman's. And it brought back the memory of better days to hear the silken robes of her train rustling around me, instead of the customary clang of mail; and merry laughs instead of perpetual moans, or the rude oaths of my Walloons!"

An incredulous smile played on the handsome features of the Italian.—

"Have out your laugh!" cried Don John. "You had not thought to see the lion of Lepanto converted into so mere a lap-dog!—Is it not so?"

"As little so as I can admit without the disrespect of denial to your highness,"—replied Gonzaga, with a low obeisance. "My smile was occasioned by wonder that one so little skilled in feigning as the royal lion of Lepanto, should even hazard the attempt. There, at least—and there alone—is Don John of Austria certain of defeat!"

"I might, perhaps, waste more time in persuading you that the air of Flanders hath not taught me lying as well as compassion," replied the Infant; "but that yonder green mound is our first redoubt. The lines of Bouge are before you."

Professional discussion now usurped the place of friendly intercourse. On the arrival of the prince, the drums of headquarters beat to arms; and a moment afterwards, Don John was surrounded by his officers; exhibiting, in the issuing of his orders of the day, the able promptitude of one of the first commanders of his time, tempered by the dignified courtesy of a prince of the blood.

Even Ottavio Gonzaga was too much engrossed by the tactical debates carrying on around him, to have further thought of the mysteries into which he was resolved to penetrate.

It was not till the decline of day, that the prince and his état major returned to Namur; invitations having been frankly given by Don John to a score of his officers, to an entertainment in honour of the return of his friend.

Amid the jovialty of such an entertainment, Gonzaga entertained little doubt of learning the truth. The rough railleries of such men were not likely to respect so slight a circumvallation as the honour of female reputation; and the glowing vintage of the Moselle and Rhine would bring forth the secret among the bubbles of their flowing tides. And, in truth, scarcely were the salvers withdrawn, when the potations of these mailed carousers produced deep oaths and uproarious laughter; amid which was toasted the name of Margaret, with the enthusiasm due to one of the originators of the massacre of St Bartholomew, from the most Catholic captains of the founder of the Inquisition of Spain.

The admiration due to her beauty, was, however, couched in terms scarcely warranted on the lips of men of honour, even by such frailties as Margaret's; and, to the surprise of Gonzaga, no restraint was imposed by the presence of her imputed lover. It seemed an established thing, that the name of Margaret was a matter of indifference in the ears of Don John!

That very night, therefore, (the banquet being of short continuance as there was to be a field-day at daybreak, under the reviewal of the prince,) Ottavio Gonzaga, more than ever to seek in his conjectures, resolved to address himself for further information to Nignio; to whom he had brought confidential letters from his family in Spain, and who was an ancient brother in arms.

Having made out without much difficulty, the chamber occupied by the Spanish captain, in a tower of the citadel overlooking the valley of the Sambre, there was some excuse for preventing his early rest with a view to the morrow's exercises, in the plea of news from Madrid.

But as the Italian anticipated, ere he had half disburdened his budget of Escurial gossip, Nignio de Zuniga had his own grievances to confide. Uppermost in his mind, was the irritation of having been employed that morning in a cow-hunt; and from execrations on the name of the old woman, enriched with all the blasphemies of a trooper's vocabulary,—it was no difficult matter to glide to the general misdemeanours and malefactions of the sex. For Gabriel Nignio was a man of iron,—bred in camps, with as little of the milk of human kindness in his nature as his royal master King Philip; and it was his devout conviction, that no petticoat should be allowed within ten leagues of any Christian encampment,—and that women were inflicted upon this nether earth, solely for the abasement and contamination of the nobler sex.

"As if that accursed Frenchwoman, and the nest of jays, her maids of honour, were not enough for the penance of an unhappy sinner for the space of a calendar year!"—cried he, still harping upon the old woman.

"The visit of Queen Margaret must indeed have put you to some trouble and confusion," observed Gonzaga carelessly. "From as much as is apparent of your householding, I can scarce imagine how you managed to bestow so courtly a dame here in honour; or with what pastimes you managed to entertain her."

"The sequins of Lepanto and piastres of his holiness were not yet quite exhausted," replied Nignio. "Even the Namurrois came down handsomely. The sister of two French kings, and sister-in-law of the Duke of Lorraine, was a person for even the thick-skulled Walloons to respect. It was not money that was wanting—it was patience. O, these Parisians! Make me monkey-keeper, blessed Virgin, to the beast garden of the Escurial; but spare me for the rest of my days the honour of being seneschal to the finikin household of a queen on her travels!"

Impossible to forbear a laugh at the fervent hatred depicted in the warworn features of the Castilian captain, "I' faith, my clear Nignio," said Gonzaga, "for the squire of so gallant a knight as Don John of Austria, your notions are rather those of Mahound or Termagaunt! What would his highness say, were he to hear you thus bitter against his Dulcinea?"

"His Dulcinea!"—ejaculated the aide-de-camp with a air of disgust. "God grant it! For a princess of Valois blood, reared under the teaching of a Medici, had at least the recommendations of nobility and orthodoxy in her favour."

"As was the case when Anna di Mendoça effected the conquest over his boyish affections, so generously pardoned by his royal brother!—But after such proof of the hereditary aspirings of Don John, it would be difficult to persuade me of his highness's derogation."

"Would I could say as much!"—exclaimed Nignio, with a groan. "But such a cow-hunt as mine of this morning, might convince the scepticism of St Thomas!"

"What, in the name of the whole calendar, have the affections of the prince in common with your exploit?" said Gonzaga. "Would you have me infer that the son of Charles V. is enamoured of a dairy wench?"—