The Story of Don John of Austria by Luis Coloma (ereader manga .txt) 📗

way seemed long which separated him from his dreams of glory. His absolute confidence in Doña Magdalena and her promises had dispelled the fears he had for his mother's future, and the affectionate farewell, and fatherly, prudent warnings of his brother the King, had made him believe that the murmurs and tittle-tattle of those envious of him had made no impression on the severe monarch. So D. John was at peace, and he smiled at life, as fortune smiled on him; he received everywhere honours and ovations, and, what pleased him more, sincere marks of love and appreciation. A courier overtook him at Calatayud with a papal brief and letters from Marco Antonio Colonna, General of the pontifical fleet, and from the Cardinal Granvelle, temporary Viceroy of Naples, urging him to come to Messina, which was the meeting-place of the fleets of the Holy League.

He stopped two days at Montserrat to visit the celebrated sanctuary of the Virgin, and on Saturday, the 16th of June, he entered Barcelona at five in the evening, amidst the salutes of artillery on land and sea, the pealing of bells and the cheers of an enormous crowd. The Prior D. Hernando de Toledo, who was Viceroy of Catalonia, received him, with all the magistrates and nobility and the Knight Commander D. Luis de Requesens, D. John's naval lieutenant, who had been awaiting him there for three days. The city overflowed with the noise and animation natural to a seaport on the eve of the embarkation of a great enterprise. Flags were plentiful at sea, and on land soldiers, adventurers, and those seeking to be enlisted, long strings of slaves destined to row in the galleys, noble volunteers with brilliant suites, workmen from other arsenals who had come to work in these dockyards, merchandise of all kinds, pedlars, friars looking for souls, women seeking gain, and the curious who thronged the streets and encumbered the dock, already full of chests of provisions and ammunition, piles of arms, and pieces of artillery waiting to be put on board ship.

D. John was in his element, and with intelligent and methodical activity at once began to receive information and to take measures to hasten the embarkation. He took counsel of the Knight Commander, the Viceroy of Catalonia, and the secretary Juan de Soto, and decided first to send an urgent message to the Marqués de Santa Cruz, who was at Cartagena, and to Sancho de Leiva and Gil de Andrade, who were waiting at Majorca, to come with the galleys they commanded to Barcelona; these last were to bring all the biscuit they possibly could. The Archdukes Rudolph and Ernest then arrived, as they were to embark with D. John to go from Genoa to their own home, and the next day, at four o'clock in the afternoon, the merry pealing of all the bells and the shouts of the people announced that the galleys of Gil Andrade and of Sancho de Leiva were in sight.

They entered the bay at nine that night, in battle array, with beautiful illuminations on yards and sides, firing salutes of arquebuses, which were answered by all the cannon of the city's walls and dockyards.

D. John's royal galley came with these, the same built for him on his first expedition against the corsairs of the Mediterranean. The next morning, very early, he went to visit her, and was pleased with the new improvements, made under Sancho de Leiva's directions, following the original plan of Bergamesco and Tortilla. The hull had been carefully careened, the paintings and ornaments renovated, the sails and rigging renewed, and the artillery reinforced. The figure-head was changed, and instead of the former Hercules with his club was a Neptune, holding his trident, riding on a dolphin, and at the stern a new goddess—Thetis, between two golden eagles with black outlines, and above two life-sized lions, also gilded, supporting the arms of the King, those of D. John of Austria, and the Golden Fleece, whose chains ran along each side, standing out well on the red background, and joining at the prow. The old lantern with its statue of Fame had disappeared, and in its place, crowning the stern, were three great lanterns of bronze and copper, gilt outside and silvered inside, with figures of Faith, Hope and Charity, more than a palm high. The deck of the round-house was also new, formed of ninety squares of walnut, with outlines of ebony, boxwood, tin and blue enamel, with a large flower in gilt bronze in the centre of each; one could open these squares by means of a key, and beneath appeared chests in which were stored, in beautiful little wicker baskets, fresh bread, fruit, and all the service for the table. The crew wore as uniform jerkins of crimson damask, with little caps of the same, and the greatest order and cleanliness reigned everywhere.

D. John was very pleased with his galley, and on the 1st of July he took his two nephews, the Archdukes Rudolph and Ernest, to visit her and gave them a collation. The galley was decked with streamers and pennons, and was adorned from stem to stern with red cloth, with many flowers and ribbons and crimson damask, which covered the bows. They arrived in a big boat, all hung with tapestry, and with a canopy of damask at the stern, under which their Highnesses sat; the twelve rowers wearing jerkins of crimson damask, and caps of the same slashed and trimmed with gold and feathers.

When the Princes embarked on the galley, the slaves made their "salva de forzado," which was a kind of song, or rather a sad complaining but not disagreeable cry, by which these wretches implored mercy of the visitors. Then a royal salute was fired from all her guns, which was answered by the galleys in the port. The Princes sat at a table in front of the roundhouse, under an awning of damask with crimson and white stripes, and there was served a collation of fruit, sweetmeats, green and cool drinks, which the heat of the day made delicious.

Meanwhile, at the stern a band of musicians dressed in turquoise brocade were playing, and to their music the crew were executing a sort of flying dance, jumping, climbing, and doing a thousand feats among the yards, topsails, masts and rigging, with such agility, quickness and order that it was a spectacle of real merit.

When the Princes rose, the Viceroy, the Knight Commander and all the gentlemen of the suites were served at the same table, with equal plenty, and at nightfall D. John regained the Viceroy's palace, where he was living, and where was waiting for him the greatest blow, perhaps, he ever received in his life, as it was the first and the most unexpected.

CHAPTER V

During the absence of D. John on the royal galley that afternoon a courier had arrived at Barcelona from the Court, bearing various letters from the King, all in D. Philip's writing, and one of them, dated the 17th of June, or six days after D. John had left Madrid, caused the latter the bitterest and deepest dismay. It is not recorded what the orders of D. Philip were which caused such distress to D. John of Austria; but judging from the two letters which he wrote then, and from other preceding and following ones, it is certain that following other orders, unknown to us, this letter also brought reproaches, more or less severe, from D. Philip to his brother, for having allowed himself to be addressed as Highness, and for having accepted the honours due to an Infante, which on all sides were given him; forbidding D. John in future to accept these honours, which the King had not granted him, and saying that a letter from Antonio Pérez was coming with a copy of the instructions which had been sent to the ministers in Italy, respecting the way in which D. John was to be received and addressed, and he was to keep strictly to these same instructions.

D. John was thunderstruck at this letter, and it amazed the faithful secretary Juan de Soto, the only person to whom D. John dared to confide it. Up to a certain point the fact was true, because it is certain that nobles and people, great and small, regarded and respected D. John, both in Spain and out of it, as an Infante of Castille, as he was a son of the great Emperor and brother to the present King, and because his personal gifts and deeds made him worthy of the high dignity. But that which was the spontaneous act of nations and peoples had been transformed by those envious of D. John into intrigues and presumptuous efforts to occupy a rank he did not possess, and this had been treacherously whispered in the Monarch's ear. It seems certain that D. John's enemies had carried their tittle-tattle and misrepresentations to Philip II himself; it was also certain that he believed them, and equally certain—and this is what so pained D. John's loyal heart—that D. Philip had hidden his displeasure as King and brother, and had said good-bye to him with false words of kindness and confidence, condemning him unheard, in his absence, and deputing a minister to sanction, by a letter, the grave humiliation which he was imposing.

D. John's youthful blood boiled at these thoughts, and, depressed and dismayed under the weight of his first disillusion, he seriously thought of renouncing his dreams of glory, and of taking refuge in the ecclesiastical state, as the Emperor, his father, had counselled, as being quieter and more peaceful. Juan de Soto comforted him with much wise reasoning, and for his counsel and encouragement wrote to the Prince de Évoli, to whom Soto owed his appointment as secretary, the following letter, asking for advice and explanations, which clearly shows the trouble and fears which perturbed him:

"Lord Ruy Gómez, as you well know of H.M.'s new wishes for me since I came here, I will not weary you by mentioning them; but availing myself of your knowledge, and the permission you gave me to go to you as to a father about my concerns, I will say that I have resented and do feel it, as I cannot help doing; not so much, my lord, is my vanity wounded—as I take God to witness that I am free from that—but it gives me much pain that I, alone in the world, have deserved such fresh orders, as I lived in the utmost confidence that H.M. would show to all that he held to me, and that he would be pleased by my being more honoured. I confess that the disfavour of putting me on the common level has wounded me so much that at times I feel inclined to find some other way of serving God and H.M., as in the one I am following I am so clearly shown that I do not succeed; however, if anything deters me, it is that, as I do not deserve it, it is not H.M.'s wish, but that of someone who has more influence with him than I have. Consequently, then, Lord Ruy Gómez, if one could see through people, perhaps those who enjoy the public confidence would have most need of advisers and of reform, and this truth I feel the more as the present and future punishment is bitter, not through the fault of those less opinionated, who have less say in the matter, but by means of those who through being so much in favour, and this is certainly seen, show themselves finding fault in every way. All this moves me to speak and hear others more than to be silent, believing that I am pursued by false stories; at all events, I have great cause to complain, when you come to think of the little value that has been placed on all that I have done, to find myself, which is what I feel most, now ordered by H.M. to be placed on a level with those whom God, having made me his brother, did not place between him and me. I well know that my services do not deserve crowns of laurel; but that what I desired to arrive at, and for which I worked, should be so little esteemed, and that instead of being appreciated it should be thought less of by H.M. is what weighs on my mind. I put my trust again in you, whom I implore without keeping anything back to write and tell me what are the causes of H.M. treating me thus, because if you will only let me know that I do not deserve his favours, I would rather serve him in some other way than weary him in my present one. On which matters, if it appears well to you, I would like you to talk to him and give me your advice, reminding him how much he will be worthy of God's pleasure in acting as a father to one who has no other, but a thousand